Dinning out

No matter where SFC McG and I have traveled outside the wire in support of Catholic Soldiers, even the smallest and most primitive DFACs (Dining Facilities) have wide-screen television monitors -- often multiple units, almost always set to different channels, and almost always tuned up to the threshold of pain decibel level.

It makes for an interesting dining experience, especially if one attempts to carry on a conversation while eating. Very often, given my old ears, I find myself not saying very much, simply because I can't discriminate well enough between the background din and the foreground of interest.

One of the DFACs where I often eat has a 'video room' which at least has only one flat screen monitor, and enough separation from the rest of the facility that it's generally fairly quiet -- as defined by being over here, anyway. I try to eat in there when I can, as a respite from the bedlam elsewhere.

The choice of video often proves to be a bit idiosyncratic, however -- and is not something concerning which the diners seem to have any input.

This is not so bad when they're running old classic comedies like "Ghostbusters." But lately I've been in there and they were showing "Blood Diamond" -- which is actually a pretty good movie, but a bit violent for the dinner hour. There have actually been more violent, bloody, gory movies than not.

The worst so far has been one the name of which I didn't bother to learn.

What kind of people think those things up? Honestly!

However, the choice between being assaulted aurally or visually usually has the visual winning these days, since I can at least avert my eyes!

Scripture says make a joyful noise unto the Lord (Ps 95:1, 95:2; 98:4; 98:6). I don't think the Psalmist had our DFACs in mind, somehow....

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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p.s. Speaking of noise, my neighbors to the east (Tatoo and The Musician) have just begun blaring their music -- it's louder in my CHU than I would ever listen to it myself.... At least it's a joyful noise! Praise God.

Minutiae

Much of the scenery around where I live (and especially where I visit when I'm outside the wire) is very drab. When it's really, really hot out, it's especially difficult even to want to try to find something that's not dull and uninteresting.

But of late, as the weather has been so beautiful, for the most part, it's been a delight to walk around and pay attention to the little things, to the details behind some of what otherwise might appear to be brown and not worth noticing.

Rains have filled the irrigation canals, and green vegetation is replacing the dried stalks, at least for what time remains before the temperature reaches "convection oven."

My 'idiopathic benign essential tremor' makes taking photographs a bit of a challenge, especially with the tiny camera I brought with me Down Range. That's pretty frustrating, but just one more example of a powerlessness. Fortunately, it's not one that leads to life-threatening unmanageability!

All that notwithstanding, what close-ups I can capture do give a sense of the beauty that can exist even in a place such as this.

I figure that as long as I'm able to stop and try to find the jewels that hide in plain sight, I'm probably in a pretty good spiritual place.

Not bad for being an old fart in a war zone, eh?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Signs and Wonders

One of the benefits of traveling around the battlespace is that I get to see how Soldiers communicate with one another through the written word.

I'm constantly amused by some of the sentiments expressed, especially at places as difficult for the Soldiers as where I saw this sign. The personnel at that post endure privations at a level that most of us would not believe.

Amazing that they can keep such good humor in the midst of all that, eh?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Letters from home

Children from a fourth-grade class at Our Lady of Victory School took time to write SFC McG and me rather sweet letters about a month ago. I've been so busy I've not had time to write to thank them for their thoughtfulness.

I wanted to share with you some of what they wrote me.

Maura asks, "Does Mr. McG do a good job? I hope so."

Patrick writes, "I play a lot of sports. I play soccer, hockey, skiing, and snowboarding. Are there mountains in Iraq?"

Tommy wants to know, "Have you ever gotten hurt? The war must be hard?"

Marissa's questions: "What is your favorite book? What is your favorite sport? Do you think monsters and ghosts are real? I do. I hope you are feeling well."

Erin is very direct: "If I don't have homework, I would read. What do you do with your free time? I would love it if you send me a picture of where you live. God bless you, Erin. p.s. WRITE BACK!"

OK, Erin: here's a photograph of where I live, looking down the row from my Containerized Housing Unit. You might notice the helicopters flying off in the distance. They're very similar to the helicopters I fly on.
Maura, SFC McG does a *great* job protecting me! Thanks for asking. Patrick, I'm told there are mountains in Iraq, but none near where I live. Tommy, I've never been hurt since coming to Iraq, thank God. Thank you for your prayers. Marissa, my favorite books recently have been the Harry Potter series; my favorite sport is SCUBA diving (did you know that SCUBA stands for 'self-contained underwater breathing apparatus'?); I don't think monsters and ghosts are real, but I love reading about them! I'm feeling very well, thanks.

I wish I had enough time to write each of the students back individually.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Viaticum

I recently had an impromptu conversation with a rather senior Enlisted Soldier whom I encountered on the way to lunch. (He, of course, is younger than me, but at least *he's* made something of himself along the way.)

He'd been balking at visiting the Combat Surgical Hospital to have an injury looked at, so it was suggested to me by my boss that I try to look him up and anoint him.

I just love the Sacrament of Anointing, and believe it's a sadly underused sacrament.

