Go Tell It on the Mountain: Bears and blessings at summer camp
M. Matthews
Jonas Henry Johnson and tuba at Montreat. Johnson disproves the notion that it is impossible to smile and play the tuba at the same time.
Five adults and 10 teenagers from Waldensian Presbyterian Church in Valdese attended the Worship and Music Conference at Montreat this summer. We had a blast and survived, neither of which is guaranteed on a trip like this.
We crammed together in a rented house perched on one of Montreat’s impossible hillsides.
Our choir director, Laurie, kept the group on time and, like a mother bird, shooed us out of the nest in time to make classes.
On Tuesday, Courtney came up and made delectable bowls of ramen to celebrate Mag’s 13th birthday. Laurie cooked her popular breakfast casseroles.
Otherwise, I was responsible for meals, and the best that can be said for them is they were sturdy.
Mainly, I heated stuff up.
Chicken pot pie from Sam’s. Frozen lasagna. On Wednesday, we dined at My Father’s Pizza. On Thursday I grilled 32 burgers and 32 hotdogs (for our crew of 15), in which we didn’t make a dent. We ate leftovers on Friday.
Mostly, I stood out of the way as our crew hoovered what was on the counter.
Of all the chaperones and kids attending the conference (more than 800 from all over the country), I had the easiest job. I mixed gallons of lemonade and spice Thai tea. I diced watermelon and tossed salads. Each day, I loaded and emptied the dishwasher after every meal, washed a load of laundry of mostly wet towels, took out the trash and recyclables, and made grocery runs.
Easy peasy.
Our kids and other chaperones did all the heavy lifting. They hiked every inch of Montreat for games, classes, rehearsals, and evening activities designed to nurture faith. Strains of song came from everywhere, Upper Anderson, Convocation Hall, the porches of private cottages.
I’d be in a coma after just one of those days.
We worshipped every morning at 11. Congregational singing vibrated through the pews into my bones. These services were a feast.
Dr. Brian Blount challenged and inspired us with creative, scholarly sermons. Our delegation from Waldensian Pres might have wondered why I don’t preach such interesting Sunday sermons. I wondered that, too, and I’m working on it.
Ensemble and choir directors coaxed from our kids their biggest and best sound. Our youth rounded their O’s, minded their posture, controlled their breathing, attacked their lines.
Jonas played his tuba, Samuel his sax, Mags her bass clarinet, Emma her bassoon. A group took ukulele lessons.
Days were packed.
Understandably, our group suffered some maladies.
Laurie got a cold by the middle of the week and became a baritone. Her smile never faded, but she looked rung out and talked like a gravel road. Braylee got stung on her pinkie by a wasp; first aid consisted of a baking soda patch. We kept a close eye on her all day.
Jonas twisted his ankle. In his fall, he scraped the back of his shoulder on a rock. A trained stuntman probably couldn’t recreate such a fall. All that mattered was getting him rested, hydrated, and ready for his next classes and small group.
Anna, who had recent knee surgery, managed hills like a gazelle. Ginny nursed an injured ankle. Their limps got worse, so we arranged car rides up and down the hills.
Matilyn’s splinter in the heel required a run to the pharmacy for Epsom salt and a microscopic examination by the conference nurse trained in splinter-care.
After Samuel got an actual fever of 100.5, our kids became regulars at the conference clinic. Ansley toughed out a sore throat. Everyone complained of fevers, coughs, allergies, and migraines. Our poor youth hovered near delirium, afflicted by possible cases of RSV, Ebola, Cat Scratch Fever, exhaustion, and other maladies, including homesickness. Late at night they experienced miraculous healing and were able to be talkative and rowdy well past midnight.
After we sent poor Samuel home with fever, foghorn Laurie led the charge into the final days of classes, worship services, and various performances.
Black bears enjoyed the summer in great numbers, exploring trash cans and outdoor grills on their way to Flat Creek for bathing and play. If any conferees were eaten, we didn’t hear about it.
As bears crowded the woods, Ursa Minor, known also as Little Bear or the Little Dipper, roamed the heavens, dousing treetops with starlight. Our kids filled these cool evenings with glad song at the talent show and karaoke night.
Friday night’s Big Concert crowns the week.
Because they are less than an hour away, our parents and congregants drive up for this service.
Children and youth choirs sounded like angels. The intermediate bell choir rang like professionals. The advance bell choir rang like professional professionals. It’s hard for a bell choir to make a sad sound. Lilah and Emma beamed. They chimed pure joy.
The organ and brass ensemble joined the 200-voice adult choir for such a stirring arrangement of “How Great Thou Art” that Jim Cockerham, a retired saint from our flock, told his wife he wants that song sung at his funeral.
By the end of this unrepeatable night, I felt weepy, glad, and tired. I’m so proud of and thankful for our gifted young people.
Some of us wring our hands and complain that the world is going to hell in a hand basket.
On some days I agree.
But on the mountaintop this summer, I spent time with a community of all ages that marched to a different beat. They subscribed to a narrative marked by hope, not despair. Harmony rang true. Heaven felt near.
And they sang with all their heart.
Down here in the valley, I’m still encouraged.
The Rev. Matt Matthews is co-pastor with his wife, Rachel, of the Waldensian Presbyterian Church in Valdese. He may be reached at matt@waldpres.org.
