A sermon for St. Peter Lutheran Church, Denver
The year is 2006 and I am a
sophomore at Augustana College in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I am sitting in my
dorm room, booting up the old desktop computer and navigating over to the
National Lutheran Outdoor Ministries Association website to apply for a summer
camp counselor position. At the time, this is how it was done if you wanted to
work for a Lutheran summer camp. I didn’t even know at the time that this was the
Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod consortium of camps, but I also didn’t care,
because I only wanted to work at one camp: Lutherhaven. The previous summer I
had my first taste of summer camp leadership attending a youth service camp at
Shoshone Base Camp in the panhandle of northern Idaho, and I was dying to go
back to see what this summer camp thing was all about.
Now,
here’s how I know this was a lifetime ago: Many of those places I just named
have different names. Augustana College, now Augustana University. Shoshone
Base Camp, now Shoshone Mountain Retreat. Youth service camp, now Idaho Servant
Adventures. I suddenly feel kind of old.
But
I’m not so old that to have forgotten the interview I had for that camp
counselor position with Rebecca Smith, the Program Director at Lutherhaven (now
Executive Director)—probably my first real interview for a job in my life. I
remember her asking me a very straightforward question that took me aback.
“What is a Bible verse that is meaningful to you?”
By
some grace of God, I didn’t freeze. In fact, almost before I knew it, I was
blurting out, “If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and
take up their cross and follow me.” I probably read that the week before or
something. Jesus—to Peter—in today’s scripture. Like any good leader, Rebecca didn’t
stop there. “Why that verse?” she asked. “Because being a Christian is about
doing hard things.” I said, or something like that. I guess that was good
enough—or they were desperate for male staff—because I got the job—and because
of that job, I am with you today, because boy, did I fall in love with outdoor
ministry out there on Lake Coeur d’Alene.
Nearly
two decades later, I am no longer thrilled with the response I gave to Rebecca
Smith. I was right that camp was going to be hard. It was going to test me in
ways I never imagined. At times, it hurt; at times, it made me feel unworthy.
It was also meaningful and wonderful and a place where I connected with God and
made lifelong friends.
But you know what?
It was never my cross.
I have come to realize something simple that I should have seen two decades ago: Your cross is not a hard thing that you can overcome through strength of will, gumption, and maybe a little help from God. Your cross will do one thing and one thing only—it will kill you. To take up your cross is to walk willingly toward death, which means it is nothing like any of the things we sometimes jokingly, sometimes seriously consider our crosses to bear. Your children are not your cross. The reality that your children are fragile—that they will someday die? That might be your cross. Your work is not your cross. Your family is not your cross—not even if they are kind of a rough crew. Your cross is not something you can look back upon and say, “Man, that was hard.” Rather, your cross is the thing from which there is no coming back. Your cross is the thing that will bring you to your knees.
At
first, this sounds like really bad news, doesn’t it? You might be wondering:
Why is the guy who is coming here looking for help in renovating Cedar Lodge
and to get more campers to come to camp preaching about how impossible it is to
bear the cross? It’s a bold strategy. But here is what I believe: Camp is for
truth-telling. Camp lays bare who we really are—not who we wish to be. At camp,
we are honest and admit we are fragile, we are temporary, and no matter how
hard we try, we cannot keep everyone we love in bubble wrap, safely tucked
away.
BUT
it does not end there. When we name our calling to follow Jesus with crosses in
tow, then we get to do something extraordinary: We get to live! Sure, we are
walking toward Golgotha, but so is everything in life. The freedom of a
Christian is the freedom to know where you are heading and to revel in joy on
the way there. It is to never have to justify yourself, because Christ has done
that for you. Then, what is left when we have left it all to Jesus? We get to
play! We get to stand in wonder of the world around us, living life, not for
cowering in fear. We can be bold and joyful and free. When I see kids running
around Ewalu, that’s what I see—bold, joyful, free kids discovering they are
known and loved by a God who has chosen them and loves them and bears the cross
for them.
