Chapel -- Michael Beam

I. Call To Worship
This is the day the Lord hath made.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, 
From whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord
Who made heaven and earth. 
I need not shout my faith
Thrice eloquent the quiet trees
And green listening sod. 
Hushed are the stars whose power is never spent.
The hills are mute, yet how they speak of God.
 
II. Be Kind
 
What a joy it is to be with you in green and grey
Cozy round a fire on this drizzly summer day
In times like these I can’t believe I ever could feel down
Listening as the raindrops fall in symphony all around.
 
But there will come a time, no doubt, when this is but a dream
And darker thoughts begin to sprout like reeds beside a stream
And if those reeds grow thick and fast they’ll dam your fluid mind
The buoyant lesson won’t float past -- the lesson to be kind.
 
You cannot bear it all alone
Be kind to yourself.
You’re always growing, never grown
Be kind to yourself.
 
The bar you set is in your head
Be kind to yourself.
Who you’ll become is still ahead
Be kind to yourself.
 
All you can do’s your very best
Be kind to yourself.
You’re loved ten times what you would guess
Be kind to yourself.
 
When life grows dark and full of clouds
Be kind to yourself
You cannot help but make us proud
Be kind to yourself.
 
III. SONG -- You’ve Got A Friend
And now please rise off your rear end
Turn to page 30: You’ve Got A Friend

IV. Growing Pains
 
The loudest sound you’ll ever hear is the voice inside your head
Your self-esteem (or lack thereof) is shaped by what is said
Since Falcons year I’ve journaled; kept a record of that voice
That led me sometimes to despair and sometimes to rejoice.
 
A mighty Falcon in ‘04, I frankly was obsessed
With the Woodsmen and the Voyageurs – you probably could have guessed.
I reckoned that the question whether I was good or bad
Was settled by the votes of boys, which in hindsight now seems mad.
 
The Woodsmen took me in that year, along with my best friend
I figured my internal doubts had finally reached their end.
That nomination proved to be a blessing and a curse
In some ways life grew better then, in some ways it grew worse.
 
For now my journal entries filled with agonized essays
On whether I in fact deserved this public camper praise.
The voice inside grew louder then; I’d hear it more and more
Suggesting I was good outside but rotten at my core.
 
First as a Falcon, then a Raven, Cardinal, and Crow,
Each year the record of my faults reliably would grow.
And as I wrote, I amplified the voice inside my head
So every page ignored the good and logged the bad instead.
 
One summer I neglected to earn any camp award
Instead enjoying hanging out but never feeling bored.
And yet when Banquet night arrived I felt a wave of shame
As if I’d wasted seven weeks – a summer down the drain.
 
And even as a mighty Crow I found it mighty tough
To look back on my camp career and think it was enough.
Why hadn’t I won that last game?
Or earned that spot on the Hall of Fame?
Or treated everyone the same?
I had no one but me to blame.
 
I wonder where this voice comes from, this darkness in the heart.
When did we learn to spurn ourselves? At what age did it start?
If you ask me (and no one did) I’d say it’s closely tied
To thinking that you know it all; a stubborn sort of pride.
 
What if of all you claim to know you only knew a part?
What might you learn if you’d discern you’re really not so smart?
Often what we take for fact proves fiction over time.
What’s true, what’s your reality will change just as did mine.
 
For as a mighty Mallard I considered myself wise
I knew that all my counselors had battled Russian spies
I knew that ancient dinosaurs lurked deep in Panther Pond
Not in the lane lines – there you’re safe – but only just beyond.
 
Of course, by Crows I’d grown, and so, that all seemed quite naïve.
I cringed at all the silly things that I once had believed.
And yet those things were just replaced with equally loose “facts,”
Like camp’s not about what you give but what you can extract.
 
And still today as an adult I struggle to concede
That life is not as black-and-white as I had once decreed.
That maybe things aren’t set in stone, that maybe I can grow
If I admit that there exist some things that I don’t know.
 
See, when you claim to know it all, then there’s no room for error.
The tyranny of surety becomes a reign of terror.
You can’t forgive yourself for that missed shot, that loss, that grade
Without admitting you have flaws -- of which you’re too afraid.
 
This day you are wiser than you were the day before.
However much you knew back then, at this point you know more.
But don’t set limits to your growth, don’t claim you’re fully formed
Lest tomorrow humbles you; consider yourself warned.
 
A tree does not know limits; it grows both up and down
Striving toward the sky above and deep into the ground.
It twists and turns, falls and rebounds in unexpected ways,
Adapting and persisting right up to its final days.
 
So too should we allow for growth that’s not just straight and tall,
Forgive the zigs and zags and splits; errors are part of it all.
The loudest voice you’ll ever hear is the voice inside your head
With practice, patience, modesty, it can be kind instead.
 
V. SONG -- The Weight
Now I ask you rise once more
To sing The Weight: page twenty-four.

VI. If Only You Could See Yourself
 
If only you could see yourself the way that others do,
You’d laugh at all the silly things you once held to be true.
Like how your Twilight up-at-bat made you a laughingstock
Or that it’s wrong to feel homesick, a feeling they would mock.
 
Or maybe you think you’re too odd; that you just don’t fit in
There’s no one who appreciates your quirkiness within.
You fear that you will be revealed a phony or a fraud
You’re barely able to maintain an adequate façade.
 
Too short, too loud, too slow, too old, you might think in your head,
You fill your mind with words unkind that no one ever said.
But I assure you: no one sees the things you’re fearful of
Cause here at Camp Timanous you are always known and loved.
 
We love how every summer you bring your authentic self
No posturing, no masquerading like you’re someone else.
We’re proud of your ambition, your initiative and grit
When tough stuff becomes tougher you resolve to stick with it.
 
We love that you can make us laugh, but also think, or cry,
We love that you can share your joy and make it multiply.
We love that you are vulnerable, someone we look up to
We model parts of our own lives on what we love in you.
 
We love you not for what you’ve done but how you make us feel
How at the mention of your name comes a grin we can’t conceal.
We love you on your worst days and we love you on your best
We love you for your virtues, vices, faults, and all the rest.
 
I wish I had a mirror at camp to show you what I see
To show how proud I am of you, how much you mean to me.
You’d puff your chest, you’d raise your eyes, might gain an inch or two
If only you could see yourself the way that others do.
 
VII. With A Little Help From My Friends
With A Little Help From My Friends, straight
Shall we turn to page twenty-eight.​

VIII. Timanous Prayer
Together we give thanks for the joy of fellowship
For the beauty of our surroundings:
The tall trees, and sparking lake,
The life which teems around us in the woods. 
The skies and clear waters. 
We thank thee for the love of doing things, 
For active bodies and minds alert. 
For the excitement of something new
And the comfort of things which are old.
For all these we give thanks;
For the cool and quiet of evening,
The restfulness of night,
The glory of starry skies,
The new life which comes with showers, 
For our elder and families who have given us our homes, 
And for the trials which help us to know ourselves. 
For all these, we give thanks.
 
IX. Salutation of the Dawn
Look to this day!
For it is life, the very life of life.
In its brief course lie all the verities and realities of your existence:
The bliss of growth; the glory of action; the splendor of beauty,
For yesterday is already a dream, and tomorrow is only a vision. 
But today well lived makes every yesterday
A dream of happiness, and every tomorrow a vision of hope. 
Look well, therefore, to this day! 
Such is the salutation of the dawn.