“You’re fired.”

On a July Sunday morning some fifteen years ago, those were the most blessed words I ever heard.

We’d pulled another late night in the camp office, and were now bleary-eyed and rushing to get things organized for another busy registration period that afternoon. The to-do list was long, but the two-woman office team was running in high gear.

The camp director strode into the room, looked us in the eye, and informed us of our dismissal with just two words. Startled, we held our papers and stared. “You’re fired,” he repeated. “It’s 10 o’clock, it’s your time off; leave.” His face was stern, but the twinkle in his eye was too much to keep a straight face for long.

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That was Pastor Mike. He had a knack for fostering a high drive work ethic from a ragtag team of high school and college students, but protected the line between hard work and rest. He never asked for more than you were willing to give, but somehow we all wanted to give more because of it. Those summers at camp had the most strenuous work schedule I’ve ever experienced, but were also fullest of joy and satisfaction.

He had the gift of delegation. It takes a strong heart to give an 18-year-old the free reign to manage a summer program wrangling 8- to 13-year-olds on giant swing sets, or handling exploding balloons, or speeding across Mud Lake while weeds formed ankle shackles. In the dozen months I worked at summer camp, my growth was exponentially greater than times away from camp – I learned very specific skills (like tying kids up to send them 40 feet off the ground), broad life skills (like how to interact with people unlike me, and how to lead a group), but really I learned how to be confident in my identity in Christ. Early morning worship singing The Backpacker Song and hearing the whisper of dozens of prayers ascending from staffers from all walks of life was the soundtrack and heartbeat of those formative summers.

But Pastor Mike was special before summer camp. He nurtured relationships with youth all over the state as the youth director, serving as a role model for kids like me from the malleable age of 12. He somehow made a gangly, temperamental, competitive, awkward teenager feel important, and took the chance on a painfully awkward 17-year-old when he accepted her application to summer camp. In the absence of a consistent pastor in those impressionable years, he was invested enough in me that I knew I could trust him to accompany me in the waters of baptism.

I remember many things about Pastor Mike, but one memory is starkly absent – he never rushed me. He always had the time to listen, to give feedback. He was always genuinely interested, and that was the root of how he cared for people – people like me.

Beloved, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.

I John 4:7

Pastor Mike knew God. I know this, because he loved me.

Rest well, Pastor Mike. See you in the Morning.