What I Would Have Said (Had I Known What I Now Know)
During the summer of 2003, my unit had its annual training at FT Pickett, VA. I was still rather fresh in my uniform and felt rather gawkish and unsure of what to do and how to fit in. Most of the time I was there I spent it following up on Red Cross messages for soldiers, listening to stories from some of our Vietnam era aviators, and performing worship services in the field.
The most emotional intensity I had during this Annual Training came from a soldier who told the story of placing the Bronze Star that he had earned in Vietnam into his son's casket. He obviously needed to tell me this for reasons I only attribute the the title of "Chaplain." A Vietnamese pilot told me the story of how he flew one of the very last Huey's off the mainland out toward the sea until he ran out fuel and was rescued off shore by the U.S. Navy. I caught glimpses of the relationship between the chaplain and the enlisted assistant who was a "Joe"but embodied the wisdom and loyalty of all Joes. I attempted to get used to being saluted and returning salute.
As I was there I was told that an infantry platoon of young soldiers whose company was just mobilized to be deployed to Iraq. I was asked to perform a worship service for them. It was an opportunity to practice in-the-field ministry. I went by the camp while it rained lightly. The young soldiers in their woodland camouflage were huddled under a short lean-to. I attempted to lead them in a traditional hymn, but there were few takers. This is a generation that is less exposed to some of these idioms and are searching for their own manner of worship. I forget what text I used and remember that I awkwardly attempted to address their situation. I failed to connect probably because I was a bit nervous and knew little of where they'd been or what they were now facing.
When we drove away from the camp I expressed my doubts to the female soldier who was accompanying me that morning. She said not to pay it any mind and keep moving forward. So I did. Later that week, I was one of the very last soldiers to leave the tarmac as I watched about a dozen of our helicopters, both attack and transport. I had entered a world I knew little about, but trusted that all that was necessary to be part of it was to keep moving forward.
The first request to deploy to Kosovo stressed me. I was still working with a difficult congregation and this seemed like a difficult jump for me at the time. It would have required that I drop everything and go directly to school and from there to Kosovo. I declined and felt guilty for it.When the time came and I was asked to consider a deployment to Iraq I immediately responded, "Yes."Partly, I was now very ready spiritually, emotionally and physically. The other part was a matter of deciding to do it--move forward.
Forward I went for two years through tough training, boring classrooms, navigating the good-ol' boy system, chemical suits, mortars, sand storms, trauma, praying, memorializing, convoying and living out "Groundhog's Day." Why did I do it? I believed that I had a responsibility to my self and to those whom I served. I think of myself as somewhat insecure. Yes, I needed the mission for my own development. But that wasn't the primary focus. Whatever gene or nexus of personal experience that makes for "responsible types" -- I've got it. So I met would be brothers, sisters, fathers and uncles and did my best to take care of them and work with them as a chaplain. In a few instances,I failed. But for the lion's share, I among and beside many in the midst of confusion and pain and the many idiosyncratic relationships that the military has. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I am not a Hawk. I am Pro-people and I believe that we all have a responsibility to serve our country in a manner that is best fitting to our character. As far as I am concerned, there will always be individuals who are called to soldiering and the profession of arms. Their experiences are among the most trying and dramatic in the human experience. Is it often sad and seemingly pointless?Yes. And all the more reason for prayer, companionship and the much needed grace of God.
I discovered that I love soldiers and that soldiers come in all shapes, sizes, color, gender and stations in life. In my last unit there was a wide hipped black woman mother of a teenager who had an infectious laugh and wore cloying perfume.She was a legal assistant who took her job very seriously and had processed many actions for discipline. She was a soldier. And there was the young man from PA who was a PV2 for far too long in an MP unit that handled many frightening situations and helped to remove the dead from the streets.Sometimes bodies were booby trapped. He was very bright, but like many bright persons, he was indecisive because he didn't let himself be governed by his superiors or the unit. I met endless regular "Joes" who were"on" and ready to do almost anything asked of them because it was a job that needed to be done. Nothing more. Even though I was close to many of the effects of fear, terror and pain I was not there when the IED went off or the sniper's bullet landed. I am a witness and minister.
What might I have said to those young soldiers sitting under the tarp, had I had this experience prior to meeting them? I would have told them that some of what they are facing is too big of a mystery to understand. That by their own choice, chance, and the needs of the nation (whether some agree or not),they are heading to war. They will not come back the same. Some will lose arms and legs. A few will return under the draped flag. To many they will remain nameless and your experience not understood.They have great dignity because they have chosen to face ugliness, mayhem and pain so others might be spared of it. I would remind them that being a soldier is a spiritual calling, yet that calling is founded on primarily their humanness. Being human in an inhumane world is the greatest weapon against savagery of all. And that God's power, strength, grace and love and always and everywhere available to them. And that in the darkness of any evil, God's light can still be seen.
