Last summer, I was the sailing instructor most afternoons at marvelous Camp Imadene. Each week, I gained a small group of campers who came to love nothing more than sailing—except capsizing the boat, which they did at every opportunity. The experience led me to consider a rather enigmatic parable of Jesus.

Jesus once agreed with a lawyer that the two greatest commandments are to love God and love your neighbour. But the lawyer wanted to “justify” himself; that is, he wanted to make himself look good, or as the Message puts it, find a loophole. So, he asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbour?”

In response, Jesus told a story that has become the quintessential depiction of neighbourly love. But there is one problem: Jesus got the story all wrong.

It should have gone like this: A Samaritan is attacked and left for dead, and a Jewish man finds him. The Jewish man condescends to help the unfortunate fellow even though he is a hated Samaritan. This story would have answered the Pharisee’s question, Who is my neighbour? And this story would have justified his condescending posture toward lowly Samaritans, which is what he wanted.

Instead, Jesus told a very unexpected story, one in which a Samaritan—not a Jew—was the hero. And Jesus adjusted the question to this: Who was the neighbour? The Pharisee had to admit that if he was in trouble, he would want to be treated well, even if a Samaritan was the only guy around to do the job. It would be okay for a Samaritan to be his neighbour in dire need, even if in all other circumstances it would not.

As a sailing instructor, I was the captive audience of dozens of excited kids, most of whom had never sailed before. Some were easy to love. Big deal! Anyone can love the nice ones. What about the campers who were hard to love, the ones that—if I will admit it—I would rather not have with me on the boat? I would prefer not to have them as my neighbour—unless I was drowning.

Jesus’ parable says that such an attitude would prevent me from loving these campers, my neighbours. Until I am willing to be loved by unlovely people, I will never know how to do for others what I would have them do for me.

When Jesus told the lawyer, “Go and do likewise,” he didn’t mean for him to become a compassionate Samaritan. He meant that he should become a Jew who was willing to receive the compassion of a Samaritan. Only then could he learn to love his neighbour as himself.

What am I willing to have a difficult camper do for me if I am in need? Whatever answer I give to that question limits the level of love I can offer them.

Some Help For Your Tired Cabin Leaders

Book 3 in the Camp Liverwurst series is now available: Camp Liverwurst & the Fifth Sphere. A little delayed, as I had another book project earlier this year.

What is the Camp Liverwurst series? Not a curriculum, but a resource for cabin leaders, who often find leading cabin Bible discussions difficult. They can read aloud this adventurous novel to their middle-school campers, and discussion questions at the back will help them process all the biblical content. Imagine campers on the edge of their seats instead of swinging from the rafters!

Curious? Contact me with your mailing address and phone number to get a free sample for your camp. The best way to try it out is to read the story to a middle-school kid in your life and see how they respond.

Are middle-school campers too old to have someone read a story to them? Not at all! Educators say that we should read to kids right through their middle-school years to aid their reading skills and comprehension. And any parent can tell you about the special bond created when adults take the time to share an adventurous story with their kids.

Check out the series today! Also available as a compilation of all three novels in one book.

Our Incredible Camp Properties

I have been to many Christian summer camps and am always amazed at the stunning properties that God has provided for us. Sure, a few of our camps are a simple field with an above-ground swimming pool. But many are fabulous waterfront properties worth millions (or at least, with million-dollar views).

One of these is on a small, remote island on the West Coast of British Columbia. When I first visited Copper Island in Barkley Sound, it was owned by a man named Nelson Dunkin, who had lived there with his wife Mina for 19 years and, after her passing, remained for another 11 years. Their dream was to have a community of believers live there and operate a camp for children. When Nelson's health failed, he passed on his vision and his property to a newly formed society that has now run summer camps for First Nations children on the island for the past 35 years.

I decided that Nelson Dunkin's story is worth telling. I first met him in 1978 when I was working for a camp at the north end of the famous West Coast Trail. We would occasionally take campers to his island property to encourage him with our presence and complete a few chores. This past year, I interviewed dozens of people who knew Nelson, and I gathered up their stories, photos, letters and memories into a book.

The Island and i: Nelson Dunkin of Copper Island is now available, either by contacting me or online at Amazon. Proceeds from the book will go to help kids get to camp this summer who otherwise could not go.

Have you ever considered writing up the story of the person(s) through whom God gave you your amazing camp property?

Give Up On Weariness

Have you ever returned from a backpacking trip, sweaty, dirty and tired? You arrive back at the parking lot where you started, and there are all these clean people getting ready to set out. Their packs are trim and tidy, their boots aren’t muddy and they’re talking together excitedly. You try not to, but you kind of strut past them, wearing your dirt, your smell and your tired limbs like badges of honour. You’ve done it! These new guys have no idea what’s coming. You’re tired, but you’ve earned it!

I hope you feel that way right now: sweaty, trail-stained and tired—but wearing it like a medal. Three-quarters of the way into a summer of camp ministry, you are all veterans now, even if this is your first summer. Go ahead, strut a little!

 

But there is another kind of tired that I hope you’re not: the kind that’s not just tired, but tired of. Tired of late nights and early mornings. Tired of campers who don’t listen, a bunkmate who snores and maybe even camp food. This kind of tiredness is called “weariness,” and it’s a killer: it chokes motivation, dissolves empathy and derails good intentions.

 

Weariness is like that pair of shoes mom always threatens to throw away because they are so worn out and ugly. But so darn comfortable too. You can wallow in weariness and not realize it’s draining the life out of you. I wish tiredness on you, because you’ve earned it, but I would never wish weariness on you. Neither does God. His word says it straight out: “Don’t become weary of doing good...” Then it tells you why: “…because, at the proper time, you will reap a harvest, if you don’t give up” (Galatians 6:9).

 

The cool thing about a harvest is that it’s not one of those “you will get out of it only what you put into it” kinds of things. If you plant a bushel of wheat and—come harvest time—you gather only a bushel of wheat, you’re not much of a farmer. Whatever you plant, you should expect many times as much in return.

 

Here is how to defeat weariness! Look up and see the harvest that’s happening all around you. Every little act of kindness toward a camper produces something new and astonishing. Every frustration you have put up with was well worth the trouble. That’s because God takes everything we offer him and grows it into something much bigger and better.

 

So don’t give up! Instead, give up on weariness and embrace your tiredness. The return on your investment will be worth every effort made in Jesus’ name. Take time today to strut a little.