It was early on Friday evening, opening night, as I set out on the wooded trail which led to the Main Stage located roughly a mile or so from the community campsite that was to be my weekend home. Why anyone would drive for nine hours cramped together with six other people only to spend another 48 hours thereafter with thousands of unfamiliar people in the middle of cattle fields consisting of Pennsylvanian clay and cow manure escapes any sound psychology that I can offer. Yet, there I was. The venue was called “Creation Fest”; an annual Christian festival catering to the spiritual appetites of anyone who paid the cost of admission.
I felt the urge to exercise some colorful vocabulary only moments before as I battled setting up my tent and makeshift shower stall. It seemed to take an eternity and prevented my timely departure for the evening festivities with the rest in my group. Navigating the aftermath of recent torrential downpours and the serpentine trenches they etched into an already rugged landscape didn’t help any. The only shoes I had were the tattered Birkenstocks on my feet which were now firmly ensconced in the mud and sludge that would later serve as the platform for my bed. The weekend was off to a great start! Now, the task of negotiating the worn, rutted trail peppered with cattle mines strategically placed by several hundred head of blue ribbon Bovine loomed before me. Yeah man! I was here for an encounter with God!
Ordinarily my days are like yours, packed with demands and activities commanding every second of every minute of every hour. There are always schedules to make and keep, chores to accomplish, meals to prepare, counseling sessions to facilitate, arguments to win, some to start, campaigns to monitor . . . blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, the list is endless! I was here to relax and be re-energized from a life of striving that seems to plague me and everyone else I know. My question is “do we really relax when we ‘strive’ to do so?” Just wondering.
The afternoon heat gave its yield to the crispness of the evening air as the sun finished another shadow dance with the forest of hardwoods before me. The dusk that followed began contorting ordinary objects into illusory toys meant for my overactive imagination. Without warning, the silence around me became amplified and piercing. As the moments pounded by, a dreadful feeling, or what I would call one, overtook me. With most of the crowds having traversed the trail long before me, I suddenly felt as if I had been set apart and isolated, like the weakest calf in a herd of antelope stalked by a pack of whatever predators the hills around me concealed. To say the least, it was a bit unnerving! However, as I was soon to discover the “predator” did not have harm in His intention. The sensation lasted only a moment and was followed by one filled with calm.
As I listened closely I could hear a symphony of voices off in the distance as things got “underway.” I visualized a sea of people clapping, shouting and dancing on command as if they were instruments respondent to the rhythmic baton of Yannick Nezet Seguin as he conducted another brilliant performance of London’s Plilharmonic Orchestra. I was irritated, wet, muddy, late, but most importantly, missing it! As I harried my way through the woods something completely unexpected happened. I was engulfed with a sense that, had I taken one more step, something very valuable and irreplaceable would be forever lost.
While I searched for the closest and driest place to sit I spotted an old knotted trunk of an oak tree which had to be every bit of 150 years old. It didn’t afford much comfort but at least the foliage above protected the space below from the deluge that had recently fallen. Resting here, now, was not the spiritual retreat I had imagined Creation Fest to be, but I nonetheless sat down and rested my back upon the strength that a century and a half had invested in growing. My mind began to wander as I observed what I could see around me. With the daylight quickly seceding, my sight was increasingly diminishing. My breathing, while becoming progressively less laborious, was being refreshed by the soft wind which was rustling the leaves above me. I could feel my heartbeat starting to slow and my thoughts decelerate for the first time all day. It was a welcomed, albeit spontaneous, rest. My life has always been one programmed for the fast lane with never enough time to successfully accomplish my created lists of what must be done! Sitting in the middle of strange woods out in the middle of nowhere, in the dark for no apparent reason, in a strange state with no flashlight or anything else signaling my presence might seem a little weird. It was! It would most certainly shorten the life of anyone who might happen along who suddenly heard a voice, my voice, from behind the tree thunder “well, hello there.” I prayed hard that didn’t happen; mostly for my own safety! I never made it to my intended destination that night. Apparently my schedule was too . . . scheduled.
In our created retreats to “seek God” we tend to fill our time with regimented activities designed to facilitate, indeed stimulate our experiences and deepen our relationships with Him. For some reason we seem to be uncomfortable without some sort of program or liturgical blueprint masking and categorizing our interactions with Him and each other. For example, have you ever experienced awkward silence? What is it about silence that makes it so uncomfortable? Could it be our dependence, our “addiction” to fill every moment with stimulation in order to deflect our own vulnerabilities from being discovered or observed? Take away our notes and outlines containing our thoughts about God and we become as butterflies in a windstorm; no direction and no control. If it is the wind of God I say “let it blow!”
God created everything with one purpose and one purpose only, that His creation would reflect the majesty of His nature, the beauty of His holiness, and demonstrate the accessibility to His loveliness. Mankind is the only creature who strives to accomplish this feat. Ironically, our striving disqualifies us from achieving this very holy endeavor. What is the main ingredient for this failure? It is our insistence on reaching our destination. Sometimes, oftentimes, God wants to sit with us in the field. We just want to get to where we’re going!
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