Every year around this time I begin mentally, emotionally and spiritually preparing myself for the Event that uproots and scatters me from my small existence. Usually my existence is spent traveling between three rooms in an aging hotel and one chair and a computer in an aging Armory building across the street. There is a lake nestled in a little piece of farmland downstate in Illinois where every year for the last fifteen years my church has been organizing a music, arts and teaching festival for tens of thousands of Christians. I attended for the first time back in 1992. Since that time there are a few things that have remained the same. The lake is still there. The main road. The port-o-potties. The tents. John Perkins. A bunch of dedicated world weary yet committed souls who speak of "Grey's Lake." (The original site of Cornerstone which from 1984 to 1991 was situated north of Chicago.)
All the bands I came to see at age 18 now have children who hang out at the Goth stage. When I arrived that first year I had caravaned up from St. Louis with friends. We pulled in to the gate and just set up tent where ever we saw a free spot. That happened to be in the big main field behind Exhibition 1. On day 3 we had no shade, no water, and our neighbors were brewing up a fist fight. There we stood around the car listening and waiting to pull the big mouthy friend of our friend out from under the kindly, very patient and quiet but very fit man he was verbally assaulting. Our friend of a friend sauntered away after realizing his insults were meaningless. No blood was spilt, only pride was wounded.
So now after ten years let me recap my ritual at Cornerstone Festival. We try to arrive as many days before the the fest as possible to set up. My wife and I have three children. After arriving on the fest grounds we drive down another half mile to our camp site situated in a shady spot between two friends with trailers. I unpack the van and lug everything to the bare grassy spot. We have like three or four tents. I can't remember which. We start with the big three room family tent. An hour later we start putting up the other two tents for storage. Around us typically camp other friends. Oh yeah, that fourth tent is a big screen with a picnic table in it which is the dining room for the family and friends. The picnic table. Finding a picnic table a half mile across the grounds and getting it hauled back to the camp takes a half day.
You know, I usually block all thoughts of this until I arrive on the grounds. My mind is in serious rebellion right now. But I'll trudge on. After the set up we secure electricity and water from various places. Then we hire protection for these from armed guards. Just kidding. It's all down-hill from here. Barring any significant extreme heat by day, cold by night, wind, dust, rain, lightning, bugs, poison ivy or medical emergencies. Now I'm having fun!
I've worked a few different jobs at the festival. Security, Registration, watering the road, and for the last five years: the bookstore. Watering the road? Yes, this spontaneous act of servant hood will forever rank among the most menial and debasing jobs I've ever done for Jesus. I'd just arrived back from Chicago mid-fest and was wandering around asking how to be helpful. The guy that lived at the end of the hall from me back in Chicago was driving the water truck. The hose that dispersed the water wouldn't stay still on the road so he had the idea to have me hold it and follow behind him. You can see where this is going. By the end of the front gate road I was covered in soapy scuzzy shower water. My leather sandals were soaked and full of gravel and every car waiting to get in the front gate were alerted to my stupid act of servitude.
So anyway, the bookstore. Inventory. Packing. Setting up. Open in the morning. Dust. Clean. Set right. Train volunteers. Inventory. Secure. Answer questions. Be courteous for four days.
Everyone behind the scenes at Cornerstone has a different story. Some little routine they've done for a lot longer than me. I never cease to be amazed at how much they really enjoy it! One guy I know seems to live for Cornerstone. He throws himself into every aspect of his job in expectation. He talks about it so excitedly and I just stand amazed and grateful. Someone has to be this way. I guess I just get up every day and try to remember to do the next right thing. I can't see into my fellow community member's minds but I'm astounded at their teamwork, generosity, genuine kindness, and service poured out every year. I don't know if they inwardly groan as I do or go through the same mental exercises in preparation.
By the grace of God the festival has traveled from a crazy experiment turned miracle into a mainstay that I fear is often taken for granted. Summer arrives, the fourth of July, Cornerstone Festival. Time to rock-n-roll and party.
Please remember the other people behind the festival. The volunteers who travel hours to stand in the hot sun and direct traffic. The youth groups who collect the miles of trash from the fields afterward.
Last year I got pummeled by some slingshot water balloon action in the wee hours of the morning. I was shocked and angry at being the brunt of some adult children. After the fest I saw that these same folks had hung their entire camp in the tree above their campsite. Later I heard that a JPUSA mom had come by and forced the largest child among them to remove every item from the tree as she looked on with her arms crossed. I made a point of asking the volunteer coordinator about this group after checking their license plate. With a patient knowing smile she told me all about this group of campers. This was church that took two weeks out of their summer to do all the little things before, during, and after the fest. They had a strong core group of Christians and some "others" they'd brought along they were trying to influence. Whoever had done the misdeeds (believers or not) they more than compensated for their wrongs. Boy did I feel like a curmudgeon for my petty bitterness. Next time someone wrongs you remember that you don't know the whole story.
Why do 20,000 people seek out a camping community for four days around America's Independence day? I would like to say it's for Jesus. (The date by the way, for the first time ever, is likely to change hereafter.) Is it for the fellowship? The music, the arts, the teaching? The crowd watching? Is it an endurance test? No. I think its just this miraculous act of service that many churches from many confessions manage to finish by each doing a small part. Who is getting rich as a result? No one I know. Everyone gets just what is needed to do the job. A lot of prayer goes up and is answered. Hopefully a lot of love is extended where it is needed and a gospel message is embodied in a small way. "They will know you are believers by your Love." I'll try to do my part in that this year.
