Lessons From a Winter Walk

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Disclaimer: It feels a bit uncomfortable to have a platform to write about Covid-19. All of us are struggling under the weight of not only the impact of the virus itself, but also the need to make meaning out of what we are collectively experiencing. As Dan mentioned, my personal reflection can’t fully speak to the grief and hardship created by Covid-19, nor can it compare to the truly heroic efforts being made by many of our community members during this pandemic. While acknowledging this, I find relief when others share in authentic self-expression, and my hope in joining that effort is that we can continue to support one another in these efforts of meaning-making by connecting through social media via these and other types of storytelling in the coming weeks and months.

Many people have been telling me recently how they wish they could be in my shoes, which are holed up at Wilderness Canoe Base during this global crisis that requires many of us to stay home. I have the privilege of living and working year–round at camp, and I am lucky enough to be able to simply walk out my front door and be in magnificent wild spaces. As we seek out ways to decompress and get away from the wall of Covid-19 news that consistently puts our minds in a state of worrying about an unknowable future, I’ve been trying to get outside regularly and use the outdoors to guide my thoughts back into the present and just be. What I had forgotten until a few days ago, however, is that exploring the wilderness can sometimes be hard and uncomfortable.

Last week, I set out on a nearby hiking trail that I’ve done many times before. It was a brilliant, warm sunny day and I was anticipating the feeling of my worries melting away as I got my body moving and exchanged my computer screen for blue skies and tall trees. But the wet snow on the trail make hiking incredibly challenging; I couldn’t be sure if the snow ahead of me would hold me up or send me sinking through to my knees. Midway through my hike, I was raging with tears of frustration. My body hurt. I was so discouraged to be failing at what was supposed to be my form of self-care. I was embarrassed that this fairly easy hike was giving me so much trouble. I was even annoyed at my dog who was loving every second of this hike with no regard for my misery.

It’s easy to forget that wilderness experience, while being full of beauty and simplicity and wonder, can also force us to face feelings of discomfort. Many of us can relate to bouts of physical and emotional pain while adventuring; we’ve been on muddy portages that suck the shoes right off our feet, we’ve furiously paddled into the wind without making any forward progress, and we have endured merciless black flies and mosquitos that drive us into our cramped tents at night. And these kinds of experiences allow us to be fully immersed in our discomfort in ways that our culture often seeks to avoid. We often grow uneasy at the thought of discomfort within ourselves and among our communities. We don’t know what to say to our sick friends and grieving colleagues and despondent family members. We want to distract, numb, and move beyond these kinds of feelings as quickly as possible.

But when you are on a portage that seeks to literally swallow you and your canoe into its muddy depths, (or a snowy trail where you can’t find a solid footing), it’s clear that the only way out is through. Many of us have this experience of being in the wilderness, staring down a hard and painful thing ahead of us, and determinedly diving right into it. In these times of global panic, my hope is that we can call upon this aspect of our wilderness experience to help us through our discomfort stemming from our new reality. We can rest in the knowledge that we are resilient. These hard feelings and sensations will not be the end of us, just as no portage will last forever. And we are not alone. Anyone who has ever accepted a “bridge” from a fellow camper knows that when we share the load of our heavy burdens, we can ultimately keep going for longer than if we try to hide our struggle and push through by ourselves.

So my friends, my prayer for you is that you have the strength to feel anything that bubbles up from your heart and mind, knowing that you are incredibly resilient and that there is a cloud of witnesses who are ready to walk alongside you and help you bear the load. Amen.

-Kristin, WCB Site Manager

Kneeling on Lifejackets

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Disclaimer: This is not health advice. Nor is it intended to undermine the unique hardship and grief of Covid-19. These are the reflections of a person who believes wholeheartedly in the transformative and lasting influence of canoe trips, and who is trying very hard to make sense of his admittedly very privileged day-to-day experiences with a pandemic. In the words of public intellectual Theodore Zeldin, “this is what I now feel, which I did not feel before.”

Canoe trips help me to come up against the limitations of what I can control. When I’m headed out “on trail” (into the woods for a camping trip), I make lots of lists. Lists of things to buy, things to organize, things to do. My packing lists are so extensive that I usually arrange them by the pack that the listed items will live in over the course of the trip, and sometimes even by the pack-within-the-pack. Here’s an excerpt from last summer’s “Back-up Small Equipment List,” the subcategorized contents of which were stored in a blue 5-liter dry bag that I tucked into the bottom corner of my food pack:

  • matches
  • bottle #3 and lighter #4
  • Ziplock of birch bark strips and petroleum-dipped cotton balls
  • extra compass and extra F-32 map
  • extra duct tape, zip ties, Superglue
  • extra toilet paper, wet wipes, alcohol prep pads
  • extra fishing line and hooks (capped)

I make lists because I like to be prepared. As my co-guides, campers, and fellow canoe-trippers can attest, my tendencies border the line between thoughtful readiness and irrational over-packing. (Some might even say that I’m way over that line!) But I’d rather have too much than too little, to the point where I’m willing to carry things for a whole week that I won’t ever take out my Duluth Pack because I just sleep better knowing that they’re there.

My inclination towards over-preparedness definitely can influence my behavior during a canoe trip. Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I can control that I forget to live into the present moment; to really experience the beautiful messiness of day-to-day life. Several seasons ago, I noticed that I was actually more worried on the calm, cloudless sunny days than I was on the stormy, windy days. I’d started to internalize the goofy, backwards idea that if today’s weather is “good,” tomorrow’s or the next day’s or the day-after-that’s will be “bad.” Lately, I’ve been practicing non-judgement and being present during my trips. Some days, I can lay back and stare up at the wispy “mares’ tails” (cirrus uncinus, for the cloud nerds) that my mom says indicate storms are a-coming in the next 24-48 hours, and not feel worried at all.

Indeed, no matter what gear I bring or how much I worry, I simply don’t have the capacity to account for all possible scenarios of a backcountry wilderness canoe trip. I know that this inability is also true in the rest of my life, but I’m pretty good at the delusion of control when I have indoor HVAC, pressurized potable water, the internet, and a digital calendar at my fingertips. “Off trail,” I get lots of practice making elaborate, long-term work and life plans, but “on trail,” all it takes is one surprise thunderstorm, one wind-bound afternoon, or one unfindable portage to remind me that I’m not in charge at all.

It is in the moments when I come upon an irrefutable challenge to my prep and plans that a good canoe trip really begins. These moments force me to acknowledge that every person, every lake, and every day brings new experiences that I will never be able to completely understand and predict, no matter how many trips I have the opportunity to take. They remind me that I’m living in a wild, unconquered, and—I believe—ultimately incomprehensible world. They humble me; they make me stand still, stop thinking, and look on in awe.

Most important, these moments make me rely on others. They help me to be consistently astounded by the limitless capacity of communal accomplishment, communal bravery, communal care. They make me remember that this “living” is a group activity, a social discipline. Even when I’m sequestered away from everyone else, soaked to the bone and kneeling on a lifejacket to minimize the risk of a lightning strike, unable to see anything through the darkness and pouring rain, I know that the folks on my canoe trip—and others camped on neighboring lakes— are also crouched out there, experiencing the helplessness, discomfort, and absurdity of life alongside me. Somehow, that helps. That, and a loud chorus of some Maria Von Trapp-style yodels from the trip jokester that echo across the bay with the crashes of thunder and make everyone giggle.

I know y’all are out there somewhere, kneeling on your lifejackets. I’m out here too. Don’t forget to yodel. And to giggle. When the sun comes out again (as it always does), I look forward to finding you.

Much love,

Dan Ahrendt, WCB Program Manager

Thank you to all of the healthcare workers, public safety workers, essential business workers, volunteers, and others who continue to labor selflessly to serve their communities in this time of need. Thank you to everyone else who is taking steps, big or small, to stop the spread of disease.

