Only one way down...

Back in the dark ages, when I was a camp counselor at a sports camp, I was part of the outdoor adventure team (don't laugh).  We did rock climbing, rappelling, a ropes course, canoeing, snorkeling, and archery.  At least, those are the sports I remember best.  I panicked with snorkeling, finding myself terrified beneath the water.  However, I was a really good archer even on those kid bows, so that made up for my snorkling weakness.

Rappelling we did both on cliffs and on a tower.  The tower we had at the camp, and we had a simple rule which guided all activity:  If you climb the stairs, you must rappel down.  No one was forced to climb the stairs, but we did not allow campers to walk back down the stairs once they crossed a solid white line painted on the first section of steps.  They needed to learn how to trust.  They needed to learn how to face their fears.  They needed to learn how to have faith.  As you might have guessed, this often meant we spent hours waiting for campers to conquer their fear.  In fact, someone would always check the tower near dinner time to see if the counselors on belay would need to have their meals brought to them.

I have been thinking about the time I spent up on the tower, refusing to let terrified youth climb back down the steps.  Now, with rappelling, that first lean-back can actually be the worst moment of your entire rappelling existence.  More times that can be counted, those terrified youth would race back the stairs as soon as their feet touched the ground because, fear now conquered, they discovered they loved rappelling.  Knowing the scope of the battle fought and won, we never refused a second or third descent.  However, this was a Christian sports camp.  Just where was the Gospel in terrifying children, making rappelling a law, calling them failures, and teaching them that there are no second chances, that there is no room for error in knowing what you are capable of, that there is no acceptance of weakness, that they are responsible for trust and faith and even courage?

We were not loving those children.  We were not giving them forgiveness.  We were not showing them mercy.  We were not teaching them that Christ's faith was what mattered, not their own strength of will.  We were wrong...terribly, horribly wrong.

If a child struggles with something she wants to do, say learning to ride a bike, I believe it is acceptable to allow her extra time to try and fail and try and fail and try and fail if she really wants to stick it out for a while. I do believe that a parent should also encourage him to be willing to let the process rest for a bit and come back another day, to let him know that is not only acceptable but a good thing.  However, it is just plain cruel to make a child stay outside on the bike until she masters the skill.

This camp was in central Texas...in the summer.  Youth were left baking in the sun and bitten into the long hours of the evening. Yes, we had a water cooler up top the tower, but forcing a child to stick with a decision is not giving her love and is certainly not giving him Gospel.

Even though this happened a lifetime ago, even though I was merely following the rules of my employers, even though I know I have always been good with children, my time up on the tower shames me.

Force has been a topic on my mind of late.  Simply put, I do not believe people understand just how often we force others to do things under the guise of wanting what we believe is best for them.  Now, I do not mean those things which fall under true training of discipline.  For example, expecting a child to learn to clean his room, to brush her teeth, to wash his hands after using the bathroom, to do her homework, to fulfill commitments, etc. in is not forcing a child.  Nor am I advocating to make children equal partners or to have a part in the main decision-making processes of the household.  Learning obedience is important.  I see far too many parents negotiating with their children, especially about behavior, whilst shopping or with company or even church.  A parent needs to be able to give directions that will be followed and to have a necessary no be accepted.  Questioning is a part of the learning process, but so also is obedience.  However, do we ever stop to consider that requiring participation in social activities or interactions, from a child or an adult, is merely another type of force?

I was recently asked if I would be willing to take a self-defense class, one especially for those who are disabled.  Never, before a short while ago, would I ever even consider such a notion.  I have too many fears and too much social angst.  However, the facilitator told me that if I came, I could just watch.  No one would touch me if I did not want that to happen.  No one would ask me to touch another.  I would not be cajoled or bullied or forced to participate.  I would be given complete freedom to choose what I would like to do, even if my choice was merely to watch.  That concept boggled my mind, when I think of all the cajoling and bullying and forcing I have had, especially as a shy child, especially as--what I know understand myself to be--an introvert adult.

