An Atheist Goes to Church Camp
Wait, what?
I’d like to share an increasingly-weird fact about me: I’m an atheist who voluntarily goes to a week of church camp during every (non-pandemic) summer.
To address the obvious question first: no, the other campers do not know that I’m an atheist (as of this writing, at least). Some of my closer friends from camp might know, but either they haven’t seen the “Religious Affiliation” line on my Facebook profile, or they have seen it and decided to not bring it up.
I started going to this family camp when I was 12, when my mom said that my brothers and I were old enough for our grandma to take us. We joined our grandma and two cousins who had already been going.
I was just entering junior high, so I joined the program activities with the camp’s youth group. It felt like my home church’s youth group in many ways, with its games and worship songs. But I remember being pretty intimidated by the level of devoutness displayed by the youth leaders, the camp youth, and the camp populace in general. These people were serious about their faith in a way that I’d never observed before.
As you’d expect, if you can picture any given modern Christian band’s concert, that’s probably a good comparison for what the evening worship at camp feels like. This is a place where every tenth person sings with their hands either up above them or held out palms-up in front of them. When I was a teenager, I remember getting an impression that this was the “right” way to worship, though it felt awkward and forced whenever I tried to do it.
My second year at camp (at age 13) was the year that I “officially” “accepted” Jesus. (I realize that was a liberal use of air quotes, though as I’ve described before, I’ve never really held genuine spiritual beliefs on my own.) On one night that year, the evening speaker ministered directly to the youth, and invited us to go up to the front of the sanctuary to kneel with him in acceptance of Christ. For what felt like a solid minute, no one stood up to walk forward. Finally, I became the first one to stand, only because I understood it to be something I “should” do, and the preacher seemed eager for things to move along — it was not because I felt any kind of “holy spirit.” (Looking back on that moment, it’s easy to say that my “conversion” was a lie. But is something truly a lie if you want and intend for it to be true?)
After I moved away from home for college, church quickly became less a part of my regular life, and soon my only church attendance became Christmas and Easter services at my parents’ church, and the week at camp. For years, camp was more or less the only time I would think about why I hadn’t committed myself to this religion that I was raised in, and I would wonder what it would take to lead me into doing so. (As it happens, years later I would come up with exactly what it would take.)
Even though I don’t share the Christian belief system, there are several reasons why I still genuinely look forward to attending the camp every year.
I get to see friends who I generally only see in person for that one week out of the year. The longest-running of these friends go back to when I was in college, and in a couple cases I’m now even friends with their children too! What’s nice about these friendships is that there’s enough common ground and shared interest to bond over without religion coming into it at all.
(Side note: You would be surprised how rarely religion is mentioned in casual conversation among younger church-goers, at least from my experience. After four years attending as an atheist, I have never been backed into a conversational corner where I’d have to either lie or out myself.)
One of my camp friends is usually the camp’s morning speaker (as opposed to the evening speaker — yes, there are two church services per day!). She is an Old Testament professor who presents a different part of the OT each year; past “lecture series” have been about Isaiah, David, Job, and Jonah. These presentations actually have more interesting content for the secularist than you might expect — they give real historical context behind why and how they were written, as well as literary explanations of the significance of plot and characters. Certainly there are times when the material is tied back into a sermon, but, well… those are the parts I tune out.
Outside of the dual worship services, the camp’s program looks rather like a “normal” summer family camp. Families and friends can be found playing sports like volleyball or archery, or making crafts, or swimming. The camp hosts a movie night one evening, and a “luau” of sorts the next. And even as an adult in my mid-thirties, night games of laser tag and Capture the Flag still rock.
Also, everyone at camp is just really nice and easy to talk to. As much as I criticize Christianity (and I very much do), Christians do build a community very well.
Over the years at camp, I’ve also picked up a number of “life lesson” moments that stuck and have influenced who I am, even though I didn’t end up religious.
The one that stands out most is a lesson that one of the youth leaders taught, regarding what it means to have humility. That speaker gave an interesting turnaround of the phrase “Love your neighbor as yourself,” emphasizing the meaning in the “as yourself” part. In other words, value and care for yourself just as much as you do for your neighbor. According to the lesson, humility comes by not placing yourself and your talents above other people (which would be arrogance), but at the same level — no more, no less.
I think the religious tie-in was something like “God loves you, so you should love you too.” But on a secular level, I think that lesson allowed me to be in tune with my own self-care needs and to speak up for myself, which should be kept in a healthy balance with what I do for other people.
(Another valuable tidbit came from the OT professor’s lecture series about King David. From the story of Saul’s jealousy toward David, she put out the thought, “Imagine what people could accomplish if nobody cared who got the credit.” In today’s politically-driven world, I’d say that’s pretty profound.)
Sadly, I know that my time going to camp won’t last forever. There will come a day when I’ll be ready to use my vacation time to chase other experiences and see more of the world. Beyond that, if and when I have children someday, I obviously would not care to bring them up around church teachings, especially while they’re still impressionable. I can start creating fresh, new family memories and traditions with them instead.
I wanted to share this story for the very fact that it’s unusual. It helps illustrate just how diverse the experiences of atheists can be, and how our relationship with our old belief systems can remain complicated even after leaving them. In my case, Christianity provides the backdrop for a highly meaningful aspect of most of my life, even when I now strongly believe that backdrop’s claims to be untrue.
Everyone’s life story is a little bit weird in its own way. I hope you can embrace the weird in yours!
