Near my home Lucedale, Mississippi is an area known as Basin, Mississippi and when I was growing up each year we had a large church meeting there called, Camp Meeting. These Camp Meetings were similar to the church convocations of today. Camp Meeting occurred each fall as we were preparing for the winter. Having recently harvested our crops, the community would come together and thank God for the year's bounty. Camp Meetings were one of my favorite gatherings to attend as a child, and I continued to come home for them as an adult. I have fond memories of Camp Meeting, and I'm sure others do to. Here, I'm inviting others to share their memories.
Below is one of my most memorable Camp Meeting experiences. It also be found in my book "I Belong Here."
There was nothing like the smell of the dusty road as the evening sun began to set and life in Basin as we know it slowed to a craw. The men all came in from a long, hard day’s work and all the farm animals were fed. It would not be long before I heard my father say, “Fannie Camp Meeting is starting tonight,” as if I didn’t know. Camp meeting was my favorite time and it was always in the back of my mind.
Camp meeting takes place in Basin, MS 12 miles outside of Lucedale, MS the last two weeks in October. In our community, the whole year culminated in the last week of October. In the South, this was the time when the farmers were preparing for the winter, having recently finished harvesting their crops. It was a time to come together and thank God for the year’s bounty. This week of gratitude turned into Camp Meeting. In our home, we began talking about it after the first cool spell of weather. Mama would say, “It feels like Camp Meeting weather,” and Daddy would reply, “Yep, you’re right. It won’t be long now.” People would start arriving in Basin on Saturday prior to the week of Camp Meeting, and they came from all over. It was a reunion for many, as children and grandchildren who moved to the city would come “home” for Camp Meeting. Area churches would also drive in for the event.
Camp meeting was a part of the industry of the Lucedale area, just as a large convocation is to the city. In particular, it brought money into our household. My mama was known as the town seamstress; she sewed for both black and white people in the area, making everything from school clothes to wedding dresses. Not only was she a seamstress, but she was also a designer. She didn’t go by patterns; instead she designed unique styles to suit each person’s taste. She was especially popular during the Camp Meetings when it was not uncommon for men and women to get two or three new outfits for the week. While Camp Meeting was not about dressing up, dressing up was certainly part of the festivities. There was a great emphasis placed on looking nice for special occasions in church, such as Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Christmas, and Camp Meeting, especially from the older people. For these special events, you were expected to “put on the dog,” as the old saying goes.
Camp Meetings always carried an atmosphere of revival. The various preachers who lead Camp Meetings fascinated me; they were usually very articulate, gifted speakers and storytellers. I remember one C amp Meeting in particular that everyone looked forward to with great anticipation. I was about ten years old when Rev. Ponder was the Camp Meeting preacher. He was the Methodist preacher of the South and was wanted by many regional congregations to speak at large meetings. He was known to draw a crowd with his vivid preaching and teaching. He was able to stir up, in even the smallest child, the desire to know the story of Jesus.
One day Camp Meeting was to start, I knew when it was about time for Rev. Ponder to arrive in town. I could hardly maintain my composure while waiting for school to end. During the week of Camp Meeting, school was dismissed at noon to allow ample time for us to do our chores and get to church on time. Many of the community people actually stayed on campgrounds for the week, but since mama was the town seamstress, she needed to be at home. She was home all day getting dresses and suits ready, so each night Montee would take us to Camp meeting while Mama tried to finish in time to join us by Thursday.
I dressed my best on the first night, wearing a blue gabardine skirt, a vest in about an hour and fifteen minutes to walk there and another twenty minutes after we got there to clean the dust off our clothes and shoes. I was so anxious to get there that I wanted to tell my daddy to hurry up; I restrained myself, though, since he walked slowly due to an injury he received in World War I. Sometimes I held his hand, sometimes I was a step ahead or behind him, but I was always in reach of him. Finally, we arrived at Camp Meeting. My dad went to the “amen corner” where the deacons sat. My siblings sat with their friends, but I sat by myself on the end of the third row. The night began with devotion, followed by a few testimonies and a song by the choir. In Mt. Pleasant Camp Ground Choir, Inez Sinclair was usually requested to sing. Listening to her eautiful voice, sitting in anticipation of Rev. Ponder’s sermon, I could hardly keep from jumping out of my seat. This was not typical of most children’s feelings about Camp Meeting, but even then, I was searching for truth.
While Ms. Inez was singing “Christ Is All,” a steady stream of people continued to pour into the tent. Many of them had driven, from miles around to be there. As soon as the song was finished, Rev. Ponder began to preach a sermon titled “Trouble the Water.” As he began to bring to life the story of the lame man who went to the water to be healed, dancing through the text with elegance and passion, he walked around the pulpit to get closer to the congregation. Sometimes, he was very loud and forceful in making his points, and other times, he would grow calm and serene. By the time he reached the part of the story when Jesus healed the man, all the people in the “amen corner” were so emotional they were shouting “amen” every few seconds. Rev. Ponder was dripping with sweat, and the tabernacle had standing room only. During the alter call, Rev. Ponder asked, just as most preachers did then, if anyone wanted to “get religion.” I couldn’t understand what religion was or how I was supposed to get it. At that time in my life, I appreciated the emotions and felt that there was something special about the communion of people gathered, but I didn’t know how to make since of it all.
While I was confused by some of the religious jargon and traditions of Camp Meeting, there was a ritual that touched my profoundly and would stay with me throughout life. On the Sunday morning of the meeting, we reached the pinnacle of the week: Love Feast. We would break bread together, as we passed the loaf from one person to the next, each individual would share a testimony of God’s goodness. The spirit of sharing that existed during Love Feast was also present throughout the week. Those who drove in from other towns would bring food in their cars and serve it from a public tent. Local people also put food out in tents. At the end of each service, people would raise the trunks of their cars, where food was also kept, and we would go from car to car piling food on our plates. It was really an extension of Love Feast, breaking bread together and sharing God’s goodness.
While Camp Meeting always had a spiritual quality to it, the event became nominal to many, as had my faith from growing up in the Bible Belt where Christianity was often treated as a social rather than a spiritual matter. For many years, Camp Meeting had a spiritual awakening, a true revival. They talked about the grove meetings when women made brush harbors in which they could pray together; the children, instead of playing, would pray together, and men did the same. These stories haunted me, because just like the older people, I knew that there was something more than I was experiencing.
Nonetheless, there were certain people who embodied the real reasons for Camp Meeting. When I sensed these spiritual qualities in individuals, I would watch them closely. One of these people was Juanita Lawrence. When I, as an elementary student, first began to notice her, she was in high school. She was a quiet, mature person who didn’t seem phased by all the social rituals surrounding Camp Meeting. Soon after she entered college, she began to encourage and mentor me. At that time, I didn’t know what the word “mentor” meant, but I did appreciate her kind words. I looked forward to seeing Juanita at every Camp Meeting. After she graduated from college, she moved to East St. Louis, but we kept in touch through our parents. After I graduated from college and got married, Juanita and I began to attend Camp Meetings again. By that time, she was the assistant to the mayor of East St. Louis. The last time I saw Juanita, she was on her way to a national convention. On her way there, she stopped by camp Meeting for a couple of days, and we were able to spend an entire day together. At the end of the day, we walked out onto the Camp Meeting grounds and reminisced about those who had made this hallowed ground possible. While my husband and I left to drive home that night, Juanita left for New Orleans. Early the next morning, we received a phone called that she had been killed in a tragic accident. Though camp Meetings would never be the same for me again, my relationship with Juanita had helped to shape me at that time when I desperately needed to see someone modeling true Christianity.