2019 Sermon Series: The Gospel of Trees

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I don’t usually start sermons this way… but since this ground is the holiest ground I ever get to stand on, I am going to read a tiny bit from Moses’s encounter with God. God appears in a burning bush and says, “Moses! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” In honor of this holy ground… that is part of the Band of Brothers Chapel on Dominion Island in Seagull Lake… I am ditching my shoes. And if you want to, you can too.

Our readings for worship today are mixed in throughout my sermon… so don’t be alarmed when good people stand up and start reading. 

Our first readings come from Genesis 1 and Deuteronomy 8:

Readings, part 1: Genesis 1: 11-13, Deuteronomy 8: 7-10

1. My favorite WCB job was the summer I spent as Naturalist. I was an English major in college though, so I did a lot of studying to prepare for that summer. I was so excited when it was time to give my first Nature Hike and Orientation. Until I discovered that it was for a group of adults, and one of those adults had been a beloved high school biology teacher for 40 years. His name was Don Meyer and we became friends for years after that first orientation. He graciously let me lead and answered my questions with great humor. He taught me that spirals are a shape that exist every where in nature: they are strong and efficient.

2. Strong things grow in spirals and I’ve never been anywhere where this fact is more obvious & holy than HERE… at Wilderness Canoe Base. Strong things grow in spirals.

            A. the Milky Way Galaxy, that you can see perfectly from the bridge, is one massive bright, shining spiral of stars, with their planets and moons spinning around

            B. ALL plants spiral… and you can see these spirals in jack pine pinecones, blueberry bush blooms, bracken fern, and ox-eye daisy petals

            C. and you spiral too. Your muscles are STRONG spirals after this season of paddling, portaging, Sysco hauling, and even simply hiking to the outhouses. Your bones spiral, your nerves cells spiral, and your DNA spirals billions of times.

            D. Your relationships with these people you’ve worked with this summer will spiral too… not out of control… but your relationships will spiral in the way that sometimes you’ll feel close and sometimes you’ll feel far… but these people have made you stronger in your own spiraling… and you will forever be connected in the spiral of the Boundary Waters and Wilderness Canoe Base. This is holy ground.

            E. Did you know there is a fifteen hundred year old cedar in the cove?! The Forest Service tested its core back in the late 90’s and its rings revealed its age to be approximately 1500 years old. In someone’s filing cabinet somewhere, maybe at Jim Wiinanen’s house or in some closet in Pinecliff somewhere, there’s even an official letter. I’ve seen it. That cedar has been spiraling for centuries, its silver bark softening, branches reaching toward the sky. During the American Revolution and Two World Wars, it spiraled. It spiraled during the birth of the printing press, the life of Muhammad, and then through the entire Renaissance with its DaVinci, Shakespeare, and Michelangelo. It spiraled while the Ojibwa lived here peacefully and after the Voyageurs journeyed through. It spirals still, and it greets us near the shore by the dock whenever we come back home. Strong things grow in spirals.

***When you leave this forest this summer, you must take these spirals with you.

            F. Sometimes, when God feels much too far away, in a world that is such a mess, I remember these spirals and holiness is suddenly close at hand. Spirals remind me that, wherever I am, the ground can be holy ground.

            G. God promises that “we will be brought into a good land, a land with flowing streams, with stones of iron, a land of honey… and trees.”

Readings, part 2: Genesis 3: 8-11, Luke 23:44-46

2. But, sometimes, even a spiral is not strong enough. We all know this to be true.

            A. Twenty years ago this summer, scientists estimate that tens of millions of trees were uprooted in the historic Blow Down storm.

            B. There used to be a lovely birch tree back there along the trail, tall and always bright- it always seemed to catch the sunshine despite thw weather: it survived the blow down and our amateur ‘controlled burns’ in 2001, to clean up from the Blow Down… but it’s spirals weren’t strong enough to hold too much ice and it went down during a winter storm in 2004

            D. There was a jack pine on the trail by the Block house, where the old Nature Nest cabin used to be… and on a windy day you could stand on its roots and ride the tree as it was tossed in the wind… the roots in this thin, rocky soil would gently lift you up and then set you back down. That tree doesn’t exist anymore either.  I’m not sure when its spirals came down.

            E. Wilderness Legend, Ken Peterson, was one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. His spirit was a holy spiral, inviting everyone in… including the kids he took to the Hudson Bay as a guide back in the ‘60s, his patients when he was a medical doctor, his friends from Wilderness, and my husband and I when we moved near his home in Alaska for our first year of marriage… and AmeriCorps… and adventure. You have maybe heard the end of his story: that his warm spiral couldn’t stop that border patrol agent whose car hit him on the Gunflint. Near the gigantic spiraling trunks of the Washington Pines, Ken died.  

            F. No, sometimes spirals are not strong enough… and if you didn’t know Ken, you do know someone whom you miss. We all carry stories of broken spirals with us.

            G. And yet… life grows back… because God is in it all. This ground is holy ground.

Readings, part 3: Mark 16:5-8, Job 14:7-9

3. Life grows back… because God is in it all.

            A. Because our three-in-one-God: the Creator, the Messiah, and the ever- mysterious Holy Spirit dance a spiral dance that never ends… this forest is healing from that Blow Down and all its fires. It is changing… yet it is healing. Because of our Spiraling God, you are here breathing in and out- strong. Because we have a Messiah whose spiral included  the deepest depths of despair, we can survive our own dark days.

            B. There is hope for trees… even trees that have been cut down, says Job. And Job would know about that.

            C. There is hope because of spirals… which are God’s strongest shape.

***When you leave this forest this summer, you must take these spirals with you.

            D. There is hope because of God- who has not only made this ground holy- but who has also promised you life and light unending.

Readings, part 4: Revelation 22:1-2, Isaiah 55:12

4. You have work to do. This holy ground needs a voice. Your voice.

            A. You’ve worked hard this summer: cooking endless meals, paddling for miles, starting campfires, setting up tents, hauling Duluth packs full of EVERYTHING, listening to kids, caring for kids, teaching kids… and you’ve done so, so well.  But, your job is not ending with the summer.

            B. When you leave these islands and go back to your cabin, or the city, or college, or your job, or family and friends, or you’re off to brand new adventures… ***YOU MUST TAKE THESE SPIRALS WITH YOU!

            C. This holy ground- on which your feet are resting- is full of remedies for the stress of living:

1. This holy ground is timeless… while people are too good at rushing around.

2. This ground is quiet… while so many people are so full of noise.

3. This ground grows loving community… while politics just grow suspicion and hate.

4. This ground teaches us to be dependent on one another… while the culture we’re living in tricks people into thinking we’re independent.

5. This ground, with its spirals, shows us holiness in new and soul-tending ways… and all the people I know are hungry for this  sort of holiness.

            D. When you leave this place…

                        You must teach people timelessness.

                        You must show them how to be quiet.

                        You must expect deep, loving communities wherever you live.

                        You must practice dependence.

                        And I hope you will celebrate holiness. 

Do these things and you will be a voice for this place… spreading holy ground wherever you go. TAKE THE SPIRALS OF THIS PLACE WITH YOU. And have no fear. God always promises to be with you.

Blessing: May you go out into the world in joy, and be led back here to this place in peace; when you tell of these spirals with your own voice, the lakes and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the forest shall clap their hands.

By Rev. Sarah Clark, former WCB staff member

An Introduction to our Summer 2019 Sermon Series

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Throughout this past summer, campers, guests, and staff associated with Lake Wapogasset Lutheran Bible Camp, Inc. had opportunities to talk and learn about their faith through an overarching theme of, ‘Claimed, Wildly Loved By God.’  At its essence, this theme tells us that God loves us wildly and unconditionally.  In a world that often makes us feel like we are ‘not enough,’ the message of God’s abounding love for us is a message of hope and assurance, and a message that we are created in God’s image and are in fact more than enough.

