Rockbridge

Well, it’s been almost three weeks since Rockbridge, and surprisingly I’ve made it back in one piece (me and the mountains share an unpleasant history of blunt-force trauma). It was an amazing experience, but I think it will still be a while before I sit and sort everything out; I’m writing this in hopes of expediting that process. I have a lot of mixed feelings about a lot of things, and I certainly need to explore the topics a bit more before I’m sure enough to write, but hopefully I’ll be able to form at least a rudimentary thought on the matter.

I’ll start with my general consensus on the event, I’ve mentioned that it was an amazing experience, a good experience, and one I hope to revisit in the future. However, there is something markedly different about this past week that contrasts nearly every other experience I’ve had with events of this nature. The camp was moving, to say the least, but that movement manifested itself in the shape of more of a depressing compunction, as opposed to the customary “Yay, Jesus” kick we get on. That sounds cynical, and like it would make for a terrible week, but honestly I’m grateful for it. On the whole I think that, for me at least, that was more helpful than the Jesus high that I used to associate with gatherings of this nature. Whenever I think about Rockbridge now, I get the image of Christian pride, the love of God, and a conviction of purpose raining down on us from all sides. Surrounded by people who share at least one strong connecting thread, we go to tracks and lessons with very clear purpose and direction, we worship fervently en masse, hands raised and crying, and it’s all wonderful. However, from here I feel as if that rain, and those tears, used to wash over us, but then just bead on the surface. Everyone can see it there, you can feel it on your skin, you’re (counterintuitive to this metaphor) “on fire” for Jesus, ready to go out and convert the world by mere example. This persists, sometimes for a week, sometimes for the length of the car ride home. You move back to the familiar, away from the rain, and old habits greet you at the door and brush it off your shoulders. The water is shaken away, and life returns to wonted behavior. The event itself is not necessarily bad, or even a waste, there’s a certain level of religious affirmation that I believe is really healthy for the human, and more specifically, the Christian condition. However, that said, it still bothers me to know that I can feel so strongly about something one week, and even now, just not even two later, my fervor has waned to an barely perceptible glimmer, and even that is merely what lingers with the memory of Rockbridge, not something I’ve connected with my everyday life.

This is something I hope to amend, it’s not going well right now, but the glimmer is still there. When I sit down to work on this, or when I see one of the pictures from the week around on someone’s profile, or what have you, I remember my plan and more importantly what drove me to them. As I’ve said Rockbridge met me with a pang of conscience. I don’t want to call it guilt, guilt is not of God, but it certainly spurred me towards a change. I’ll admit that this process was augmented by a certain level of self-reproach over failure to enact these changes before now, over all the ruts I’ve ever fall into, all the roads I could have taken prior to now. This was not of God, it’s another weakness of my own heart, but nevertheless I’ve used it to fuel my efforts. In reference to my last blog, the rain this past week (yep, more water metaphors, get used to them) washed over the dirt in my eyes, and down through the ditches I’ve been laying in. I’m not calling it a cleansing rain quite yet, all the mud is still swirling in the water around me, but it’s diluted, at least for now. I’m above my ditch and treading water, but the storm has stopped and I’m left with a choice. I can start swimming or I can water for the waterline to fall and take me back. For now I’m just collecting my bearings, watching the stars. At the same time though, periculum in mora, yeah? Danger in delay.