Revenge of Camp Stories: Sunday, July 25.

We got one new camper yesterday, and today more are arriving all day long, far more than we expected.  By the end of the day, enrollment will be at a record high of something like 115.  This afternoon, I'm in the Great Hall helping teacher Dianne compose lyrics for a song to be performed by staff in the Talent Show, and we're interrupted at least three times by the arrival of new campers who need to be escorted to someone who can deal with their paperwork.  I'm secretly grateful for the breaks.  (I'm good at doggerel, but I'm not good at collaborating on it, and Dianne and I have been taking turns being impatient with each other.  It's been difficult to convince her that a couple dozen reluctant staffers aren't going to be able to learn a full-speed parody of The Mom Song in less than three days.)

We've honestly had a dream cabin so far, despite having more campers than any other.  They may not always be the tidiest or the most punctual, but they're respectful to their counselors and compassionate to one another.  And the group was a size we've learned to manage.  But today we gain five additional girls (for a total of 23), and it feels like a delicate balance is upset.  We have to adjust not only to additional numbers, but to additional personalities.  One, in particular, I'm concerned about; there is a low-level sullen resistance that I fear will only escalate.

But we can deal.  We can stubbornly love her, and we can stubbornly uphold our standards.  God and Janet (the head women's counselor) will take care of the rest.

It's Sunday, so tonight is our second communion service.  We are back in the Great Hall, and the long folding table stands in the center of the room, with the slightly-less-than-life-sized cross on it.  Counselor Joe gives a few words of introduction; it occurs to me that it's rare (and therefore odd) to see him be so serious about anything.  Afterward, there is a long silent pause.  Finally, one tenuous female voice breaks it in song, and others join.  The song ends, another begins, and campers flow forward toward the cross, take bread and juice, and stand in small groups, arms around one another.  Some remain standing together for a very long time.  The room is filled with human voices, laughter, sobs.

Dianne grabs me and Joe, and we squeeze forward to a spot near the table.  Joe reaches in a long arm for three cups, then tears off a piece of flatbread and divides it with us.  There is that awkward moment where I wonder what comes next: is someone gonna pray, or should I just put this stuff in my mouth?  Dianne bows her head over her juice, so we both do the same.  After a moment, we all eat and drink.  I hug them both, and Dianne says, "It's good to share faith with those you love.  I think about you two more than you realize."

As we return to our seats, Joe's solemn demeanor finally cracks, and he mutters to me, "I hope that wasn't a matchmaking comment."  I agree, chuckling.  With Dianne, you never know.

The eddies and whirlpools around the cross continue.  The tone and tempo of the songs picks up, and they shed the lag with the shift from meditation to rejoicing.  It is hard to write while singing -- I have to write a letter, rather than a word, at a time -- but I must record this.  This, I feel, is what communion should be.  As Shane says: "Common unity.  Comm-unity."  Whatever we may be getting wrong here, we are getting this right.