Bats in Flight II

Military chaplains often refer soldiers to Combat Stress Control (mental health). Fortunately, the CSC CPT, CPT C is a very versatile man. He was educated at Boston University, is an ordained minister in the Methodist tradition and a licensed Social Worker. He has a keen and broad mind, an absurd sense of humor and the gift of Zen in basketball lay up shots. He wears BCG’s (ugly army issue eyeglass frames called “birth control glasses”) that give him that intellectual look ala Henry Kissinger. He helps to run the Warrior Restoration Program where soldiers spend a few days in group sessions at a retreat called Freedom Rest. The previous chaplain called it a “white collar prison,” but it is a good respite for the right persons. There is a pool and private rooms where soldiers can decompress a bit so they can get some distance from their issues.

CPT C is astute and asked some good questions regarding the dynamics some of the companies that I serve. For example, there was a company of MP’s from the VAANG who had some friction with the post command on the FOB where they were. There also had been some drinking and soldiers reduced in rank. Upon visiting, the Co. commander, a competent man who graduated from UVA told me about some negligent discharges when soldiers were reentering the FOB. He also told me about some of his own personal frustrations as well as the perception that the BN commander was keeping them from doing more complex missions. CPT C recommended that I share the unit issues with the BN commander. When I did, I learned more about how discharges point to lack of discipline at the non-commissioned officer level and that the unit has a mindset that they are fully trained because they were schooled by the Navy SEALS. The BN commander told me that, yes, they are well trained for a particular kind of mission, but if they wanted broader responsibilities in the fight, they would have to train more.

Soon after our return to Camp Liberty, we had an incident with one of our newest and youngest companies. While on convoy a soldier lost control of his vehicle and ran through a small building killing a local national. It is most likely that he was using excessive speed. The company’s 1SG sent the driver and trip commander to come see me shortly after the accident. The young soldier who was driving was obviously distraught. All that I could really say to them is that what happened was about as serious as it gets (in terms of the value of another’s life) and that there would, of course, be an investigation. The tragedy of all was that this was part of the unintended—but always present—consequence of war. What is to be done here? Give absolution? Try to press the soldier to realize the depth of his guilt? Leave it to others? What is this compared to the hundreds of tortured bodies found each day? I can feel the awkward expression on my face as I try to remind them of the gravity, the upcoming investigation, and some platitudes about not being too harsh with one’s self. God grant me wisdom, I pray.

The next couple of days include a visit from a black female soldier who is trying to get out of the Army because the recruiter lied about her eligibility for a signing bonus. Her unit has tried to help her, but keeps getting stone walled. She has begun to be disaffected to the point where I later learn she has decided not to come out of her room. Now she faces disciplinary action. I spend time with a SGT who has just been relieved of his duty in the TOC (Tactical Operations Center). He sobs in realizing he must now let go. He feels shamed. I embrace the large man as I sit next to him on a bench. Another soldier comes to me seeking “Compassionate Reassignment” to a duty station in West Texas as he is the only child of a woman dying of cancer. He needs to go home and take care of her. I meet a Major who worked with my previous brigade who tells me of a sad episode of a higher ranking officer who regularly dispensed intimidation and humiliation. This man is the son of a Vietnam vet who told him not come to war and leave his family. I attempt to offer consolation in the fact that he took his own path and faced what he had to face here.

Another trip to a subordinate unit includes an invitation to go to visit Iraqi Police stations outside the wire. SGT J was not fully prepared for this and neither was I. He gets nervous and reminds me that we aren’t required. I explain that the commander said that these places had not seen any activity for a couple weeks and can ensure our safety. He reluctantly agrees to come out with me. I have probably acted to hastily, but since these soldiers have not seen a chaplain in months, let alone a chaplain who is willing to meet them where they cover for 24 hours at a time, I go. The conditions are tough and the stations are barely decent. And SGT J. comes with me. We have very good visits with the soldiers (many want to talk) and tours of IP stations that include photo ops. As we are waiting for a chopper to return us to Camp Liberty, SGT J. brings up his discomfort about not being totally prepared. He is mostly right, but I’m not hearing it. We table the discussion for the next day. We skip a day and meet together with a Master SGT. We get it out on the table and our relationship grows stronger out of this minor conflict. Thank God we are both mature and reasonable enough to come to terms. The last thing either of us need is unnecessary friction between us. He offers prayer at my modest service. I attend the huge Gospel service with him. He is full of infectious praise. I feel stilted and white.

