Lord, I believe, yet help my unbelief (Mark 9:24) when the tragedies of life cloud a godly vision of Your divine mercy and compassion. When my feelings and emotions mislead me, fix the cross of Christ before my eyes as the only reliable anchor of my faith. Amen.
September 28
My days are either incredibly busy, or amazingly quiet. What is God teaching me? Even when I am surrounded by crisis, it is not always evident what my role is, or how to respond. In the Canadian Forces, responsibilities that were once a chaplain’s have been shifted to other mental health care professions: social workers, deployment support centers, etc. Perhaps due to the trends of specialization in our society, which tend to fragment communities, our trade has been transformed. Perhaps the military has tried to alleviate our heavy work load by dividing up the tasks. Or perhaps it is simply a case of pushing aside the religious figures in hopes of rendering them obsolete. But, whatever the case, the question that rests in the back of my mind, whether I am responding to trauma on a busy day or contemplating life on a slow one, concerns my role as a chaplain. When do I assert myself more, or pull away and say nothing? When do I handle the situation myself, or refer it to a “specialist’’? When do I manage the problem myself or bring in other members of the team? I am sure that I don’t get it right even half the time. It is a good thing that nobody has complained . . . yet.
But chaplain presence proclaims a divine presence. It, by definition, must be an awkward presence. This isn’t always a bad thing. It awakens awkward feelings in the hearts of many with whom we have contact. My ongoing attempts to justify my role, by often trying too hard to demonstrate my importance, reflect my own insecurities. Instead, I should simply be satisfied to be there and ready for . . . whatever happens. I recall Elijah’s experience with God who wasn’t in the center of the action: not in the fire, nor in the storm, nor in the earthquake (I Kings 19:1-18). Rather, He was found in the whisper. Are we not echoes of that whisper as chaplains? How hard it is, though, to be that whisper, deliberately off to the side, passed by and unnoticed by all the busy bodies, some of which undoubtedly think you are in the way. Others seriously wish that they could slide into your trade so they can shoot the breeze over a coffee with their friends, since that’s all they think that you do anyway.
Like Martha attempting to imitate Mary after their encounter with the Lord of rest, it takes all my energy to, well, do nothing. Salvation is, after all, about doing nothing. We can’t work for our salvation. Ironically, it is hard work to achieve rest. It is not easy entering into that receiving zone in contrast with the serving mode. Yet salvation often comes in those moments of whisper. The whisper is that which is heard by ears who make it their goal to listen, and are thus impacted by what they hear. Everyone hears the fire, storm, or earthquake, and are perhaps terrified or overwhelmed. But listening to a whisper requires deliberation, persistence, even concentration. Hearing is not listening. Listening requires an active intention.
At times we are the listener to the voice of God. We need to focus our attention on His word and wisdom. At other times, it is we who channel that voice as a care giver. There, too, we implement a deliberate act of caring about what we are doing or trying to say. Sloppy and unfocused talk is the noise of a wind, fire or earthquake. But a word of comfort, the Gospel applied in just the right place at just the right time, is the whisper of the heavenly Voice. There is no need for a chaplain to feel guilty standing off to the side, waiting for just the right moment . . .
Have mercy on me, Oh Lord, a poor miserable sinner. Forgive me for underestimating Your ability to use me as Your instrument, particularly when I feel and believe in my worth the least. In Christ Jesus, Amen.
October 3
Sometimes we chaplains need to travel by foot to visit the troops, because they are not accessible by vehicle. This can resemble a foot patrol. The logistics are identical. The risks are the same. It is an eerie feeling when you walk through the flour-like dust of an Afghan desert in the full knowledge that your next step could blow you into pieces. It is common knowledge that IEDs are planted all over our AO, and are our most dangerous menace. Sometimes dozens of soldiers will step in the exact same spot before it blows off under some unfortunate young man’s foot. You walk by faith, trusting that your next step will not be your last . . . even though it could very well be!
When we consider the question of walking by faith versus by sight (II Corinthians 5:7), the world tends to see “religious people” as irresponsible and childish for placing the greatest value on faith. This is in spite of the fact that all human activity revolves around faith. Even secular philosophers such as Wittgenstein have convincingly argued (against their own materialism!) that one can never be absolutely certain about anything in life. Instead, we consider some things more probable than others. I have faith that when I walk out the door there will be a floor underneath my feet. I believe it is so because every time I have taken that exact same step, there has been floor under me. But why is it that I believe that there will be a floor the next time? My belief is based on my past experiences, but there is no guarantee that I will experience the same thing in the future, during my next step. We all live by faith. The dispute depends on the reliability of the object of our faith.
Consider the moon. From earth, we can never see the moon. We only observe the reflection of light off of the moon. In fact, we never see any objects at all, but simply are exposed to the particles of light that they reflect. In this respect, faith is “as solid’’ as sight. Perhaps we could even say that we are closest to the object, and able to see that reality best, in the dark! What a strange thought. For what is faith but trust? For the Christian, it is holding onto the promises of God in the darkness. I trust that Christ walks with me on patrol. And even when the mine does explode in my path and under my feet, it explodes with Christ right there beside me. And He takes me to that place where no mine can ever again harm one of His dearly beloved children.
Lord, walk with me in those moments of darkness, and be my Light and Life. Increase our faith in Your leadership, until we enter the Kingdom of Glory, through Christ our great Guide, Amen.
October 8
Mines: our greatest enemy. Today we lost 2 engineers from an IED strike, and a couple others were wounded, including an officer friend of mine who lost the lower part of his face, some fingers and a knee cap. I had a chance to visit with the rest of their section after the event, to help the members decompress and facilitate their grief. The sergeant in charge was filled with such guilt. It was not his fault, and yet there was nothing that I could say to bring him comfort. Why is it that we often feel that we need to say something, instead of nothing? Probably, it represents an attempt to ease our own awkwardness, and, in the case of a chaplain, validate our presence. So I made the mistake of trying to explain that the enemy was to blame, but to little avail. However, I refused to forget this faithful leader. At the end of my time at that FOB, I found a cook and gave him a cross that I had made out of two sticks of wood and a bit of string, and asked him to pass it on to that sergeant. I myself was unable to track him down. I have no idea the impact of that gesture: whether he would be insulted or grateful; angry or moved to tears. Regardless, the message of the cross transcends any of our mixed emotions. It will, one day, give him the consolation that he desperately requires. It offers us an invitation to cast our burdens upon the One who so patiently hung upon two sticks of wood.
Lord Jesus the Crucified One, You alone bring hope and comfort to heavy hearts and consciences. Forgive us our sins of both commission and omission and free us from our prisons of guilt. Amen.
October 13
Recently we have been on a high level of security alert due to an abnormally large number of rocket attacks from the Taliban. The enemy plants Chinese rockets targeting our FOBs. As a timer, they use plastic pop bottles filled with water. When the evaporating water from the desert heat reaches a certain point, it crosses two wires triggering an electric charge, firing off the rocket. Since the rockets are balanced on field rocks, their aim is terrible and, although