The Three Major Feasts: Christmas, New Year’s and Super Bowl
The Sundays of Advent went very quickly. The choir prepared the chapel with all sorts of tacky decorations including three Christmas trees and some other mini trees. It looked festive. SPC Armbrister, our choir director, warned the choir not to make the trees look "ghetto fabulous." I laughed.
Boxes upon boxes of snacks, toiletries, socks and decorations had come from various groups back home. One elementary school from south central PA sent more than thirty boxes packed with items collected by the school kids and their families. We had a glut of stuff that we kept putting out on tables. Initially, I posted signs announcing the fact that there was all this free material. Soldiers came to the chapel with all of their excess! Eventually, most of it got distributed. We still have an occasional box arrive.
Early on, I had decided that for our Christmas service I would use the Lessons and Carols format. In the meanwhile, however, there were all sorts of politics going on in our camp. One story mostly included a specialist who decided to press the issue of his mental health. He reported that he had hostile feelings like he was going to shoot someone and in the same breath would say that he didn't feel like he could shoot an enemy combatant because he didn't believe in killing anymore. I also had a sergeant, a cook, from Tennessee who was a bit of a sad sack, who wanted to sing "Little Drummer Boy." Part of me felt that I needed to protect him from humiliation. But the part of me that applauded his guts prevailed. He didn't make it to the service, however, because he was needed on a food run at the last minute.
Our special case specialist apparently had signed himself on to the deployment even though he had a three inch thick mental health file back at a hospital in PA. It was only when he decided that this deployment "wasn't like the one in Germany" that he started to seek his return to the States. And round and round the paperwork goes. Everyone was chiming in, including a psychiatrist, whether he should go home or not. Command was initially dubious, then began to see the wisdom in cutting bait with this particular soldier who had damaged his brain on cocaine abuse. He was relinquished into my supervision for a while to do various painting jobs, but he drove me up a wall with all of his excuses. I started to feel like an overseer, so I gave him back to the Sergeant Major. At that point I could be his friend again, rather than another "persecutor."
He liked playing simple Christmas melodies on the keyboard. So I asked him if he would do the prelude for the service. He accepted. And even though he would not stay and eat in the dining facility because of "all the people," he played his piece in front of everyone on Christmas Eve. I think this was his declaration of his humanity. For me it made it all the more real that he was present in the midst of many others who doubted him, shuffled him off, attempted to provoke him and made fun of him.
We put several luminaria outside the chapel that had a few concrete barriers. Early in Advent, I asked SGT Musky to help build a shelter with a manger in it. He used plywood, tree limbs, wire, grass, and string. I even spotted some palm trees that we could use as roof thatch. It was beautiful and rustic. It sat outside the chapel door as a quiet reminder of the lowliness of His birth.
Liturgy--work of the people. I chose not to preach a homily that evening, only have the Christmas story tell itself and have the musicians, readers, and carol singers find their place in the joy and mystery of the evening. I had solicited candles from back home, but alas, nothing arrived from my source. A church sent a handful of used ones--hardly enough for everyone. At the last moment, I grabbed a bunch of chemical light sticks and asked Hargrave to hand those out. As our soloist, SGT Barracol, began to sing Silent Night in English and Spanish, he was briefly surprised when everyone cracked their green glow stick and sang along with him. Laughter briefly filled the room and then the recognition that how right it was that soldiers would celebrate this way. We had a trained italian tenor sing "Ave Maria." And a Baptist with a big voice sing "O Holy Night."
The chapel was packed. Holiness and expectation were in the air. And I felt blessed to be a part of it. We had readers of all ages, races (the military is the most integrated institution in the US), sexes, abilities and ranks. Some were eloquent. Some struggled a bit with the King James. It was real. Although we had no children in our worship, there was childlike wonder in the air.
I caught New Year's Eve fever and I went to the BN Commander and said, "Sir, we need to drop something." He said, "What do you mean?" I said, "You know, like back home they drop the ball in Times Square, a Hershey's Kiss in Hershey, and even a sausage, pickle and goat in other towns of PA. "What should we drop?" "Let me think about it." I said. Eventually it came to me. We could use a pick (we're the Coalminers). We wrapped a picked with about 500 twinkle lights, and gold and silver garland. We hung it from an old anti aircraft gun whose barrel was easy to ratchet up. And there the pick hung bright as all get out for most of New Year's Eve. Hargrave and Musky thought I was nuts. I told them that this was about memory making. Even with putting the message out among many, only a handful showed up. As we all counted down, I lowered the blazoned pick to the ground. We heard some gunfire at midnight and saw a couple of flares fired into the air. About eight of us shook hands and went to bed. I think partly disinterest, partly homesickness and that it was just one more night kept soldiers from coming out.