One more visit on a FOB south of Baghdad takes us near the place where an alleged rape occurred of an Iraqi teenager by an American soldier. We initially get off at the wrong stop. It is far too “tip of the spear” country. We were told the 5th stop. When we finally reach our proper destination (Falcon), the 1SG is among the most hospitable I have yet to meet. We are given plenty of free access, briefing time, prayer time, and private time with soldiers. I meet some tough looking soldiers as they are cleaning their weapons and speak to them of God’s love and how chaplains can be helpful if they are devoid of it. I feel like the Pillsbury Dough Boy who is about to be turned into a well baked dinner roll. They listen attentively. One even challenges me on my interpretation of the Pope’s “clumsy attempt at dialog.” “Wasn’t he just quoting someone, chaplain?” “Yes, but…” My enlightened liberalism doesn’t fly in light of their day to day experiences with the tactics of the “Muslim Extremists.” Considering the world in shades of gray here is a luxury that will get a soldier killed here and is best left to non-combatants, like the chaplain. They are respectful. I see spiritual hunger in their eyes and some wariness. I feel privileged to be able to walk into so many worlds and carry symbols that I sometimes forget—community, family, morality, faith, forgiveness, and hope. I can only pray to be worthy of this responsibility.

Pressing the flesh is now a bigger part of this chaplaincy. This is primarily because this battalion is about the size of a brigade and we are spread about. We even have Airmen (Security Forces) attached to us in our mission. I was given the opportunity to address a squadron during an awards ceremony. I gave them my standard talk that gives credit to a Navy chaplain I once heard on TV. “What can a chaplain do for you? A chaplain can help you answer three questions: Is it ok with God to be a warrior? Am I ok with God? And is it ok to be afraid? I also add my four points of how to survive a deployment. 1. Find something to grow into (courses, books, etc). 2. Look for goodness and beauty. It exists even in an ugly situation like this. 3. Stay in touch with family. But don’t try to control your home life from a distance. 4. Form positive friendships. With a chaplain, you can always have 100% confidentiality (the only profession in the military that can say this) unless you intend to harm someone or yourself.” I always try to be succinct, knowing that this is not my pulpit.

I often eat alone, but allow the possibility of conversations by sitting with a variety of soldiers inside and outside of our unit. Recently, I had dinner with two field grade officers. They spoke of how quick and impressive our Stryker Brigades are in terms of a conventional battlefield. We talked about the frustration of allowing enemies sanctuary under the umbrella of religion. We dissected the current state of the government and its ties to Sadr and his militia. We argued about our own naïve optimism and the depth of hatred this enemy has for us. It was good to speak with knowledgeable and engaging men. Most of their business was war planning. Some of their speech reflected the specialized nature of military professions: data, tactics and strategy. Everything is compartmentalized. It helps us stay sane when we focus on “our lane.” After the dinner one remained behind a bit. “I am tired, chaplain…” He looked at me as if seeking someone to trust.

I leave the chow hall before sunset and a little too early for the masses of bats. I try to scope a few out and I succeed in finding some just beginning to come out and do their sky dances. This evening I walk along the man made “Z” lake, called “Z” lake due to its form. The sun reflects off the waters and turns some of the tall grasses along the edges into silhouettes. I walk under a few date palms along the dirt (!) path. A bird swoops by me from behind and I recognize it as a white crane as it spreads its wings and lands near the adjacent edge. I say to myself, “Thank you. Show me more beauty, Lord.” Show us all more beauty, more peace, dear God.

Bats In Flight I

Most evenings around the time of sunset, I am now usually walking to or from our chow hall. It is the better of a ten minute walk complete with dust, rocks, and various military vehicles noisily rolling by. The air is usually warm, dry and pleasant. A certain stillness envelopes all but it is broken by the activity of hundreds of bats flying every which way. I really love this meditative time watching the weird and wonderful activity of these creatures. I think about how scattered they seem, yet nature has given them a keen sense of location.

So many experiences lately, they seem to fly about me like bats. I get little time to really integrate it, but I do pray. I respond to what comes my way and then march on. I can only guess that it is even more difficult for the warriors from whom much is demanded. A steady stream of soldiers seeking counseling passes through my door. Some have issues for which I can only provide a listening ear. Others need some sort of intervention whether it is for an emergency leave, or a tough situation.

Like watching bats in flight, there are so many issues and going in many different directions. In most situations, I believe that most of my job is simply watching and acknowledging what is happening and not necessarily try to “fix things.” Yet, there come the moments where intervention is needed.

