7/26/23

All this talking about camp meetings and singing all the camp meeting music has gotten me feeling sentimental! I’m not one to dwell on the “good old days” . . . but those certainly were good old days.

I’ve been to camp meetings all over the country from Kansas’ Liberal Camp Meeting (it was everything but liberal!) to the Buncombe Camp Meeting way back in the mountains of Western North Carolina. I’ve played for camp meetings all over the eastern US at camp grounds named  “Liberty,” or  “Zion’s Hill,” often on the shores of a “Yellow Creek Lake” or a “Silver Lake,” with clusters of colorful cottages people owned or rented as they attended their state camp meeting.  Because back before Disney and Gulf Shores became the summer destinations of choice, this was how many church folks spent at least one week of their vacation.

For years I played piano for the state camp meeting in central Kentucky. It was always in July, which was guaranteed to be among the hottest days of the year. The meeting was held in a huge old wooden tabernacle, with, of course, no air-conditioning. Huge fans kept the air moving, and it was always a battle keeping our pages from flying away . . . but that was better than perspiration dripping off my nose and on to the piano keys!

Bill Tignor would be on the organ, and I would be on the piano. We would start off some 10 to 15 minutes early playing familiar songs people could sing by memory, like we did at Christ Church this summer. That, and the ringing of a dinner bell, was a “call to worship” to the folks standing in the shade of the spreading oaks outside the tabernacle, where they were visiting and trying to stay cool.  

The service itself would begin with a welcome and an opening prayer, then the song evangelist would launch into a half-hour of very lively singing. There were no songbooks, and this was the day before screens, so how did people know what to sing? 

There was a body of music that pretty well everyone knew and could sing from memory. Songs like “O How I Love Jesus” and “Blessed Assurance” crossed all denominational boundaries and were loved and sung by everyone. And if the songs were new to you, the refrains (“O how I love Jesus, O how I love Jesus, O how I love Jesus because He first loved me”) were quick to learn and easy to sing.

And, man! Did they sing! At the top of their lungs - the most enthusiastic “make a joyful noise to the Lord” sort of singing you could imagine! 

And every camp meeting had its own personality. The KY camp meeting I played for was in a small town of about 19,000 people, but it was called the “city” camp meeting. Twenty miles away (and another world away) was Camargo, where the “country” camp meeting brought folks from the surrounding hills and hollers. With its bluegrass music and raucous services (these folks were shouters!), Camargo was a completely different experience . . . but I loved both! 

And the food! Good grief! City or country, it was always fresh from local gardens, and was always the best. Fresh vegetables, fried chicken, homemade pies . . . you did not go to a camp meeting and expect to lose weight.

One of the highlights of a camp meeting was the fellowship, and that fellowship was just as important as the services. It was at camp meeting where I made friends with two unforgettable KY preachers, Bernie Lovely and Ernie Gross (I know they sound like Muppet names, but I assure you they were NOT!). They were both bald and stood about the same height and were absolute characters. Once when I got them mixed up. Bernie said, “Just remember: Bernie’s lovely and Ernie’s gross.” 

You could meet believers from all over — I remember in the first grade becoming best friends (for a week) with Luis Sanchez, whose father was a missionary from Cuba. For several summers, I led the music at an “indoor camp meeting” (a glorified revival) in Houston, TX, where I had the opportunity to spend hours with some incredible African American preachers. If it were not for camp meetings, I wouldn’t normally get to hear them preach, much less get to know them. At camp meetings, one could meet Christians from exotic places like South Africa, India, Jamaica and Kokomo (I know it's in Indiana, but it sounds exotic). 

Camp meetings kept us united. No matter the denomination, at camp meeting you could learn about your church’s missionary work; you could hear the essentials of the faith proclaimed in a lively and memorable way; you could visit with believers from all over the state, all over the country and sometimes all over the world. At camp meeting, you learned that the church was bigger than just your local congregation.

And this was summer vacation for thousands of believers from a variety of church traditions — sort of a summer camp for the entire family. Camp meeting was a week-long concentration of faith, fellowship, fun, and food, all essentials for Christian health — not the least was that sense of unity that came from being with believers you might not see but once a year, or might not see ever again in this life. But that once a year event helped give believers  a clearer picture of what God was doing in the world through the church. 

Camp meetings have pretty well gone the way of the rotary phone and the dinosaurs — which is sad for those of us raised in the tradition,  but it’s also to be expected. Times change and so do methods. The challenge is to find the next thing that provides such a concentrated opportunity for fellowship, unity and spiritual growth for the entire church.

Did you grow up going to camp meetings? I’m sure I’m not the only one. I’d love to hear your stories! 

Blessings,
Pastor Terry