At the many different white evangelical church camps I called home for nearly 25 years, there was one thing I could count on at the end of a long summer’s day: a progression of seven standard talks given over the course of a week-long camp.
Whether I sat on the concrete steps of the campfire pit as a camper, stood at the back of the room as a ropes course instructor, or boomed my voice from the front of the stage as the camp speaker, a theology embedded with hints of the Four Spiritual Laws and an adherence to the theory of penal substitutionary atonement was the common language we spoke.
Cara Meredith
Although the titles I now give to the seven talks hints to a bit of jest, the progression went as follows, both for me and for the nearly 50 people I interviewed:
Night 1: Welcome to camp!
Night 2: God the Mostly Father
Night 3: Superhero Jesus
Night 4: Dirty rotten little sinners
Night 5: Cry night
Night 6: Side note, rose again
Night 7: Now go and live the (white) way of Jesus
Often, the first night of camp was a bit of a warm-up, meant to “win over and change, to turn around and bend and transform.” Because the ultimate goal of camp was conversion, there often wasn’t a whole lot of theology or even “God talk” until the second night of camp, when God the Father was introduced.
As I write about in Church Camp: Bad Skits, Cry Night, and How White Evangelicalism Betrayed a Generation, though, when the image of God as a loving father becomes the only available image of God, then “it’s easy for a child (or an adult, for that matter) to think of and picture and believe in a sole image of God as male.”
This further perpetuates the patriarchy and notions of purity culture and is only exemplified by the male superhero of a Savior who arrives onto the scene the third night of camp.
When Jesus is introduced, he is, rightfully, the most attractive and winsome and kindest of all. But he is also too often the pawn used to keep some people in and other people out, and in this particular setting, to exclude those who do not fit a mold of straightness and heteronormativity.
As any storyteller also knows, though, good stories include elements of both conflict and resolution. Such is the case when pairings of the sin and the Cross are introduced to campers over a week at camp: a camp needs not be introductory or “seeker” in nature to include these basic elements of the Christian message. But because camp speakers often rely on an atonement theory that tends to get results, which is to say, conversions, the depths of human depravity have to be declared from the front of the stage — and then a remedy to that depravity which, in this scenario, can be found through Christ alone, has to be spoken by the one who proclaims the gospel.
As much as this is heralded as good news, it also often leaves campers feeling horrible about themselves. Not only are young people left feeling like worthless human beings, they also feel like they singlehandedly killed Jesus. As a result, they cry. They show big feelings. They have an emotional reaction to the message they hear.
“As much as this is heralded as good news, it also often leaves campers feeling horrible about themselves.”
Is it any wonder that wide swaths of adults are now leaving the religions of their youth? When emotional manipulation and groupthink are employed just to tell the story of Christ, it’s no wonder the equation stops making sense 10, 20 or even 30 years later.
Of course, on the penultimate night of camp, a big deal is made about the Resurrection — which is critical, because the Resurrection is absolutely the biggest deal of all when it comes to the Christian faith. But as I argue, “just as the Cross is an easier sell than the Resurrection, a night that should be about spiritual, wholehearted abundance too often serves as a foil to the ways of capitalism and to a different kind of wallet-driven abundance.” Instead, new life lends itself toward transactional, consumeristic conversations of faith.
Finally, on the last night (or morning) of camp, campers are invited to take camp home with them — to leave changed by the power of the risen Christ, not to lose their fire for Jesus, and to read their Bibles every day. While this is great in theory, too often the invitation into new life also comes with a heavy dose of assimilation and conformity.
None are more affected than children of color, “when conversion too often equates to conformity (and) conformity to values of whiteness found in white evangelical culture too often act as a betrayal to the beauty of God.”
Although the naysayers may disagree, I criticize this place called camp because I love this place called camp. Even if I think there’s a better way of proclaiming the gospel that is not dependent on conversion numbers, that shouts a message of belovedness from the One Who is Most Loving of All, and that celebrates, welcomes and embraces all through her doors, regardless of gender, sexuality or race.
Of this I think we all should agree.
Cara Meredith was raised in the American Baptist Churches in the USA but currently worships as an Episcopalian. She is a freelance author based in the San Francisco Bay Area. This column is adapted from the author’s new book, Church Camp: Bad Skits, Cry Night, and How White Evangelicalism Betrayed a Generation.