Fix in us Thy humble dwelling: all Thy faithful mercies
crown.
Jesus, Thou art all compassion, pure, unbounded love Thou
art;
Visit us with Thy salvation; enter every trembling heart.
---Charles Wesley, 1747
You a camper? I am…was…have been…wouldn’t mind being again.
I grew up camping with my folks and brother, both in tents and in a way-cool
pop-top VW van camper that seemed in my teen years to have all the comforts of,
well, almost-home. For those of you familiar with the groovy contraptions, my
sleep spot was the hammock hung over the front seats (because I sleep curled up
anyway---perfect). Tim slept in the pop top. We have slept in that van in every
sort of weather (including a surprise tropical storm), and even in someone’s
front yard outside Baton Rouge by mistake (another story for another day)! Our longest trip was a 5
week jaunt out west, as far as Glacier National Park and back, most of the trip
toting a genuine tumbleweed (don’t ask) that took up much of our precious free
space. Dad even drove straight through the night to get us from Oklahoma to the
AHS parking lot in time for Mr. Goff’s band camp to begin (‘cause didn’t nobody
miss band camp).
Shortest camping trip? A bit shorter. Counting car time, it
lasted 4 hours. Henry and I were the parents of a toddler, and looking forward
to passing on a joy of camping adventure to Sam. The itinerary went something
like this: plan, pack, check for approximately 2 days; load up the car with
tons of stuff (camping, little kid, pregnant lady, etc.); drive just across the
state line to FDR State Park in Pine Mtn GA; unload tons of stuff in the dark (yeah, those of you who
camp, or have kids, or watch comedy movies, or read Greek tragedies---you know
where this is going); set a lit kerosene lantern safely (haha) out of reach on
the picnic table while assembling the 347 pieces of the new family-size tent;
listen in horror as prized first-born son screams in agony after grasping the hot
kerosene lantern; cuddle child, bandage hand, sing songs, hang lantern on tree,
mutter under breath, try to continue with the joy of camping adventure; give the whole thing up; do everything in reverse;
arrive back home---4 hours later. Even with this less-than-stellar start, we
enjoyed some good times in the woods over the years following.
When I read the line in this verse of Charles Wesley's wonderful hymn---‘fix
in us Thy humble dwelling’---I can’t help
but think back to those years of pitching tents in the woods with little kids
in tow. There was a time in our collective faith memory where pitching a tent figures
pretty prominently, too. When the people of Israel wandered in the wild places,
they packed the ‘tent of meeting’ with them, inviting God’s presence among them
even in (or especially in) their wandering.
For us today, the cry of our hearts is that the God of Love
would pitch a tent in us---among us, and within us. Imagine the ways we might
experience transformation, with the tent of love fixed in our souls.
Visit us with your salvation, Divine Love. Fix your dwelling
in us.