With this ‘Claimed’ message at the root of discussion across all three camps of LWLBC, campers, guests, and staff at Wilderness Canoe Base took an additional step and wondered together what this means for our lives.  If we have been saved by grace and if nothing we do can separate us from God’s love (or give us a higher standing in God’s eyes), then what are we called to do with our lives?  Theologians like Martin Luther, Gerhard Forde, Desmond Tutu and countless others have asked questions throughout the centuries about what our call in this world is if there is nothing that we must do in order to receive God’s love.  Essentially, the heart of the question is, ‘what will you do with your life since you don’t have to do anything to receive God’s love?’  In many ways, this question is a call to our vocation.  Because we know that God’s love is given to us unconditionally and without having to do anything at all, we are given the freedom to consider what it is that we can do with our lives.

With an eye on vocation, our bible study theme at Wilderness Canoe Base throughout the summer invited us to consider the ways that God is actively engaging with us.  Our summer theme focused on ways that God Creates, God Rests, God Organizes, God Uproots, God Liberates, and God Calls, and throughout these conversations we were given opportunities to consider the ways that we too are called to participate in God’s kingdom.

Each Sunday of the summer at Wilderness Canoe Base, we gather together for Worship as a community.  The congregation is made up of summer staff, guests from around the lake and along the Gunflint Trail, alumni, and other visitors.  We decided to focus our Sunday sermons on this question of our vocation, and this call to participate in God’s kingdom.  Each of these sermons were given by Wilderness Canoe Base Staff, summer staff, and/or alumni.  In the coming weeks ahead, we will be posting the sermons that were given, and we invite you to join us in these conversations.  And as you consider what Kristin, Ty, (Ty again), Katelyn, Beatrice, Dan, Elizabeth and Sarah preached about, we also invite you to consider the ways that you too will participate in God’s kingdom.

-Nathan Berkas, Wilderness Canoe Base Director

2019 Sermon Series: God Calls

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How many of you feel the call to the wilderness?  For many of you I would guess that is why you are here, a continual call into the Wilderness.  What does that call to the wild feel like? Is it something you can feel in your gut, a warming in your heart, or a peacefulness in your mind.  Maybe the feeling is hard to articulate but the visceral longing and need to be in the wild is undeniable for many of you.  Over the last several days as I’ve been listening to reflections of groups coming off the trail and I can’t help but think about when these groups first arrived to camp.  What is going through the thoughts and feelings of these groups when they set foot on the cove and look across the lake not knowing what is ahead of them.  At that moment through all of the fear, excitement, and car sickness – Are they being called into the wilderness or are they sent?  The same question may be asked of all of you today – whether you are staff, campers, guests, were you called to be here or sent?

I have the privilege of representing Wilderness Canoe Base as well as Wapo and Ox Lake – all three sites of the Lake Wapogasset Lutheran Bible Camp organization.    Most of my summer has been spent at the Wapo site welcoming campers and church staff but as we approached the mid-point of the summer there was something that wasn’t complete – I could feel a piece missing.  I knew that my colleagues and a piece of our summer ministry was transpiring up here at Wilderness Canoe base and I felt called to be a part of it.  There was a tug and a pull to be up here, to see, hear, taste, smell, and touch God’ presence in this community.  And what a gift it has been to hear some of the stories of the trail, and of the adventures and see God’s people living in community.  It is my prayer that you take that real presence with you and as you leave, you feel called to return.

And then again, in the midst of the tugging, pulling – sometimes we are sent.  Sent out of the wilderness and out of our familiar daily pattern.  Sent from a community that has gathered together in one common mission and goal to chaos and uncertainty.  Sent from what is comfortable to what in unknown and maybe scary.  As people of God we are both called and sent from one place into another.

The well-known and well-told story of Jonah, resisting his order to preach at Ninevah is often called a call story, or a call narrative.  The story is told that God called Jonah to preach repentance in a place called Ninevah but Jonah refused, ran away and found himself in the belly of a fish.  But is this a call story or a sent story?  Is God sending Jonah to Ninevah or calling him?  I think the answer is yes – this is a calling and a sending story.  Jonah is called, he says no but despite protesting Jonah finally says yes and is sent to Ninevah. 

We are called by God, and sent in to God’s world.

Our scripture today is a familiar one for those that have been here most of the summer – it is our theme verse Isaiah 43: 1-2 –  But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.

These are verses of call – this is a proclamation of creation and promise and call.  God creates us, names us.  God calls you God’s own. 

Let us breath and live in this good news. 

Similarly when we are on trail, in community at base camp, or on the lake we bask in the glory of the present and of the call of the wild in God’s creation.  We take these moments as a pause in our life to reset, listen to the movement of the Holy Spirit and know we are loved, redeemed, and renewed.  But we cannot be called without being sent.  Eventually the trail ends, the day breaks, time moves forward and the promise of call because as action into God’s.  God is sending us.  Because God has claimed us, named us, loved us, and redeemed us we are now sent into the world to love the neighbor and tell others that they are indeed loved and named and called. Camp is a wonderful place to remember this important part of God’s action.  These mountain top experiences of camp, the community, the love, the understanding, the peacefulness, the quiet of camp of Wilderness Canoe Base, we want to embrace it, hold it and never let it end.  And yet as God calls, we are being sent.  Sent into a world that needs God, a world that needs us and our mountain top experience.

 As I sat with Nate on a few reflections of groups coming off the trail, I was so in awe of the holy moments and stories on trails.  The campers and guides were able to articulate those holy moment as God’s action not only on the trail but off the trail as well.  And after all the campers have shared their stories of God’s presence throughout their trip, Nate invites the group to leave this place and share those holy moments with others, remembering that God is active not only in this sacred place, but the places they call home as well.   God calls, so that we can be sent out.

This summer we are remembering the promise the we are Claimed: Wildly loved by God.  I love that we have had opportunities to wrestle with a theme throughout the summer as it takes on new life through different days and weeks of the season.  Though the Bible verses and the stories might be redundant for some of you living with this theme all summer long.  Yet with each new listener and in each new context the Holy Spirit speaks new life into the words and message.  It is in this context, today, as we hear the words of God’s call, let us hear these words as a proclamation.  Because of the claim that God has on our lives; because of God’s action through the death and resurrection of Jesus, and through the claim and identity as God’s children the Holy Spirit breaths through us, we are compelled to follow God’s call – a call that urges us into the world and to be sent as the community and body of Christ.

a daily call to discipleship;

a daily call to love, and be loved;

a daily call to radical inclusion of all, especially of those different from ourselves;

a daily call to reject what hinders us from living a life our creator wants from us;

a daily call to die to what holds us back from love of the neighbor and to embrace our siblings in Christ as children of God;

a daily call to quiet the voices of unworthiness that tell us we are not smart enough, strong enough, beautiful enough, brave enough, Christian enough,

a daily call to squelch fear and apprehension for hope and faith;

a daily call to quiet the voices of anger and hate and to embrace the language of love and peace.

You are each claimed and wildly loved by God who calls us by name, who knows us, create us, loves us, and sends us from this place into another wild.  The wild of God’s people yearning to hear that they too are claimed and wildly loved by God.

-Elizabeth Schoenknecht

2019 Sermon Series: God’s Peace

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I’m Dan. I guide canoe trips at Wilderness Canoe Base this summer. Today, I’d like to talk about peace.

I spent the last four years studying history at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I began to imagine myself as an academic historian, envisioning a life of thinking and talking and writing about the past. This might sound boring to many of you, but it was one of the most exciting moments in my life, primarily because the work helped me to begin to find my politics. History provided a framework (change over time) that has proved useful for understanding contemporary political and social issues, and it helped me begin to grapple with some of the things that matter to me in the world.

