Youth XYZ: Exegesis, Y2K & Ziplines

By Jessie Hubert

It has finally happened: The fashions of my Y2K childhood are now back in style, and even being hailed as “vintage.” Nothing so righteously sums up my adolescent energy as a snapshot of me as a day camper at Camp Glinodo in Erie, PA in 2000. Enjoy the attached photo, including the fashion, in all its grainy goodness.

Glinodo, whose name comes from the Latin-language Benedictine motto “That in all things, God may be glorified,” was a magical landing (and launching) pad for my innocent, pre-teen self. I felt so grown up as I got to choose all of my “classes” each day. Unlike many of the kids, I steered clear of the rugged, outdoorsy, athletic activities. I was thrilled to participate in creative writing and dance rather than hike or play sports. I loved singing the morning songs, meeting new kids, and idolizing my cool, teenage camp counselors. I also grew exceptionally good at finding the spot to sit on the grass that was least likely to expose me to mud or to tickly-leg creepy crawlies. These little memories, like the feel of the bonfire on my face, or the self-confidence one builds from performing skits, have lingered with me.

Jessie & friends, Summer 2000 at Camp Glinodo

I remember a former pastor talking about how the Catholic tradition brushes all the crumbs from the Eucharist into the chalice, out of reverence for even the consecrated crumbs, and I’m reminded that God uses everything in our lives to draw us into greater intimacy with the Divine. In other words, even in what seems like crumbs, or the margins of our faith experiences, God can be glorified. Now, from my current vantage point as a newly-minted youth minister preparing to be on the “camp counselor” side of a camp, I realize that those little Glinodo memories may look like crumbs, but they’re also entirely imbued with sacredness.

Through a series of unexpected and providential invitations from my Divine dance partner, I am now the Children & Family Minister for Erie Episcopal. I didn’t predict this ministry pathway for myself, but God has been gathering all the Eucharistic offerings of my life, the big chunks and the crumbly bits, into a life of increasing intimacy with Christ.

Erie Episcopal is a partnership of two forward-thinking Episcopal faith communities: The Cathedral of St. Paul in downtown Erie, and St. Mark’s in Erie County. It’s been wonderful to support EE’s commitment to accompanying diverse families in the complexities of modern-day family life, and helping them find a supportive faith home.

Twenty-five years post-Y2K, I’m preparing to be on the staff for Camp Nazareth, the Episcopal diocesan sleepaway summer camp. I recently asked one of the middle schoolers in our youth group, “How outdoorsy is this camp, anyway?” I made the inquiry from behind the veil of my long-held, self-fulfilling prophecy that “I’m not an outdoorsy person,” and I was relieved when she responded, “not too much.” But since then, I’ve been wondering if the God of all creation is extending an invitation to me, and to my inner child. Is it time to embrace the muscle aches from hiking and the friendly, tickling ants that crawl on bare legs? I’m conflicted, because I’ve always seen myself as a minister through administrative gifts, not through activities that require me to pack a change of clothes. (Though I must admit, Y2K-style overalls might need to reprise a role in my contemporary wardrobe.)

After working in higher education for a decade, I went on to work in Catholic diocesan administration, and later, in my home Catholic parish. Each of those very different seasons was forming me for this new ministry I have now within the Episcopal Church–a ministry that fills my heart with hope, and that is the fruition of God answering longings in my heart that I had never even voiced. Neither my middle school summer camp experience, nor my work in Catholic diocesan administration, is brushed away as an extraneous crumb. God uses it all. And here I am now, still drawing on even the surprising parts.

At the Catholic diocese, we worked with a faith formation consultant named Everett Fritz. One story he shared with us about the Easter season imprinted onto my heart. He taught about the nature of a rabbi/disciple relationship in Jesus’ day, and that the disciples spent the whole day following their rabbi. They shared life together, beyond just teaching and prayers. They shared meals, chores, and the rhythms of day-to-day functioning in the world. They watched Jesus attentively and learned from his every decision. While different in content, this functionally is not unlike me with the counselors I looked up to at Camp Glinodo. The students are always watching the teacher.

Everett shared that in the Easter morning reading from John, the Gospel writer notes that the cloth for Jesus’ head was set apart from the rest of the linens. And upon seeing the clothes, Peter and the beloved disciple knew that Jesus was no longer in the tomb.

Why was it that this detail impacted the belief of the disciples? What was it about the folded cloth for his head being separate from the rest of the linens?

As Everett told the story, “They knew it was Jesus because they recognized the way he folded his laundry.”

Being the disciple of the rabbi meant intently watching all the ways he lived his life, including, perhaps, how he folded and sorted his laundry.

This is precisely why I think the summer camp model is a great one. By doing life with young people for a week, they’ll not only see how I “do my laundry” (spoiler alert: it all stays pretty wrinkly, both metaphorically and literally), but I’ll also be there for them if and when big questions come up. I don’t expect or desire to be idolized by our campers, but I do hope that God can use my daily life choices as a sacred, meaningful offering for them. And, knowing that they’ll be watching me, perhaps this is the summer that I should be vulnerable about facing my long-held limiting beliefs. I certainly don’t want any young people to copy my behavior of being afraid to try something new…even if that thing is a 750-foot zipline (eek!)

So this summer, 25 years after my Glinodo experience, I will glorify God by reconnecting with my inner child at Camp Nazareth. She will meet me in her innocence, untouched by the pressures of the world around her, and I will bring her my wisdom of lived experience and courage of leaning into hard things. This offering of mine will be imperfect–because even if I sit on the dirt and welcome the ants, I will jump when they crawl on me–but I trust that God will gather every crumb of good intention and make it holy. In the muscle aches and ants, and in leaps of faith beyond our self-limiting beliefs, may God be glorified! May it also be so for all of our young people, who will learn this summer about their own limitless goodness, as well as God’s.

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Spaces are still available to join Camp Nazareth, and insect-lovers and the insect-phobic are both warmly welcomed! Rising 3rd graders through 2025 high school graduates from any Christian background are invited to join the Episcopal Diocese at this sleepaway camp experience from July 13-19. For more information, contact Jessie Hubert, Coordinator of Youth & Family Ministry, at jhubert@cathedralofstpaul.org And, look for her when you get there; she’ll be the one in overalls.

AUTHOR

Jessie Hubert (she/her) is the Children & Family Minister at Erie Episcopal in Erie, PA. Jessie is passionate about walking with families in their spiritual journeys and building up intentionally inclusive, diverse community wherever she goes. She and her spouse, Matt, spend a lot of time folding laundry for their three children (Ben, Max & Rosie); for the amount of time they spend on that, she hopes it has some supernatural impact on them, too.