There was a time when on Sundays at Camp, everyone ate milk soup with raisins, simply because it was a favorite dish of one of the congregation’s pastors. Back then, the ministers were also the Camp directors. They invited and evaluated the staff, set the program and rules, and led the morning flag-raising ceremony known as “Junda.” Not everyone remembers what another pastor of the congregation—Dean Ozols—talked about in Reliģiskās Apceres, but many fondly and gratefully recall the chess and tennis activities he led. Yet, no matter how enthusiastically those days are remembered in our community, former campers recall the milk soup with a quiet shudder.

Since those days, a lot of water has flowed down Cook Brook through the Camp. The last time a pastor served as Camp Director was more than 40 years ago—Rev. Laris Saliņš in 1985. Our community has changed, transitioning from Exile (Trimda) into a diaspora; our congregation has changed, and our Camp has changed. Times have changed, too—the sheer number of state and local laws governing children’s camps in New York State has grown, and regulations have become far stricter than they were in 1955 or 1985. From those earlier days remain memories, impressions, opinions, and hopes, once captured in a single, simple sentence: “The Camp is the congregation’s future.”

The year 2025 marked the start of a new program “2Valodas Katskiļos”. Inga Garbarino’s bold vision came to life, bringing together over 70 children from across the United States and Latvia this year. The approach—offering Camp as an experience where children can participate in both Latvian and English—proved to be exactly what many families were looking for.

Of course, this brings many challenges. For instance, we don’t have a bilingual order of service for children’s worship! Nowadays, many campers’ families do not practice any religion, and for their children, Camp is the first time they ever step into a church service. Consequently, our worship order during this period was in constant development, as was the language used to deliver its message. Thanks to the responsiveness and creativity of our counselors, the storytelling was accompanied by visual presentations. The campers enthusiastically followed the adventures of the Prodigal Son (Emīls Zālīte), and cheered as Jesus’ disciples (Magnolija Garbarino, Emīls Zālīte, Andris Carr, Zyle Puriņa) energetically rowed across the Sea of Galilee.

The “Simple Latvian” that helps children navigate daily camp life isn’t equipped for exploring deeper questions. “The Roman centurion believed in Jesus” and “Jesus considered the centurion’s understanding of His authority an act of faith” carry vastly different levels of meaning. Now that many campers’ families do not belong to any congregation, we can no longer say, “It’s okay if they didn’t catch it here; they’ll get it in Confirmation class.” For many children, our Camp is one of the rare opportunities to encounter the Gospel. If we believe that introducing them to Christ’s teaching is truly our mission, then we must ensure they encounter Christianity in an intellectually honest and understandable format—which means using the language in which they actually think, and that is English.

This approach—speaking about faith and God’s Word in a language and format children best understand—reveals a major shift in the overall mindset of the Camp and the congregation. For decades, Camp served the Latvian exile community primarily as a means of self-preservation, protecting Latvian identity. A community stripped of its land and state guarded what remained: language, song, faith, and children. Camp was a fortress, and fortresses have walls. But diaspora is not the same as Exile. We no longer need to guard a Latvia that exists only in memory—Latvia is alive, and its children were here in the Catskills this summer alongside Latvian-American children. Camp is becoming an open place of outreach to the entire Latvian diaspora, regardless of how connected a family might be to our congregation or any other. As beautifully stated on the Camp’s website, the camp warmly welcomes all children of Latvian descent—whether or not their families belong to a church.

The congregation does not maintain the Camp to isolate itself from the outside world, but to serve the outside world. Such a shift demands much from us, including honesty with ourselves. Serving is not the same as providing a service. If Camp were merely a summer program with sports, Latvian songs, and good food, it could be run like any other children’s camp—professionally, legally, and efficiently. But the congregation does not maintain Camp because it is a profitable business venture. Something happens there that other diaspora institutions do not do—children hear the Gospel of Christ. And that is the very purpose of the church’s existence. Christ did not call His Church to preserve itself, but to proclaim His message to the ends of the earth.

Investing the time, energy, and resources to maintain the Camp under today’s strict regulations is a steep challenge that requires—and will continue to require—immense effort. Yet, if we view it as a mission, we are doing nothing more than continuing the work of those who first built Camp. Back in 1955, land in the Catskills wasn’t cheap, the physical labor wasn’t easy, and no one could guarantee that it would succeed. They built the Camp not because it was easy or simple, but because they believed children would need it. And they were right. Our task now is simply to prove that this truth continues into the fourth and fifth generations.

We also need a broader perspective on things that were once taken for granted. Nometņošanas Padome will need to draft clear guidelines regarding the place of religion within the Camp program. These guidelines should make it possible to invite pastors from other church bodies as well—both from the LELBA churches familiar to us and from the wider LELBPasaulē—without confusing their present-day ministry with outdated expectations inherited from the past. Today, it is no longer the duty of clergy to run the Camp administratively. Their role is to bring Christian content, help the church fulfill its ministry, and provide pastoral care to campers and staff when needed.

Efforts will also be required from our congregation’s representatives in the American Latvian Association and other Latvian organizations. If the church is serving the needs of the wider community, it is only fair for that wider community to notice and support it. We would not want to experience what befell our neighbors to the north—when maintaining “Saulaine” became too great a burden for the Toronto congregation, instead of receiving help, they received criticism and unhelpful advices.

If the church serves the needs of the entire Latvian community, then caring for the future of this ministry must become a shared responsibility of that whole community. Otherwise, the moment inevitably arrives when a single congregation is expected to maintain what a much broader community considers valuable. We must find new and varied ways for families to whom Camp has become meaningful to share in the responsibility for its future.

Today’s reality can be summarized in one sentence: “The Camp is the congregation’s ministry.” This means that our future is not found in remaining enclosed, but in our capacity to serve, respond to the changes of our time, and share the precious gift we have been given. Through the Catskill mountains, it is not only Cook Brook that has flowed for decades—the message of the Gospel continues to flow there as well, finding new paths to reach every coming generation.

And as for milk soup with raisins? It will not be returning to the Camp menu in the foreseeable future.