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