I studied nineteenth-century North America, which, as far as historical moments and places go, is a tough one, and my understanding of urgent advocacy compelled me to remember and carry with me as much of the pain and trauma of this hundred years of imperialism and colonialism, economic exploitation, systematized racism, and organized patriarchy as I could. In this work, I felt an ever-present urgency. This feeling that things need to change, right now, is understandable, and it can be productive. But rather than driving my sense of purpose, it most often made me feel hopeless, confused, and drained.

If my work in the discipline called history felt inescapably urgent, my work as a guide at Wilderness has felt inescapably peaceful. I don’t think this is because I’m not thinking about the same sorts of problems that I did when I studied history; I am. I understand guiding to be political and social work. I value the opportunity to help individuals experience a designated wilderness area for the first time, under surprisingly equitable circumstances. I savor the chance to live in community; to build confidence and work towards common goals with people who have different life experiences. Yet for some reason, I don’t carry the same sorts of mental burdens that I’ve previously associated with a political life.

The questions that have been on my mind most this summer, therefore, have to do with this feeling that I’m identifying as peace. First, why do I feel this peace? And, second, is it ok for me to feel this peace? If I feel at peace, am I doing enough in this very un-peaceful world?

The first question is easier to answer. I feel peace in my work as a canoe guide because the job is tangible. My life is grounded and bounded in physical ways. At the end of the day, my back hurts exactly in proportion to how many paddle strokes I’ve taken, how many pack straps and portage yokes I’ve hauled up onto my shoulders, and how many knobby roots have accumulated under my corner of our pitched tent. At night, I crawl quickly into my old Eureka 6p and lay on top of a damp sleeping bag, in physical and emotional alignment with half-a-dozen other tent mates, and surrounded by the hum of mosquitos and the first rustles of nocturnal critters. We’re tired and and we smell and our bellies are full and our world just makes sense to me.

I feel peace because my work occurs on a humbling scale. If, as a historian, I worked at a macro level, analyzing people and processes across across space and time, as a canoe guide, my experience is dramatically micro. I trip with, at most, 8 other people, usually for less than a week. I don’t really get to think about causality or to evaluate outcomes—in most cases, I never have the opportunity to continue the conversations that we’ve begun. Sometimes the work feels too small: how can I contemplate and address even one of the things that matters to me when all I have is a fleeting moment with a few people? But I’m reminded that I can only give my attention to one thing at a time, and that all that most of us really get is a little slice of the world in which to make a difference. I’m reminded of a quote attributed to Mother Teresa, which goes: “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”

However, if I think I understand why I experience my feelings of peace, I still can’t answer whether or not they’re ok. Even in voicing this question, I recognize how silly it sounds. How could it possibly not be ok for me to feel peace? I can see Jake rolling his eyes over there, and practically hear him saying “c’mon Dano, just chill out. Why do you have to over-analyze everything? Why can’t you just let it be peaceful?” But I can’t, Jake—the question keeps coming up, over and over again. Just the other evening, during a swim, as I peered across the rippling lake, surrounded and sustained by an expanse of clean water, my thoughts turned to the droughts that strike with greater intensity and frequency around the world, and that have most recently crippled parts of India and southeast Asia. I wondered with more than a bit of hopelessness, “how is it that I get to swim when so many don’t have enough to drink? How can that possibly make sense?”

It doesn’t. It can’t. I have no way to explain it. And so I turn, in my frustration, to our gospel reading for today. It’s excerpted from the Book of John, Chapter 14, during Jesus’s last meeting with the disciples before he is crucified. It seems, by all accounts, to be an exceptionally urgent, uncertain, un-peaceful moment. Jesus twice implores, “do not let your hearts be troubled,” but if you ask me, the disciples had a whole lot about which to be troubled. These people who had committed their lives to follow Jesus had just been informed that he would soon be betrayed, that he would be leaving them, and that they would probably find themselves alienated from their communities and places of worship, and maybe even killed.

And if this looming future isn’t urgent enough, Jesus begins to push a whole bunch of information at them, most of which seems unclear. I certainly don’t understand what “And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may also be” means. Thomas, asking the question on everyone’s mind, says, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” And Jesus responds, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Oh, right. Of course. No duh. Glad we’ve cleared up. Others have questions too, but Jesus dodges all of them, answering with redirection and more riddles. It’s as if Jesus himself is feeling anxious and rushed by the urgency of the situation. At this point, he’s on the clock, aware that his death is looming. He has one last opportunity to reiterate his most crucial lessons with his most important delegates, and they don’t seem to be getting it. Eventually, he punts, saying “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now,” and promises that a mysterious Advocate— a “Holy Spirit” of “truth”—will come to tell them what they need to know.

One of the few direct statements that Jesus does make in this final meeting is, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” He repeats the message again before leaving the meeting place and going out to be crucified. Peace bookends death in this passage: later, when the risen Jesus presents himself again to the disciples, he greets them by saying “peace be with you,” and, after showing them his hands and side as proof of his identity, repeats himself: “peace be with you.”

This phrase, though used simply for greetings and goodbyes, would have had a rich, multilayered meaning for the disciples. Biblical scholar Cornelius Plantinga describes the Old Testament concept of “shalom” like this: “The webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfillment, and delight is what the Hebrew prophets call shalom. We call it peace but it means far more than mere peace of mind or a cease-fire between enemies. In the Bible, shalom means universal flourishing, wholeness and delight – a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as its Creator and Savior opens doors and welcomes the creatures in whom they delight. Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be.”

He could have offered power or anger or information, but in a moment filled with urgency and gravitas, both for himself and for the disciples, Jesus proffered peace. It’s an audacious move, almost an irresponsible one. Was peace really the most logically sound thing to extend to the disciples as they prepared to carry on their political and moral work in the face of intensifying, life-threatening opposition? Maybe not. But maybe that’s the point. Peace alongside confusion—and perhaps in place of explanation. Peace that surpasses all understanding. Peace that, like the urgency that accompanies it, is divine.

A month ago, a sixth grader from Minneapolis took a canoe trip with me. He had never been camping before and he took in all of the newness quietly, standing in the back of the group with his head cocked slightly to the side. He was in my boat when we approached the first portage, and by the time I’d loaded everyone else up and sent them off, it was just me and him left, responsible for carrying a canoe and two heavy packs. When I lifted the equipment pack onto his slender shoulders and yanked the straps tight, he looked up at me, not in anger or fear, but in puzzlement, as if to ask me how I possibly thought this would work. I took the lead, and after a dozen steps, I turned around in time to see him put his left foot on the first log stair, gather himself, and attempt to take the step, the bottom of the pack bumping against his calves. Without so much as a teeter, he fell over sideways into the bushes. I put my canoe down and walked back, hauling him out of the woods by the ears of the pack. “Good stuff! Let’s give the next one a shot.” He stumbled up to the next step, lifted his other foot onto the edge, and proceeded to topple over into the woods again, this time towards the right. I helped him up the first set of stairs and then, in a rush to get off the portage, pushed on, telling him that I’d be back once I got to the other side.

I passed the rest of my trip-mates, all of them struggling, put my boat down, and went back for him. I found him about 20 yards past where we’d parted ways, on his side, mostly in the bushes, still strapped firmly into the pack. I’m not sure if he physically couldn’t get up, or if he just trusted that I was coming back. I couldn’t see his face. However, I could see the index finger of his right hand. It was poking and prodding ever-so-carefully at the base of a small ox-eye daisy. That little finger stopped me in my tracks. In the midst of a very urgent experience, on an unknown path in an unknown place, strapped into a monstrous bag that clearly weighed more than him, he’d found some peace: a thing to notice, a plant to explore. It was a hard week for him, but I kept noticing that finger. When he fell and banged his knee and curled up in the grass to cry, or when he felt so horribly homesick that he couldn’t even begin to articulate himself, the first thing that I’d see as he began to uncurl his body and rejoin the world was his finger, scratching around in the nearby grass and gravel, searching for and with a peace that is both of and beyond this Earth. In those moments, I knew that things were going to be ok.

