Commentary: Providing support, solace to the troops
Commentary: Providing support, solace to the troops
Aug. 12, 2004
Chaplain Robert Crawford
Chaplain Robert Crawford
By Robert Crawford*
AN
NASIRIYAH, Iraq (UMNS)—I serve in the second-oldest branch of the Army —
the chaplains’ corps — whose tradition dates back to 1775.
While
I am an officer, I am also the closest thing the Army has to a
civilian. Under the Geneva Convention, chaplains do not carry weapons,
but we do have protectors — specially trained chaplain assistants. Spc.
Tavern Smith is the man assigned to watch out for my unit’s ministry
team.
The
role of the chaplain is somewhat different than you might think.
Because our call is rooted in the First Amendment protection of freedom
of speech, our primary duty is to ensure that each soldier can worship
in the way that soldier sees fit.
Sometimes
my work is similar to my civilian job as a United Methodist pastor. I
lead worship services, offer prayers and teach classes.
At
other times, my work takes me beyond my civilian parameters. I work
with a nearby priest to ensure my Catholic soldiers receive the
Eucharist, find space for our Muslim soldiers to pray, and get kosher
MREs (meals ready to eat) for my Jewish soldiers during the High Holy
Days.
The
toughest task I have had was performing a brief ceremony on the runway
tarmac for three young soldiers killed in a nearby town.
I
spend much of my day walking around and visiting soldiers in their
various duties. I listen and offer counsel to those who are struggling
with the long deployment, or issues at home. Small problems can grow
large when families are separated by 8,000 miles and a year away from
home. Sometimes you just need someone to listen. That’s why I came.
I
was commissioned an officer in the Army Reserve three years ago, at an
age most soldiers are thinking of retirement. After many years of work
in the church, I was seeking a different place to do ministry among a
different group of people. I hoped my presence might provide comfort and
calm to those in a stressful and dangerous environment.
My
Athens (Ga.) Reserve unit was mobilized in February, and I found myself
at Tallil Air Base, just outside An Nasiriyah in southern Iraq.
On
the margin of the base stands a ziggurat, a 4,500-year-old brick
structure built by the artisans of Sumer and predating the pyramids of
Egypt. In its shadow lie the tombs of the Chaldean kings made famous in
the book of Daniel, and just beyond, a holy site for three major
religions: ruined Ur and the birthplace of Abraham (or to Islam, nabiiy
Ibrahim). It is the Mesopotamia of your sixth-grade social studies book.
Such a site in a war zone seems out of place, and seeing tour groups
made up of soldiers in flak vests and bearing M-16s is odd indeed.
Tallil
is noteworthy for its residents: a multinational force that includes
elements of the U.S. Air Force and Army and of our coalition partners:
airmen from the Netherlands, military police from Italy, armored troops
from Romania and Poland, engineers and medical teams from Korea,
infantry from Britain. All cross paths at Tallil.
The
combination of war and faith can produce extraordinary moments--so many
soldiers from so many countries of different faiths, all in the
birthplace of Abraham.
It was at Tallil that something extraordinary happened to me.
I
was visiting the Italian compound for lunch and looking forward to an
espresso. I noticed the flag was at half-staff when some Italian
soldiers approached me and pointed to the cross on my collar: “Father?”
“Non, protestante.”
“Padre, our colleague, 24 years old, was killed in fighting yesterday. No priest here,” they said.
Instinctively
we joined hands, closed our eyes and began to pray, I in English and
they in Italian: “Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
…” The words were different, the cadence the same. The feeling washing
over me was one of loss and yet consolation, as we uttered words
familiar from childhood and made meaningful in suffering. Opening our
eyes, we all had tears.
It
was only for a moment, but in that moment I experienced a connection
with men from another culture, another country, another continent.
Limited by the boundaries of language, prayer offered a bridge that
connected us in our grief. In that moment, I experienced again my
humanity and remembered why I am here. I came to share my hope with
those who suffer by suffering with them.
I am a chaplain in the U.S. Army. It is a privilege to serve.
*1st
Lt. Robert Crawford is a United Methodist pastor and reservist on
active duty in Iraq with the Athens-based 357th Corps Support Battalion,
whose yearlong deployment began in February. This commentary first
appeared in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
News media contact: Kathy L. Gilbert, Nashville, Tenn., (615) 742-5470 or newsdesk@umcom.org.