Читать книгу At Peace with War - Harold Ristau - Страница 8

War Diary

August 3

Just a few feet outside the building where I sleep lie the graves of two small children. Their bodies are covered with a blanket, but their bones have begun to pierce through the material after having been exposed to the elements over the last six years. When the Canadian soldiers first arrived here, they found the children hanging in this old abandoned school in which we now sleep. With them were dozens of deteriorating corpses of other Afghan children, slaughtered by the Taliban. Their crime? They attended school. Now they are buried on the other side of the compound . . . in a mass grave.

How blessed we are in our own country, where we are free to vote, read, and think. The Taliban are their own worst enemy, for these sorts of stories are not easily forgotten in a country as old as Afghanistan. Feuds are remembered for generations. Insults are punished with execution. Most of the Afghans despise the violent displays of tyrannical tribes. At the same time, a handful of gangsters in a village with only a couple of weapons will demand submission from these otherwise peaceful people. Many will show their support to whomever poses the greatest threat to the interests and honor of the clan. Decisions at the jirgas are binding to all.

Yet, behind closed doors, people continue to learn and judge for themselves. Children beg for pens and paper, not candy. The heads of the homes pray for the day when schools and hospitals will be safe. When I was an inner-city pastor in Montreal, Québec, prior to joining the military, I was constantly impressed by the determination to learn exhibited by refugees and immigrants from the Middle East. Women would often take the Holy Injil (New Testaments) from our literature table, and hide them under their burkas. They are eager to learn that which is forbidden them. History has repeatedly taught that attempts at controlling the minds of a people are futile. The resistance will overtake them . . . eventually. It only takes a little education. No wonder that a school represents the greatest of all threats.

Lord God, from whom all blessings flow, I praise You for the wisdom that we receive from wise and godly teachers. May You bless the development of schools and educators in Afghanistan to enlighten minds and enrich the lives of those who abide in dark places. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

August 10

Today a flight engineer was crushed by the ramp of a Chinook helicopter. Sometimes accidents just happen, and there is nobody to blame. His anti-fragment vest saved his life. These are plates that we wear on our back and front to absorb bullets and shrapnel from an explosion. Recently the CF has included armor for the throat, neck and shoulders. Heavy: Yes. Uncomfortable: Certainly. Necessary: Absolutely! Every time I arm myself, I am reminded of the full armor of God that we have received in Holy Baptism. Although I too am guilty, it still annoys me when Christians forget about this armor, or get lazy in putting it on. It is a question of spiritual life or death. I am equally bothered when Christians think that the armor isn’t entirely and completely theirs from the day of their salvation, and that they accumulate more or better armor, through time, based upon rewards from the Holy Spirit. In the army, when we are issued our “kit,” we get it all at once. There is some instruction on its usage, and certainly we are responsible for its upkeep (which is the same for our spiritual equipment through catechetical instruction and the Christian walk). But at the end of the day, there is nothing that we can say we have done well. The equipment is efficacious in itself. As St. Paul says, we have no reason to boast in the matter of spiritual warfare, since it is the equipment that has kept us safe and saved (I Corinthians 1:29).

Incidentally, there will still be wounds. That flight engineer broke some ribs. And we need to remember that there are still consequences of our spiritual battles with the world, our own flesh and the devil. We may break some spiritual ribs as well along the way. Jacob wrestled with God. He went home blessed, but with a limp. Christians are persecuted for their faith. All of us have crosses to carry and thorns that we bear in the flesh. Christian suffering is a constant reminder that we are not yet in heaven, that we must continually rely on the Lord for all things. Without these involuntarily episodes of “fasting,” we can quickly lose our appetite for heavenly things. Our Host, after all, has gone to great lengths to prepare us that meal. Moreover, He is a Lord who has Himself undergone all that we have undergone. No one has hungered and thirsted as He has. Christ has Himself suffered to heal us in our own sufferings. He knows the narrow way, for He has walked it before.