I can’t explain whether or not I should be feeling peace. But if I can strive to ensure that my peace is not one of complacency, but of humility. If I can remember that I need to take care of myself in order to serve others, and acknowledge that all I will probably ever have is a little slice in which to make my difference. If I can recognize that this is a persistent calm that I am feeling, one that I don’t understand, but that encompasses me nonetheless. And if I can be even a fraction as graceful when I find myself pulled down in the midst of scary strangeness; if I can live into the peace that I find around and in me, extending my finger bravely to explore the unknown of the present moment, then maybe that is enough for now.

2019 Sermon Series: The Rich Fool

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This Summer Was Meaningless…

With that being said, at this very moment I imagine, there are people all over the world struggling with the existential crisis that is today’s version of the question that needs answering. Today, we’re presented with a question that troubles every moody toddler, every angsty teenager, and even follows some people all the way through life. The question is simply: What’s the point?

Today, I’d consider all of us lucky. By the end of this, my hope is that if and when you are faced with the question of “how do I find meaning in my life” you think back to this service and can emulate the optimism, joy and hope generated from the words in Ecclesiastes. “Utterly meaningless, everything is meaningless”. Everything you’ve learned and experienced, every success, every failure, its all meaningless. 

Like I said before, I believe we gather in churches and around Bibles to find answers, but when the answer is “hey, nothing you do matters” that leaves us with another daunting question: Why do anything at all?

That’s where we find ourselves today, at the crossroad of “why do anything at all?” and “everything is meaningless”. This is a dangerous place to be.

The answer to why this is dangerous is located multiple chapters away from Ecclesiastes, in our gospel reading from Luke. In it, Jesus is confronted by two siblings arguing over splitting their inheritance. In typical Jesus fashion, he responds to them with a story (as my homie Reina would say, “it’s pretty on brand). The story is about a rich man, who’s lands were blessed with a harvest so plentiful that the crops couldn’t even fit in his barn. He decides that the best thing to do is to build bigger and better barns, store his crops, and after that he sits back and does nothing. He said to himself “You have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry”.  Well, let’s just say God wasn’t a big fan of this man’s decision… The rich man thought he had reached his peak, but when he got there the only thing waiting for him was a God size billboard that read “You fool”. In an instant, his best moments become his last and he’s asked a simple question by the Creator. “Who will get what you have prepared for yourself?”

The problem with that question is no one else is mentioned in this story. There’ s no mention of a family, which I think is a very important detail. What if the man would’ve replied “I’m giving it to my daughter”, would that have been enough for God? Potentially, and Jesus could have easily given this man that out. Instead, the response to “who?” was no one. So, the rich fool gets his life taken, leaving behind an abundant blessing that impacted no one. In other words, it was meaningless.

With this on our minds I want to come back to that image of our crossroad. Remember that dangerous spot between “nothing you do matters” and “why do anything”? The Parable of the Rich Fool outlines the danger of taking the “why do anything” path. It’s an easy path, tempting to the majority of people and once they get comfortable on it, they don’t do anything. They walk past the people they see along the side of the path as they take life easy, eating, drinking and being merry. However, our parable tells us that eventually people walking down this path are met by God. I like to imagine God holding one of those rotating signs construction workers use to direct traffic, on one side it reads “wrong way” and on the other it just reads “fool.”

So, the Gospel of Luke steers us away from one of the paths and leaves us to deal with the voice we hear in Ecclesiastes and the other path, which says “everything you do is meaningless”. Admittedly, not a seemingly hopeful spot, but I believe it can be. While the Parable appears to push us towards this path of meaningless existence and a lifestyle where accumulating things is bad, I think it does more then that. I believe it adds a sort of a comma like pause after the words “everything is meaningless”. It replaces the finality of it with a new, hopeful instruction that seems to say, “Everything is meaningless, if it only benefits yourself.”

 I’m going to challenge all of you to imagine yourself as the rich person in the story. Now, we’re going to pause for a second because some of you might have a point of contention already. You might be saying to yourself “Well, I’m not rich. So that’s not a fair comparison”. Fair point, but Jesus never mentions the man’s money in our Parable today. We’re told he’s rich in the sense he has an abundance of crops, but that’s it. Luke 12:21, the last verse of the Parable reads “This is how it will be for those who gather things for themselves”. Again, no mention of money, I’d argue, because it’s always been deeper then that.

Seeing yourself as the rich person, I want to draw attention to the fact that just like the man in the story we are all owners of a barn, and everyone’s barn is filled with the same two things. The first thing is the blessings and gifts you have received from God. Now, we are all blessed and highly favored children of God right? So, our barns should all be the same size as of right now. However, the other occupant of the barn is the privileges and experiences we carry, and these things are the reason some people appear to have bigger and better “barns” then others.

In the Gospel reading, the blessing is easy to identify, it’s the abundance of crops. This concept of privilege might be less obvious, but it’s definitely present. Consider if a person who owned no land would’ve been blessed with an abundance of crops. They could sell some of them off and maybe buy some land, then sell some more and build a barn. As we heard earlier though, one barn isn’t enough, so they sell some more and build some more barns. This person is now on par with the man in the parable, but they had to work so much harder to get there. They received the same blessing, the difference being one of them had the means to enjoy it, the other had to work to enjoy it. In short, that is the benefit of privilege.

I truly believe that God judged the rich man a fool because he failed to see his privilege as much as he failed to utilize his blessings. I don’t think God is saying if we stop for a second to eat, drink and be merry that it’s a problem, but we can’t become complacent. Complacency breeds indifference and causes us to do nothing. Jesus tells us doing nothing makes us fools, which inherently makes everything we do meaningless.

In terms of this community, as our summer at Wilderness comes to a close I would again challenge you to not let your experience in this place be meaningless. If you have been joining us for worship throughout the summer, you’ve heard multiple voices calling you to action. We’ve heard how intersectionality is present and important in the story of Moses. We’ve heard how separating ourselves from creation is problematic to both our relationship with God and the Earth. We’ve heard how God’s peace goes with us even when answering these calls to action feels urgent but unsustainable. For those same moments, we’ve also learned how to harness the strength of Mary and the Magnificat with the simple phrase “fake it till you make it”.

If this is your first Sunday or experience with Wilderness, you’re now a part of this community too. Throughout the summer, campers and guest flooded Wilderness, bringing with them their experiences and their stories. Countless conversations led to relationships being formed, strengthened and tested, seemingly all at the same time. Amazing things happened here and there were so many lessons learned.

The thing about it though, is all of it is meaningless…

If we leave from this place and don’t use the experiences we had, or the lessons we learned to impact both the communities we go back to and the communities around us… What’s the point?

If we fail to share the lessons learned here and don’t utilize them to be blessings to others. The only thing it becomes is another privilege we carry. Our hypothetical barn gets bigger, we go back to our daily routine (maybe it’ll involve eating, drinking and being merry) as we ignore the rest of humanity around us. According to Jesus, we become fools.

I know I began this message by saying I believed church was a place people go to try to find answers. Today, in under 20 minutes we’ve hashed out one of the most daunting questions life has to offer and turned it into a crossroad. I hope you realize that as we leave, we’re all going to have to chose which path we’re going to walk down. So, another question remains: Now what?