After not having been able to find the Soldier all morning, I was delighted to meet up with him as he was heading back from lunch. We chatted a bit, and then I anointed him. Afterward, he started talking about his experiences during a previous deployment to Iraq.

The battalion he was assigned to at that time took very heavy casualties in a very short time. They had no Chaplain, and when the Theater Commander visited them in the next few days, the Soldiers asked him for warm meals and a Chaplain. The Commander was so moved by their request -- not for the air conditioning, or hot meals, or more permanent housing that other units had asked for -- he had a priest flown in by helicopter.

The Soldier had had a very difficult time, given all the casualties in his battalion, and especially because one of those casualties was a young Soldier in his vehicle, when they were hit by an explosive. He was an officially certified Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist, and would lead Sunday worship in the absence of a priest (which was allowed at the time).

He knew she was dying, and because there was no priest present, he placed one of the consecrated hosts he always carried with him in her mouth.

The medic pronounced her dead shortly after the Soldier gave her Communion.

They radioed for a priest from another Service to come, but when he heard that she had already died, he refused to come.

The Soldier who'd given her Communion has agonized over the lack of a priest to anoint her for all the years since she died; he still stays in touch with her parents, whom he'd written after her death to let them know he'd given her Communion.

It was a heart-rending story, not least for the lasting effect on the Soldier.

Fortunately, I was able to share with him the fact that the Sacrament of the Dying is NOT the Sacrament of the Sick (Anointing; "Exterme Unction), as most people believe. It is actually Viaticum (Holy Communion). The Sacrament of the Sick presumes that the one anointed has a reasonable expectation of recovering health.

Viaticum is 'food for the journey', so the Soldier did the exactly correct thing in giving Communion to his dying Soldier.

Of course, in a similar situation today, he'd not be able to do this, since Soldiers are no longer permitted to lead Sunday services with Communion in the absence of a priest.

The Soldier I was talking with is not the only one who's upset about this.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Annunciation

Yesterday was the Feast of the Incarnation.

Here's Denise Levertov's take on the subject:

“Annunciation”

We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book; always
the tall lily.
Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited.

She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.

Aren’t there other annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?
Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.
More often
those moments
when the roads of light and storm
open fro darkness in a man or a woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.

She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child—but unlike others,
wept for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.

Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,
only asked
a simple, “How can this be?”
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
perceiving instantly
the astounding ministry she was offered:

to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of
Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power--
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.
Then to bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love –

but who was God.

This was the minute no one speaks of,
when she could still refuse.

A breath unbreathed,
Spirit,
suspended,
waiting.

She did not cry, “I cannot, I am not worthy,”
nor, “I have not the strength,”
She did not submit with gritted teeth,
raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
The room filled with its light,
the lily glowed in it,
and the iridescent wings.
Consent,
courage unparalleled,
opened her utterly.

from A Door in the Hive
by Denise Levertov, 1989

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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More factoids

As of 22NOV08, this is what was true about visitors to this blog:

Since 07SEP08, when I finally figured out how to track such things, there have been 674 unique visitors to this site. Those 674 unique visitors have come from twenty-one countries: United States, Iraq, Ecuador, United Kingdom, Canada, U.S. Virgin Islands, South Korea, Hungary, Australia, Spain, Sweden, India, Ivory Coast, Vietnam, Argentina, Ireland, Germany, Taiwan, Puerto Rico, South Africa, and Kuwait. They have logged 5,456 pageviews during 3,623 visits, for an average of 47.67 visits per day. Visitors, on average, read 1.51 pages per visit, and have spent an average of 01:32 minutes at this site when they get here. Readers have translated the contents into Spanish, French, Hungarian, Mandarin, British English, and Korean.

As of 22MAR09, there have been 1889 "absolute unique visitors" -- nice to know you're unique, eh, gentle readers? -- from a total of 45 countries. Macau, Slovakia, Russia, Botswana, Bulgaria, and Lithuania are among those countries. Readers have logged 15,377 pageviews during 9.324 visits, for an average of 47.07 visits per day. Visitors have translated the pages into seventeen different languages.

Who knew?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Promotional Consideration

The promotion board considering Army National Guard candidates for Master Sergeant is meeting this week. Please remember SFC McG (and the members of that board) in your thoughts and prayers, if you'd be so kind!

I'm really hoping that being saddled with a lowly (curmudgeonly, clueless, and cranky) O-3 Chaplain isn't going to hurt his chances. (By rights, given my rank, I should have a Private (E-2), Private First Class (E-3), or perhaps Specialist (E-4) as my Chaplain Assistant; SFC McG (E-7) got stuck with me because the Army realized how "ate up" (a common Army phrase) I am, or something. It's not exactly a plum assignment!)

SFC McG has provided excellent support to me; he's a wonderful Chaplain Assistant. Perhaps more importantly, he's been an awesome mentor to the other, more junior, Chaplain Assistants we've encountered in our travels. It's a delight to watch him interact with them, always complimenting them on what they've done well, and challenging them in his gentle (but not subtle!) manner on what can be improved.

From my perspective, I can't imagine anyone more accomplished or more deserving of this recognition.