That flight engineer went home a changed man: praising those who designed and provided him with that safety equipment, and never forgetting his vulnerability without it. As one general once said, “it is well that war is so terrible, else we should grow too fond of it.’’ This applies to the Christian battle as well. Our wounds, pains and sufferings keep us humble, and well focused on eternity. Our glimpses of heaven must never distract us from our mission on earth. For ours is an eternity that has been gained and shaped by nothing less than the sufferings of Christ.

Lord Jesus our Savior, thank You for the gracious protection that You provide us every day. Help us, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to treasure the spiritual armor that You have purchased and won for us through Your death and resurrection. Amen.

August 14

This morning at 0600, about one hundred and fifty of us participated in the Terry Fox run. Most of our troops are out in the field, OTW, and don’t have the luxury of these kinds of morale boosters. But for us on KAF, it delivers a welcome break in the week, and offers an opportunity to raise money for cancer research at the same time. Terry Fox is a Canadian hero. Thirty years ago, he attempted to run across the country with one artificial leg. He covered about 40 km a day. The interesting thing about him, and the part I love, is that he never finished the race. He died out West. Curiously, despite his failure, he remains a hero. History is filled with stories of glorious victories, especially in the athletic world. However, how many countries celebrate someone who, put bluntly, lost the race and never achieved his or her goal? It is more accurate to life though, isn’t it? I once participated in a university debate with a Muslim academic. He cried out how he hated the fact that all the Biblical heroes were simultaneously failures in their ministries. What kind of a model did they set for us? Not a model of our capabilities, but rather of that which we are incapable of doing. “And isn’t that wonderful!’’ I responded. Christ also looked liked a loser, His victory hidden from those who chose not to believe. No wonder the Muslims deny His crucifixion, claiming that He escaped death and lived a long healthy life for ninety years thereafter.

By the way, Terry Fox died because of the race. In short, had he never begun, he would have lived a longer life. He sacrificed himself for an important cause. And I guess, that is what we are celebrating with him. Not a victory, but a sacrifice. Of course, it is an ending that many Canadians choose to ignore, but for us Christians, it is typological of our Savior, and our soldiers. Although life is improving in this country of Afghanistan, the war will likely never end. It has been fought for thousands of years. War reminds us of our temporal existence, and our need for forgiveness. In Afghanistan, our mission is not simply about winning. And our soldiers go home heroes, especially the wounded ones, even though they never reached the finish line.

Victorious Savior, help us to trust Your Word that we are winners over sin, death and the devil, even when our experiences and the voices of our enemies attempt to convince us otherwise. Amen.

August 23

It was an exceptionally long ramp ceremony this afternoon. Nine Americans are dead. What made it particularly unsettling was that this time, for the first time in Afghanistan, a Chaplain and his assistant were among the casualties. It was bound to happen eventually—statistical probability. But when it happens to a colleague, it hits home hard. Could it have been me? I suppose. But, again, I remember Jesus saying something about picking up a cross and following him, and being willing to lay our lives down for our callings. Most of the disciples had similar fates. The ancient practice of having clergy lay on the ground in cruciform during the liturgy of ordination is an appropriate symbol of pastoral ministry. So why, then, are we so surprised when a clergyman is murdered in inner city ministry, or a missionary imprisoned in a communist country, or a chaplain killed in the line of duty? We have forgotten our first love, our raison d’être, that we are called to die; to die to self daily and, when it pleases our heavenly Father, to lay down our life for the Church. It sure is hard when you have a wife and four kids. And so my obligations, my duty and calling to my family and my ministry, conflict. I would prefer to “bury my father” before following Jesus. Can’t I have it both ways Lord? You want me right away? But why? At the end of the day, the answer isn’t ours to give, and our families need to be constantly reminded that they live in the shadow of the cross . . . of their dad.

Loving Shepherd, we chaplains are called to tend Your flock in the war zone, even though this vocation requires us to leave our families at home alone. Surround our loved ones with Your caring presence and protection, feeding them the Gospel through faithful pastors in supportive congregations and chapels. In Your holy name, Amen.

