During our summer recess at RespectAbility, I was given the opportunity to serve as the Pastor of Pilgrim Pines Summer Camp in Southern California. I have written about Pilgrim Pines in a past newsletter edition regarding its inclusion of folks with intellectual and developmental disabilities. Pilgrim Pines is a profoundly sacred place for me. It is where my parents were married, where I came to know God in my adolescence, and where I discerned my call. So being asked to serve as the camp pastor was an honor and privilege beyond words for me.
This call also came with much fear centered in my disabled body. Part of what makes Pilgrim Pines so special is its location in the pine-forested peaks of the San Bernadino Mountains. This means it is treacherous when it comes to accessibility for folks with physical disabilities like me. In 2015 I returned to camp for the first time as an adult to be a camp counselor. I acquired my physical disability in adulthood, and it was crushing to discover this sacred place of my youth was no longer accessible to me. Just getting to the dining hall was a struggle. Unfortunately, halfway through that week in 2015, my stint as a counselor ended abruptly as I had a massive pain attack/flare-up that left me incapacitated for days. I was despondent and embarrassed. I felt I had failed in my duties to look after my campers, and that the doors to my spiritual home had closed. It was clear my body was too disabled to participate in this deeply meaningful life activity. I had resigned to add this to the list that many of us disabled people have of things that I just cannot do anymore.
When I was invited to be the camp pastor, I remembered this difficult experience. All the feelings of guilt, shame, and grief came rushing back. However, I have grown significantly in my disability journey and identity in the last eight years. I have gained tremendous wisdom and insight into my body’s needs. I proactively asked for accommodations with the camp staff, and brought my mobility aids and pain mitigation tools to the mountain. As I arrived at camp, I adorned my stole and, in my introduction, explained to the campers that I am a disabled clergyperson who preaches and teaches while seated in my padded chair. I limited my walking to the flat areas of the mountain, I did not go on hikes, and I asked to be driven to Vesper Point, where we conducted worship. I took long rests during the day to attend to my chronic pain.
A modest wooden sign at the center of camp says, “The mountains shall bring peace to the people.” It has taken on many meanings for me through the years, but this year it had a new meaning. During my many breaks, I sat by a stream that runs by the camp. I reflected on how life-giving it was to be held once again by a place with such a deep sense of memory. In my journey back to the mountains, I found healing by letting the mountain welcome my disabled body back home. In 2021, Pilgrim Pines was nearly lost to a California wildfire. I could see the burned trees across the stream. It reminded me of the fragility of our lives and our sacred places. As a disabled person, I know what it is to lose what you thought would always be there. In the knowledge of loss, I was able to find peace in the stillness of the moment, and in the winds of what may one day be.
This was a great thing to read, thank you