c. 2003 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a writer and computer consultant, managing large-scale database implementations. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C.)

BANNER ELK, N.C. _ On our drive to camp, we pass through a city that once became a wilderness to me, with harsh treatment, unexpected suffering, abundant grace, lessons learned the hard way, re-examined values and a transformed relationship with God.

Then on to the mountains and summer camp. Joining a long line of cars waiting to enter the registration area, we park near the carefully landscaped entrance to a gated community. I tell my 11-year-old son that this pretty tableau isn’t what the mountains are like. I point instead to a steep hillside dark and wild with pines, oaks and rhododendron.

My son is nervous, as even grown-ups are nervous when facing the new. I sense him scanning each face, each detail of the drop-off process, well-worn log steps down a hill, his rustic cabin, empty bunks and unfamiliar counselor. He has done this before, so he knows not to panic. Even so, this isn’t a walk on manicured grass.

My wife and I say goodbye, leaving our son make his own bed. When camp ends in two weeks, he will be sorry to leave. But today I see in his face what I often sense in my own when starting a new adventure: “What am I doing here?”

What do I wish for him?

I don’t wish a carefully landscaped world, which tames the wilderness with grassy vistas imported from suburbia. I don’t wish a gate that keeps out whatever feels dangerous or lesser. I don’t wish sanitized adventures.

I want him to know the transformation of a strange place into a welcoming place. I want him to love the mountains, not to dream of taming them with bulldozer and grass. I want him to make new friends by daring to engage. I want him to try new things, even if he fails at mastery. I want him to learn more about himself by venturing farther beyond the mirror of his parents’ eyes.

I know that this first day will bring loneliness and false starts. But then will come a second day and a third, and soon a sense of belonging. I want him to know how that new day dawned brighter.

Sometimes, in protecting our children or ourselves, I think we become too concerned with bulldozing and gating, with making our world familiar and safe. Yes, the mountains are wild. So is most of life. We are surrounded by harsh elements which we cannot control, and by the weak and self-serving, whose cruel ranks we sometimes join.

No matter how diligent our landscaping, creation won’t be tamed. We must learn to treasure creation, not to master it. No matter how carefully we arrange our hair, wardrobes, credentials and defenses, each day will be a challenge. We must learn to embrace challenge, not to avoid it.

When Jesus led his weary disciples to a deserted place to rest, a crowd of avid pilgrims followed them. Rather than send them away as an unplanned nuisance, Jesus had compassion. His compassion took the form, first, of teaching _ presumably the very teachings that challenged some listeners, led others to turn against him, and caused the religious establishment to reject him. No safety here, for student or for teacher.

His compassion then turned to feeding them _ in a way that would challenge his disciples’ preconceptions and require the hungry to sit in “groups of hundreds and fifties,” like campers assigned to cabins.

At the end of the day, the people would be fed to fullness. But that wasn’t the main point. For they would be hungry again tomorrow. Jesus needed them to know how they made it: by grace, not by mastery or by avoidance.

He needed his disciples to know that they could be agents of grace. They didn’t need to justify fears and hungers by becoming gate-builders, or to exploit people’s anxieties for the building of an institution. They could serve and make a difference.

That is what I wish for my son at camp, that he will learn to see grace _ not the prettiness of a manicured lawn, but, by the grace of God, light and life in the wilderness.

KRE END EHRICH