This is what I might have said, had I known what I know now.
The most emotional intensity I had during this Annual Training came from a soldier who told the story of placing the Bronze Star that he had earned in Vietnam into his son's casket. He obviously needed to tell me this for reasons I only attribute the the title of "Chaplain." A Vietnamese pilot told me the story of how he flew one of the very last Huey's off the mainland out toward the sea until he ran out fuel and was rescued off shore by the U.S. Navy. I caught glimpses of the relationship between the chaplain and the enlisted assistant who was a "Joe"but embodied the wisdom and loyalty of all Joes. I attempted to get used to being saluted and returning salute.
As I was there I was told that an infantry platoon of young soldiers whose company was just mobilized to be deployed to Iraq. I was asked to perform a worship service for them. It was an opportunity to practice in-the-field ministry. I went by the camp while it rained lightly. The young soldiers in their woodland camouflage were huddled under a short lean-to. I attempted to lead them in a traditional hymn, but there were few takers. This is a generation that is less exposed to some of these idioms and are searching for their own manner of worship. I forget what text I used and remember that I awkwardly attempted to address their situation. I failed to connect probably because I was a bit nervous and knew little of where they'd been or what they were now facing.
When we drove away from the camp I expressed my doubts to the female soldier who was accompanying me that morning. She said not to pay it any mind and keep moving forward. So I did. Later that week, I was one of the very last soldiers to leave the tarmac as I watched about a dozen of our helicopters, both attack and transport. I had entered a world I knew little about, but trusted that all that was necessary to be part of it was to keep moving forward.
The first request to deploy to Kosovo stressed me. I was still working with a difficult congregation and this seemed like a difficult jump for me at the time. It would have required that I drop everything and go directly to school and from there to Kosovo. I declined and felt guilty for it.When the time came and I was asked to consider a deployment to Iraq I immediately responded, "Yes."Partly, I was now very ready spiritually, emotionally and physically. The other part was a matter of deciding to do it--move forward.
Forward I went for two years through tough training, boring classrooms, navigating the good-ol' boy system, chemical suits, mortars, sand storms, trauma, praying, memorializing, convoying and living out "Groundhog's Day." Why did I do it? I believed that I had a responsibility to my self and to those whom I served. I think of myself as somewhat insecure. Yes, I needed the mission for my own development. But that wasn't the primary focus. Whatever gene or nexus of personal experience that makes for "responsible types" -- I've got it. So I met would be brothers, sisters, fathers and uncles and did my best to take care of them and work with them as a chaplain. In a few instances,I failed. But for the lion's share, I among and beside many in the midst of confusion and pain and the many idiosyncratic relationships that the military has. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I am not a Hawk. I am Pro-people and I believe that we all have a responsibility to serve our country in a manner that is best fitting to our character. As far as I am concerned, there will always be individuals who are called to soldiering and the profession of arms. Their experiences are among the most trying and dramatic in the human experience. Is it often sad and seemingly pointless?Yes. And all the more reason for prayer, companionship and the much needed grace of God.
I discovered that I love soldiers and that soldiers come in all shapes, sizes, color, gender and stations in life. In my last unit there was a wide hipped black woman mother of a teenager who had an infectious laugh and wore cloying perfume.She was a legal assistant who took her job very seriously and had processed many actions for discipline. She was a soldier. And there was the young man from PA who was a PV2 for far too long in an MP unit that handled many frightening situations and helped to remove the dead from the streets.Sometimes bodies were booby trapped. He was very bright, but like many bright persons, he was indecisive because he didn't let himself be governed by his superiors or the unit. I met endless regular "Joes" who were"on" and ready to do almost anything asked of them because it was a job that needed to be done. Nothing more. Even though I was close to many of the effects of fear, terror and pain I was not there when the IED went off or the sniper's bullet landed. I am a witness and minister.
What might I have said to those young soldiers sitting under the tarp, had I had this experience prior to meeting them? I would have told them that some of what they are facing is too big of a mystery to understand. That by their own choice, chance, and the needs of the nation (whether some agree or not),they are heading to war. They will not come back the same. Some will lose arms and legs. A few will return under the draped flag. To many they will remain nameless and your experience not understood.They have great dignity because they have chosen to face ugliness, mayhem and pain so others might be spared of it. I would remind them that being a soldier is a spiritual calling, yet that calling is founded on primarily their humanness. Being human in an inhumane world is the greatest weapon against savagery of all. And that God's power, strength, grace and love and always and everywhere available to them. And that in the darkness of any evil, God's light can still be seen.
This is what I might have said, had I known what I know now.
posted by Chaplain (CPT) Fokas at 9:54 AM
<< Home