If (hopefully when) we start down the path of utilizing our blessings to bless the rest of the world, there’s no promise that we won’t hear people echoing the sentiment from Ecclesiastes. “It’s meaningless” “You’re not going to change anything”. These voices were around in Biblical times and they’re present and loud today. I pray that when you encounter them you find the courage to smile at those fools and keep going, the words we heard earlier from Joshua providing you endurance and strength: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go”

Amen

2019 Sermon Series: God Organizes

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Anyone who has had a conversation with me in the last few days has probably heard me thinking out loud, often, with incredulity, and without much regard for the parameters of what we generally consider to be normal conversation, about how I can’t wrap my head around the symmetry of our reading from Exodus this morning and the news coming out of Sudan these past days and weeks.Tragically, the common thread between these two things is dead bodies in the Nile River. Yes – we are getting very serious, very quickly here. But leaning on the strength of our community and God who is the God of hope and justice, we will sit together with this difficult text buttressed against our difficult reality. And then, I hope, our community will continue the work we have already begun, which is to be the hands and feet of a God who organizes.<

For our guests who are visiting today, “God Organizes” is one of the daily themes of our programming this summer, in which our overarching theme asks campers to consider the question of “Now that we know that we don’t have to do anything at all to earn God’s favor because of God’s grace, what are we going to do?”. Our hope for this day of programming is “to understand that God equips many types of people to bring about God’s kingdom on earth, and God organizes them to work towards justice and peace. As God’s beloved, we have the privilege of taking part in this.”

Which is a lovely daily theme, right? And yet, a very reasonable person might ask what these words even mean in the face of unspeakable tragedy and violence across the globe from us. What can we do?

Which brings me back to the story of Moses’ birth in the beginning of Exodus. To set the stage before Moses was born, the Israelites were in Egypt under the rule of a Pharaoh who was literally trying to eradicate them, beginning with forcing them into slavery. Pharaoh then escalated things by commanding the midwives to kill all baby boys born to the Israelite women. The midwives ignored Pharaoh’s instructions by telling him a very good lie, which led Pharaoh to instruct all his people to throw every Hebrew baby boy into the Nile River. (As a side note, the reason that Pharaoh was particularly interested in killing boys was because the Israelites understood both their connection to their families and to their community through fathers; by killing boys, Pharaoh’s aim was to destroy the Israelites as a whole group).

Moses, who ultimately goes on to lead the Israelites out of their slavery in Egypt, should not have even been allowed to live. And this story about his birth and survival is a great illustration of how God Organizes. In fact, God starts organizing in Moses’ story before he is even born. One good sign of this is that in the story of Exodus, the first place that God is mentioned is through the context of the Hebrew midwives:  Exodus 1:17 states that “the midwives feared God.” And think about the incredible impact that the faith of these women had. It led them to work together to first of all collectively ignore the directive to kill baby boys and secondly, to come up with a united excuse as to why the babies were living (which incidentally, was that the Israelite women were so strong that the babies were already born before they had time to arrive). I have to imagine that there were more than two women involved in the care of tending to all the Israelite women giving birth, especially as the text tells us in Exodus 1:7 that “the Israelites were fruitful and prolific; they multiplied and grew exceedingly strong, so that the land was filled with them.” There were obviously enough of them that the Pharaoh perceived them as a significant threat to his rule. So, I think it’s safe to say that there were many women acting as midwives. And if this is so, the amount of coordination it must have taken to accomplish this level of resistance is incredible. Were they having secret midwife meetings? Did they have some kind of system like an ancient phone tree, where they planned out who would talk with who? How were they making these decisions? Did they elect leaders? Did they hold votes? Did they have a talking stick that they passed around? We may have no idea of what it actually looked like, but I feel confident in staying that they HAD to be organized to pull this off. God Organizes.

And it doesn’t stop here. Consider the women that facilitated Moses’ survival. His mother Jochebed hid him for as long as she could, and then she technically followed Pharaoh’s instructions of putting her baby boy in the Nile River but did so safely, by placing him in a basket. Then, Moses’ sister Miriam planted herself nearby the scene she surely imagined would unfold, further placing a hedge of protection around Moses. Next, Pharaoh’s daughter discovers Moses and, knowing it must be a Hebrew baby boy who should be killed, decides to rescue him anyway. And then Miriam pulls a great move; she asks the Pharaoh’s daughter whether she might want a nurse maid for Moses and then offers up Jochebed, which means that not only does Moses’ mother get to stay with him, but she is getting paid to take care of her own baby when as a slave, she should be earning nothing for her work. Considering the story of these three women, theologian Dennis Olson from Princeton Theological Seminary states, “Pharaoh allows the Hebrew girls to live; he wrongly sees them as no threat… It is a powerful cross-cultural and intergenerational alliance of three women – Moses’ Hebrew mother Jochebed (Exodus 2:1-3, 7-10; 6:20), Moses’ Hebrew sister Miriam (Exodus 2:4. 7-8; Numbers 26:59), and Pharaoh’s Egyptian daughter (Exodus 2:5-10) – who disobey Pharaoh and rescue the baby Moses. Pharaoh tries to make the Nile River, Egypt’s main source of water and life, into an instrument of death. Yet the three women allies succeed in making the river a place of rescue and life.” God Organizes.

Because I moonlight as a feminist anthropologist, this whole story brings to mind a concept coined by bell hooks in her book “From Margin to Centre” from 1984. hooks critiques the mainstream second wave feminist movement for the way in which the concerns of well-off white women are at the center, and the concerns of black women were relegated to the margins. She states, “To be in the margin is to be part of the whole but outside the main body.” hooks argues that if we want a truly and fully feminist activism, we must move the focus from the center to the margins. While hooks is talking about specific groups of people in a particular moment in American history, her frame of reference can be useful to us here today. It reminds us to pay attention to the folks whose oppressions put them out of the main focus of our stories, our attention, and our activism (or we could also say, “our organizing”). If we don’t move ourselves towards the margins, our organizing is incomplete and exclusive.

I think it’s worth mentioning that this chunk of Biblical text we are talking about covers about one and a half chapters of Moses’ story, which spans the entire 40 chapter book of Exodus and beyond. It could easily be glossed over in the entire scope of Moses’ story. But when we do pay attention, we gain so much insight. This text focuses on people who have the least amount of power in the context in which it was written: Israelite women, who live at the intersection of being women in a patriarchal system and ethnic minorities who are being enslaved by the dominant Egyptians. And it is in these women where we not only see God, but we see God organizing for peace and justice. God is with those in the margins, and it is in the margins that we see God moving God’s people towards a radical new order.

This theme of toppling oppressing regimes of power in favor of people on the margins appears elsewhere in the Bible, and is echoed in Mary’s Magnificat from our gospel reading today. Luke 1:52 says, “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.” Jesus similarly reiterates this theme in his Sermon on the Mount where he says “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God” (which we will hear more about on a future Sunday this summer!). He demonstrates over and over again the ways that he associates with those on the margins when he cleanses and heals, he forgives, and ultimately overcomes death on the cross.

Our theme verse for the summer from Isaiah 43 reminds us that we are redeemed, God has called us by name, and we are God’s. Nothing can separate us from God, and because of God’s immense grace, we don’t have to do anything to receive this love. So, the question I posed earlier that guides our summer theme remains: what do we do, now that we don’t have to do anything at all?

I suggest that one way we can respond is for us to try and mix up the margins and the center. And I would propose that the first step in doing this is to try and orient our attention away from the center of our society. There is a meme floating around on the internet some of you may have seen that compares the global mainstream reaction to Notre Dame burning down and the reaction to murder and violence in Sudan. After the news about Notre Dame broke, I remember seeing a wave of folks on social media sharing photos of their visits to Paris and lamenting the destruction and loss. It’s worth asking why a similar number of people don’t have photos from vacations to Sudan, or at the very least aren’t expressing similar lament, particularly when the Notre Dame fire did not result in any loss of human life whereas in Sudan the death toll is thought to be around 100 or more lives lost. It’s not hard to see which of these two world events exists in the center for our society, and which exists on the margins. Of course, we have the capacity to lament for both of these things, and many more. It’s not like we can only pay attention to one tragedy at a time. But we should be paying just as much attention to what’s happening on the margins, and that takes active work.