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 know the two young men well at all. It recalled to me the time when Jesus wept at the death of Lazarus (John 11:35). Why did He weep? Jesus knew He was about to raise His good friend from the dead, so what caused Him so much grief? Perhaps it was because He was witness to the hopelessness of the other mourners around Him and their lack of faith in Himself as the Resurrection and the Life. Perhaps His tears were a reaction to the greater reality of sin, death, and the suffering of others. According to the context, it is clear that it was His love for the living, instead of a simple personal grief, that caused God’s Son to shed those memorable tears in the midst of this death. Christ was incapable of condemning those who crucified Him, and were crucified with Him (Luke 23:34). Dare we say that His love prohibited Him from that judgement? He is Love, and can only love. He forgives them. At the same time, He says very little. His silence confirms their self-condemnation.

I said very little today in that make-shift chapel. It may be due to the fact that I am not as comfortable in the French language as I wish I was (since I was working with a Francophone group). Maybe I was being wiser than usual. I read Psalm 23, prayed the Our Father, and simply said, in my broken French, “We don’t know why things like this happen, but God promises that He is with us” followed by Jesus’ words, “There is no greater love than to lay your life down for your friends (John 15:13). You were their friends. We are His friends.”

We thank and praise You Jesus for redeeming us from our selfishness, pride, and ignorance . . . in short, ourselves. Give us the humility and courage to boldly, yet gently, apply Your Law and Gospel to the life situations of those You bring into our lives, so that they too can know Your loving presence and receive Your merciful salvation. Amen.

September 12

Why doesn’t God perform miracles more frequently, and demonstrate grand interventions on earth? This question pops up a lot after critical incidents. I wonder the same thing. In those moments I need to ask myself why it is that I think that He should. Is He somehow obliged? Are we deserving? Is not our freedom one of our most precious moral commodities? Despite our arrogance, ignorance and pride, the Lord intervenes all over the place, by grace. If I were God I would have abandoned this planet a long time ago. As a matter of fact, I neglect it every time I fail to help another creature. Yet, as we learn from Christ’s temptation in the wilderness, the miracles of Jesus are not simply acts of humanitarian compassion. They show us His identity. The physical aid is always of a secondary consequence. Consider the healing of the paralytic: “So that you may believe that the Son of Man has authority to forgive sins . . . get up and walk.’’ Otherwise, why not just keep people from falling ill, if Jesus were simply concerned for their physical well being? After all, even the resurrected Lazarus dies again.

Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov does a magnificent job revealing the enormity of Satan’s infamous temptations for the Son of Man. Jesus was not tempted to prove His divine identity because He felt upstaged by the devil. He was tempted to help humanity, but in the wrong ways and at the wrong times. The devil’s arguments were reasonable. They were ingenious as they touched Jesus precisely in the inmost depths of His heart and His love for us. “Jesus, think of all the good you could do if you turned these stones into bread. You could solve world hunger. Jesus, you want people to believe in you right? Well, jump down from this tower and they will see the angels lift you away. Jesus, I will give you all the kingdoms of the world. You would make the best king, leading the nations in justice and peace.’’ It must have torn His heart declining those offers, and for what? Death on a bloody cross. By rejecting the offer, Jesus appears less than compassionate. By choosing to die, He appears less than sane. Jesus wants to help people. But the greatest help He can offer is eternal. A temporary solution to all the world’s problems can actually have the opposite spiritual effect. As Jesus’ casting of demons into the pigs demonstrates, sometimes even those who believe His claims and witness His miracles, chase Him and want nothing to do with Him. In short, miracles don’t create faith, and, despite popular opinion, faith is more important than anything else on earth.

This all gives me great courage as a chaplain. When God appears absent and doesn’t grant us that much sought miracle, I know that there must be a good reason, since I am sure that the temptation to intervene consumes Him more than I could ever imagine, due to His love for us. He is not a masochist nor is He a sadomasochist. The temptation to intervene is just as great as it was during those 40 days in the desert. Although resurrected and ascended, Christ still bears His wounds. He still suffers, as He sees us here, and hears our complaints caused by unbelief. But for me as a chaplain, I no longer try defending God when I find myself intervening in the midst of tragedy, not because I am disappointed, but because I love Him too much to make excuses. May God prevent me from offering those well intended, but hopelessly erroneous, explanations that simplify the tragedies of others. Job’s friends were well-intentioned as well. They attempted to defend God’s reputation, and were rebuked by the Lord. Instead, may I save my thoughts, and my words, for some heartfelt moans and groans as I drop to my knees in prayer.