The New Year's lunch was among the holidays where officers serve. One could have steak, turkey, shrimp, roast beef, ham. There was no sauer kraut, but there was cabbage salad.
Talk of the playoffs turned to talk about the Steelers heading to the Super Bowl. Terrible towels came out. We had only one or two Seahawks fans in our midst. One is the sergeant in charge of our weapons. SGT Hines is a burly man who originates from the NW. He shared with me John Wayne's, The Quiet Man and he made a comment about soldiers' personal lives should have nothing to do with their ability to perform their duties. I became a fan of his.
The game was set to be televised in the Dining Facility on two large screen TVs beginning at 3AM minus any commercials. (AFN provides free network programming provided the commercials are blocked out. Instead we have dozens of Public Service Announcements either promoting safety, a particular branch of the service--lots of chaplain commercials, or family support programs. Some are cute. Most suffer from low production quality.) Plastic football shaped plates were handed out so we could eat some wings, lukewarm fries, and jalepeno poppers. Due to the way the tables were set up, people sat in horizontal lines and clusters. It was an opportunity to say hello to a few soldiers and I did the chaplain thing. Seeing the anticipation in others, it struck me how as Americans we believe our own hype. I have warmed up to football--even played a little here and rooted on our winning team with most "fan" in me that I have ever seen. As far as the Superbowl was concerned, I enjoyed watching the first half and the controversial touch down. I went to bed not certain that Pittsburgh would pull it off. I was quickly asleep into the third quarter.
These three experiences underscored to me just how much I am a man oriented in finding meaning in worship and church life. New Year's is full of glitz and forced revelry (and believe me, given the right party I could have a very nice time)and more than a few empty resolutions. The Super Blow is full of bluster and chest banging. (Anyone could foresee the celebrations in Pittsburgh getting out of hand. There's always a few idiots who think they need to overturn a vehicle in order to whoop it up.) But, Christmas brings the hush and hope of holiness to my soul.
Boxes upon boxes of snacks, toiletries, socks and decorations had come from various groups back home. One elementary school from south central PA sent more than thirty boxes packed with items collected by the school kids and their families. We had a glut of stuff that we kept putting out on tables. Initially, I posted signs announcing the fact that there was all this free material. Soldiers came to the chapel with all of their excess! Eventually, most of it got distributed. We still have an occasional box arrive.
Early on, I had decided that for our Christmas service I would use the Lessons and Carols format. In the meanwhile, however, there were all sorts of politics going on in our camp. One story mostly included a specialist who decided to press the issue of his mental health. He reported that he had hostile feelings like he was going to shoot someone and in the same breath would say that he didn't feel like he could shoot an enemy combatant because he didn't believe in killing anymore. I also had a sergeant, a cook, from Tennessee who was a bit of a sad sack, who wanted to sing "Little Drummer Boy." Part of me felt that I needed to protect him from humiliation. But the part of me that applauded his guts prevailed. He didn't make it to the service, however, because he was needed on a food run at the last minute.
Our special case specialist apparently had signed himself on to the deployment even though he had a three inch thick mental health file back at a hospital in PA. It was only when he decided that this deployment "wasn't like the one in Germany" that he started to seek his return to the States. And round and round the paperwork goes. Everyone was chiming in, including a psychiatrist, whether he should go home or not. Command was initially dubious, then began to see the wisdom in cutting bait with this particular soldier who had damaged his brain on cocaine abuse. He was relinquished into my supervision for a while to do various painting jobs, but he drove me up a wall with all of his excuses. I started to feel like an overseer, so I gave him back to the Sergeant Major. At that point I could be his friend again, rather than another "persecutor."
He liked playing simple Christmas melodies on the keyboard. So I asked him if he would do the prelude for the service. He accepted. And even though he would not stay and eat in the dining facility because of "all the people," he played his piece in front of everyone on Christmas Eve. I think this was his declaration of his humanity. For me it made it all the more real that he was present in the midst of many others who doubted him, shuffled him off, attempted to provoke him and made fun of him.
