By Jordan Arnold
Faith has geography. For all our talk of doctrines and worldviews, Christian belief is itself rooted in real places—places you can point to on a map, return to, and remember. The Bible opens not with a sermon, after all, but with a garden. Later, Sinai’s desert slopes, Zion’s rocky ridges, and the Jordan’s muddy banks take on spiritual weight because of what happened there. God met people in those places.
Wi-Ne-Ma Christian Camp belongs to that tradition.
Nestled between evergreens and Pacific surf near Cloverdale, Oregon, Wi-Ne-Ma is a place where gospel memory is made tangible. Since its founding in 1944, this stretch of coastal ground has been devoted to the formation of Christian faith, especially among young people. Here, campfires and dinner bells mark time. Scripture is read and messages are spoken aloud with the crash of waves in the background. And somewhere in the rhythm of shared meals, friendships and devotionals, faith is born, strengthened, and lives are reoriented.
The camp’s name honors a woman of faith: Toby Riddle, or Wi-Ne-Ma, a Modoc Christian whose courage and conviction during the Modoc War of the 1870s earned deep respect from settlers and tribes alike. Her name, meaning “Woman Chief,” became a fitting symbol for a place devoted to spiritual leadership and the quiet strength of service.
From the beginning, Wi-Ne-Ma was a grassroots effort. The first gatherings were unvarnished: tents pitched in the salty breeze, meals cooked over open fires, worship led with weathered hymnals. But even then, the mission was clear—to create space for young hearts to meet God in the splendor of creation.
By the 1950s, that vision had taken deep root. Churches across Oregon, Washington, and Idaho began sending their youth to Wi-Ne-Ma’s expanding summer programs. A tabernacle rose among the trees. Dorms, dining halls, and beach paths followed. But these weren’t the point—they were the scaffolding. The real work happened in conversation, confession, and commitment.
That remains true today.
Under the leadership of Camp Director Ken Smith, now in his fifth summer, Wi-Ne-Ma continues to offer children’s camps, teen weeks, leadership tracks, women’s retreats, family sessions, and year-round gatherings. “God made an incredible and beautiful world for you to explore,” Ken says, “and here on the Oregon coast, He invites you to meet his most glorious treasure—his Son, Jesus.”
For Ken, Wi-Ne-Ma is personal. He first came as a third grader in the late 1970s. His mother played piano at conferences and helped lead children’s programming. He met his wife at Wi-Ne-Ma. His own children grew up attending the Week of Mission conference with him. When his family relocated to the Salem area in 2021, the timing aligned providentially with his transition into the directorship, overlapping with longtime director Leroy Shepherd until the end of that year.
The camp runs on faith, prayer—and volunteers.
Each summer, hundreds of servants from affiliated churches return to Wi-Ne-Ma, not just out of duty, but devotion. Counselors, nurses, kitchen crews, and recreation leaders give their time freely. Many of them, like Ken, are part of multi-generational legacies. They were campers once. Then counselors. Now pastors or parents. Some have children and grandchildren running through the same fields where they once sat in small groups.
It’s not uncommon for a worship leader today to have been baptized in Wi-Ne-Ma’s cold coastal waters decades ago. The continuity is remarkable—and it’s intentional.
Because no one is formed accidentally.
Proximity does something. When the gospel is lived out—in cabins, in service projects, in whispered prayers and goofy skits—it sticks. For some campers, one week here has more spiritual weight than an entire semester of sermons. The camp isn’t magical. But it is meaningful, because it’s built that way.
And meaning is in short supply in a culture that trades permanence for novelty.
At Wi-Ne-Ma, faith is not abstract. It’s a breakfast prayer said around a table. It’s a walk with a friend who’s asking hard questions. It’s midnight conversations. It’s a counselor sharing how Christ met them in a moment of doubt. The gospel here is practiced, not only proclaimed.
When campers arrive, they come with expectations and hopes. They want perspective. They want connection. They want God. They come seeking his word. His message. And in the silence of the trees, or the crash of the waves, something happens.
God’s “still small voice” is heard.
Breakthroughs happen.
Commitments are made.
Rhythms form that stick.
Faith begins to settle into place, like the seed of a pinecone emerging from Pacific Northwest soil.
And when that happens, the place itself becomes part of the story.
Places matter to God. Bethel. Galilee. Emmaus. Not because the geography is enchanted, but because God met people there. Wi-Ne-Ma is no different. It is made sacred by the Spirit’s continued work and by the expectation that God still shows up.
But sacred places don’t sustain themselves.
They endure only if each generation receives them as a mission. As Ken notes, “Each generation inherits institutions it didn’t build. And each generation decides whether they’ll flourish or fade.”
Wi-Ne-Ma has weathered eight decades of cultural change, denominational shifts, and generational turnover. But the heartbeat has never changed. Build up Christians. Let the landscape do its quiet work. Create space for God to meet his people.
That’s how places become sacred. Not because of the amenities. Not because of nostalgia. But because they keep doing what they were founded to do—form hearts in the presence of Christ.
There are no guarantees. Camps fade. Ministries close. Forests fall.
But while it stands—while the trees still echoe with singing, while the kitchen clangs with dishes, while the paths to the beach are still worn by bare feet and summer hopes—Wi-Ne-Ma will matter.
Because here, the gospel finds place.
And that’s enough to make any ground holy.
Jordan Arnold serves as minister of Preaching Minister at Church of Christ in Falls Church, Virginia.
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