Thank you for your continuing spiritual support of us Down Range, and especially in this matter.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Overheard

I was recently in the company of a rather large number of people who go to a lot of AA meetings. It's odd that again and again I seem to find myself surrounded by folks like that, in places as far-flung as Chiang Mai, Thailand, and Down Range, Iraq! Go figure. There were nine of us altogether.

Anyway, I heard one of those present saying to the others, about Alcoholics Anonymous (and himself): "It's a God-centered program, but I want a Mike-centered universe."

I told him I was going to steal that quote.

There.

Now I've done it.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Calculus

Be flexible. Adapt. Overcome.

I heard these words often during Chaplain Initial Military Training and Chaplain Officer Basic Leadership Course. Leaders in the Army are supposed to be able to do this as a matter of course.

Here's an example:

Because of reallocation of resources over here Down Range, I'll soon be doing six Catholic Masses each weekend on Post (and given the title "Senior Priest" over here for a time) while one other priest does the other six Masses. (I know, I know. It should be "Senile Priest" but let's just not go there right now, OK?)

Neither of us will be saying Mass in the same place twice any weekend; two of my sites will be 12 and 13 kilometers, respectively, away from where I live. If I continue to say Mass every other weekend for the 'secret squirrels' (as I call them) at an 'undisclosed location', that will give me seven Masses those weekends.

I can safely say that there are no other Chaplains on Post who are doing six Sunday services each, every weekend.

At the moment, where I work we have one 'non-tactical vehicle' (NTV) for eight people; the other priest has been borrowing a vehicle that has no reverse gear.

Despite there being motor pools over here with literally hundreds of non-tactical vehicles just sitting around unused, the other priest and I have been told it's not possible to get us NTVs for us to use as we go about the work of taking care of Catholic (and other!) Soldiers.

The other priest and I are supposed to coordinate getting rides to these various Chapels for each of these twelve weekend Masses.

The hope has been expressed to us that we'll then just cut the number of Catholic services after this new configuration begins.

Interesting calculus....

Be flexible. Adapt. Overcome.

WILLCO

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Sight

Tomorrow's Gospel reading (optional Cycle A readings for RCIA) is the story of the man born blind. I love the Cycle A readings for the third, fourth, and fifth Sundays of Lent! The Gospel readings, all from the Gospel of John (the Samaritan woman at the well, the man born blind, and the raising of Lazarus) are intended to tell the story of any believer.

In short, in tomorrow's Gospel, after Jesus encounters a man born blind, he "spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man's eyes." (NRSV: Jn 9:6) The man washes in the Pool of Siloam, regains his sight, and goes on to speak more and more profound spiritual truths.

Until this week, I'd adverted to the intimacy of Jesus touching the man's eyes, and many other things, but hadn't focused on the mud he'd made with his saliva.

They (whoever 'they' are) say that 'every day is Sunday in the Army', so I've already celebrated Sunday Mass several times this week before Sunday's even here. (A couple of those places won't have Mass again before Easter, unfortunately!)

After one of those Masses, an Iraqi who's working with the Army came up to me to talk. He was very upset about the mud Jesus had made using his saliva. He just couldn't believe that something so disgusting and dirty could be part of the story. The Gospel had clearly unnerved him.

I'd never adverted to the mud in that way before. But then, I'd never been to Iraq before, either, and had never been in a place with disgusting dust like this!

I mentioned to him that as a people who have a sacramental understanding of how God works in our lives -- that God chooses very simple, ordinary things like bread, wine, water, oil to convey profound spiritual truth and grace -- it need not surprise us that Jesus could take something as offensive to our senses as mud made from saliva and dust and use it for healing and blessing.

Perhaps the really good news is that no matter how disgusting and dirty we feel or become, God's healing touch can transform us into agents of healing and grace ourselves, much in the same way as was done with the mud in the story.

Thanks to that man, and like the man in the Gospel, I saw something that I'd never seen before.

Cultural sensibilities certainly are different, aren't they?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Ah, the humanity

It's early morning in Iraq.

The Country-Western music from next door is causing the walls of my CHU to vibrate, and the occupants of that room (two Non-Commissioned Officers) are seemingly having a wrestling match which is causing the rest of the CHU to shake (not just vibrate), replete with lots of-- shall we say -- 'flowery' language at a level enabling me to hear clearly what they're yelling (quite a feat, given the volume of the music).

Thanks for the wake-up, Gentlemen.

Ah, the humanity!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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All in a day's....

Some time ago, as I was waiting for someone to show up so we could meet with my new boss, a Soldier came into the office asking whether a Chaplain were available. Only SFC McG and I were in the office, so we both turned from our desks to the door and said, simultaneously, "Yes!"

We're beginning to do that more and more often. It's a bit unnerving, actually. For instance, after a rather long day of convoying to three bases to say Mass last month, when asked by a rather tired-sounding Private First Class at the Company headquarters of the Soldiers who moved us, "Are you looking to get back to Battalion?" both SFC McG and I said, at the same time, "We're from Division."

The look of terror on his face was priceless, as was his sort of snapping to attention and his immediate, stuttering response: "We'll get you where you need to go right away, Sir!"