Because that’s where God’s organizing is happening. This is where the work of restoration and justice is happening. And if we want to be a part of it, that’s where we should be too. Just as marginalized women in Egypt in 1250 BCE were subverting the dominant power for a radical new vision of what life could be, Sudanese protesters today are fighting for a new democratic system of governance after the ousting of their authoritarian leader while being attacked by their own military forces. In the last days and weeks, it is estimated that dozens of bodies have been retrieved from the Nile River, just south of where our story in Exodus takes place. Hundreds of other civilians have been injured and raped. Let us witness and grieve these stories of violence. Because if we allow ourselves to move towards the margins, we open ourselves to a deeper understanding of how God comes to us.

And then, friends in Christ, let’s organize. How, you ask? I don’t necessarily have the answer, but during staff training, we had many, many moments where we said, “this is just the beginning of a conversation that we will continue to have.” So in that same vein I offer this as a continuing conversation starter for all of us, that we might collectively consider how we can take our gift of God’s grace out into the world and organize.

Amen

2019 Sermon Series: God Creates

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Reflections on Biblical Manifestation of the Ideas Within ‘The Trouble with Wilderness’ as It Relates to Wilderness Canoe Base

Hello everybody! My name is Beatrice and I’m the Island and Family Camp Coordinator, among many other things, here at Wilderness. This is my seventh  summer spending time in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness: two trips with my dad, three as a camper here, and two summers on staff. My experiences in this wilderness space were formative for my identity, relationships, and faith throughout my adolescent years. The trips I went on both humbled and uplifted me, satisfied both my desire for adventure and my need for rest, strengthened relationships between my trip mates and gave me time to reflect on my relationship with God.

From these trips, I distinctly remember being in absolute awe of God’s creation unpolluted by human influence–the multitude of stars undiluted by city lights, the clean, clear water, the silence and calm free from the stresses and evils of the civilized world. To me, it was pure, and holy. I felt closer to God’s presence than I ever had in my day-to-day life, and so I kept coming back, summer after summer, to experience it again. 

Imagine my surprise when, my freshman year of college, I was slapped in the face with a paper entitled, “The Trouble with Wilderness”. 

It was written by a professor at the University of Wisconsin – Madison named William Cronon. In it he examines the consequences of popular perceptions of wilderness, commonly defined as a space absent of human influence, throughout European and American history. Namely, he addresses the fact that, quote, “Far from being the one place on earth that stands apart from humanity, wilderness is quite profoundly a human creation—indeed, the creation of very particular human cultures at very particular moments in human history” (end quote). Over time the mainstream idea of wilderness has evolved from a place of physical and moral danger, of exile, to a proving ground for self-sufficiency and masculinity, to a space where one could meet God in the majesty of creation unaffected by the trivial matters of humankind. The latter is the sentiment I hear most often from my peers and the one that most resonates with my wilderness experience.

I remember reading Cronon’s essay for the first time and being confused and conflicted, and in fact, rather angry at the suggestion that my religious experience in a human-less place might be a product of the culture I was raised in. It felt so real and so important to me that I didn’t want to believe it.

But after multiple readings, I shook myself a little looser from my ego and allowed myself to consider some of Cronon’s ideas. Why is it that we believe humanity must contaminate holy things? Specifically, why do we consider ourselves to be outside the holiness of nature, visitors in an otherwise Godly place? 

In the verse we read from Job, it is made clear that we are as much a part of God’s creation as what’s out there–the fish, the birds, the earth. “In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.” We’re told in Genesis that we are part of the earth, from birth until death. “For out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Thus, we are worthy of as much love and reverence as the beauty we see all around us, both personally and as human beings.

My point here isn’t to try and fix humanity’s self esteem issues.

In today’s discussions about global warming, wildlife conservation, deforestation, or any other environmental issue, people speak with urgency and fear for the future of our planet, and rightfully so. But more often than being driven to action, I hear people say how doomed we are, comparing us to an unwelcome parasite on the planet that needs to be wiped out, implying that if it weren’t for us earth would be a flourishing Garden of Eden. But what good does that do for the environmental cause? Cronon states that by believing in such ideas that set us apart from the natural world, quote: “we leave ourselves little hope of discovering what an ethical, sustainable, honorable human place in nature might actually look like.”

In the Gospel according to Matthew that we read today, John the Baptist, a man Jesus had a personal relationship with and held in high regard as a holy figure, is beheaded for reasons as trivial as a drunken promise. When Jesus hears of this, he escapes to what is referred to as a “desert” place. As a side note, “desert” is translated from the greek word eremos, which is also the root of the words eremo and eremon, which in other parts of the bible is often translated as “wilderness”. In other translations, “desert” is replaced by “out-of-the-way” or “lonely”. The point is, Jesus goes to a place devoid of people. Based on his abrupt departure following the news, he seems almost disgusted, like he just wants to get away from the shortcomings of humanity. I feel like any of us would have the same reaction if we were in his shoes. In fact, we often do when we’re faced with how we as a species treat the earth. But in this story, the people follow him into the wilderness. And while Jesus could have sent them away with the convenient excuse of not having enough food so that he could continue being alone, he instead has compassion for them. Compassion, meaning patience, understanding, belief in them. 

During one of his last words this year , Nate invited us to think about the feeding of the five thousand story a little differently. It is possible that, rather than creating the food himself, Jesus organized the people present to gather together what they had so that everybody would be well-fed, with plenty to spare. This, in my opinion, is a much more significant act than any divine magic that could be performed. I mean, talk about responsible resource management! Jesus intentionally shows us a miracle that can and should be done long after he’s gone.

Within this story the holiness is not found when Jesus sits alone in the wilderness; it’s found when other people enter that space and when those people are willing to learn and participate in something larger than themselves. 

If Jesus had given up on those people like we’ve begun to give up on ourselves as a species, he may have remained alone and unwilling to organize those people for good. Likewise, we cannot solve our environmental problems by cutting people out of the picture, by sending them away and only valuing the wilderness separate from civilization. Not only is that unproductive, but it’s actually harmful in many ways. What about the environmental issues in the spaces where people live? The issues that disproportionately affect people of color, native people, and other marginalized groups? The people who have been or will be displaced because they are apparently too human to exist within a wilderness space? In our mission to save the earth, we must also consider that humans are interwoven throughout creation and thus must be a part of the solution. 

There are too many examples of environmental injustice for me to talk about within a 10-or-so-minute sermon, so if you want some more resources about these topics I’d be so happy to point you in the right direction. 

We are incredibly fortunate to be in this wild place. Its remoteness makes it valuable in so many ways; the bright stars, the clear water, and the unique and delicate ecosystem are a constant reminder of the beauty of creation. The simplicity with which we choose to live while we’re here allows us to clear our thoughts and reflect on our lives. It’s a place that inspires community and adventure and challenge in ways that are sometimes more difficult to find near many of our homes. And despite my initial fear when exploring this topic, the experiences we have in this space are incredibly real and beautiful and important. For these reasons and many others, it’s imperative that it be cared for and protected and managed wisely. 

But know that this place, and others like it, should not just be an escape for us. It shouldn’t be a solution. Because Jesus, in the midst of his escape, instead realized the potential of the people who followed him by organizing them as a part of the solution. And I believe that, by following Jesus’ example, we have the potential to finally establish a healthy relationship with this planet. 

