I often think about the power of voice. Many people use verbal language to communicate each day, and the ways in which we use language, both formal and informal, carry innate power. We choose how to talk about ourselves and how to talk about and to others. Voices are also used for singing, which is one of the most powerful ways we connect as humans. I had the pleasure of serving at Camp Wakon’Da-Ho in Kentucky for a week, and what stood out to me most during this time was the way everyone around me used their voices to uplift each other through conversation and worship.
The first way I immediately heard voices moving at camp was in the constant words of affirmation campers and counselors alike had for each other. Upon arriving, I heard the words spoken to me and to many others: “I’m glad you’re here.” This was a sentence spoken with complete sincerity that also seemed to say: “You will always have a place here.” The amazing thing about these words was that I didn’t stop hearing them throughout the entirety of the week. This was not only a beginning-of-week affirmation, but one that was repeated again and again. Even on the very last day, I heard and participated in the exchange of the phrase, “I’m glad you came this week.” There were countless moments of rejoicing in each other’s presence, of making it known that we were glad to be together. You might think that this repetition would bring the words less meaning over time, but it did quite the opposite: as I continued to hear them each day, I felt more and more at home. I felt like my presence at camp was fully valued, like I was perfect just as I was. I was able to look around and know that every other person at camp was perfect, too. What a blessing it is to be in community with people who affirm you so often, who are able to make all your worries disappear with a simple phrase. I’m glad you’re here.
To preface the second way I experienced the power of voices during this week, I have a confession: I have always disliked most praise music. This could be because I prefer traditional hymns, or maybe because the praise band at one of my childhood churches (whose location I will not be revealing!) played songs that did not always reflect my personal theology. All this is to say, I did not expect to be as moved as I was by the music we sang in the vespers services. And yet I was. I had the opportunity to play guitar alongside Rob Shrader, the incredible man directing worship at Wakon’Da-Ho. Rob taught me a few songs that I’d never heard before and reminded me of ones that I had. Some of these songs fell into that praise category that I tend to dislike, but actually playing them in front of a group of campers and hearing the passion in their voices made me realize that these songs were much more than their lyrics. They were songs that the campers have been singing for several years. They were songs that allowed everyone to sing as quietly or as loudly as they felt led. They were songs that, above all, connected campers closely to God. I found myself overwhelmed by the message of the music as I strummed each chord, as I closed my eyes to better pick out the voices of the youth as they came together in the sacred space of Vespers. I also got to see each night at the campfire how much the campers adored Rob. They would shout out song requests or join in when they heard him playing something they knew. He lit up every space he was in, facilitating a time for community music that made everyone feel safe and loved.
One of my favorite songs I learned was unaccompanied by instruments and was sung each day at least once. Its chorus features a call and response between lower and higher voice, joining in unison for the last line:
Light the fire (light the fire)
In my soul (in my weary soul)
Fan the flame (fan the flame)
Make me whole (make my spirit whole)
Lord You know (Lord You know)
Where I've been (where I've been)
So light the fire, in my heart again.
I was struck by the beauty in this song’s simplicity and the conviction with which the campers sang it. The song was especially impactful when we sang it gathered around a literal fire. Each time it was sung, I looked around at the way the light from the flames illuminated the faces of the youth. They looked at the ground, at the sky, at each other–but no matter where they were looking, their eyes were full of devotion. I could see the fire they were singing about burning within them all week. I hope that fire lights the way on all of their separate journeys. May it never burn out.
There was a third voice that was revealed to me this week. This one was a voice within me, one that I hadn’t heard yet. It surprised and moved me beyond explanation. It first appeared to me on the last full day of camp, when I was sitting with a few campers in the shade of a big tree. We were watching the riveting Human Foosball tournament play out in the distance and discussing future career goals when I was asked what I wanted to do after college. I said teaching was the route I had been on for a while and mentioned offhandedly that being a youth minister might be cool. One of the girls sitting near me looked at me and said, “If you were my youth minister, I would go to every single youth group meeting you had.”
It was the brightest, sunniest day we had had all week, but I felt like a light had been turned on.
I have never seriously considered ministry as a possible career path. It’s always been something I admired in my dad and the other ministers in my life, something separate from my own goals of teaching. It’s never felt like something that is for me. But here, looking into the eyes of this high schooler who looked back in total sincerity, I thought: Maybe this could be for me. Maybe it IS.
This thought was joyful, scary, uncertain. It was many emotions that I can’t even name. All I knew for sure was that there was a voice inside me, telling me that this was worth exploring and that God would be with me through it all. I walked back to my cabin in a daze. I am grateful for that camper who spoke a new possibility into being. If she ever reads this, I hope she knows how much her words changed me.
When it came time for our final vespers service that night, I was still turning all of this over in my mind. I watched Rob and the small group leading the service that night play music and began to cry, as I had the previous two nights. There’s something about worshiping in nature that is so utterly holy. Tonight was particularly beautiful. Before we did communion, the four ordained ministers at camp stood in front of the table. These ministers were Rob, camp director (and former Peace Intern!) Mike McColl, keynoter Mike Gatton, and counselor (and former Peace Intern!) Dan Lyvers. They invited anyone who had felt a call to ministry to come up to the front so they could be prayed over. Still in tears, I found myself walking to the front. I was embraced by the ministers and the campers who came to the front as well. We received the prayer with our hands turned upward in a gesture of receiving. As I hugged Dan before returning to my seat, he whispered: “Keep listening.”
Once a Peace Intern, always a Peace Intern!
Thank you, Dan. I’m going to carry this message with me through the rest of the summer and through my life. And thank you, Camp Wakon’Da-Ho. Each and every one of you changed me far beyond my expectations. You nurtured me as if I were an old friend. You sang with me to bring me closer to our all-loving God. And you taught me the power of my voice in a new context. I hope to return one day.
Readers, I’m glad you’re here. I pray that your voices will always be valued by those who know you and those who might not know you yet. Wherever you are in your journey, know that you are children of God and that you are loved. You are a gift to this world in your very existence.