DISPATCH 013--12 MAR 2007

Soldiers
After taking some pictures at Akeel's (the local national market at Patrol Base Paliwoda), as I walked toward the artillery position, I saw three Bradley Fighting Vehicles and two HUMWVs rolling toward the gate, obviously going on patrol. As a chaplain who does not carry a weapon, I often ask myself what exactly I contribute to the Battalion. This is not a question I ask in order to receive reassurance, nor am I looking for the faith answer (for I know that). It is really an existential question, one having no answer. Because of what I believe, I am in the sowing business anyway, and one never knows how many weeds will grow where wheat was planted or how many bushels will be brought in at harvest time. But being human and in an organization that likes to judge its effectiveness by what it can count and measure, I still ask what I contribute.

As I saw the patrol roll out, for me, the question became unimportant anyway. Some might see five vehicles moving toward a possible engagement with the enemy. Others would see yet another arrogant display of American imperialism and power. And still others would see our guys going out to kick some insurgent *bleep*. I, however, saw a bunch of guys, and young guys at that, who still, after too little sleep and after seeing so much suffering, including their own, and despite all the numerous reasons to despair and fall prey to cynicism and bitterness, get up, ruck up, and do what their country asks of them because they, dare I say it about manly men, love one another.

I am not a touchy-feely type who cries easily--just ask my wife. The only movie that has ever inspired tears for me (much to my wife's chagrin) is Rudy. Thus, it is not sentimentalism shrouded by patriotism with Lee Greenwood’s “Proud to Be an American” playing in the background that pulls at my heart when I see such scenes. Instead, it is observing all that is noble in man displayed in a split-second by a group of soldiers still doing the impossible every day.

In the ancient era (or, "back in the day"), most of our poetry had something to do with war. During my periodic education/indoctrination as a student, war poetry, unless it was old and Greek, was somewhat frowned upon. I have finally realized over here that most good poetry was never intended to glorify the horrors of war. True poetry, true praise of the soldier, is really directed at the human spirit. For in war not only is man’s capacity for evil exposed, but also his potential for transcending the petty and parochial concerns of life to embrace the nature of the Divine: to give one’s life for his friends.

Dust, grinding, a flash from a Kevlar visor, and a gloved wave was all I witnessed for a brief moment, but it was enough, enough for me to dismiss my question and just be thankful that God has placed me amongst true heroes, the soldiers of 3-8.

Honor and Courage

Gratia et Veritas

Warhorse Shepherd