| A Tale of Two Vacation Bible Schools |
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During the past few weeks, I was lucky enough to help lead two summer day camp programs for children. The two programs lasted one week each. The curricula featured "stations" that the children visited in sequence for games, for arts and crafts, etc. Each day began and ended for both with a spirited, song-filled gathering time. Both were enthusiastically attended by large groups of truly wonderful kids. Both were blessed with amazing staff, which included great teenage counselors. Where my two "VBS" experiences were alike in many ways, it was in the differences that I learned the most about the mysterious and incredible ways God works through each of us, everywhere and every day. "Camp Creation" took place right here at Christ's. The attending children were brought daily by their loving parents, dressed nicely, well rested, and well fed. They played, happy and carefree, with each other and the counselors they came to love. Their young voices, raised together in prayer and song, were a delight to hear. The Parents' Night program was a big hit, the church filled with proud family members celebrating the events of their camper's special week. The other camp took place over a thousand miles from Christ's, in a desolate and isolated community called Two Strike, on the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota. Two Strike faces the same problems that plague the whole reservation: rampant alcoholism, unemployment, depression, and despair. Daily, a large assortment of Lakota children of all ages waited outside the decrepit community center as our team of leaders drove up. Few parents were ever in sight. The 10- year olds held tiny siblings on their backs, the 5- and 6-year olds arrived alone, having traveled from one of a collection of tumble down houses that lined the community's single, winding road. These children came to camp hungry. They came to camp exhausted. Many of them arrived dirty, wearing the same clothes day after day. Some also wore fresh bruises and cuts from beatings they had received the night before. Because their toys were normally sticks, and the mangy dogs they played with in the road, these children clutched their new markers and crayons with wonder. While there were planned activities throughout the day, they would have been content to sit and draw, or be carried around by the teenage counselors. These children needed massive amounts of love, and they soaked up the care and attention they received like flowers in the sun. We couldn't call our Two Strike Camp a Bible school, indeed were asked not to mention Christ at all. Many of these families bore the scars of the Christian boarding schools, where their ancestors had been systematically abused, stripped of their language, their culture, and their dignity. The deeply beautiful and profound Lakota spirituality had, until recently, been practiced underground. Now they are beginning to reclaim this part of their heritage, and do not want another kind of religion forced on their children. We didn't sing about God, but I have never felt His presence more strongly than in that small, dusty building. We never mentioned Jesus by name, but our teenagers fully lived their faith that week, bringing nourishing food, playing games, telling stories, and most importantly, hugging and holding the poor little ones who are so very close to His heart. None of us who were there will ever forget them: Baby Joe, Taytum, Sonny, Ashke-win, Outlaw, Skyla. They will haunt our dreams. Will they have a chance, even a chance for a decent future? I think they will, because Someone has brought them into our lives, Someone who loves them more than we do. Jesus loves the little children. All the children of the world. |
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