Campfires and reflections: From childhood memories to life’s final musings
Commentary By Pete Haug | FāVS News
During this season of raging wildfires, I got to thinking about a friendlier type of fire: campfires. These crackling circles of warmth can drive away an early evening chill. When properly tended, campfires create childhood memories of cozy warmth.
There’s even a song about them. We’ve all heard and sung Julia Ward Howe’s Civil War classic, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” It suggests that God is on our side: “I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps. / They have builded Him an alter in the evening dews and damps; / I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: / His day is marching on.”
Watch-fires, of course, have a different purpose from campfires, but the same cozy warmth of each creates bonding among those huddled around them. That warmth disperses those dews and damps of evening; we draw closer together as night, sometimes a metaphor of death, approaches.
Warm memories of campfire songs
Besides their warmth, campfires provide opportunities for lusty singing, no matter what age. Many allow verses to be made up on the spot. One such song begins, “Oh, the deacon went down to the cellar to pray, / But he found a jug, and he stayed all day…” Verses conjure up multiple ways “you can’t get to Heaven.” For example, “Oh, you can’t get to Heaven in an old Ford car, ‘cause the goldarn thing won’t go that far…” After each verse, the chorus repeats: “I ain’t a-gonna grieve my Lord no more…” Verses go on until singers run out of creativity, Remember? I’m sure you do!
As verses run out and singing winds down, somebody always signals the end by conceding you might actually make it to Heaven: “If you get to heaven before I do, just bore a hole and pull me through.” I learned that song about 80 years ago, and it still conjures up fond campfire memories. When you’re 8 or 18, that final verse simply provides the song’s last laugh. In one’s 80s, its effect is quite different.
The poignancy of regret
A couple of years ago, Richard, a friend also in his 80s, passed away in Massachusetts. I’d known him for 50 years. He loved summer camps and singing. We often reminisced about childhood campfire days, sharing stories of our lives and laughing. We’d also share regrets about past experiences, but never anything about religion. Richard refused to discuss it. Religious discussions often include poignant regrets: “I wish I’d done this” or “I wish I hadn’t done that.” Such expressions of regret require self-honesty, which is not always easy. But unless we face our missteps while still alive, we may be forced to face them when choice is no longer an option.
For example, Baha’u’llah has written, “Set before thine eyes God’s unerring Balance and, as one standing in His Presence, weigh in that Balance thine actions every day, every moment of thy life. Bring thyself to account ere thou art summoned to a reckoning, on the Day when no man shall have strength to stand for fear of God, the Day when the hearts of the heedless ones shall be made to tremble.”
During Richard’s last months I phoned him frequently to support and cheer him. Shortly before he died I sang him the final verse of that campfire song, “If you get to heaven before I do…” He cried. Richard had no faith. I believe he was frightened.
Last March I wrote about the loss of two other friends, one with deep religious convictions, the other with none. As I approach the end of my own life, I’ve been thinking lots about the elusive afterlife. (Some might suggest I’m cramming for my finals.) Although the observations that follow are my own, many are based in my understanding of, and belief in, Baha’i scripture.
Material vs. immaterial worlds
Our five senses help us understand our material world. Even before birth, infants experience all five senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell. After birth we rely on those senses to tell us about the world we’re born into. What we experience is all we know. As we mature, we learn how to measure and otherwise evaluate our surroundings. Is it any wonder that religious teachings refer to heaven and hell in material terms? They’re all that our sensory perceptions provide.
Understandings of heaven and hell have differed greatly over time and place. Literary giants have provided “ten of the best visions of hell in literature.” Elaborate word pictures of Dante and Milton, for example, describe a material heaven and hell, descriptions we can all relate to. Realms outside of time and space are difficult, if not impossible, to comprehend. But, after all, isn’t that where the afterlife — if any exists — is to be found?
The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of FāVS News. FāVS News values diverse perspectives and thoughtful analysis on matters of faith and spirituality.
