The Dry Creek Tabernacle

A Tabernacle Prayer

A word from Curt

You can’t understand me unless you have insight into how Dry Creek Baptist Camp has shaped my life.   I got my first job there at age 13.  I was in charge of picking up glass Coke bottles on the grounds for deposit return.

After that summer, they couldn’t run me off.  I’ve been part of Dry Creek Camp since 1969.

At that young age, I had no idea (no one else did either) that I’d serve as camp manager one day.

 

Tabernacle Prayer

 August 1999

Dear Lord, As I sit in the back of this old building called “the Tabernacle” at Dry Creek, I’m reminded of all the great things You’ve done in it.

Above the loudness of youth singing and the echoes of sermons from Your word, I can hear Your sweet, still, small voice above all the other things I’ve heard.

As I look up at those exposed rafters, I sure do wish they could talk . . .

All the stories they’d tell of lives changed here by You . . .

Souls changed by the power of your love never to be the same again . . .

Missionaries and Pastors who first heard your call, “Go and tell. . . ” while worshiping in this building.

Lord, thank You for using this camp and the Tabernacle on these grounds

To speak to thousands of lives over the years.

But Lord, Your power isn’t confined to any building,

For your Spirit works everywhere.

You’re ready to use people and buildings when we’re simply open to Your will.

But I’m surely thankful You’ve chosen to work in such a mighty way at Dry Creek Baptist Camp.

Thank You for all the marvelous things You’ve done here in the past . . .

But most of all, Lord, thank You for what you will continue to do at Your camp.

As we plan and look to the future, lead us as we plan,

Let everything we do be guided by Your strong hand.

And let my life be Your Tabernacle,

A place where You’re welcome to dwell,

Always remembering that without Your presence,

No building or person is complete.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

“Tabernacle Prayer” comes from our first book,  Stories from the Creekbank.

 

 

My mind went back to one of my favorite camp stories.

 

“Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.”

-2 Corinthians 7:10

The late ’60s and ’70s were interesting times at Dry Creek Baptist Camp. The youthful rebellion of the ’60s had finally hit rural Louisiana, and the battle had begun.

All authority seemed to be in question—even at camp. Redneck boys, who had two years earlier sported flat tops, now had shoulder-length hair and muttonchop sideburns. Girls tried to show their rebellion with miniskirts that were shorter than ever.

My generation had to test every limit.

One way camp authority was tested was when boys tried to slip out of the cabin at night.

Routinely boys would slip out a window of the old dorms and roam around.

Now here is my story from 1970:

Two local teen boys were caught outside by the night watchman. The next day, the camp director, a pastor, gave them this option: They were to be sent home unless they apologized to the entire camp for their misdeed.

I’m sure the guys contemplated this option.

They sure wanted to stay at camp, but the idea of apologizing in front of all of their friends, as well as two hundred female admirers, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Nevertheless, they agreed.

That night, there was a huge crowd at the service. The camp director introduced both boys who nervously stepped to the microphone.

After clearing his throat, the first boy said, “I’m very sorry I was outside in the dark last night. It was wrong, and I take full responsibility for this. I ask you to forgive me.”

The auditorium erupted into clapping mixed with cries of “Amen” and “You’re forgiven!”

The pastors and other youth leaders in the audience nodded their heads in approval as the smiling camp director put an arm around Boy #1’s shoulder.

This was truly repentance of the highest order.

Now it was the turn of Boy #2. He stepped up to the microphone.

I thought to myself, “Just repeat what he said, and you’ll be fine.”

But no, he had worked out his own speech, and here it is as I remember it:

“Well, I’m sorry I was out last night.”

He took a deep breath.

“But most of all, I’m sorry I got caught.”

There was an eerie silence in the Tabernacle. No one knew what to say or do.

In my fourteen-year-old mind, I wondered, was that an apology or wasn’t it?”

But there was no doubt what it was in the mind of the now frowning camp director. He roughly grabbed boy #2 by the arm and unceremoniously led him from the stage.

As they went out the side door, he was giving the boy an earful.

That story told decades ago was my first introduction to the difference between Godly repentance and worldly sorrow.

You see, true repentance from God is sorry for the sin. A repentant person wants to change directions, make amends, and do right—regardless of whether they got caught or the waiting consequences.

However, worldly sorrow simply is sad it got caught. It’s already thinking, “Next time, I’ll be more careful or crafty.”

The sorrow of the world doesn’t change a person.

But I’m so thankful Godly sorrow does change a person. Repentance simply means to change directions from the path we were on. It is a 180-degree variation.

I used to describe it as, “You’re standing in front of the camp, and you step out onto Highway 113. You’re walking south to Reeves, and you stop, turn, and walk north toward Sugartown.