And from thence they went to Beer: that is the well whereof the LORD spake unto Moses, Gather the people together, and I will give them water.
Numbers 21:16

Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities.
Paul’s 1st epistle to Timothy.

Now it can be told. And it must be told. And repeated down the ages until the end of all things, at the picnics of the Daughters of the ARCW, at the gatherings, and repeated unto thy children’s children so the story be not forgotten to time nor the legend thereof go unremembered.

It came about in this wise. It was at Camp Quest, the first residential summer camp for the children of secular humanists. We of the Free Inquiry Group, Inc. (FIG) were in Kentucky at camp, in second season, following our wonderfully successful debut the previous year. The world was watching. We had engaged the same facility from the Southern Baptists, and we were viewed by them, most charitably stated, with ambivalence. A few months earlier, FIG, sponsors of Camp Quest, had led a battle in the American Religious Civil War (ARCW) against the creationists in Northern Kentucky, in the self same county that housed the Baptist camp we rented. Our hosts were sympathetic to the creationist cause, and were very much aware of our activities against them that had stopped a creationist museum from arising to challenge the proofs of evolution displayed at Kentucky’s Big Bone Lick State Park.

Were they ever aware! They had earlier informed us in writing that they knew what we had done, and inquired just how their renting to us carried forth their purpose of fulfilling the cause of Christ. We reminded them of the story of the good Samaritan. They let us come back, but they were prepared. Brand new creationism tracts, with the glue of their bindings unbroken, appeared this year in the dining hall, as did the 10 commandments affixed to the walls of the cabins, complimenting "Jesus Loves You" newly inscribed on each cabin’s mirror. We felt they were trying to tell us something. Indeed, we learned from our spies that many among them had been upset that our kind had been on their hallowed grounds the past year, and were outraged we had been permitted to return. There were rumors that the friendly staff of the camp had their jobs on the line for actually acting in the best sense of Christian charity toward the strangers at their gates. At any rate, the Baptists did not deny us our second year. Maybe it was because we had a signed contract, and the camp director was known to be a lawyer. Who knows. Anyhow, we were there, but, as best, on spiritual probation.

And then unto those hills of the Ohio valley came two high emissaries from the distant state of New York. From the very center of the world they came, from our sponsor, the esteemed Council for Secular Humanism. These fearsome guests from afar were named Anthony and Timothy (their surnames will not be revealed to prevent embarrassment to their families and friends, if any, and to provide new topics for future doctoral research), a.k.a., Tim and Tony. These paragons of our cause, these standard bearers of those values we hold dear, came to see if we were behaving ourselves, if we were acting in the best traditions of secular humanism, if we were managing to peacefully co-exist with folks generally predisposed to hate our guts, if we were doing our sponsors proud, and if we had somehow managed to live in peaceful harmony with those whose values seemed at such unbridgeable variance with our own.

We thought our honored apostles’ fears unwarranted, for we, conscious of obvious differences, keenly sensitive to the sensibilities of our hosts, and most mindful of their beliefs, standards, and rules, had taken great pains to insure that no camper or staff of Camp Quest should, by act or omission, trespass on the traditions, beliefs, or principles of our Baptist friends, with whom we had achieved a workable, if uneasy, peace. We knew we need not and could not agree, but we would be rude to mock. We were strangers in a strange land, fed and housed by hosts we dearly sought not to offend.

On the second day of the visit of TnT, apostles of Council, as our entire assembly set together at table, a message came from the director of the Baptist camp to our camp’s registrar, requesting immediate audience in the kitchen on a matter of grave and utmost urgency. Our registrar, a physician, was steeled to crisis. She who started and stopped human hearts on operating tables went bravely to the unknown that awaited. Camp Quest’s director stoically waited for news that could not be good. Had some horrible something happened to a family member of one of our assembly? Was the world suddenly at war? Had the messiah arrived at the gates? The director had preached, and tried to practice, grace under pressure, so outwardly he remained calm, attempting to become, as the Zen masters taught, a lotus in a sea of fire.

The registrar returned, ashen and shaken. It was bad, the director knew that. He didn’t know it was this bad. "We have a serious problem," she reported. "Beer has been found in the refrigerator. The Baptist chief executive has been called. They are talking of expelling us from the camp." Outwardly unmoved, inside curtained consciousness the director’s life and dreams of success for this first secular humanist summer camp cascaded crimson.

Calmly, he surveyed the gathered diners. Campers and staff had all stated in writing, at his request, that they knew alcohol, drugs, and weapons were strictly forbidden, that even tobacco, America’s gift to the world, was banned at Camp Quest. They knew this. What could have happened? As his eyes cast about, they passed over, and then returned to focus upon, Tim and Toni, on TnT, the behavioral watchdogs, the unguarded guardians, that had been sent unto them from Council.

Calmly, he went to them and told them of the thing that had come to pass that had been made known unto us. They freely confessed they done it, and wondered whence the fuss. The director patiently explained that the harboring of beer in Baptist halls was, to Baptists, roughly analogous in predictable degree of offense and outrage, to the manner in which orthodox Jews might be expected to regard the roasting of a pig in the holy of holies of their synagogue on Yom Kippur.

We are pleased to report this story ended well. The offending beer was poured, with great disdain and ceremony, down Baptist drains by our forgiving hosts. Our misguided miscreants did much back peddling and crow eating--groveling, apologizing and explaining insofar as they could. In the best of Christian charity, realizing we were damned anyway and not expected to know better, the Baptists in the end finally forgave and let us stay out our term of contract. T&T were persuaded not to seek legal redress or compensation for their confiscated goods that had been so scornfully trashed. The Baptist director was told apologetically that we had no idea the offenders would do as they did, and that they were Yankees. She understood, and offered her condolences. We remained friends, but realized, without being told, we would never again be permitted to return. Enough is enough. We were through there, and "that’s that" said the grammarian.

So Camp Quest has found other quarters, and will continue. The new facility does not permit beer either, and all within hearing are thus advised and warned.

A postscript. Some weeks after our camp had ended in triumph, we had occasion once again to be visited by Anthony and Timothy. At a seminar on secular humanism, in Northern Kentucky, before those assembled to discuss our future and our cause, TnT had presented unto them in solemn ceremony by the staff of Camp Quest, who were mindful of their sacrifice, a somewhat large brown jug of beer.

It was labeled:

Edwin Kagin
January, 1998