Sunday Sermon notes, family reunion and Sumatanga

It was a full week-end. So full that there was no sofa time for coffee on Saturday.

This morning Rev. Matt Smith of Taylorville UMC (just off Highway 69 South, 640 Bear Creek Rd., Tuscaloosa, Alabama, worship at 9 and 11 every Sunday) told us about the story of Jesus' miracle on the way to a miracle in Mark 5.   Mostly he talked about the power of touch.

Which got me to thinking, which is a good thing for a sermon to do. And there was plenty of time to think on the drive from T-town to Camp Sumatanga, which is about (actually exactly, unless other conditions intervene) an hour and a half long.

I spent the week-end at Sumatanga.  Sumatanga is a Himalayan word for "a place of rest and vision."  There was a lot to see and do there this week-end, but the rest part will have to wait for the next visit.

The Bynum family invaded the camp in Greasy Cove this week-end.  The descendents of Jasper and Beulah Bynum drove in from such remote places as Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, Florida, Montgomery, Birmingham, Hartselle, and Oneonta.

It was quite a wonderful crowd.

I slept an average of six hours each night, and I don't think I was far off the average.  There were too many conversations to have, songs to sing, games to play, snacks to eat, cups of coffee to drink, and names to remember or learn to waste time on sleep.

And there were hugs of all varieties.  Manly hugs that began with a handshake and culminated in a back slap. Sideway hugs, especially for the first timers. Wrap around hugs. Gentle hugs.  Stooping down hugs for the youngest among us.

It is much easier to keep up with cousins than it used to be. Email and facebook make it fairly easy to know who is born, pregnant, graduating, engaged, married,  newly employed, having health problems, travelling, loving cute kitten videos . . .

But, there is something to this touch thing that Matt was talking about this morning.

There is something about being close enough to touch, to look into a face that you haven't seen for awhile, to hear a voice that reveals as much about life through it's intonation as it does the words that it carries. Music from the throat, from hands on strings, and from the heart.

And laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.  LOL or even LMAO just isn't doesn't quite stack up.

So, I loved being with the Bynum family this week-end.

And I loved being at Sumatanga again.  Saturday morning a few of us went for a walk.  A walk in the water of the creek that feeds the lake, when there is not a hole in the dam, but that's a different story for a different metaphorical point.  It was already getting hot, and the cold water of the spring fed creek was good medicine  for the body.  Camp looks different from that point of view.  Sort of like looking at it from a very personal place, from the inside out.

We slipped and slid as we walked a few hundred yards upstream under a sheltered canopy of green, walled with occasional pillars of limestone.  We paused along the way to examine turtles, frogs, plants and rusted frames of old chairs that someone probably lost years ago and didn't tell anyone.  And then we got to the old swimming pool.

The old swimming pool, for which the "pool camp" is named, is not in use as a swimming pool anymore.  The dam on the creek was removed years ago.  But there is still a deep enough pool to swim in, so we did.  And so did little fishes, frogs, tadpoles, crayfish (or crawfish, I'm never sure how that really goes) and all sizes of turtles, probably a couple of snakes, but we didn't see them.  Ignorance was good in that situation.

We visited with some camp friends (human) along the way, and then walked on the trail back to reunion central.

It was time for lunch.  It seemed like it was always time to eat something.  My shorts and shirt were still cool and wet from the walk/swim, and I had to leave my sand and gravel filled shoes in the sun to dry.  I didn't change clothes for awhile.  The cool creek water that remained was refreshing and I wanted to enjoy it a little longer.

There are photographs in camp brochures that show the creek and the beautiful plants and rock formations that line its course.

But sometimes you just need to go. To be there. To touch, and listen, and see.

From the inside out.


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