Last week, I returned to Columbus after directing a session at Bratton-Green, the summer camp owned and operated by the Episcopal Diocese of Mississippi located north of Canton, MS. For 78 years, Camp Bratton-Green has formed children, youth, and adults in the teachings of Christ and the way of God. For just as long, it has held sessions for youth and adult campers living with physical and cognitive impairments. It has hosted groups from around the state and around the nation.
However, when I returned from camp this year, I learned of the tragic news of the terrible flooding in the Texas hill country, and especially the loss of the campers and counselors of Camp Mystic. This hit me hard.
I am a product of summer camps, and especially strong and well-supported youth ministry across the state. I attribute my life of faith, my continued dedication to an institutional church, and my vocation, to programs like Camp Bratton-Green.
For me, camp is one of those places that exists in the world but not of the world. It teaches us how to live the same way. For a week (or more), we step into a different rhythm, one shaped by prayer, play, and presence. There, the Christian life doesn’t just feel possible—it feels natural.
What does it look like to trust, and care, and to give the benefit of the doubt? To interact with love first, rather than self-interest or self-preservation? Camp invites us to imagine how we might live together in a different way, and catch a vision of the world as God is renewing it.
But camp is not just for the young. It is a school of discipleship for all ages—a place where youth and adults alike learn to serve, to receive grace, and to model faith for one another. Whether we are campers, volunteers, or staff, we encounter Christ—not just in chapel talks or messy games, but in the faces of those we live alongside. We meet Him in shared laughter, in late-night conversations, in the quiet moments when we realize we are part of something much bigger than ourselves.
Church camps are more than a place—they are a glimpse of the Kingdom. In the wake of the tragic flooding of Camp Mystic, I am reminded just how sacred these spaces are, how they hold not just memories, but holy ground where God meets us in the ordinary and extraordinary moments of life.
Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God, But only he who sees takes off his shoes; The rest sit round and pluck blackberries. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s short but profound poem, Burning Bush, offers a powerful reflection on the constant presence of God in the world around us. The imagery of the “common bush afire with God” immediately evokes the biblical story of Moses and the burning bush, a moment when the divine revealed itself in the ordinary. Browning invites us to consider that the same holiness permeates all of creation—not just in extraordinary events, but in the everyday moments we often overlook.
The line “Earth’s crammed with heaven” suggests that God’s presence saturates the world, making even the most mundane aspects of life sacred. Yet, Browning also highlights a profound truth: while this divine presence is universal, not everyone perceives it. Only “he who sees takes off his shoes,” an act of reverence and recognition. For those who do not see, life is reduced to “pluck[ing] blackberries,” a metaphor for pursuing earthly pleasures or distractions without recognizing the deeper spiritual reality.
This poem calls us to open our eyes to the sacredness of the world. It challenges us to slow down, to pause in awe of a sunrise, to feel gratitude for the breeze on our face, or to marvel at the intricate beauty of a flower. Such moments remind us that the divine is not confined to sacred spaces or rituals but is woven into the fabric of existence.
However, seeing requires intentionality. In our busy lives, it is easy to become like those who “sit round” and fail to notice the bush burning before us. Browning’s poem is an invitation to cultivate awareness and reverence in our daily lives, to look for God not just in moments of grandeur but in the quiet, ordinary experiences that often go unnoticed.
Ultimately, Burning Bush teaches us that the world is alive with God’s presence, but we must choose to see it. By doing so, we not only honor the divine but also enrich our own lives with a sense of wonder, connection, and purpose. It is a call to live fully, with eyes wide open to the sacred beauty that surrounds us.
Today’s reflection is going to be a little different because I’ve been thinking about the recent Supreme Court decision regarding the high school football coach who wanted to pray with his players on the 50-yard line after games. As an ordained minister, you might think I’d be glad about this decision. But honestly, it worries me—and I want to explain why.
Many news outlets have already done a good job breaking down the court’s opinion and the dissenting arguments. For me, the issue centers around the separation of church and state, a principle that dates back to Thomas Jefferson in 1802, who was referencing even earlier English legal tradition. Jefferson wrote about the importance of keeping a "wall of separation" between church and state. That idea continues to resonate because it protects both the government from religious control and religion from government interference.