Could it be that I am that miracle and “intervention,’’ sent by God as His messenger and bearer of Good News? Forgive me Lord for the times that I believe otherwise.

Dear God, the world can be confusing at times, and we are often tempted to rely upon our own wisdom and reasoning to make sense of it all. Thank You Lord for the innumerable times that You forgive my errors which are driven by simple lack of faith in Your omnipotence and sovereignty. I praiseYou Christ for your patient commitment to using me as the answer to the prayer of others. Amen.

September 16

It is a bizarre feeling to fall onto your stomach on a cafeteria floor along with close to 500 others. When the alarm is sounded and we hear “rocket attack” or “ground attack,” that is precisely the procedure. Wherever you are on KAF, you drop down and cover your face. The voice, blasted over speakers throughout our base, occupied by close to 60 000 troops, reminds me of something out of an Orwellian novel. Out on the FOBs, there are no warnings before a rocket strikes, except for a short whistle about half a second prior. On KAF, it is unlikely that we will get injured or killed because the base is so large, though we have taken casualties from time to time. Often, by the time we hear the alarm, the rocket has already landed somewhere. We tend to get a lot more at the airfield, since the insurgents know well that that is where most of our fuel is kept. Lucky for us, their aim is lousy and they lack equipment. The rockets are usually set on an angle between some rocks. They are constructed of whatever combustible material is available to them, and catapulted from the mountains or fields. They have hit a couple of aircraft and some of our hangars. Immediately after an attack, every member needs to notify their CoC regarding their whereabouts to assure that everyone is accounted for on base.

We have had some close calls, and everyone knows it. The chaplain’s take on things gets a greater hearing in times like that. More than a few have reconnected with God, or have started attending chapel or Bible Study. Hopefully those patterns persist back home after the tour.

Peace and security: we take it for granted. However, even at home, tragic surprises occur. Wherever there is sin, there is violence. It is inescapable. Even if I isolate myself in a desert, I cannot escape from the violence hidden in the depths of my heart. “Trust in the Lord.’’ We don’t have a lot of choice!

Almighty God, defender of the poor and weak, guard and protect us from the attacks of our enemies, of both body and soul, through Christ our Lord, Amen.

September 18

Some children were seen with wire cutters, openly cutting the barbed wire that surrounds our FOBs. It is not surprising. We have here just another episode of insurgents sending their children to do their dirty work. The insurgents have periodically taken children along on their missions. Although some soldiers consider children in these regions as “potential terrorists” or “Taliban in training”, most Westerners have a soft spot in our hearts for children. The enemy is well aware that we won’t shoot at or deliberately kill kids, and so they play on our compassion. They have a lot of faith in our mercy. As I wrote a few days ago, we have a similar temptation with Jesus in the desert, where the devil tempts Him to stay on earth to satisfy all of humankind’s temporal needs; an attempt at dissuading Him from going to the cross to provide for their eternal ones. Even the devil plays on the kindheartedness of God. And when we should, we don’t. If only we had that same faith in our approach to God. We could move mountains (Mark 11:23), the Scriptures say. He too has a “soft spot” for children, which is why Jesus calls us His children (I John 3:1). And yet, we often prefer to wallow in our guilt or pride rather than putting our trust in His mercy, appealing to the compassion of one who has an impeccable reputation for kindness and fairness . . . as did the Taliban.

