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06/27/10 - (2)
Sunday Morning Services at the Shrine
Set amidst a remote grove of a dozen or so white pines, Each a hundred feet old, at least, Is the camp's sacrosanct secular shrine, Where, at 10:30 every Sunday morning, For a mythic litany of decades, The boys and staff have gathered, to commune with quietude, Listen to a speaker disclose possibilities for achieving spirituality, If one just takes time to embrace nature's gentle suasions And make friendships that will endure the years.
That I find myself sitting here, in this hallowed space, During this first Sunday service of the eighty-second season, Is a benediction of formidable significance to me, And I'm honored to be introduced, at the outset, To this hushed convocation of youthful souls, By the respectful director, who asks me my vital statistics. "Swamper Four, 1951," I reply, with wistful pride. I provide a bridge to the camp's epic history, Over which continuity commutes, on its passage back and forth.
For the next twenty-five nurturingly worded minutes, We worship in our own inner temples, Opening our hearts to the simple complexities Requisite to building self-respect, rectitude, compassion — Attributes that engender, in boys, the strengths of decent men. Then, silence reasserts its dominance. We leave the shrine, enlightened, revitalized, redefined, unified, The boys and counselors returning to their cabins, I to mine, Each of us a piece of the mystique that connects our destinies.
06/27/10 - (2)
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