But I digress.

I told the young Soldier who came into my office looking for a Chaplain that I would speak with him. He was clearly agitated. He looked to be a very young Private First Class, but I'm not a good judge of people's ages; he's actually 35 years old.

He was concerned about situations back home, and had been having trouble concentrating at work, which is why his NCO suggested he come to talk to a Chaplain. He'd convinced himself that his whole world was falling apart, and that he won't be able to support his mother back home, in addition to everything else. No wonder he was frantic, and unable to perform his duties as he needs to!

When I get frantic, and feel trapped, my brain immediately jumps to the-sun-is-burning-0ut option. That just leads me to feeling even more frantic. Not very helpful, eh?

I pointed this out to him, and that he seemed to be doing the same thing.

I then mentioned that the antidote to leaping to the most catastrophic interpretation of events is to name ten true things. (This is yet another thing I've learned from my friends who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings.) A very simple technique, but surprisingly effective.

So I asked him to name ten true things in his own life. He looked a bit flummoxed, so I pointed out for starters, that his particular job over here Down Range will enable him, whenever he leaves the Army, to get much more lucrative employment than most. No matter what happens, he'll be able to support his mother. He'd never realized the potential of his Army Military Occupational Specialty, I guess.

With that, he relaxed visibly, and began to name his list of ten true things.

He's not a very religious person, but I mentioned that when I'm feeling concerned about people I love, especially when they're having difficulties, I find it helpful to have a really, really, really big God in my life, who's lacking none of the essential skill sets necessary to deal with my loved ones' situations. I encouraged him to borrow my Higher Power if he didn't have one of his own.

As he left the room saying he felt calmer and more hopeful, he certainly looked better.

I went off to my meeting with the boss, 20 minutes late, but confident she'd understand.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Skip-To-My-Lou Jesus

I have a really negative reaction to some of what passes for religious "art."

The sentimentality and vapidity of the accompanying text messages, combined with visuals that I find loathsome, really get me going.

Recently, SFC McG and I were at an outpost that had just renovated their chapel tent, spraying a foam on the outside which hardens and provides some stability and insulation, as well as putting up plywood walls inside. All in all, a really nice job, and a huge expenditure of effort on the part of everyone involved, I'm sure.

Someone felt the need to adorn the space with poster art, however.

One of the posters, which I espied as soon as I walked in, looked amazingly like what I'd imagine a 'Skip-To-My-Lou' Jesus would look like, though thankfully not with all the Aryan features he's normally given. (Why does so much Western religious art insist upon portraying Jesus as a member of the "master race"? He was a Semite, after all. Almost certainly NOT blond and blue-eyed. Sheesh.)

Try as I might, I don't find this sort of thing conducive to a deepening of my sense of spiritual connection to the Divine....

SFC McG guffawed as I described the 'artwork' while directing his attention toward it.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Little Friends

A number of months ago now, while SFC McG was home on his mid-tour leave (he got to go home for Thanksgiving, and he and his wife surprised his parents by showing up, unannounced, for Thanksgiving supper) I was off on a mission with one of my rent-a-Chaplain-Assistants.

One of the helicopter gunners, who all look alike basically, since they wear headgear that looks something like what one might see in an old Star Wars movie, caught my eye. He had a little friend with him, and the juxtaposition of this warrior with a stuffed animal seemed a bit bizarre, and oddly satisfying.

I pointed this out to my Chaplain-Assistant-For-A-Day, who was appalled. I guess that level of disdain might come with having three rockers, or perhaps it's a measure of the 'command climate' of our former Overlords. In any event, he was not amused.

I was, however.

And all the more so because he wasn't.

(I guess that means I probably need more meetings, or something.)

Quite a number of faithful readers of this blog have sent over tiny Beanie Babies -- for which I'm very, very grateful -- and I decided to hang onto one for myself. As I'd imagined, my use of the little friend evinced lots of clucking and fussing from MSG B, but my little friend and I are still together, several months later.

MSG B is no longer here, and I've not heard any clucking from anyone else, including one of the Command Sergeants Major who drives up once a week to pick up SFC McG and myself to take us into what used to be known as the "Triangle of Death."

I think my little friend adds a certain "Quelle heure est-il?" to the situation, n'est-ce pas?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Hearts from Operation: MOM

A few days ago I posted about the wonderful foam hearts we received by the boxful from Operation: MOM in California, and I wanted to take the opportunity to show you a photo of one of the boxes before we gave the hearts away.

They're great for squeezing, and the Soldiers love them.

Thanks again, Operation: Mom!


Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Stranded

SFC McG and I finally managed to get out to one of the posts in our Area of Operations (AO) that I've been attempting to visit since the beginning of December. One of the other priests was able to get there in January while I was home on leave, but that meant that they had had only one Mass in four months' time by the time I arrived this week.

The place is difficult to get to, and -- it seems right now -- even more difficult to return from.

SFC McG and I are stranded here because of conditions that do not permit safe movement through the air or via ground convoy. This is a bit frustrating, but seeing as they've gone so long without benefit of a priest, I'm making the best of it.