We put several luminaria outside the chapel that had a few concrete barriers. Early in Advent, I asked SGT Musky to help build a shelter with a manger in it. He used plywood, tree limbs, wire, grass, and string. I even spotted some palm trees that we could use as roof thatch. It was beautiful and rustic. It sat outside the chapel door as a quiet reminder of the lowliness of His birth.
Liturgy--work of the people. I chose not to preach a homily that evening, only have the Christmas story tell itself and have the musicians, readers, and carol singers find their place in the joy and mystery of the evening. I had solicited candles from back home, but alas, nothing arrived from my source. A church sent a handful of used ones--hardly enough for everyone. At the last moment, I grabbed a bunch of chemical light sticks and asked Hargrave to hand those out. As our soloist, SGT Barracol, began to sing Silent Night in English and Spanish, he was briefly surprised when everyone cracked their green glow stick and sang along with him. Laughter briefly filled the room and then the recognition that how right it was that soldiers would celebrate this way. We had a trained italian tenor sing "Ave Maria." And a Baptist with a big voice sing "O Holy Night."
The chapel was packed. Holiness and expectation were in the air. And I felt blessed to be a part of it. We had readers of all ages, races (the military is the most integrated institution in the US), sexes, abilities and ranks. Some were eloquent. Some struggled a bit with the King James. It was real. Although we had no children in our worship, there was childlike wonder in the air.
I caught New Year's Eve fever and I went to the BN Commander and said, "Sir, we need to drop something." He said, "What do you mean?" I said, "You know, like back home they drop the ball in Times Square, a Hershey's Kiss in Hershey, and even a sausage, pickle and goat in other towns of PA. "What should we drop?" "Let me think about it." I said. Eventually it came to me. We could use a pick (we're the Coalminers). We wrapped a picked with about 500 twinkle lights, and gold and silver garland. We hung it from an old anti aircraft gun whose barrel was easy to ratchet up. And there the pick hung bright as all get out for most of New Year's Eve. Hargrave and Musky thought I was nuts. I told them that this was about memory making. Even with putting the message out among many, only a handful showed up. As we all counted down, I lowered the blazoned pick to the ground. We heard some gunfire at midnight and saw a couple of flares fired into the air. About eight of us shook hands and went to bed. I think partly disinterest, partly homesickness and that it was just one more night kept soldiers from coming out.
The New Year's lunch was among the holidays where officers serve. One could have steak, turkey, shrimp, roast beef, ham. There was no sauer kraut, but there was cabbage salad.
Talk of the playoffs turned to talk about the Steelers heading to the Super Bowl. Terrible towels came out. We had only one or two Seahawks fans in our midst. One is the sergeant in charge of our weapons. SGT Hines is a burly man who originates from the NW. He shared with me John Wayne's, The Quiet Man and he made a comment about soldiers' personal lives should have nothing to do with their ability to perform their duties. I became a fan of his.
The game was set to be televised in the Dining Facility on two large screen TVs beginning at 3AM minus any commercials. (AFN provides free network programming provided the commercials are blocked out. Instead we have dozens of Public Service Announcements either promoting safety, a particular branch of the service--lots of chaplain commercials, or family support programs. Some are cute. Most suffer from low production quality.) Plastic football shaped plates were handed out so we could eat some wings, lukewarm fries, and jalepeno poppers. Due to the way the tables were set up, people sat in horizontal lines and clusters. It was an opportunity to say hello to a few soldiers and I did the chaplain thing. Seeing the anticipation in others, it struck me how as Americans we believe our own hype. I have warmed up to football--even played a little here and rooted on our winning team with most "fan" in me that I have ever seen. As far as the Superbowl was concerned, I enjoyed watching the first half and the controversial touch down. I went to bed not certain that Pittsburgh would pull it off. I was quickly asleep into the third quarter.
These three experiences underscored to me just how much I am a man oriented in finding meaning in worship and church life. New Year's is full of glitz and forced revelry (and believe me, given the right party I could have a very nice time)and more than a few empty resolutions. The Super Blow is full of bluster and chest banging. (Anyone could foresee the celebrations in Pittsburgh getting out of hand. There's always a few idiots who think they need to overturn a vehicle in order to whoop it up.) But, Christmas brings the hush and hope of holiness to my soul.
posted by Chaplain (CPT) Fokas at 12:18 AM
