There is one beach, among all the Lake Michigan
beaches I know, that holds special spiritual sway with me. So much that I have not visited there in
nearly twenty years, for fear that it has changed. It is the property that was once the church camp I went to
as a kid, Pilgrim Haven near South Haven, Michigan . Church camp was a special experience for me,
a time of testing independence away from my family. Not only independence in living apart from my parents for a week, but also spiritual independence from them and my church
family. It was a time to really stand on
my own, being challenged by the camp counselors to think of myself as a
spiritual individual; but in an environment of like minded people. For a ten year old that is a pretty safe test,
unlike the spiritual test of attending Michigan
State University
Pilgrim Haven Camp was on Lake Michigan
front property, extremely valuable real estate, a beautiful spot. There were two rows of wooden cabins that ran
perpendicular to the beach, set back slightly behind a row of trees on a low
bluff. At night, when it had been stormy, we slept to the sound of waves
crashing on the beach. When it was
foggy, we could hear the fog horn from the South Haven light house nearby. Both were very comforting sounds, adding to
the peace that was easy there. Pilgrim
Haven was a good name.
It was not the first time I heard God’s voice, but so far it was the loudest. At camp, part
of the daily routine included evening Vespers, a worship service that wrapped
up the events of the day. Instead of
doing this indoors in the main lodge, Vespers were held on a high bluff
overlooking the lake, at sunset. We sat on benches made of wooden boards
perched on logs, and faced the waterfront where there was a rugged wooden cross
near the edge of the bluff. This is
where I learned to worship God in sacred outdoor spaces, seeing Him in the
colors of the sky and the endless water that seemed to stretch on
eternally. God called His creation
“good”, and here that truth was unmistakable.
When I was a teenager in the ‘80s, the United Church of
Christ closed the camp and sold the property.
At the time, it seemed like just another change associated with growing
up. My BFF/co-camper Ginger and I
learned about it while at another church camp up North that summer. Immediately I felt the loss and wanted to
return. A few years later, my husband
and I went there while visiting his aunt who lived nearby. It was the early ‘90s then and most of the buildings had
been removed. The high bluff was gone;
it had been eroded away by the wave action during the period of high lakewater,
when many cottages were lost to the lake all along the shoreline. The property was overgrown a bit, but I could
still easily make out all the former locations of the cabins, buildings, and
play areas.
The changes I saw were pointing toward inevitable development. Sadly, much of the shoreline, particularly in
Southern Michigan , is overdeveloped. This has made me move Northward in my beach
visits and has now pushed me all the way up to the Sleeping Bear Dunes National
Shoreline, where the sacred space is preserved.
For years, thirty years now actually, I have assumed that my whole beloved
Pilgrim Haven had become a condo development, closed off forever. I couldn’t even look.
This spring, I happened to Google the camp, looking for
better pictures of the high bluff worship area.
I was shocked to find that the woman who bought the land held it
undeveloped, and had recently donated it to be made into a park. Amazing!
I emailed the organization to ask more about it; what’s happening now
and when can I go?! The answer was that
it is still in process, and there are no-trespassing signs and fences currently
while plans are made. Hmm. Immediately I knew that there would be no
fences on the lakefront. Michigan
law has established public access to all beaches, up to the high water
line. And while I was there, maybe I
could take a peek (or walk) inland.
Maybe. Camp is an hour and a half
away, in a direction I usually don’t travel.
Until this weekend.
I was heading back from a business trip to Chicago
Saturday near sunset. As I got closer to
the highway exit, I felt a pull or a call to go. Sunset!
But could I find it again? As the
sun got closer to the horizon, I took the exit and drove around on memory and
instinct, looking for the right spot.
Would I find and recognize it now, among all the expensive new
houses? The first road I followed to the
lakeshore came out close, but not the right spot. I stopped the car and got out anyway, and the
sound filled my ears. The lake was
churning, large waves crashing crashing crashing on the beach. For all the years I have been to beaches on Lake
Michigan , this sound was unique.
I hadn’t heard it anywhere else the exact same way, the way I heard it
while I slept in my cabin. It was a
greeting that made my heart leap, the Spirit inside me jumping with joy. To the north, I could see the South Haven
light house. There it was! I must be close. Determined to do better, I hopped back in the
car, and took off.
As darkness was getting closer, and the sun moving toward
the eternal line of the horizon, I zoomed through the neighborhoods. Then I caught sight of the right street,
turned the corner, and again caught full view of the lake down the road that
ended above the beach. Parking in the
near darkness of deep twilight, opening the car door, the sound returned, but
with it this time was the smell. A mix
of pine and other trees, a smell that brought back everything in my memory of
this place. There was a line of tall trees along the road, with a fence and the
expected No Trespassing signs. I went
quickly to the beach and, regrettably wearing high heels and a skirt, climbed
down the slope.
Home at last! My soul rejoiced and connected to the place
in an indescribable way. As much as I
love words, there were no words for this moment. The water was deep blue with the clouds
echoing the color, while the sky was reds and oranges, changing by the
minute. The waves rolled in, crashing
with the sound of God’s voice again.
Saying the same thing He said when I was ten; welcoming me and inviting
me to follow, like an outstretched hand.
How could I refuse?
Turning back toward the land, I looked at my camp. Should I go?
How could I possibly be trespassing when my soul owns a piece of this
property? This was certainly not a
violation of the intention of the woman who protected and donated the land. Climbing up and in, I followed a small trail
made by other pilgrims, careful to not disturb the dune grass. Once in past the trees, it was darker and
cooler. The spaces were still open in
the same ways, but clearly haunted by the oldest trees and their memories. I was only able to stay there a few minutes,
this time, as it was getting pretty dark.
I went back the way I had come, staying as long as light
would allow on the beach, then climbed back up to the road. As I sat in my car, with the door open, I
dumped the sand out of my dress shoes onto the pavement. Any day where I have to clean beach sand off
my feet before driving is a good day.
And God said it was Good.
