Cloudy day . . .

I just got back from Camp Sumatanga. I was there for only a couple of hours for the beginning of a Walk to Emmaus.

Sometimes, especially in times of stress, I withdraw into myself. I think that is part of our natural self-preservation instincts left over from the ancient days when food was scarce and we had to fend off wolves and weather with jawbones of dead animals and rock outcroppings. Every (person) for him or her self.

When in the self-preservation mode my eyes never get too far from the ground under my next step.

But occasionally something makes me lift my eyes. Camp Sumatanga and Walks to Emmaus are two of those things. I am doubly fortunate because I get to be at both on nights like this.

The main thing I miss when my gaze is fixed on my feet is that great cloud of witnesses that surround me. I think Paul the Apostle coined that phrase "great cloud of witnesses." I am not sure whether he was talking spiritually, like the spirits of saints who have died, or physically, like the people who are very much alive that surround us and support us. Some of you theologians feel free to post a comment-ary if you wish.

Tonight at the Walk to Emmaus at Camp Sumatanga it didn't matter which way the phrase is supposed to be interpreted. I was blessed to look up and experience both. There was a preacher who I knew before he was a preacher, just a motorcycle driving, guitar hacking elementary school principal. A couple of Sundays ago he preached in a Superman costume. There was another preacher I knew before he was a preacher whose heritage is Barbecue. He has a singing voice like none I've ever heard. I have heard foghorns that were similar. Another preacher was there that could be Kevin Bacon's lost twin. They all made me laugh just seeing them again. But there were times in my life when they all touched my heart. They still do.

There were non-preachers there too, thank God. A beautiful woman who I once shared a dressing room with. And she can sing too. A wordsmith who could turn a phrase on a dime, and write a poem to make you laugh or make you cry or both, quicker than I could find a clean sheet of paper. There were many I had sung to and sung with, creating music like none I have heard anywhere else. Others who had laid hands on me and prayed, sometimes when I could not pray for myself.

And the spiritual cloud was hanging around too. A dry-witted preacher who was very much a kindred spirit and supportive co-leader. An old rock and roller CPA who helped me learn how to lead music (I've still got a banjo he gave me. I still can't play it). A grizzled old grandfather who began his talk about Christian Action with the words, "If you pray for potatoes, you better grab a hoe." A retired railroad engineer who used to place his hands on my shoulders with grip like a steel vice and pray. And many, many more. Such a great cloud.

Even in my stress mode, I sometimes can vaguely feel the great cloud of witnesses, living and dead, that surround me, supporting me, loving me. But the thing about clouds, you gotta look up to see them. And when you do, oh what a beautiful sight.


For more information on Camp Sumatanga http://www.sumatanga.org/

For more information on the Alabama Walk to Emmaus http://www.alaemmaus.org/main.htm