By DAVID EPPS
Pastor

My wife and I have just returned from a week-long event at a Naval Air Station in Maryland where we attended the annual Convocation of the Diocese of the Armed Forces for our denomination.

I attended numerous sessions with military chaplains and taught one session while she ministered with and to the wives who were in attendance. It was a wonderful experience to share a week with men who have dedicated themselves to the spiritual guidance and well-being of those who serve in uniform. Our bishop described these men as the “cream of the crop” among the young ministers of our fellowship.

Why, some have asked, should there be a chaplain presence at all among the military forces? In this day of the politically correct but unconstitutional doctrine of “separation of church and state” (check it out — it's not in the constitution), how can one justify the presence of paid religious professionals among the military officer ranks?

Chaplains, themselves, sometimes feel that their ministry is unappreciated, under-utilized, and disrespected. “C'mon, Wolinski! If the bleeping, bleep chaplain can't do these push-ups, surely you can do them!” the drill instructors screams. Sometimes, a recruit is accused of “goldbricking” if he requests permission to see a chaplain. And, under normal circumstances, attendance at military chapel services is nothing that would make the headlines in national religious magazines.

In the Beetle Bailey comic strip, the chaplain is a kindly old geezer who dispenses advice that no one ever listens to. In the popular television program M*A*S*H*, now in reruns for all eternity, the chaplain is a young, innocent Catholic who seems misplaced much of the time.

So, why, among Marines, and I suspect the other branches as well, are the two most highly valued noncombatants the corpsmen (medics) and the chaplains?

In 1993, I attended the FBI Chaplain's Academy at Quantico, Va. During the training, an FBI agent addressed the 100-plus chaplains present and said, “Why does the FBI need chaplains?”

She paused, then continued, “We have the best of everything. We have the best equipment, the best facilities, the best psychologists... whatever we want, we get. We're the FBI. We are the best and we demand and get the best. We can afford it because your tax dollars pay for it. So, why do we need you?”

The agent went on to describe how, during the recent earthquakes in California, when freeways were collapsing on each other like pancakes, the agents who were stationed there went into shock and panic. Initial reports indicated that tens of thousands were dead. Fortunately, those reports were in error, but that wouldn't be evident for days and most communication was down.

“We didn't know who among us had been killed. We didn't know if our families were safe or dead. We didn't know if our homes had been destroyed. We felt abandoned by God,” she said.

We listened intently as she said, with a faltering voice, “Most of the time, we will probably consider you a bother, an intrusion. We are tough and we can handle most anything. But you are here among us to remind us that, no matter what, God has not abandoned us. Your presence reminds us that there is more to life that what we can see with our eyes. And, when all hell breaks loose, we will need you.”

So, these military chaplains run with the troops, do marriage counseling, listen to young men and women plagued with homesickness and fear, and do their normal religious and social duties. They will teach classes, conduct religious services, and will be given Mickey Mouse assignments totally unrelated to their jobs by their commanding officers.

But when the shooting starts, as it will someday, they, along with the medics, will take their place on the front lines. As the medics rush to the soldiers whose bodies have been broken and maimed, the chaplains, likewise, will move among the terrified, angry, bleeding, dying young men.

He will comfort, encourage, and support. He will celebrate the sacraments on the battlefield, baptizing in muddy foxholes and offering the bread and wine from the hood of a jeep, or whatever they drive these days. His Sundays crowds will now be standing room only and his officers will desperately request his prayers. His will be the last face that some soldiers will see.

But now, he will be in his element, reminding our men and women, by his very presence, that God is among them... they are not abandoned.

Some will die on the battlefield, cut down as they hold the hands of the wounded and offer prayers for the dying. But until that day, which they, and we, pray will never come, they do their duties and go about their ministry. They are quiet reminders that, no matter what happens, God has not abandoned us.

[Father David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church in the south metro area of Atlanta. He may be contacted at CTKCEC@aol.com.

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