August 25
Today I feel discouraged, lost, and awkward. It is rather strange trying to fit in when carrying the cross on our epaulets (i.e. ID “flaps”), especially amongst all these strangers. It wasn’t that long ago that we arrived, so I guess this is all normal. While at the same time, the chaplain has it harder, due to the fact that one of our jobs is to simply “fit in.” This can be difficult when all conversations eventually lead to sex and dirty jokes, at least amongst our younger, less mature military members. Still, my job is spending time with the troops and getting to know them, so that they trust me enough to come to me with their problems when the inevitable crisis occurs. Otherwise, my position is redundant while the member seeks advice and consolation with others in their CoC; friends with whom they feel more at ease to share their concerns; friends who may not be the most qualified to offer sound advice. Padres are aware of the dangers of befriending those whom they are called to father. For this reason, Christian ministry is often lonely. But even though healthy barriers need to be preserved, we are social with those whom we serve. And when people are not struggling with personal issues, such as at the beginning of a tour when morale is relatively high, there is not that much for me to do, except to be social. On those days, I spend my time walking the line, and participating in conversations about ethics, politics, and God. But more often than not, I share in a lot of small talk. This is more important than you might think. I deliberately listen for news of potential issues that I may need to pursue in the future. If a member is already having trouble with his fiancée after only two weeks in theater, I can almost count on his visit into my office in the weeks to follow. But normally, on the slow days, I just make my face visible, make myself accessible, so that others see me and remember me. And when the wife threatens to terminate the marriage, the son overdoses on drugs, or the mother is checked into the hospital, these same people will come and find me first. In short, a lot of patience is required while waiting for emergencies to strike.
Unlike other trades, ours is not clearly defined. Sometimes we are described as “morale boosters.” This could be considered the lowest common denominator unifying chaplains of various religions and confessions. But even this is over-emphasized. If you are having a bad day, the chaplain could be the prettiest cheerleader or funniest mascot, yet his or her smile or word of encouragement will have little lasting effect. Some commanders believe that the chaplain is the “pulse of the troops.’’ This too is highly unrealistic, since the section leaders, or Sergeant Major, work much closer to their troops every day, and are better able to accurately determine whether or not group morale is high or low. What is my role? God knows. After all, He’s the one who created the position, and called servants to fill it.
When I am not busy with cases, I may find myself helping other trades: carrying a radio or med kit on a convoy, loading and unloading supplies, cleaning, helping cook or serving in the kitchen, etc. Again, my motive is not purely to be helpful, but to be visible. Nevertheless, even when I am busy with cases, I am potentially replaceable by a social worker, with the exception that I usually offer a short prayer at the end of the session. The members are usually very happy, but that is incidental. Unfortunately, due to the decline of interest in Christianity, the religious aspect is not usually essential to my trade, which brings me back to my original point of feeling out of place and lost. At least sometimes. But perhaps, as pastors, it is appropriate that we feel ourselves awkward in our calling. A seminary professor once told our classes, “the moment that you are comfortable in the pulpit, is the moment that you shouldn’t be there.’’ Maybe the same applies for chaplains. The uncomfortable strangeness is reflective of an innate sensitivity we have to our high calling; that we are not supposed to be there; that no one is! No sinner, that is. It is, after all, the office of Christ. And yet, we have been chosen by God and called by His church. Naturally, we are to fear and revere the God of whom we are ambassadors. It is an office that should not be entered into or practised lightly or with great human ease. Perhaps, intuitively, Christian ministers like myself know and sense this, despite all of our attempts and self-convincing to normalize the job. Because it is established by God Almighty, it will never be robbed of its divine uniqueness. In short, we will never, totally, “fit in.’’
So, there I am, not knowing what I am supposed to be doing at most given times, or how to respond to any particular crisis. What words should I use to console that desperate wounded soldier? It is not necessarily negative. The Bible says that God’s power is made perfect in our weakness (II Corinthians 12:9). Am I not a walking, talking, breathing, and living example of that promise? And so, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30), to use the words of John the Baptizer. I refuse to throw around too strongly the phrase attributed to Francis of Assisi: “preach the Gospel and when necessary use words,’’ since it can be an easy cop out when we do not want to say something meaningful even when we ought to say it. We will never become more popular by proclaiming the hope that is within us. Yet the point is well taken that sometimes, it’s not what you say, but who you are that counts. Occasionally, it is appropriate not to say anything. Christ limited His phrases to seven during His most important hours of ministry on that first Good Friday. His cross said it all. And in silence, the cross on our flap communicates that same love and presence of Christ crucified in the midst of any given tragedy or challenge. Somehow, Christ’s presence through our presence, brings redemption when nothing else can.
Dear heavenly Father, we are Your hands, feet and mouths as we continue to carry on the ministry of spiritual healing through the blessed Gospel of Christ’s atonement. May we, Your children, be an encouraging presence to one another, especially when we feel weak, downtrodden and dismayed, to the glory of Your holy name. Amen.
August 28
It was sixty-five degrees Celsius today! August is definitely the hottest month. One day, the temperature was literally off the scale. I have a photo of a thermometer in which the mercury level surpasses all the indicated measurements. You need to drink water every twenty minutes, usually spiked with Gatorade powder or Camel Back tablets in order to help your body retain the liquid. Otherwise, you are sweating or urinating out fluid faster than you are drinking it in. The heat of Afghanistan gives a whole new meaning to the necessity of water for life. Here, I sweat like never before. When you have an extra seventy pounds of equipment on you, while on patrol for instance, you resemble a swimmer who has just climbed out of a swimming pool with his clothes on. You are soaking wet with sweat. This is ironic when considering that we are in the middle of some of the driest deserts of the world. Jesus Christ offers His disciples the water of life in a desert very similar, and not that far away from this one (John 4:5-14). It is an appropriate image and comparison. Without water, we die. Without Him, we die. Uniquely, His water springs up to eternal life.
It’s not easy for the locals to acquire potable water. The Canadian and NATO Forces have provided innumerable wells for communities. Yet Christ makes it easy. He offers the water of life as a gift, freely. It cost Him His life. He battled the flames of hell on the fortieth day of fasting food and water in the desert. He battled the devil one last time as He hung in the heat on the cross, even to the point where this God almighty en-fleshed cries out for water: I am thirsty (John 19:28–29). He is thirsty for us; for us to receive that gift, and for our troops to have relief.
Father of glory, only the gift of Your Spirit quenches the thirst of man. Look in mercy on all the ways that Your Church seeks to bring the fountain of living water to the world and prosper the preaching of repentance and forgiveness; through Jesus the Water of Life, Amen.
September 4
For those who can not attend the ramp ceremonies on the KAF for our Canadian brothers-in-arms who are killed in battle, we try to recreate something similar on the FOBs where the deceased had been based or had friends. Not only does this function as a sign of respect, but it also allows our men and women the opportunity to grieve, even for a few moments, before returning to the battle field. For example, yesterday we lost some men in an IED explosion. Today, at a FOB, I created a tiny chapel in our dining tent with some cereal boxes on a table holding up pictures of the deceased, two tea lights positioned at both sides, and a soy sauce bottle holding a small local wild flower between them. I hung a Canadian flag on some clothes pins for the background. There were many tears shed as soldiers came through the canteen to pay their last respects. I felt a tear in my eye, even though I didn’t