Matthew Sasser | Planting a mustard seed
Aug. 4—For most people, a trip to the beach or a journey abroad is the most prized travel destination for a relaxing and well-deserved vacation.
Last week, I instead traveled back to Westview on the James, a summer camp in Goochland, Virginia, that I have the privilege to work at from 2013 to 2019. While COVID derailed my last planned summer there in 2020, I've been fortunate to be able to spend one fleeting week at the camp each summer for the past three years (it certainly helps a little that my twin brother, Mitchell, is now the program director at the camp).
It will never quite feel the way it used to when I would spend ten weeks straight at the camp, only returning home for a few hours on Saturday to do some laundry. Years ago, I was surrounded by some of my best friends that I remain close with to this day, constantly greeted by campers that I remember seeing year in and year out. One of the best feelings is when a camper remembers you from a previous summer, fondly recalling a moment in time that can bring a smile to their face in an instant.
Upon my return, it's many of those faces that I knew as 10-year-olds that I'm now leading with, now teaching a generation even further removed from my own age the same goofy songs and funny games that I remember. It's striking to me that when I turned 26 in the middle of the week (and Happy Birthday was sung Westview style to me and my brother, which basically just entails a lot more screaming) that a lot of the counselors that I was working with (18-19) were closer in age to the campers (anywhere from 6 to 15) than I was to the other counselors.
As much as I enjoy my return visits to camp, there will always be a tinge of sadness. No longer can I spend an entire summer planning new activities or funny ideas with my best friends to give campers the best week of not just their summer, but their entire year. My week at camp ends when all of the campers leave Friday afternoon; it's hard to make a difference in a week, but I certainly try.
Some of the activity locations change; the schedule always looks slightly different; there's new faces, counselors and campers alike. But the ethos of what makes a summer camp one of the most magical places on Earth remains. I'm so thankful that for any sort of small boost of energy I could provide in my brief appearance. Once this column is published, there will be one final week for all of the staff at camp before another chapter is closed in the 57-year history of Westview.
On Sunday, that first night of camp, we hold a worship service. It's not much — a few songs led by small team of musicians. Our ministers in residence offer a preview of what may be shared in our Bible lessons. Among a nervous group of 160 campers, there is excitement, but also trepidation and homesickness.
On Thursday, the final night of camp, we hold a final worship service. It follows much of the same routine as only four days prior, but there's a palpable difference. Yes, that homesickness may not have fully resolved, and yes, those youngest campers probably want to crawl into bed than stay up any longer, but everything has changed.
In just five days, full of laughter, making new friends, creating life-long memories, trying something beyond what you thought you were capable of doing, breaking out of the same routine at home — it makes that final night so much more impactful. Those cabin mates who were strangers days ago are now clinging their arms to each other as they sing.
That Thursday night, when we repeat "Reckless Love" from the Sunday setlist, lyrics that may have seemed hollow on the first night have come alive since then. Meaning has been granted to those words, shouted by a chorus of 160 young campers, because their experience at camp made them see the words in action. "Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending reckless love of God" sung with timidity on the first night, is shouted with wild abandon, a certain reckless energy that only camp can harness and suddenly unleash.
Summer camp is so special to me because in such a small amount of time, big things can happen. From Matthew 13:31-32 — The Kingdom of Heaven is like a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field; which indeed is smaller than all seeds but when it is grown, it is greater than the herbs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in its branches.
Whenever I open my favorite Bible, given to me at my first week as a camper at Westview in 2009, there's a mustard seed taped to the inside. The pages are weathered, but that's what make it so special, having survived many trips to the lake and being stuffed into my belongings on each return visit to Westview.
A week at camp is so insignificant, but it's where I've seen some of the biggest changes — in myself, in long-time and first-time campers, in other counselors. Through all the drudgery — dealing with eight-year-olds and their infinite questions, suffering the exhaustion from essentially working from 7:00 a.m. to midnight, walking miles a day, showcasing constant positivity and radiance that must be on display at all times — it can seem like we're not making a difference. But through it all, our job is so important. We're introducing 1,300 campers each summer to the message of salvation through Jesus Christ, and we get to have fun while doing it.
My time at Westview last week was so short, but I know that the overall impact from the Westview staff on all of those campers was so unfathomably greater than we can imagine. It's not the water trampoline or the high ropes course that is the best part of the week, it's the memories and experiences made between newfound friends in an wholly new and different environment than what we're accustomed to. And most importantly, we are planting that small mustard seed.