When I was in the eighth grade, my parents picked me up and took me on a surprise canoeing trip with Sierra Club, I believe.  We were completely inexperienced.  The first night, a fierce rainstorm dramatically changed the class of the river. The next day, we were nearly drowned after capsizing when a wall of flood water washing down the river overtook us.  That moment was terrifying.  The day was terrifying.  And there are many things about water I have hated ever since.

I hated white water rafting, the cold and the terror of it, yet I had to go each time our family went.  I hated the way my parents sailed, boat tilted precariously while riding the wind with wide open sails, but that was the way I had to sail when our family went.  I was not interested in rafting, but I would have savored a more tranquil sail, less trim of the jib and mainsail.  To be fair, I am not sure my parents understood my terror, but neither did I have a choice in much of those experiences.

From elementary school to college to the workplace, I have found myself in situations where others decided what was best for me and what I felt or thought or wanted was dismissed.  I did not learn as a child to speak up for myself or to set boundaries of my choosing, but never was I taught or shown that doing so would be welcome and acceptable and safe.  Nor is such much welcome now.

Often that force comes in the guise of tough-love rules like the white line on the stairs of the rappelling tower, once crossed, that forced children and teenagers to battle their fear until they succeeded in conquering it.  Or being a part of the team, going to office Christmas parties and interacting with drunken colleagues or listening to music that offended you or flail about the dance floor when you would rather sit. Or attending the coffee "hour" at church and holding conversations with strangers. Or allowing others to touch you, to hug you, to sit close to you, requiring--as a friend most brilliantly pointed out--a type of intimacy even before you are ever intimate with that person.  All these things are about yourself, about fixing yourself, about changing yourself, about having the needs/choices/opinions of others matter more than yours, about fitting in for the sake of community.

There I was at a Christian camp and the entire focus, really, was about self-sufficiency, self-identity, and self-worth.  We were in the business of developing youth, of building up self-esteem, and it did not matter if we terrified them in the process.  We deemed such good for them.

The only terror in the Christian faith is terror over sin, the wages of sin.  Period.  There is no fear in Jesus' life, death, and resurrection--all experiences and trials He endured for us since He had no need of salvation, of forgiveness, of eternal life.  The Law does crush us, kill us.  The Law is designed to drive us to Jesus, but we are never left crushed, never left dead.  Instead, we are left with our weaknesses being used by God to retain His Gospel among people.  We are left with love and trust and faith given to us.  We are left with our inability to find the words to pray, our groanings, carried by the Holy Spirit and Jesus to God anyway, made perfect for us, made completely understood.  We are left with being accepted as whatever member of the body we find ourselves to be, even the big toenail, for all members are needful and valued and loved.  We are left with being daily and richly forgiven for our sins for Christ's sake.  We are left with never having to rely on our own strength or understanding or even faith.  We are left with never being condemned in our weaknesses, in our foibles and failures and sin, but being completely and utterly exonerated.  Again, all is given to us.  We are blessed when we are poor in spirit.  We are blessed when we mourn.  We are blessed when we are weary and doubting and despairing because it is not about us, but about Jesus, because His power is made perfect in our weakness. We are left with Jesus...His faith...His trust...His courage.

The Gospel we should have given those campers would have been allowing them to attempt the tower as many times as they wished, but also giving them the freedom to turn back.  The Gospel we should have given those campers is teaching them the true worth in the moment was not that their own strength or courage mattered, but that the strength and courage of the cross would always prevail, that as sinners, we will always turn back from the cross, but Jesus being without sin and loving us even before we could love Him, willingly bore it for our sake. The Gospel we should have given those campers should have been that even if they never once found the courage to rappel down the tower they were still forgiven and loved and cherished and even respected as a child of God made perfect in their baptism.  There is no failure in faith for never rappelling down the tower.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being. In Him was life, and the life was the Light of men. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. ~John 1:1-5


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!