CUE: This Train, PETER, PAUL, AND MARY
As long as soldiers have been marching off to war, there have been those marching with them who came to comfort them by the tenets of their religion. The ten years of warfare in Vietnam were certainly no exception. The army chaplain has become something of a legend in the American military. It is completely humbling for those of us who entered the fray armed with the best that technology and the taxpayers’ money could give us to know there were those who came armed only with their faith and the pure intention that no man should face death without the comfort of God nearby. Military chaplains are a breed unto themselves, but the minister who carries his pastoral duties into the battlefield should share a special reward in heaven. At least that is my opinion, and I dare to say it is an opinion shared by generations of combat soldiers. These are very special men.
I can't imagine how hard it must be to stand in a pulpit at an army base and preach the gospel of love and peace to those who are being readied to take as many human lives as possible in the interest of their country. I suspect that the congregations are a bit restless and even skeptical in such safe and militarily regulated environments. I do know that the attitude and the acceptance of the faithful changes somewhat when the cathedral is a shaded grotto in a combat zone and the thought of being closer to God is only a bullet or two away.
The mechanized units must have suffered somewhat from a lack of spiritual guidance. Since we had no barracks or home in the base camps, the sky pilots had to come out to us. They were a complete and ready-to-play traveling show. All they needed was a lift on the next helicopter bound for glory and they were ready to go. The whole premise is pretty admirable when you consider that they were coming out to stay with us for the night no matter what was going on or how high the possibility was that we might make enemy contact while they were with us. I never heard one of these men of faith complain or even hint that he would rather be somewhere else.
I can only remember one time we were actually hit while a chaplain was out with us. He was a black Methodist minister who had a completely disarming smile and was just plain huge. He should have been playing nose tackle in the National Football League, but instead he was guiding the souls of the faithful in the middle of a very unpopular war. On this particular night, we received rocket-propelled grenade fire into the circle of the tracks, causing injury and carnage in the darkness. I remember looking out of my fighting position and seeing his huge frame, running across the laager site, lit by the weird and pulsating light of the parachute flares above us. I thought he was running for cover but had to revise that opinion when I saw him return, carrying the limp figure of a wounded soldier in his arms as if it were a small child. The following day we stood before him with heads bowed, trying not to look at the fresh row of helmets hung on upside-down rifles that were stuck into the ground by the bayonets at their muzzles. His voice was calm and even soothing as he read the service for the dead. I can still hear his voice. It was a rich baritone, with the throaty resonance that only black ministers seem to possess.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
I don't believe I ever saw him again. I don't think I would know him if we bumped into each other on the street, yet the timbre of his voice on that overcast morning so many years ago is etched in my memory. I am not sure what drives a man to the service of his faith. I suppose there are many versions of what they term the call to the ministry. I have been skeptical of such dedication in cases of evangelists who seem to make millions and live like kings off the fruits of their calling. I have been convinced of it in cases of simple men who give their whole lives to the calling, sometimes having to work extra jobs to support their families while they give of themselves, without reservation, to the faith. I have been awed by the sheer miracle of those who enter the battle without weapon or defense of any kind, bringing the strength and comfort of faith to those who are sent into harm's way. These are truly special individuals, and I never met one who does not still hold my utmost admiration.