It would be more comfortable had I brought more than just one change of undergarments (and if there weren't so much dust in the air; it's raining mud again)!

Because of getting stranded, I have very little internet access (I cannot access my blog, for example) and no phone access to the States. Our living accommodations are splendid, however, and the welcome we've received has been gracious and enthusiastic. We've certainly been stranded elsewhere under much harsher conditions, and without the graciousness we've been afforded here!

All this is to say that my updates to the blog may take some time to get posted....

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Laundry

Where SFC McG and I live, the people running the laundry drop-off are enthusiastic and pleasant. I bring Holy Communion on Sundays (when I can; if I'm away, I bring it to them on Monday, or whenever I get back) to the Catholics who work there. A couple of them have been here in Iraq going on five years -- without having gone anywhere on leave during that time.

My hat's off to them.

So's my hair, but that's something entirely other....

Anyway, we've got it pretty good here, in terms of laundry. At times, if I get my laundry bag(s) to them early one morning, I can have my folded clean clothes back by the next afternoon. Otherwise, it's a two-day turnaround.

Not bad!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Sunsets

I find myself always on the lookout for beauty while I'm over here Down Range.


Perhaps that's a predictable outcome of living in a place where so much is monochromatic of the gray or brown variety. I'm not sure. I haven't heard anyone else over here mention it, at least not in that way.



So as I'm walking, especially over unfamiliar terrain, I look down. A lot.

Trudging through gravel, I keep hoping to find a treasure. Perhaps a fossil. Some tiny, ancient artifact. At the very least, while the weather has been cool-ish, I've looked for (and occasionally found) a flower or two.

Because the sunlight can be so intense here, I don't often look up at the sun, unless it's rising or setting. One thing I'd heard about Iraq is that the sunrises and sunsets can be very beautiful. That's certainly been true in my experience. At least when we can see the sky! (Given that I'm often at work late these days, I see many more sunsets than sunrises at the moment.)


Lately, we have been experiencing a lot of dust in the air, sometimes to the point of making it seem as though it's dusk when it's only early afternoon. On those days when the dust is so thick the aircraft don't fly, the daylight just seems to shrug its way into darkness, rather that putting up the valiant, colorful fight that usually ensues when there's not so much particulate matter in the air.

Since I arrived here Down Range, there have been some rather gorgeous sunsets. My camera is tiny, and under low light conditions my 'idiopathic benign essential tremor' can really get in the way. But I wanted to share with you a few shots that give some indication as to what nightfall can be like.

1 The mighty one, God the LORD,
speaks and summons the earth
from the rising of the sun to its setting.
2 Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty,
God shines forth. (NRSV: Ps 50:1-2)

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Joblessness

Being 53 years old now, and knowing that I'll be officially jobless upon my return to the States has certainly made an impact on my psyche.

Like many people who have lost their jobs, I'll have to move from where I'm living, since I will no longer be able to afford to live there (unless some miracle happens, and I find another job nearby). Unlike many people who have lost their jobs, I will not be homeless, however.

I'll just have to move to another part of the country, which might well be an adventure, but will none the less be a great sadness. I find my struggle against seasonal affective disorder (appropriately abbreviated "SAD") to be much less taxing when I'm living in a place where at least some flowers bloom outside all year round!

And seeing as I've lived the better part of the last almost 20 years in just that sort of place, moving away could prove to be quite an internal upheaval. Most of my friends in the Society of Jesus now live out there, as do most of my other friends.

There is a lot of good news in all this, however.

I am not obsessing over being jobless, which is a relief.

I'm also not massively resentful, or engaging in the I-went-off-to-be-of-service-to-Soldiers-in-a-war-zone-and-wound-up-losing-my-job pity party.

Though it has crossed my mind.

In the past, when some huge change loomed on the horizon, my broken brain would immediately jump to 'the sun is burning out' catastroprognostication (how's *that* for a neologism?), and that has not (yet) happened.

I know that what my friend Gil G, who went to thousands upon thousands of AA and Al-Anon meetings before he died with about 30 years' sobriety, used to say to me is still true: The Higher Power doesn't just string us along only to drop us when the going gets tough.

My gratitude to him for that abiding, calming truth knows no bounds. He's actually been dead now longer than I knew him before he died, but the power of that statement stays with me and sustains me to this day.

All that being said, I'd rather have a job to come back to, and not have to move away!

It will be what it is.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Commoddities

One of the phrases from 'priest-school' which I've never forgotten is "Nothing human is foreign to God." This is of course true for Christians who believe that the Incarnation means that Divinity has taken humanity into the Godself, through the person of Jesus Christ, who became "one like us in all things but sin" (to paraphrase a line from the Letter to the Hebrews).

At the risk of engaging in a bit of scatological humor (as opposed to eschatological humor, which could easily have followed from the somewhat theological opening of this blog post, I suppose), I've become very aware of the need to take care of bodily needs while over here Down Range.

Especially when I'm outside the wire.

I've decided to document some of the commode oddities I've encountered along the way, for whatever that's worth.