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 they are set up not far from us, normally they miss us entirely, although some explosions have been within 200 meters. Yet sometimes, albeit rarely, they get lucky. One happened to land in our midst at about noon yesterday. I heard the squeal, which gives you just enough time to duck your head, and saw a huge explosion not far from me, followed by a cloud of toxic smoke in the sky. There are many squeals throughout the day. Those who work the artillery fire canons whose blasts will literally knock you off your feet. Then there are the IED explosions or “thumps,” depending on their proximity, and bullets gone wild from a gunfire episode. Incoming rockets give off a slightly different sound. Anyway, when I ran to the scene I saw a huge sea container with a six foot hole in its side and a truck on fire. Apparently, the door was open and the rocket passed through it, broke through the opposite wall and hit part of the engine, popping four tires. I learned afterwards that two mechanics were under that truck just a few minutes prior, but decided to grab lunch early that day. As they were walking away the rocket struck. Thankfully, all the dangerous shrapnel was confined in the container and truck.

On another occasion, a rocket landed on a Canadian shelter burning it down. Thanks be to God that no one was in it at the time, and the damage was isolated except for some rips in nearby tents. In both incidents (and, there are not enough pages in this journal to record all the stories of similar “close calls”), the soldiers told me that they were “lucky,’’ whereas I asserted that they were “blessed.’’ There is a difference. Although we cannot know why bad things happen to one person and not another, it is good to give thanks to God for all the times, both big and small, that He rescues us from danger. We are equally sinners and we all deserve the worst that life can throw at us. But why some get off easier than others is beyond our understanding. We can say with certainty that if God wasn’t with us, things would be a lot worse. Do we really understand grace if we make comparisons between ourselves and those that have it better, or worse, than us?

Another spiritual lesson learned is that we ought never get too angry when we are late for an appointment, miss the bus, or get caught up at work. We may even curse God for the unforeseen delays. But who knows what your life would have looked like if everything was on schedule. Perhaps God held you back those few minutes, in the office, or permitted that crisis to occur at the last minute, just to keep you off the road, due to an inevitable car accident that awaited you. Of course, you will never know. But the angels of God do. And I believe that they act on our behalf, in every time of need, which is probably a lot more frequent than we would like to imagine or are prepared to believe.

Lord of the heavenly hosts, I thank You for the angels that deliver to us Your help and rescue, directing the eyes of our hearts to the great salvation achieved by Your dear Son, our Lord. Amen.

October 19

This morning at 0430 I woke up to assist with a ramp ceremony. As I stood there beside the Hercules aeroplane listening to the prayers as the coffin was loaded on, I watched the sun rise over the desert hills behind the heads of the line of soldiers before me. There was complete silence as the body advanced towards us. The sun resurrects, and so does hope. There are very few moments in a soldier’s day in which he or she abides in silence. In silence, one is forced to reflect upon that very silence. Silence either consoles or terrifies. It is always uncomfortable. We are not at ease with silence. Even believers commence their nervous coughs during those lengthy moments of silence in a church service, when those private prayers or confessions are to be lifted to God in the quiet of our hearts. The silence always has a purpose. If it is only to awaken that sense of awkwardness in our inner beings, it is well placed. Silence makes us more resilient, because it reminds us that we are not in control of our emotions or of our destiny, both in the next few seconds or the years ahead. Someone else is in control: the pastor who decides to react to the cough, shortening the silence with his intervening words; the pall bearers who decide to speed up the pace to shorten the awkward moment. And then there is God. I believe that Jesus was often silent. I think that perhaps this is one reason why He loved St. John so much. John, we could say, was the silent apostle. He listened a lot, reflected even more. He was all the more faithful, courageous and compassionate because of it. There was only one disciple who chose to find himself at the foot of Christ’s cross, despite all the risks to his own safety. That was John. May we, likewise, imitate his way. May our soldiers imitate ours.

