Shabbat and I are on our way home to Georgia. Becky will join us there next week. This weekend, as Barry Griffin+ leads worship at St Paul's, I will attend a cousin's wedding.
Next week, I will prepare our tent (read: non-winterized, un-airconditioned cabin) for our annual family week of Shingleroof Campmeeting, which is July 17-23. It is a lot of labor for a joyous time of reconnecting with five living generations, and it is worth every drop of sweat. As many of you know, my family has attended campmeeting at Shingleroof since its earliest years. The first documented meeting there was 1827.
As if on cue, as I was writing this, my Aunt Betty, age 97, my Mom's baby sister, just called to say she loves me and she'll see me soon. She will most likely win the "roll call" on Tuesday evening of Shingleroof as the person present who has attended the most campmeetings: she has never missed. Nor have I.
For me, there is no better tonic than the embrace of kinfolk and friends who have known and loved me all my life. This is what makes Shingleroof the high holy days of the year for our extended family as we worship, eat, and fellowship together.
The gospel for this coming Sunday begins, "Jesus went out [of the house] and sat by the sea." Amen. As for me, I will go out [of the tent] and sit on the front porch.
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