As I've mentioned before, one of the tiny posts that SFC McG and I have visited was still having to use 'burn barrels' when last we visited there. That was definitely a new experience for me, but a common one for military personnel over here, especially in the early years of this conflict.

Recently he and I went via convoy to several small outposts in the course of a single day, and at one of them I found some interesting signs, having to do with personal hygiene, shall we say. It seems that they recently switched from using 'burn barrels' to 'wag bags' (also described elsewhere in my blog; try the search function at the top of the page).

I must admit that I was a bit surprised by the language, if not by the sentiment. What the author of the lower proclamation lacks in spelling ability, he certainly makes up for in his enthusiasm and sincerity!

Commoddities.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Operation: MOM

The good folks at Operation: MOM in California (of whom I've written before), recently sent a boatload of boxes filled with goodies for the troops. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

(I'm especially grateful for the box from Jim and Beverly, addressed to me in particular. You two are the best!)

Among the most well-received (which is saying a LOT, seeing as the vultures descended as soon as they heard the boxes were in, and practically ransacked my office in the effort to "get there before the selfish people do") have been the bright red Operation: MOM heart-shaped "stress balls." OpMOM sent us several boxes of those things, which has made it possible for us to have a lot of fun with them.

Because the Soldiers working the night shift so often seem to get left out of things, SFC McG has made sure to make passes through the Tactical Operations Center (TOC) in the middle of the night, throwing them to the highest reaches of the five-tiered room. (He's got a great arm!)

As he moves about the building (and battlespace, for that matter) at other times, he often has several in the cargo pockets of his Army Combat Uniform (ACU), and can be heard asking otherwise unsuspecting personnel, "Do you have your heart yet?"

Thanks, Operation: MOM for your many kindnesses thus far, and especially for *your* hearts.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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It's raining mud!

Those who have been here before understand through experience what it's like to have mud falling in huge droplets from the sky.

I'd never before experienced this phenomenon.

Think midwestern United States urban snowy roads, several days after the snow had fallen, but before it's had a chance to melt completely. The mud gets aerosolized and easily (and quickly) coats windshields of cars.

Messy.

Dangerous driving, if coupled with fog, and windshield wipers that need replacing, and/or a wiper fluid reservoir that should have been filled up before leaving, but wasn't.

I do not miss urban snow at all, for that reason (among others).

We've had some high winds and blowing dust/sand, now that the weather is heating up. Those conditions make it more difficult for me to get around, when I'm outside the wire, and make it much more likely that SFC McG and I could get stranded someplace because our transportation isn't able to collect us and bring us home.

Not long ago, it was another of those days when the dust is so thick that in midafternoon it looks like twilight, and after sunset it's as difficult (and dangerous) to drive as if in thick Tule fog in the Central Valley of California. [It's pronounced 'too-li'.]

Couple that with a steady but not too heavy rain shower, and voila! it's raining mud.

It's one thing to be in the car when this is going on, but quite another thing altogether to be walking around in it, each raindrop jam-packed with all those particles of God-knows-what suspended / dissolved in what otherwise would be just ordinary water.

After having been stranded overnight -- without benefit of a shower -- I'd been looking forward to finishing my work day so I could clean up before going to bed. But just the act of walking from the office to my CHU (containerized housing unit) in the midst of the mudstorm left me feeling slimy and grimy from head to foot.

Boy, was that shower welcome!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Birthday in Babylon

I recently celebrated my natal birthday.

At Mass that day, during the bidding prayers, I prayed: "Please pray with me for my mother, who 53 years ago today gave birth to the ne'erdowell standing before you now."

Only a few people wished me a happy birthday thereafter, so I suspect they might not have been familiar with the term "ne'erdowell"....

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Noise pollution

One of the comforts of being back in the States for leave in January was being able to eat meals in relative quiet. A hallmark of 'dining out' here Down Range is the very high level of background sound that accompanies every meal.

The DFAC that SFC McG and I usually frequent is one of the tiniest DFACs we've eaten in when we're in a major military 'population center'. It's positively puny compared to several of the other places we manage to get to on a somewhat regular basis, when my ministry calls me to other major camps.

Despite its small size, it still has four large flat-screen television monitors along its side walls. Two are usually set to an Armed Forces Network (AFN) sports channel, and the other two to an AFN news channel (usually FOX, but occasionally CNN or MSNBC). The monitors usually have the sound turned up fairly high, so that people sitting at some distance from them can hear (sort-of) what's going on.

Couple the dueling televisions with hundreds of people carrying on conversations, as well as the attendant sounds of the food service industry, it can pretty much feel like Bedlam to my old ears.

Occasionally, SFC McG and I will find a somewhat less cacophonous gastronomic opportunity, but not often. Even the small dining facilities we find at tiny outposts will usually have at least two television monitors going -- almost always set to different channels.

There's even one DFAC we visit at least once per week in our travels that has nine monitors, all set to different channels, in a relatively small space with concrete walls, floors, and low ceilings.

Oy. My ears!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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The bats

The bats are back.

When SFC McG and I arrived Down Range more than seven months ago, the evening twilight was filled each night with clouds of bats. Once it got cold, however, the bats pretty much disappeared, and it's been quite some time since I'd seen any, until the last couple of nights.

Lately, there have been a few bats flying as the sun sets. This is a good thing, seeing as there are now clouds of tiny mosquitoes through which we have to move on our way to the Dining Facility (DFAC) in the evening.

The fish and turtles are back in the canal near the DFAC too (see one of my earliest posts upon arriving here), which is oddly comforting.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Capture the flag

SFC McG and I constitute the 142nd Chaplain Detachment. I'm the supposed "Commander" (even though Chaplains can never be in command!), so I guess that means that he's my Acting First Sergeant. He's also my S1 through S9 NCOIC, my Motor Sergeant, my Retention NCO, my Property Book Officer, Safety Officer, and to hear him tell it (well, tell *me*), the Drill Instructor.

(I tell people he's mean to me and makes me stand at Parade Rest when I address him.)

In our two-person unit, he's also our Guidon Bearer.

Despite being such a tiny unit (among the tiniest in the Army), we merit having our own Guidon -- a unit flag -- because we have our own UIC (unit identification code). Before we mobilized, SSG L from our parent Brigade went to the trouble of having the United States Army Institute of Heraldry design and create a unit Guidon for the 142nd Chaplain Detachment, which we've brought with us Down Range.

We pinned the Guidon to the wall above SFC McG's desk after we arrived (just below the California State flag we'd brought). Shortly after the first of the year, SFC McG managed to come up with a staff for our Guidon. Recently SFC McG brought the Guidon with us as we went out on the road for a couple of days.

I felt a bit as if we were playing "Flat Stanley" as we posed for photos at the various bases we visited during our mission. At one of those outposts, there's a long-unused -- and quite tall -- sentry tower that SFC McG ascended (after a playful suggestion on my part). It looked as though he were claiming territory on behalf of the California Guard.

SFC McG is younger than I am, of course, but still older than all the other Chaplain Assistants we've encountered Down Range. Because of that, I call us the "Geriatric Unit Ministry Team."

At one of the places where I celebrated Mass there are hand-made signs indicating the four triage groups: immediate, delayed, minimal, and expectant. Given that we're the "Geriatric Unit Ministry Team," SFC McG suggested we have our picture taken in front of the "Expectant" sign.

If you're not familiar with the "expectant" triage designation, I suggest you look it up.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Breaking in is hard to do....

A young priest arrived in theater recently, and he's been spending about a week with SFC McG and myself, as we accompany him and his Chaplain Assistant around the battlespace. I suspect he's finding things a bit overwhelming over here.

It's his first deployment. (Mine too, but hey, I'm old enough to be his father!)

So far, we've experienced a convoy -- he did not like being bumped around in the back of an MRAP at all, and a couple of helicopter flights -- the first of which for him was the Hero Flight I mentioned a few days ago. What an introduction to life -- and death -- over here!

Most recently the four of us went to the flight line to await transportation to a post I've been trying to get to for a long, long time. It finally looked as though we'd get there. The weather during the day was great, if a bit chilly, and the birds were flying.

Until we got to the flight line.

There we discovered that the Air Mission Request folks had bollixed up the manifest, and had taken him and his Chaplain Assistant off the roster. After standing around for about an hour, they went back 'home'. The young priest was pretty annoyed at the confusion and hassle.

SFC McG and I stood around at the flight line for another two hours before it became clear there was no way for us to get where we needed to go, do Mass, and be ready for the return flight -- if it even would show up. So we scrubbed the mission.

The young priest was aghast when I got back to the CHU (now I'm sharing my living space with him, after the several weeks of sharing it with my former boss), and mentioned that we'd wound up waiting in the cold for a total of three hours before calling for a ride back to the office, and that it took about 40 minutes for our driver to get there to pick us up (one of the other Chaplains had the vehicle we normally use, and our driver had to find someone to lend him their vehicle in order to the LZ (landing zone)).

When I mentioned to the young priest that SFC McG and I take a convoy that starts out at 4:30 in the afternoon and doesn't reach its destination until after midnight -- with us bouncing around on manifestly uncomfortable seats the whole time, and then two days later leave at 12:30 in the morning, only to arrive back in time to begin the day's work about 8:30 or 9:00 a.m., his eyes got really big, and he looked really uncomfortable.

Welcome to paradise, my young friend!

Breaking in is hard to do.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Happy Birthday, Brian!

Today is my SCUBA buddy Brian's birthday. He'd be 52 years old.

Happy Birthday, Buddy!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Gina

She came to me after Mass one day, in tears. "My public name is Gina," she said, in a thick accent. "I'm sorry for crying."

(Why do people have the need to apologize for crying? What's up with that? I cannot think of a single person I've spoken with over here Down Range who has not apologized for shedding tears when they've been or begun crying in my presence....)

Gina is an interpreter who's been working special operations missions for the United States military for quite some time now. "I've even been on air assault missions," she whispered.

"But months now I am supposed to go home to United States, where I have a family waiting to take me in. They love me. I need them. I am not used here anymore, but it is too dangerous to go anywhere else, so I just sit here. All my paperwork is at US Embassy, and I have two lawyers, one in New York and one in California, trying to help. But I still sit here, waiting."

"All the Chaplains I know have redeployed, so I have no one to pray for me now. I need to go to home."

I assured Gina that I would pray for her, and that I'd ask my friends to do the same.

Consider yourselves asked!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Weather Report

The weather here Down Range has been quite splendid, for the most part, of late. What passes for bitter cold here (remember, when it's 130 degrees Fahrenheit as the high, 30 degrees Fahrenheit can feel pretty bitter -- at leas to me!) seems to be a thing of the past now. I'm not seeing my breath as I walk to the shower trailer wearing my PT shorts and shirt in the mornings anymore.

The sunshine is actually beginning to feel a bit warmish while I'm wearing all my battle-rattle. I just started noticing this in the past few days.

I've been on a number of Blackhawk helicopters of late, and haven't felt the need to be bundled up, even when sitting just behind the gunner's hatch on the right side of the aircraft at night.

So it's beginning to warm up over here.

All of this is to say then, that the window of opportunity for sending M&Ms in individual snack-packs is rapidly beginning to close.

I've also discovered that there's quite a demand for Skittles in the same snack-pack size.

Who knew?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Mass at Gunpoint

Muzzle awareness.

That's a phrase I've heard a lot since joining the Army. It's an important aspect of 'situational awareness' since it definitely can save lives. There's nothing 'accidental' about "accidental discharges (which is why they're now called "negligent discharges").

I'm not sure why I'm as keyed into where the muzzles of other people's weapons are pointed -- it could be as simple as my own attempt at paying attention to what's going on around me, or it could have something to do with my being a non-combatant and never carrying a weapon. I'm not really sure that the 'why' of it is really even important.

Paying attention, I figure -- especially for a sober person like myself -- borders on the miraculous. When I was drinking and using, everything was all about NOT paying attention. I did NOT want to "tune in and turn on" to use an old phrase one never hears anymore!. I just wanted to 'check out'.

The last thing I wanted to do was to pay attention.

Were I to pay attention, it would be just too painful. Too much shame. Too much fear. Too much self-loathing. Too much feeling apart-from, rather than part-of. Too much sadness, which gave way to self-pity.

It was pretty awful. I wanted out. Drinking and using provided the means to blot it out, or to live in a fantasy world, or both. However it's described, though, at its root it was just all about not paying attention.

"Better living through chemistry," as I laughingly described it at the time, was anything but living, and certainly wasn't better, though it did involve a lot of chemicals!

But then I got clean and sober and discovered the loving, saving action of a Higher Power right in the midst of the mess, and not in spite of it. *Had* I been paying attention before I stopped drinking, perhaps I'd have noticed God's presence in the mess sooner, but that was not the case. Sober persons whom I respected counseled me to pay attention to all sorts of things I'd previously tried to avoid, at any cost.

This was not good news to my addled brain!

But as the fog cleared (or rather, has been clearing -- it's an on-going process in my case; once again, I'm a slow learner!) I began to see that what I feared most was no match for a really, really, really big Higher Power (and, in my case as a Christian, for a Higher Powerlessness!).

I began to pay attention, despite myself.

Nowadays, especially over here Down Range, I am very aware of my surroundings, of what's going on at 5 and 25 meters out from my position, of where other people are (or ought to be!), and that sort of thing. More important spiritually, I'm tracking what's going on inside me, affectively, on the level of feelings.

When I was drinking and using, I couldn't have identified a feeling if it had bitten me. (Come to think of it, they *were* biting me, but I still couldn't identify them!) These days I'm much better able to identify -- and accept -- what I'm feeling, and therefore better able to make decisions as to how to respond creatively to whatever is going on.

For example, one of my good friends over here has an amazing ability to respond in a surprisingly instantaneous, intense and angry way to seemingly insignificant stimuli (at least from *my* perspective). By noticing myself wanting to respond in kind, rather than in kindness, I'm able to choose the latter course of action and prevent an escalation of hostilities over something stupid and inconsequential.

Were I not paying attention to what was going on inside ME, I'd just lash out in anger and a desire for retribution -- justifiably, of course -- and the situation would deteriorate into our own private Middle East. But these days I don't have to do that, or at least not to the point of nuclear annihilation!

I consider this the stuff of miracles, given my past.

So I'm noticing a lot more stuff lately than was ever the case before.

This was especially true this past Christmas as I was processing down the center aisle for noon Mass at the 'parish' where I'm 'pastor'.

The man in front of me, carrying the Lectionary held out in front of him as we moved toward the altar, was armed with his M-9 pistol. As is common over here, he carried the pistol in a shoulder harness over his left shoulder, with the ammunition in cartridges slung over his right shoulder.

The muzzle of his weapon, perhaps two feet away from me, was pointed directly at my heart (yes, I *do* have one). I remember thinking to myself, "I'm about to do Mass at gunpoint!" That was a first for me.

Muzzle awareness.

It's great to be sober!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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