Father of Lights, whose mercies are new to us every morning, teach me to listen to Your Gospel voice and remind me of the importance of silence both in giving to others and in receiving from You; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

October 24

Apparently Martin Luther once said, “I am so busy I only have time to pray.’’ As a Lutheran theologian, I love such paradoxical syllogisms. This one is intended to prioritize prayer. Prayer changes not the heart of God, but rather the heart of the one who prays. God does not need our prayers, but we ourselves need to pray. Certainly God has already answered many of the prayers that we should have prayed, but didn’t. In short, He is full of grace and cares for us despite our own neglect. However, as Luther said elsewhere, God has a treasure chest full of jewels that He is just waiting to give to us. He is simply waiting for someone to ask. Well, here in Afghanistan, I have more time to pray than I do at home. There, after the busy work day, errands and children take up most of my evenings and weekends. By the time night time comes, my daily prayers have become my family prayers. The bed time devotion routine, which is absolutely invaluable and I miss it dearly, cannot replace that daily quiet time that every Christian ought to have with their Lord, even if it be only five minutes.

Here, on the other side of the world, I have no family and few errands to complete. My laundry is done for me, my meals are cooked for me, and my bunk takes about 10 minutes to clean. My work week follows the track of a roller coaster. I am either really busy or really bored. Nevertheless, most of the time, I can easily find time to pray. Besides noise, there is not a lot to distract me from this spiritual discipline, and so, sad to say, I do it when I have nothing else to do. I realize that it is a bit like giving God the leftovers instead of the first fruits. But our Lord and King is so kind and humble in heart, that He even takes the crumbs, and happily at that. Did not the Gentile woman in the Gospel reflect that heart of God when she boldly spoke, “Yes Lord, but even the dogs take the crumbs from the master’s table’’ (Matthew 15:27)—and so was praised? Is not the Gospel about God coming down to serve us, undeserving as we are, and save us? Is that dynamic different now after the resurrection and ascension of Christ, or does He continue to operate in the same way through the divine liturgy and sacraments? These are some of the wondrous jewels that I have discovered in the repentance over my neglect of a healthy prayer life. What a remarkable God we have! The lessons learned in our sinfulness are as precious as those learned in saintliness.

Our Father who art in heaven, who gives us a Spirit that “prays without ceasing” (I Thessalonians 5:17), teach me to value the gift of prayer and come to You often in petition and praise, not as a burdensome task and work of the Law, but as a liberating privilege and celebration of the Gospel; through our Great High Priest, Jesus Christ, who intercedes for us always before the heavenly courts, Amen.

October 31

As a chaplain serving in the Roman Catholic context of French Canada, amongst cultural Catholics whose worldviews often maintain the worst elements of religion, sometimes I get the feeling that soldiers take me as a superstitious lucky charm. I compare myself to a rabbit foot. From an operational perspective, the CoC is supportive of whatever stabilizes the guys to help them get their jobs done. If a chaplain’s presence achieves that, then all the better. I remember once leaving a FOB for a few days and after returning, one soldier said to me, “Padre, all hell broke lose when you were gone,” while another insisted that there were “more contacts and firing than usual.” In reality, the level of threat had not changed a bit. Rather, their perception was that, when the priest leaves, so does God. Accordingly, they were more sensitive to a spiritual isolation and vulnerability during my absence. At first I was slightly offended by the idea. As a Lutheran I am opposed to superstition, views of an impersonal God, and any doctrine inculcating a soteriological hierarchy expressing divine favouritism among people. However, after some further reflection, it offends me less. The superstition that underpins their desire for a chaplain with them impressed upon me the importance and the impact of chaplain, or pastoral presence, amongst the troops. Although the majority would not consider themselves religious, they hold on tightly to a belief that we really do carry something significant and unique. On some level, these superstitious and “spiritually immature” soldiers understand that God is “tabernacling” among them (John 1:14). When they ask me to bless their rings, chains or other trinkets, I use it as an opportunity to educate them about the living God. Would I like each one to believe that they too can possess the Holy Spirit, be a tent of our compassionate God, and acknowledge a priesthood that allows them equal access to the holy things of God? Absolutely. But we all need to start somewhere. And, furthermore, it usually takes a prophet to make a priest.

Jehovah God, our Mighty Fortress, on this Day of the Lutheran Reformation, I praise You for the advancement of the Gospel around the world through missionaries, pastors and chaplains. May each and every Christian boldly proclaim Your saving Word to those among whom they are asked to “tabernacle;” through our Rock and Redeemer Christ the Lord, Amen.

November 8