For seven summers in a row, my parents sent me to church camp. And I hated it. Oh sure, we got to ride horses and canoe and swim in the lake and shoot bows and arrows. But we also had to go to church three times a day: morning devotions, afternoon Bible study, and evening evangelistic services. The evening services were the most painful for me. There we sat in an open-air tabernacle for hours on end, swatting mosquitos and listening to how dreadfully sinful we were. The evening always ended with an altar call.