One incident where it was clear to me that I needed to intervene was an evening when a female SGT from our headquarters brought over a female specialist whom she found sitting on a stoop crying. Apparently she had run away from a SGT who had put her on extra duty and was now demanding after some “corrective training” (jumping jacks while wearing Kevlar vest) to fill sand bags. She balked, said “No,” walked off toward a darkened shipping container. Apparently, her SGT tried to pull her out. Touching is a big no-no.

I took the soldier over to the CSM (Command Sergeant Major) and had her tearfully recount the story. Although the CSM avoids getting into company business, he highly regards the chaplaincy, so he took time to listen. Eventually we ended up visiting a 1SG whose company filled with many young soldiers recently hit the ground. We got our message across and I was probably heavy handed when I told the 1SG that I already had several “odd” situations coming out of his company and that I was “going to keep an eye on them.” He took this as a threat and the next day I had a visit from the company commander. He made it clear that he wasn’t going to let some chaplain throw his weight around in his area. I made it clear that my concern was the welfare of soldiers (like himself) and that I was “eyes and ears of the BN commander.” A few days later while visiting the motor pool, I saw the young specialist. She told me she was put on a new team. I thought that was a good idea—a fresh start for her. After a couple more positive and neutral interactions with the commander and 1SG, we all settled into a more cordial relationship.

A couple nights later, one of our more mature companies dealt with some ugliness that reflects the baseness to which conflict can bring people. Our MP’s frequently most accompany the IP’s (Iraqi Police) when they are recovering bodies off the streets. In this case one of the dead bodies was booby trapped with an IED. The after math was some decontamination for the squad. It could have been much worse, because a vehicle nearby sustained some damage while the soldiers were unscathed. I was called to the medic station by the 1SG. The soldiers had yet to arrive when I got there. I waited outside the clinic with the Co. Commander, 1SG, and one other SGT. Quiet was all about so I took the opportunity to ask CPT A. how things were going in general. Soon three vehicles arrived and soldiers were ordered to drop their gear so it could be cleaned and to not mix what didn’t need cleaning with what did. I hung around in the clinic as two soldiers who took the brunt of the blast were being examined. Both seemed fine and I was amazed at how resilient many of these soldiers are. Sometimes it takes a little while for the effects of trauma to be revealed. But, in this case I think we were generally lucky.

I am now nominally responsible for the spiritual well-being of at least eleven companies of soldiers. So, I now have to travel to various FOBs in order to visit with some of these companies. One visit took me to the IZ (what often is referred to as the “Green Zone”). I met with a Field Artillery unit from Kansas that is serving as MP’s. Their 1SGT was a crusty sort. He actually had been in the Vietnam War. He was highly effective in maintaining order and safety in the unit. “Top” was amazed at the fact that the unit was put in housing where four soldiers shared a trailer with shower, internet, a refrigerator, and a telephone. The Co. Commander, Major G. was an educator and easy going. He took us through one of Saddam’s palaces and current site of the American Embassy. Being here amidst the State Department personnel, big brass, pool, alcohol and even an orchestra of woodwinds was a little disorienting. Add two huge sculptured metal heads of Saddam facing down in the back yard and it was surreal.

One of the highlights of my ministry among our soldiers in Iraq occurred unit members took me to their training site at the “Crossed Swords.” This was a military reviewing stage most famous for its huge Crossed Sword sculptures at each end of the field. Saddam was tapped here on many occasions including once on a white horse and another time prior to the war wearing a fedora and shooting a shotgun. At one end was the Iraqi memorial of the Unknown Soldier. After some training maneuvers, the 30+ soldiers were called together to have me address them. I invited them to stay for a worship service. We were joined by about a dozen Fijian security forces. I set up a communion table on top of a HMMWV (hummer). My homily was a reflection on the Beatitudes and how Saddam was once “King of the Hill” but now they are. I told the soldiers that given what the Beatitudes say, there is no evidence in this world that “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Jesus was not setting up a new civil code; he was blessing those who walk in faith despite the ugliness of the world. I reminded them that they have an awesome responsibility wherever they fall in the ranks. The Fijians sang a beautiful hymn for all of us. We even held hands in prayer as we dismissed.

Later the Co. Commander, Major G. took us to the top of the memorial. We were escorted by an Iraqi soldier. Under what can only be described as a huge metal clamshell, was the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The raised coffin was visible through colored glass. From there we were led into the base of the structure. It was dark. We used our flashlights to seek out the empty glass sarcophagi that the Baathists had set aside for the expected dead.