The last paragraph of The Trouble with Wilderness gives a call to action that we can all do, right here and right now, because it involves a shift in mindset:

“Learning to honor the wild . . .means striving for critical self-consciousness in all of our actions. It means the deep reflection and respect must accompany each act of use, and means too that we must always consider the possibility of non-use. It means looking at the part of nature we intend to turn toward our own ends and asking whether we can use it again and again and again—sustainably—without its being diminished in the process. It means never imagining that we can flee into a mythical wilderness to escape history and the obligation to take responsibility for our own actions that history inescapably entails. Most of all, it means practicing remembrance and gratitude, for thanksgiving is the simplest and most basic of ways for us to recollect the nature, the culture, and the history that have come together to make the world as we know it. If wildness can stop being (just) out there and start being (also) in here, if it can start being as humane as it is natural, then perhaps we can get on with the unending task of struggling to live rightly in the world—not just in the garden, not just in the wilderness, but in the home that encompasses them both.”

How wonderful is it that we are as beautiful and important and valuable as what we see all around us? How exciting is the possibility for us to finally exist in balance with the world? I don’t claim to know exactly what that might look like, and I guarantee that it won’t be simple or easy. But I do know that we, along with the fish, the birds, and the earth, and the dust from which we come and will return, are holy. And I know that we have the potential to do justice for the world, for both its wildlife and its people, if we can see in ourselves the capacity for good and begin to organize ourselves to feed the five thousand and beyond, with plenty to spare.

2019 Sermon Series: God Uproots

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Grace and Peace to you all,

My name is Katelyn and I am the Program Coordinator this summer at Wilderness. I have spent many years up here on staff starting as a swamper, moving to kitchen staff to guide, to now program coordinator. Through my many years up here the phrase “fake it until you make it” has echoed staff trainings every year. Now this isn’t to undermine our staff training process, but I am convinced that there is no way to fully prepare for taking a group of middle schoolers into the wilderness with out any contact to the outside world.

This phrase has become a comfort to me up here because so many people are in this same mindset, returning staff members and new staff members all can probably relate to the feeling of comfort that surrounds this phrase. I recently learned that this phrase can be attached to an actual psychological theory called the impostor syndrome. This is when people, more frequently people who identify as female, feel like they are an impostor in their position of employment or in a place that they find success. Before writing this sermon, I had some serious feelings of impostor syndrome, now I have never been to seminary; I am just recent college grad with plans of becoming a teacher. Who am I to teach about this incredible woman, Mary and the praise that she sings to God through the Magnificat? Mary is someone in the bible that I find as an incredible role model that is often viewed as a soft nurturing motherly figure. Although in this passage I see her exerting great bravery, courage, and strength. Mary has this unshakable faith that is shown through this passage and that is something that I think is not discussed enough. After reflecting upon her song of praise that we now know as the Magnificat, she definitely did not seem to be phased by the impostor syndrome like many of us would surely have experienced if we were placed in her situation. I like to imagine her whispering to herself “fake it till you make it.”

So I will start by giving a little back story on Mary. She was likely a young teenager when the angel Gabriel visited her and told her that she would become the mother of Jesus. She was also not yet married, and she lived in the small town of Nazareth which would lead to some immense small-town gossip and even put her safety at risk. She was a young woman of low status in a very male dominated society. Previous to this Gospel passage, Mary is visiting her cousin Elizabeth to tell her the news that she received from Gabriel, however, once Elizabeth heard Mary’s voice she immediately knew that Mary was carrying the Messiah. At the time Elizabeth was pregnant with John the Baptist and he jumped in her stomach due to Mary’s presence. While all this seems like an amazing miracle, it’s very plausible that Mary may have sought out Elizabeth in order to seek shelter because of her pregnancy before marriage, which for woman in that time, could have been punishable by being stoned to death. To fully understand the Magnificat, it is essential to understand the political and cultural environment of the time period.

During this time there was some serious tension between the Jewish people and the Romans because they suffered greatly under Roman rule. At the time Jesus was born, Herod the Great had just died which compelled the Jewish people to rebel against the Romans, leading to many of them being captured and even enslaved by the Romans. Rome was economically exploiting the Jewish people and took advantage of their natural resources causing them to experience poverty, hunger, and disease. The Jewish people were longing for a Messiah to bring them some form of healing from Roman rule and the Emperor, Caesar Augustus. Jesus was born not only to save us from our sins but also to uplift the Jewish people in this time of oppression. God intentionally planned for Jesus to be born in that time period because of this. This is a big reason why Mary praises God’s ability to bring down the powerful and lift up the lowly. This idea invites us to imagine how the world would be if Jesus sat on this hypothetical throne, if the Jewish people had a gentle ruler rather than suffering from the rule of Caesar. In the Beatitudes, also known as the Sermon on the Mount which we heard earlier, Jesus is telling the people to focus on the opposite of what society is telling us. He does not want us to focus on typical things like money or power but instead he is calling us to uproot structures that oppress by blessing and calling us to walk with the peacemakers, the meek, and the persecuted.

Now back to Mary and her song of praise, God chose Mary who was a woman that was of low status to do their great work. The Creator was not only uplifting the Jewish people through the birth of Jesus, but God was also lifting up Mary by giving her this task. This was something that Mary expressed so much joy  in through her song of praise, and one of the reason she refers to herself as a lowly servant of the Lord. I love reflecting on this statement by Mary because I view her as this powerhouse of a young woman and she is presenting this news with great humility and thanks by calling herself a lowly servant. Mary was a servant of Gods work and she conducted it with extreme bravery, resilience and intentionality. Mary was a great leader for the Jewish people during this time of injustice; she was fulfilling God’s call to act as a peacemaker. Throughout her song of praise Mary is echoing how she has been granted this blessing of serving the lord and lifting up the lowly people.

So, how does this translate into today? How could we act to uproot current systems of oppression like Mary did back in her time? This passage makes me realize the impact we could have if we recognized our privilege and our blessings, as Mary did, and use them to become advocates for marginalized groups. Mary was rare in this sense because she belonged to the marginalized of that time period, but she did not let that change how she saw the world. Her bravery helped bring Jesus into the world which eventually helped save the Jewish people from systems of oppression. This serves as a concrete example of how Gods work is done through lifting up the lowly.

As advocates and allies I believe we can learn from Mary’s intentionality. She was intentional about recognizing and being gracious and humbled by the blessings that she had been given, while at the same time, providing love and support for others. Imagine if all of us did that for the marginalized groups of today. Many times, I personally feel stuck in a rut of feeling powerless to create change. This is something that I feel many people struggle with in this time. Up here I feel like our saying of leaning into love us so applicable to working towards change. If we can recognize our privilege and love and support the people that are oppressed against then we will be doing the work the Jesus is describing in the sermon on the Mount and is the example that Mary is setting for us through her brave actions of bringing Christ into this world during a political time period where the Jewish people were in turmoil. By being intentional and recognizing our blessings and privileges we are being aware that there is a problem and that that problem should be addressed. We do not want to be falling into the myth of neutrality which causes us to work backwards due to not stepping up and addressing the problems that we see in this world.  Mary certainly did not have a lot of privilege or rights in this time period, since she was an unmarried pregnant woman that did not stop her from supporting the Jewish people. Again, she was a true powerhouse of a young woman. This is a prime example of the bravery that marginalized activists face in their work today.

I believe the first step towards uprooting systems of oppression is by acting with justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God as our verse from Micah read. Now how the heck do we do that?! There are a lot of actions packed in that one so simple sounding sentence. So we don’t expect people to be perfect, that is why the mantra fake it till you make it is so fitting for this place and for life in general. It allows people to make mistakes and to give themselves a little bit of self-grace. Honestly it is humbling; it allows people to be lowly yet empowered to make it and therefore creating change. Fake it till you make it inherently says that things right now might not be going well or according to “plan” but grants the grace to know eventually it will aka “making it” only if of course we are taking actions to make.  Through this mantra we may be able to focus more on acting with justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God just as Mary did.  I want to encourage you to remember that as you continue your journey both here, and away from this place.  Amen