Finding Balance

This spring's theme was "Finding Balance in an Over-the-Top City" -- eerily reminiscent of last year's very timely (for me) "Life in Flux" topic. But since my "flux" last year was largely driven by my desire to find or achieve some level of balance in my life,* this year's retreat was somewhat less on-target for me.

This year, we piled into a luxurious chartered bus after indulging in a pizza dinner, then headed an hour north of the city to Holmes, a "550 acre camp and conference center set among pristine forests, lakes, cliffs, trails and wetlands in the hill country of northern Putnam County/southern Dutchess County in the lower Hudson River Valley," which is apparently owned by three Presbyteries of the Presbyterian Church (USA) within the Synod of the Northeast. Even though it was a Presbyterian retreat, we still had to pay to use the facility.

After some ice-breakers (involving animal noises and alliteration), the pinch-hitting Pastor Dave Carpenter welcomed us with Talk #1. He pointed out that our society's values are messed up, just as if somebody had snuck in while we weren't looking and switched all the price tags. Suspicious Sarah, Alliterative Alex, Cool Courtney, Dogmatic Devin, Jumping Jonathan, and I showed that our priorities were A-OK by wandering out to the field afterward to go look at the stars. Luckily one or two of the group spent a good portion of their "misspent youth" poring over astronomy, so they were able to point things out for the rest of us.

The next day, Pastor Carpenter (aka "Dave Dynamite" in the alliteration game) asked us to write our obituaries. That can be a scary thing to do out in the middle of nowhere, at the mercy of a religious leader that none of us had ever met before (he is not affiliated with FAPC), but luckily we had beautiful spring weather instead of the sinister weather that is de rigeur in the horror movies:


When we broke out into our small groups to discuss what we learned from this exercise, I discovered that I was not the only one who managed to avoid listing any accomplishments whatsoever in my obituary. Apparently, several of us expect to be known for who we are rather than what (if anything) we have done with our lives.

After lunch, we had some free time. I eschewed the "pick-up games" activity (remember this - it becomes significant later) in favor of the "nature walk". We at first went along a path I recognized from my morning trail run. Then, on the way back, I spotted a blue mark up on a rock above us on a reasonably steep hill. So I climbed up and looked around. I called down to people to let them know that there seemed to be a blue path, and there was also an easier way up. I then started to climb down to rejoin the group ... and realized everyone was climbing up the steep way. Thus began our grand adventure, as we kept our eyes peeled for random, faded splotches of blue that took us farther and farther away from our camp during the next hour or so. There was an element of faith involved here; I trusted that the people who put up the markers that led us up and around rocks and trees, across small valleys and bogs, and by deer blinds had some purpose in mind. Other people did not. But we certainly lived to tell about it. "All's well that ends well, I suppose."

At least it gave us something to be grateful for during the worship service. Dave Dynamite, Jurassic Julie, and Radical Russell led us in music. It was really fun to sing "Joyful, joyful we adore thee," although our musicians made the mistake of trying to bring the song to an end after the third verse. We rebelled and insisted on singing the fourth verse.

The eucharist was moving, as we served each other the bread and cup face-to-face, by name. We also watched a clip from Les Miserables - I'm sure I've seen it as a standalone short story called "The Bishop's Candlesticks", maybe in an elementary school reader - to focus on the transformative power of forgiveness. A bishop welcomes a man recently released from prison into his home, and provides him with food and shelter. The ungrateful guest sneaks away early in the morning, taking the silver utensils with him. The constables apprehend him and bring him back, with his loot, to the bishop's house -- and the bishop asserts that the silverware was a gift, criticizing the man only for having "forgotten" the silver candlesticks (which he then adds to the bag of loot). The expression of the ex-prisoner is extraordinary: he is bewildered, even frightened, by this unexpected grace; he even looks to some extent betrayed. He has never seen or heard of this radical generosity, lies in the service of good, and doubtless he is afraid of what this will mean for him. What will he have to do, what will he have to become, once he accepts this inexplicable, life-saving gift?

Sunday afternoon, back in the city, we won a game against last year's softball champs. My teammates all played really well; apparently while I was off following the blue trail for the "nature walk", the rest of my teammates all threw themselves into batting practice. Me, I managed to hit the ball a few feet and got tagged out before I got to first. I probably needed the practice more than anyone else to begin with, since I haven't played softball in literally 10 years.

I took action shots of everyone at bat, though my slow camera wasn't entirely up to the task. This one (of Luminous Lucas) has to be the coolest: