Curmudgeon: An Unlikely Army Chaplain

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Fan mail!!!!

It seems as though people are actually reading my blog!

Here's the latest comment I've received -- anonymously, of course -- which is so good, it begs to be shared with everyone:

From this latest comment on an opinion expressed by "CH anonymous" in response to one of my blog musings, I guess at least three oxen have been gored now, so if there are any military large-animal veterinarians out there -- with a specialty in bleeding beasts of burden -- it looks as though you've got your work cut out for you.

Please keep those cards and letters coming, folks!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Fear of flying

So there I was, about to board one aircraft, while SFC McG would board a different one (going to the same place). That was a bit odd, given our experiences up to that point; we've pretty much been joined at the hip since arriving at Summer Camp almost 90 days ago.

Another odd aspect of this particular mission was that my boss boarded the same bird as I did, and his Chaplain Assistant was on the other, with SFC McG. Added to the strangeness was the fact that we didn't have to schlep ourselves over to the place from which we would normally begin our missions; that part was very nice, and convenient! The crew made sure we were buckled in, then slammed the door, and we took off.

On the first leg of the trip, my boss and I had the passenger compartment of the chopper all to ourselves. Unlike other vehicles SFC McG and I'd traveled in thus far, which show their age inside and out (like me) and seem a bit careworn on the inside (also like me), this one was completely squared-away, and even had headsets at each seat. My combat earplugs do what they're supposed to do, but certainly not as well as having those headsets on!

It seems as though the other two passengers who'd eventually board the chopper we were on were having dinner Elsewhere, so we flew there to await their advent.

We wound up waiting there about forty minutes. I was standing outside the aircraft on the tarmac right next to the bird as we waited.

It was another of those beastly hot late afternoons, and even though the sun was beginning to set, it was still almost 110 degrees Fahrenheit. I, of course, was in full battle-rattle (looking like a geriatric mutant Ninja turtle, as I've mentioned before), standing in the rotor wash of the chopper.

"Convection oven" doesn't even come close to describe the experience, what with the heat radiating off the tarmac, coupled with the heat from the engines whipped into a vortex by the blades whirling above.

I had a bit of a spiritual awakening while standing there, as it turned out, but that's a story for another time, perhaps.

When the others finally arrived, we snapped to attention and I scrambled up into my seat as the last one to board. I wound up sitting facing the rear of the aircraft, next to the door on my left, with my boss seated directly across from me.

The other two had more space between them. The crew again made sure I had buckled myself in, and we took off.

They did not close the door this time.

I was right next to it.

Now, I've got to let you know that when I was younger, I did not like flying at all. I wound up being a frequent flyer, but I was not a pacific passenger.

Every bump or lurch of the cabin immediately signaled impending doom.

I really, really, really did not like being on planes -- and especially the little rubber-band planes that my friend Brian B and I would wind up on as we went to out-of-the-way places to go SCUBA diving. Oy.

A thousand would not have been enough of them for him; one was too many for me.

Anyway, one of my friends who goes to AA and Al-Anon meetings pointed out to me a while ago that no matter how tightly I was gripping the arm rests, I was *not* helping the plane stay in the air. She then proceeded to point out that I could choose to surrender to the situation and relax, or not.

I could choose to have a good time, or not.

It was up to me, but whatever choice I made, I was still *not* helping the plane to stay aloft.

Wow. What a concept.

So, over the years since then, it's become much less of an issue for me to be on aircraft, and I've even used that analogy about gripping the arm rests with people who've come to speak with me about their own fears.

Ironically, the night before I wound up on the bird which was taking off with the passenger compartment door open -- and me next to it -- I'd mentioned the arm rests to CPT M who'd just celebrated two years of being clean and sober, with reference to a situation in his life he was experiencing powerlessness in.

I'd seen photos of helicopters flying with the compartment door open, and especially when I'd been crammed in with a full manifest of passengers and their accompanying ruck sacks, musical instruments, and even a dog (I kid you not), I've found myself wondering what it would be like to be winging our way westward while the doors were open, secretly both glad and annoyed they were not.

So there I was, the ground dropping away beneath me, when I realized I'd better hold on to my helmet (I had the headset on), or it'd become an unguided missile.

The phrase "dropping away beneath me" is quite literally true. Because of the curvature of the body of that aircraft, the seat I was in is situated such that even though we were flying level, I could look down and see the ground directly below.

Whew.

My first reaction was, of course, to see myself as Wiley E. Coyote blissfully unaware of the anvil about to drop. Given the configuration of the compartment, there was nothing to hold on to, other than the lap belts or shoulder harnesses holding me in.

I was immediately aware of God's cruel irony that I'd just the night before been mentioning to CPT M that no matter how tightly he was holding on to the "arm rests" in his situation, he was not helping his plane stay in the air.

I hate it when God shows off like that!

I remember thinking: "I hope these seat belts stay fastened." (I'd been on one chopper where one of the shoulder harness buckles would spontaneously pop out). "What am I doing here?" and "Why does this uniform have to make me look fat?"

I said the Serenity Prayer. I let go of holding on to the shoulder harness, and just held onto my water bottle and helmet. I really didn't want to be the occasion for renewed/enhanced hostilities because someone got hurt (or worse) because my Kevlar helmet or water bottle clunked them on their noggin.

Things were going well until the aircraft started to bank. On my side. I suspect it was probably only 15 degrees or so, but my broken brain immediately had us at a 90-degree angle. I was reminded of a poem by May Sarton which begins:

So there I was, hanging in space, feeling very fragile indeed, with only the seat belt and shoulder harnesses keeping me in my seat. What a rush!

I've heard a lot of alcoholics and Al-Anons over the years saying that fear and faith can't coexist, and maybe that's true for them, but it sure ain't true for me. Fear and faith have no problem at all having a grand old time together in me.

I've heard plenty of people saying, "If I'm afraid it means I just don't have enough faith." Pshaw. I'm here to tell you that I've got lots of faith (most of the time) and lots of fear (some of the time). However, my "fear quotient" has been diminishing of late, as I've let my Higher Power get bigger and bigger and bigger. (Thanks, Fr. Tom W!)

The bigger I let God get in my life, the less fear I'm distracted by.

The reason for that is because it's not faith and fear that don't play well together, it's that *love* and fear that can't coexist. In the Christian scriptures, in the First Letter of John it says "perfect love casts out fear." (1Jn 4:18) If I have a God who is perfect love, it's God who casts out fear.

So if I have a God who's big enough, I live with much less fear.

The poem by May Sarton is entitled, "Love." Here it is:

So there I was, suspended above the earth, watching the landscape directly below me with nothing holding me in that aircraft but the love of a very big God, made manifest in that moment as "personal protective equipment," having a great time, filled with gratitude and awe. Who knew?

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Friday, September 26, 2008

Dust

What with coming down with another upper respiratory crud this week (and spending a couple of days, semi-comatose, in bed) and just putting in 12-hour days at the office, it's been almost a week since I've posted anything. Mea maxima culpa.

We had another, short (!) dust storm this week -- amazing that something so small (the inimitable dust particle) can bring life as we know it to a screeching halt. That dust is so tiny, it gets into everything, despite one's best efforts. I'm reminded of the science-fiction stories in which a solid object gets transported through another solid object without compromising the integrity of either.

A former occupant of my CHU (Containerized Housing Unit -- the modified "dumpster" I'm living in) seems to have been a 'dust-o--phobe': there's 100-mph (duct) tape all over the place. It's around the one (tiny) window; it's on walls; it's on the floor; it's there, I suspect, to cover up small cracks in order to keep the dust out.

However, I noticed one day this week as I was doing pushups, that he or she either missed a spot on the floor, or this dump(ster) is settling, and new cracks are appearing, just since that person vacated these premises.

His or her perceived need for this remedy probably speaks to the level of craftsmanship involved in the construction of this place....

Not only is that duct tape *around* the (tiny) window, it's all over the glass, too. I've now come to believe that my predecessor may have been either a werewolf or a vampire, because of how much duct tape there is covering the glass. This place is like a tomb in the middle of the day.

Perhaps that's it! The former occupant(s) of this CHU was/were vampire(s) who didn't want the soil from their native land contaminated with the soil from this place! Hence all the duct tape everywhere!

I tried removing the duct tape from the glass of the window shortly after I arrived, but gave up almost immediately, figuring the interior dust storm unleashed by merely taking hold of one of the loose ends probably constituted a true biohazard, and so my desire for light was trumped by my desire to continue breathing.

I briefly considered trying to clean the filter of the air-conditioning unit in my hooch, but rapidly discarded that notion. Just changing the air flow rate dislodges hordes of vengeful dust midges all of which eagerly and insistently seek entrance into my bronchioles. In good Jesuit community fashion, "I think I'll just try it this way for a while" (which is, of course, the way it's always been...).

Once those dust demons are inside my hooch, they coalesce into dust behemoths under the bed. I must've gone through at least three Swiffer sweepers so far, I think. No, not just the throw-away cloths, the whole shebang!

Battling those dust Leviathans which spontaneously generate, in a matter of moments, especially during the dust storms, proves to be too much for the valiant, but alas! too-fragile Swiffers. Requiescant in pace.

The only good thing about all this dust, swirling in the air, clinging to pores, invading bronchus and bronchiole, covering everything in sight, with nothing immune to its advances, is that it reminds me of God's love for us poor schlubs. The Psalmist once sang, "Where can I run from your love?" (Ps. 139), and indeed, running in this environment just makes for more dust. Ironically, attempting to run from God's love does the same.

There's a line in one of the newer Eucharistic prayers in my tradition which says, "When we were lost, and could not find the way to you, you loved us more than ever." Same idea.

The big difference is that while the love of God can leave me breathless, as can all this dust, it's from awe and wonder and gratitude, and not because the dust Gorgons from under the bed are paralyzing my diaphragm.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Sunday, September 21, 2008

The week that was

SFC McG and I got outside the wire again this week by convoy. Because we were in a somewhat different type of vehicle this time, it was much easier to see outside as we were moving. The unit taking us with them on their mission even kindly provided seat cushions for the ride this time -- very much appreciated! The farther back in this vehicle, the bigger the bounce each time we encountered a bump.

Think of an amusement park ride without the amusement.

No puppy, either.

I can only fall asleep in a vehicle if I'm driving, so despite the fact that it was early and I was tired, the bumps and bouncing were not the reason I didn't snooze. It is amazing to me to see how other Soldiers can fall asleep in the most unlikely of places, at the drop of a hat. I am certainly not one of those people!

We passed by a lot of children while we were on the mission. Other than just a couple I was able to notice during our first convoy last week (vehicle with tiny windows, up high), I'd not seen any children here since arriving. Not a one of these youngsters was obese. If anything, many looked painfully thin.

Most waved and gestured imploringly to us as the convoy moved past them. I suspected they could not see us inside the vehicles, but I waved back to them anyway.

It was heartbreaking to see them, all of them in dusty clothes and many of them barefoot in the midst of the trash lining so many streets. One tended six sheep, each of which was larger than himself. One little girl, in profile, reminded me of my sister Ann forty-five years ago when she was five.

Inside the up-armored vehicle I seemed to be as far away from them as if I were back in the office or watching TV.

We arrived back 'home' fairly early, considering our other missions thus far. By evening of that day, we were in a dust storm that was so intense the visibility was only about 100 meters. We had a full moon that night, but it was completely obscured by the dust. Imagine San Francisco fog without the humidity, the chill, the hills, and the Bay -- or San Francisco, for that matter. Moving through the dust was like inhaling cactus.

I invite you to consider just what that "dust" consists of, especially given that we're in an area that's really, really hot much of the time (how do you spell "dessication"?) and not noted for fastidiousness (now think of a word that rhymes with 'dessication').... Add some strong winds, and voila! Inhale deeply.

I suspect my new round of upper respiratory crud (new this afternoon/evening) probably has something to do with all the wonderful stuff to which my respiratory mucosae were introduced this week. Sigh.

Then the dust settled (literally), and I seem to have annoyed some actual readers with a blog post this week, what with the 'comments umbrage meter' straining to contain itself without spontaneously combusting. My curmudgeonly heart swoons with delight -- someone's actually paying attention enough to have a reaction!

Hooray!

(It's not coincidental that this blog is named as it is, folks. Caveat lector.)

One final thing: Before I stopped drinking 29 years ago (if we'd had blogs then) I, too, would have left comments in high dudgeon -- anonymously.

But then *I* stopped drinking.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Salute Alley

When I was a child, my grandmother (Aunt Pat's mother) saw to it that her grandchildren had the opportunity to experience good literature, music, and art. (She gave me A Wrinkle in Time for Christmas one year; she always gave us Newberry- or Caldecott-award-winning books as presents.)

She listened to music of the great masters, and encouraged us to listen as well. She had a Steinway grand piano in the living room, and endured listening to us attempt to play, always with a smile -- at least for us.

I remember listening to recordings of Beethoven, Bach, Brahms, and Broadway. I was especially taken with the musicals of Rodgers and Hammerstein. Lately (that is, for the last almost six weeks now), I've been reminded again and again of this quote from the stage version of The King and I:

Anna speaks it in the middle of the song, Shall I Tell You What I Think of You? She'd love to have the gumption to tell it to the King directly, but at that point, still hadn't mustered it.

I've been reminded of those lyrics daily as I run the gauntlet here known as "Salute Alley."

To walk from where I work to the Dining Facility (DFAC) involves having to render salutes at least eleventy-seven times -- and that's just if the stars are in alignment on good days, and I miss the crowds. Let's just not even mention the bad days! Having to do this when it's 120 degrees Fahrenheit makes it an even more "special" experience.

I suppose I could be glad we at least don't have to grovel.... Nah.

I haven't bent my right elbow this much since I stopped drinking 29 years ago.

It's especially annoying to have SFC McG beside me snickering because he doesn't have to salute any of the Enlisted, while I have to salute every one of them, and almost all other Officers. Since we're dealing in 'echelons above reality' here, there are not very many Captains -- the only people to whom I'm not required either to initiate or return a salute. Thus, I have to salute everyone else. That means that I become a "bobble-arm" on my way to and from the DFAC and to and from my CHU (containerized housing unit -- you know, the modified dumpster I'm living in).

I suspect I'm developing "salute elbow." I'll probably need surgery before this deployment is over.

Pardon my naïveté, but I'd been led to believe that in a WAR ZONE the act of rendering a salute could be life-threatening, as it is a great way of showing the enemy whom to shoot.

Folks around here have not gotten that memo. At least not those in the Army.

(The Air Force, on the other hand, has a posted "no salute zone" around their dining facility. Though, now that I'm thinking about it, perhaps that has nothing to do with protecting personnel, but rather reflects a concern for their golf swing....)

The one redeeming quality to all this saluting is that it offers me the opportunity to greet everyone to whom I'm rendering the salute with, "God bless you, [Sir, Ma'am, Gentlemen, Sar'nt, etc.]" I figure I might as well make a prayer out of it, especially since the Apostle Paul admonishes his flock in Thessalonika to "pray without ceasing." (1 Thessalonians 5:17) Some people seem startled by it, some return the greeting, but most just keep walking.

It's late here now, and I'd salute you for having read this, but....

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

A multitude of thanks

Just a quick shout out to Operation MOM in California, and to Zion Lutheran Church and Shepherd of the Valley Lutheran Church in Washington for the spectacular boxes of goodies they've been sending to Soldiers care of my address. Soldiers have taken to stopping by the office to find out whether another shipment has arrived.

Your generosity does you proud. Many, many thanks for your thoughtfulness!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Saturday, September 13, 2008

This and that update

My friend, the fabulous Fr. Tom W (sober since God was young, I think) from the People's Republic of Berkeley likes to talk about "ten true things." So, here are ten true things today, to the best of my knowledge:

Aunt Pat continues to hang in there after her ruptured cerebral aneurysm (Class V). She was able to say her name and the name of the hospital the day before yesterday. Please keep the good thoughts and prayers coming, if you would.

Mrs SFC McG had her surgery (what was expected to be 30 minutes, max, turned out to be over two hours), and is doing remarkably well. Please keep those prayers coming, too. Thanks!

Many folks sent cards and email notes to SFC McG on the occasion of his birthday last month, and Apryll N sent the most spectacular cookies imaginable. She even sent them in a great tin -- and it turns out SFC McG collects tins, so he was doubly delighted.

The wifi connection to the internet ($65/mo!) continues to be as slow as my old dial-up connection in the States, so that's why I've not been able to use Skype to call everyone from my hooch.

I finally took a look at my 'attachment orders' to this unit over here, and it appears as though I might be here a month longer than I'd been led to believe; the orders read "365 days BOG" which translates into English as "one full year 'boots on the ground'." That's at odds with what I'd been told about the deployment of reservists, but not a surprise, I guess!

The high here yesterday was only in the mid-100s. Woohoo!!!

Body armor is still heavy and cumbersome.

The Army has a new "combat shirt" that gets worn under body armor. It's very high-tech, and very expensive. It's cooler to wear under the body armor in all this heat than is the undershirt/blouse (uniform top) combination that we presently wear. The Army is finally issuing it to everyone -- except to SFC McG and myself. Seems we're not *really* enough part of this unit to be issued it, but we're too much part of this unit to get the folks from whence we came to issue it! Welcome to the Army, I guess! (Same thing appears to be true with the new body armor, but SFC McG is going to try to work his magic on these issues, so I'll keep you posted....)

When I'm wearing body armor, I look like a geriatric mutant Ninja turtle, I've been told.

SFC McG and I were outside the wire a couple of times recently, and I guess I've not done anything stupid thus far, because he hasn't had to hurt me (yet). He keeps mentioning the "yet." It's very disconcerting, actually. But I keep telling myself that he means well. Really. He does. He means well. No, really.

(I figure if I keep repeating it enough, it'll just become true. That seems to be the way politics is working these days!)

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Friday, September 12, 2008

Of tiny stuffed animals and the banning of books

My parents sent me a handful of tiny, colorful stuffed animals a couple of weeks ago. Earlier this week I received a couple dozen more of them. I think Mom and Dad must have snagged every one of them that Ikea had in stock. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

(I'd never considered before coming here that anyone would think of placing explosive devices in stuffed animals, but there you are. Who knew? These critters are too small for that, so they should be just fine.)

They are wonderful! The children over here should love them -- some of the Soldiers do, already. I even brought a tiny blue elephant with green ears, and a yellow lion with an orange mane and tail back to my CHU with me, because I can't help but laugh when I look at them.

Laughter is a priceless commodity in a war zone.

(Or do I like these things so much because I haven't grown up yet?)

The lion is just too funny for words, actually. At first I thought it was a dog with one of those cone things around its neck. It took a few moments to realize it was a lion. (OK, I'm a slow learner. There, I've said it.) In my defense, however, I showed it to SFC McG, who asked, "Why do you have a mouse with a neck cone on it?" In his defense, it looks much more like a mouse than a dog, and certainly more so than a lion!

The fact that it's a bit cattywampus, and that it's orange and yellow, reminded me of an incident from childhood involving another yellow and orange stuffed animal, and the fact that I loved to read books.

I'm told that the notion of banning books from public institutions is back in the news, and that reminds me of lists I've seen over the years of what some would prevent others from reading, if they could. A perennial 'favorite' seems to be A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle. It was published in 1962, and won the prestigious Newberry Award. I suspect I received my first copy of it when I was between the ages of eight and ten.

I'm sure those of you who know me will find this hard to believe, but I was a bit precocious as a youngster. I'd learned to read before kindergarten, and while in grade school was given special permission at the local public library to read books that twelfth graders would read.

I can already hear the whispers, with such unction: "To think he'd had *such* potential! Pity he's come to this."

Anyway, I loved A Wrinkle in Time from the first moment I picked it up. It's beautifully written. I has a great plot. It references science and music and art. It has misfits who were thrown together, seemingly by circumstance, who discover that the uniqueness which is the source of their shame and isolation enables them to make heroic sacrifices and accomplish marvels beyond imagination.

It was the first book I'd seen that had a quote at the beginning of each chapter. One was even in Greek, which I could not yet decipher. That annoyed and intrigued me. It probably had something to do with my desire to learn foreign languages, which perdures to this day.

Most of all, though, even at such a young age, I "got it" by the end of the story, that this is an allegory of redemption, of the triumph of an impossibly small and seemingly insignificant good over an overwhelming and apparently invincible evil.

Love.

Meg, the misfit science geek, unhappy her whole life because of "not fitting in," in her moment of truth, realizes the awesome and redemptive power of love. Her love. God's love.

Love.

That book gave me hope.

Years later, whenever I've picked it up to read it again, it still does that.

And to think that some would choose to prevent others from reading it! I've since realized that the reason almost certainly has to do with the fact that three of the characters are identified as "witches": "Mrs. Who," Mrs. Whatsit," and "Mrs. Which." (Get it? "Which"? Witch?)

For the incurious, for those who don't read, for those who eschew "book larnin," I guess there's no distinction between imagination and necromancy. Someone probably heard (because they'd not *read*) that there were witches in this book, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that the book is satanic in nature. Sheesh.

Anyone with a brain -- I mean, for crying out loud, *I* was eight or nine or ten years old, and even *I* "got it" -- who's actually *read* this book, would realize that those "witches" were emissaries of the God worshiped by Christians.

Sheesh.

It's pretty explicit, actually, for those who have even two brain cells to rub together. And yet, it's consistently self-identified "Christians" who want to ban others from reading this wonderful story. Give me a break.

Imagination.

Necromancy.

There *is* a distinction, people! Oy.

Anyway, back to yellow and orange stuffed animals and being a precocious and voracious reader.

When I was a child I had a favorite stuffed animal, a dog named Morgan. (I have no idea how it got named Morgan.) I also had a soft, plush, plump, bright yellow duck with orange wings. Well, with one large orange wing, and with one tiny, almost vestigial orange wing.

It was probably large enough to hide a small IED (improvised explosive device) in.

I don't remember the duck's name

I do, however, distinctly remember reading "Life" and "Look" magazines when I was young (not many of you can remember them, but that's because they're long gone now), and one day after reading a story in one or the other of them, I took my yellow plush duck -- one big orange wing, one almost non-existent orange wing -- to my mother and, very proudly (I'm told), held it out to her, saying, "Look, Mom. I have a thalidomide duck!"

I think she was pregnant with my younger brother at the time.

She started to cry.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Thursday, September 11, 2008

The Puppy

I have a great boss here, who's doing his best to overcome the fact that I was sent here to be an office pogue. In addition to having been able to get outside the wire via air assets, I've now been able to visit four small outposts in one day, via ground transport -- convoy. They're located in the heart of neighborhoods, and are composed of US and Iraqi personnel. These joint operations don't have space for air assets to land, so the only way to get there is overland.

The morning we went out to visit them we were fetched by that Battalion's Chaplain and Sergeant Major. (As an aside, I never knew until I joined the Army that the word "Sergeant" is actually a one-syllable word.) When we got to the Start Point, and moved from the non-tactical vehicle to the tactical ones, that's when I noticed that Sar'nt Major has a puppy, Scout.

She's really cute: almost all black, with three white paws and a white-tipped tail. She's so small she can't get into or out of the tactical vehicles by herself. The contrast between these large men, made even larger by our bulky body armor, and this tiny puppy, became even more apparent -- and heartening -- as one of the Soldiers caught her in his arms as she eagerly jumped up so he could help her into the vehicle.

This was my first time on the road, and my first time in one of those vehicles (so much for "we train as we fight," I guess). One of the first things I noticed about the vehicle I was riding in was that both the other Chaplain and the Dismount who were in the back with me had two rather large foam pads secured together by 100 mph tape (mere mortals would call it, "duct tape") to sit on. I did not. After we got moving, it was clear why they did.

Ouch.

Because of the configuration of that vehicle, I could not see very much of what we passed by. There were date palms (did you know this was one of the largest date-producing areas of the world at one time?), and signs in Arabic on buildings, trash on the roofs of many structures, pock marks (I'm presuming from weapons fire) in some walls, and what looked to be homes abandoned after the collapse of roof or walls.

Much to my surprise, as we traversed the day's route, I felt totally at ease. I'd never have thought that possible, that's for sure!

It's amazing what can happen when one's Higher Power is very, very, very big -- after all, what or whom is there to fear, ultimately? At the end of the eighth chapter of the Letter to the Romans, Paul writes: "...there is nothing in all the created world that can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus." I suspect if more Christians truly believed that, this world would be a very different -- and much better -- place.

The congregations for the Masses were very small, as I'd expected. Their gratitude for being able to receive Sacraments seemed boundless. I felt very humbled and grateful. The living conditions at those places are much more Spartan than what I experience "at home" here Down Range. But I heard no grumbling about that at all.

Some of these guys are on their third combat deployment in five years.

They have spent more time away from their wives and young children than with them.

Meanwhile, most of the rest of America is at the mall.

Or watching American Idol.

Or sitting at their computers in their mother's basement, cheering able-bodied-yet-civilian Sean Hannity on the TV, and ranting online about how unpatriotic *others* are because they don't "support the troops."

Two of those outposts had dogs of their own. One of those other dogs is much older and larger than Scout, but was clearly intimidated by her. (I wonder if he knew that she belongs to the Sar'nt Major?) Everywhere we went, Scout was eager to be petted by any Soldier she encountered, and it seemed as though she was "making the rounds" as much as Sar'nt Major was.

Any on whom she imposed herself -- even, or perhaps especially, the men returning from a patrol -- clearly very dirty, tired, glad to shed the body armor -- would immediately smile as her tail would shake her whole body with its enthusiastic wagging. Grimy faces brightened at her approach, even before the wet kisses.

She got so excited at one point, she had a rather imposing 'accident,' which occasioned a lot of laughter. (I think SGM had a PFC clean it up....)

After our last stop, as we were mounting up to return, Scout was in the vehicle I was riding in. Without hesitation, she hopped up into the empty seat beside me, and proceeded to stretch out, and then curl up as if for a nap. It turned out, though, that she was actually eying the Dismount, biding her time. As soon as he got up to do something in preparation for our departure, she sprang up and hopped into his seat with the cushion on it.

Smart doggie.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

29

It's hard for me to believe that as of 10SEP08, I'll have 10593 days in a row being sober. That's just over 1513 weeks, or 348.29 months. Twenty-nine years. Wow.

But who's counting?

Many thanks to all those who have been with me as we "trudge the road of Happy Destiny." This could not have happened on my own.

What a miracle of God's grace, one day at a time! Hooray for the Higher Power!!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Monday, September 08, 2008

Mrs SFC McG

Those of you who have been reading my blog know that I have been blessed beyond measure with having SFC McG as my Chaplain Assistant.

A Chaplain Assistant (MOS 56M; that is, in English: "Military Occupational Specialty, 56 Mike") is essentially a Chaplain's bodyguard when we're deployed in a war zone such as this. His job is to 'pack heat' for the two of us, since I'm a noncombatant and carry no weapons (other than my sharp tongue, I've been told).

To that end, he's armed and dangerous, and a very good shot. I have every confidence in him.

(You should know, however, that if/when we're "outside the wire," he's told me he'll shoot ME if I even attempt to do anything stupid (or even, brave, presumably). "I've been here twice already and brought my Chaplain home safely both times, so DON'T MAKE ME HURT YOU.")

Anyway, his lovely wife, Mrs SFC McG, is undergoing surgery on Tuesday, so please remember her and her medical team -- and SFC McG -- in your thoughts and prayers, if you'd be so kind. From what I can tell, their being separated at a time like this is yet one more sacrifice piled on top of so many other sacrifices on both their parts.

This is, after all, SFC McG's third deployment to Iraq....

I'd very much appreciate your spiritual assistance in this matter.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Nocturne

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Friday, September 05, 2008

Like sands through the hourglass....

On the 30th anniversary of my becoming a Jesuit a couple of days ago, I found myself saying Mass for a handful of people in the building where my office is located. As I was looking out at the uniforms -- and ranks -- all but one of the military personnel present outranked me by at least several pay grades. Years ago, I'd probably have found that to be intimidating.

However, these days, in a situation like that, I figure it's not unlike how my friends who go to AA meetings describe the egalitarianism of recovery: the highest rank one achieves in AA is "sober." At Mass, the highest rank is "forgiven/redeemed/loved."

To that end, irrespective of a person's rank or station, when I give out Holy Communion, I ask for the person's first name -- figuring God has called each of us by name -- and address the person by his or her first name as each receives the Sacrament. I place the host in the person's hand, keeping my hand on top of the host, and look him or her in the eye as I say, "[first name], the Body of Christ." I believe that the intimacy of the moment and the relationship demands it.

(As an aside, I remember being present at a liturgy one day a few years ago in which the priest appeared to be distributing the Sacrament as if he were dealer in Vegas -- he'd actually take a number of hosts in his hand, fan them out as if they were cards, and move along the communion rail (folks in that place are back to kneeling for communion), almost tossing the hosts into the communicants' mouths with a wrist action reminiscent of upping the ante with a poker chip.

In addition to the normal act of faith associated with receiving communion that day, I had to make an act of faith that that priest believed there was something intimately sacred going on at the time....)

So this past Wednesday I had a strong sense of how odd it is that I'd be saying Mass for a bunch of military muckety-mucks on my 30th anniversary of becoming a Jesuit. Thirty years ago, as I entered the Jesuit Novitiate, there was no way I could ever have imagined that in the year 2008 I would be wearing the uniform of the United States Army, saying Mass in a foreign country -- in the middle of a war zone -- addressing the Grand Poobahs by their first names.

I joined the Jesuits in order to become the person I believe God wants me to be. Over the years I've realized that the only way for me to hang onto what graces I've been blessed with is to give freely from all that I've been given.

Service makes that a reality.

The spirituality of St. Ignatius Loyola certainly encourages that, and much to my delight, my friends who go to AA and Al-Anon meetings tell me that being of service is how they stay alive, one day at a time. It seems to work on so many levels.

Since getting sober I've discovered that there are lots of ways to be of service to others.

These days, I'm attempting to be of service to women and men who have placed themselves in harm's way, because there are so few others who can or will do so. Who knew 30 years ago that this desire would bring me, in my dotage, to the cradle of civilization at a time when so much incivility reigns?

Yet in the midst of war's mayhem and fear, I've found cause for hope, and have seen how my experience can benefit others. My friends who go to AA meetings tell me that's one of their "Promises" coming true in my life. Hooray for the Higher Power

God has a very weird sense of humor, indeed, and for the last 30 years of that, I am speechless with gratitude.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

30

For reasons quite unclear to me, I'm often very aware of the passage of time, particularly as it's marked by anniversaries. Perhaps this has something to do with having been raised in a religious tradition in which almost every day "belongs" to someone who's dead.

It gets confusing, of course, with someone like St. Christopher -- remember him? When I was young, it seemed as though everyone I knew had a St. Chris medal in the car.

Chris was traditionally the patron of safe travel.

Back when I was about 13 years old, his feast was removed from the Roman calendar of saints, presumably because it was decided that there just wasn't enough known about the historicity of the guy (maybe the notion that he was a dog-headed cannibal by some reckonings might have had something to do with that) to encourage such an official commemoration.

This action on the part of Rome caused a lot of confusion and hurt feelings, and that's just talking about poor St. Christopher's response....

(Technically speaking, for all others who still feel annoyed by that turn of events, Chris is still listed in the Roman Martyrology for 25 July and venerated publicly by the Orthodox on 09 May.)

I've actually thought for a long time now that St. Martin of Tours should apply for the job of "patron of safe travel" -- or at least of "patron of travel agents." (Tours. Get it?)

Marty's actually venerated as the patron saint of Soldiers, so I suppose he might be too busy for some other responsibilities, and given my station in life these days, that's probably a good thing.

But I digress. Fr. Tom W accuses me of being easily distracted by sparkly things. I guess maybe he's on to something.

In any event, as I was writing before I so rudely interrupted myself, I'm very aware of the passage of time, marked by various anniversaries. Mike, Dorothea's husband (see an earlier blog post about Dorothea), had his birthday on 26AUG08. My friend CPT M just had his two-year sober birthday on 27AUG08, which was also the 28-month anniversary of my friend Sam getting sober. My friend Greg celebrated his natal birthday that same day. Michael K died on 29AUG97, and my friend Steve C got sober on 01SEP04.

My sister Ann celebrates her 50th birthday this coming Sunday, so be sure to give her a shout out about that!

I even know how many days it's been since my SCUBA buddy Brian died (2345 -- nice number, eh?).

All of this is to say that 03SEP08 marks 30 years since I joined the Society of Jesus.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Sunday, August 31, 2008

This and that....

It's been a very busy week. I'd hoped to be writing trenchant and witty aphorisms every couple of days, but that's just not who I am, I guess! In any event, I was actually "outside the wire" six of the past eight days (counting today), so that's been pretty exciting, even if fraught with lots of waiting around -- much of it while wearing body armor.

One time, when I was seated facing one of the gunners, the air coming in through the gunner's hatch was 109 degrees Fahrenheit. I only had to put up with that for a short time, but that poor kid endured it all day long during his shift.

The gunners seem pretty pleased to have a Chaplain on board, though with their helmets covering pretty much their whole head and face, and with the threshold-of-pain decibel level of the rotors and engine, I might just be engaged in wishful thinking....

It's been great to go elsewhere to do liturgy and meet folks who are living right in the midst of what's going on. Some of them really do have to put up with some great difficulties where they are, and they're doing so with dignity and good humor, from what I can tell.

I'd just be grumpy (well, grumpier), and sure that the sun is burning out, as my friend Annie L once wrote.

Shortly after I arrived here (four weeks ago yesterday -- there was a new moon again, right on cue), a young Soldier (well, given my age, they're ALL young -- even the Grand Poobahs are younger than me!) walked into our office and asked whether there were any AA meetings on post.

It turns out that I'm the 'subject matter expert' in that regard, and was able to tell him that I'd met some other Soldiers who go to meetings here Down Range, and was able to tell him when and where.

He was also looking for someone to help him in his journey of recovery and asked me if I'd do that for him. So, much to my surprise, I've wound up spending a great deal of time sharing my experience, strength, and hope with him (usually late into the evenings, like tonight, given our 12-hour-per-day work cycle), and that's proved to be a great blessing in my life.

He just celebrated 2 years being clean and sober, so I need to get hold of one of those coins my friends who go to AA talk about getting. I had a 24-hour 'chip' I'd been given at one point, so I palmed that to him at work the other day (Soldiers are given coins by commanders and senior NCOs in the same manner, it turns out), with the promise that I'd come up with a 'real' one soon.

He'd never gotten a 24-hour chip when he first started going to AA, so he told me he was pleased to get it.

It was a very difficult week, and I wound up attending my first memorial service as a result. That involved a ride that I'll elaborate upon at a later date. Please keep the Servicemembers over here in your prayers, if you'd be so kind, and if you're the praying type.

My Aunt Pat seems to be holding her own, so thank you for your prayers for her and her religious community. Aunt Loretta (not related to me by blood, but rather by intention) has put her job on hold and basically moved in to Aunt Pat's room in the hospital, so that one of her sisters is with her any time she wakes up.

Aunt Pat seems to recognize folks, and answers questions by nodding her head (the ventilator is still in, given that she has pneumonia). God definitely does for us what we cannot do for ourselves! Thanks for all your prayers for her!

It's been beastly hot this week, in addition to the blast furnace of a copter ride I mentioned earlier. On Wednesday, I think it was, the thermometer read 129 degrees Fahrenheit. That was one of the days SFC McG and I had to run around in full battle-rattle (all the body armor, plus helmet -- and gloves!) for longer than I care to remember.

The night we had a cookout to celebrate his birthday (and SFC M's birthday a couple of days later), we wound up eating outside, because it was only 102. Positively balmy.

Or perhaps we're just positively barmy....

In any event the sunrises and sunsets (and moonrises, when the moon's up) have been beautiful. Tonight the sun was a perfect orange orb glowing through the dust on the horizon -- just wonderful. I'm looking forward to the re-appearance of the moon in the next few days, because as it rises the quality of its light oozing through the dust in the air is magical.

It's really, really late now, and I have to be up fairly early. I'm missing being at home, but feeling content to be here right now, especially since my only hope of having conscious contact with a Higher Power is if I'm staying in the present moment.

Gratitude requires being in the now, as well, and I'm feeling very grateful for all the love in my life, and the new experiences being offered me.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

An update on Aunt Pat

I spoke with my Dad last night (my time).

My Aunt's nun-Catholic friends :-) all took the day off today (your time) and gathered in her room at the hospital, to pray and to bid farewell to her as the medical staff removed her life support.

I'm led to believe it was quite a gaggle. Religious communities can be like that.

After a while, the physician arrived.

Just as the ventilator was about to be disengaged, Aunt Pat opened her eyes.

Shocked beyond description, the doc blurted out, "You must have more work to do, eh?" (I guess the doc is Canadian.)

Aunt Pat nodded.

The machines were not turned off.

I have no idea what this means for the future, but the physician was using the word, "miracle," since my aunt's brain aneurysm had ruptured and she'd been classified as a "5" on the scale of 1 - 5. Her chances of recovery were given as around ten percent.

If nothing else, this is probably a good indicator that a room full of religious women is a loving spiritual force not to be trifled with.

But I've known that for years now.

Please keep the prayers coming, folks!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Poetry commotion

It's very, very late here, but this couldn't wait.

One of my very closest friends these days is a very wise woman named Dorothea. (How fitting that her name, from the Greek, speaks of God's gift!) She and I met at church a long while ago now, probably because I had been saying outrageous things while wearing rather over-the-top vesture and wielding a large and smoking incense pot.

She'd not been to church in quite a while, and discovered she was welcomed back, and welcome to be back, much to her surprise and consternation.

Dorothea is a wonderful poet, who has been gifting me with the fruits of her artistic labors for lo these many years now. How I've envied her wordsmithery [if it's not a word, it ought to be]! Oh to be able to tell truths economically! To communicate richness of meaning through poverty of words!

That's Dorothea. Don't get me wrong: She can write prose beautifully, but it's her poetry that captures my attention and leaves me breathless with delight and surprise and gratitude.

She's been through the wringer -- more than most of my other friends (who, being recovering addicts for the most part, have amazing stories to tell) -- and the crucible of that suffering has somehow refined her ability to connect words one to another.

I'm in awe of her artistic accomplishments, and have felt inadequate in the face of them.

So it was with great trepidation this morning that I sent *her* a poem. To the one who sends *me* poems.

I'd been wanting to do it for a long time, but never felt adequate to the desire.

SFC McG and I arrived here Down Range and I noticed that first night how bright the stars were, and not just because there wasn't a lot of light pollution as there is in the States. There was no moon. It was the new moon.

Over the course of our time here, I've been noticing (when the dust isn't too bad!) the moon waxing full. It's been beautiful. Compelling. Easy to see how the ancients would worship it as divine.

It's now waning again, marking the passage of time, as it does.

I'd been wondering what to say about all that, until this morning. This is what I came up with:

I sent it off to Dorothea, who's in the hospital, and once again in a lot of pain. (Please remember Dorothea and her husband Mike (it's his birthday in a couple of days) in your prayers, if you're the type to do that sort of thing.)

I really agonized over sending it, but I figured when I've been to other places and attempted to speak the local language, people often seemed to appreciate the effort, even if/as I was making a fool of myself.

So I figured I'd try to speak Dorothea's language even if/as I was making a fool of myself.

Love is like that sometimes, isn't it?

Tonight, after being in the office most of the day (and until 2330) -- even though it was my day off! -- I found a note back from Dorothea that took my breath away. Here's what she wrote:

How wonderful that when things seem a bit bleak, and my thread in the warp and woof of life feels incredibly fragile and inconsequential, as it has felt here, I'm reminded so simply, so economically, and so beautifully of what's true.

Love is definitely like that.

God is love.

All rights reserved, 2008
Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Aunt Pat

My Dad sent me a note last night saying that his sister, my Aunt Pat, was found on the floor of her bedroom by the other nuns in her community yesterday morning. She appears to have had a brain aneurysm which ruptured. I spoke with my family earlier today, and they'd had no other news.

Please keep Aunt Pat, my Dad, and their sister Mary Ann in your prayers, as well as the sisters in my Aunt's community, if you will. Many thanks.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Catarrh

Cattarh.

And I don't mean Qatar.

It started a couple of days ago with a cough that rapidly became emphysematic. It was surely the consumption. Or a brain tumor.

I kept expecting Musetta, Rodolfo, and Colline to show up to sing tragic arias as I lost what little strength was left.

(Have you ever wondered why, in "La Boheme," if Mimi is dying of tuberculosis, her friends encourage her to *sing* when she has trouble even breathing? I mean, what's up with *that*?)

My boss suggested I go to the Troop Medical Clinic (TMC).

I demurred.

After all, if SFC McG can get through this on his own, I surely can!

It then moved into a sore throat. Not just any little annoyance, but the kind that leaves one cursing the world for having salivary glands in the first place. The kind that has one wondering if someone needs to come up with a Preparation H for the *upper* digestive tract.

MSG A, the NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge) of the Chaplain Cell here, took me to see the folks in the Division Surgeon's section. The doc who was there gave me some Cepacol.

The problem with Cepacol is that you have to put it in your mouth in order to get it to work. Isn't that a design flaw, when the problem is stuff in one's mouth going down the throat in the first place?

By the way, the doc who saw me is a psychiatrist.

No comments, please.

The sore throat is actually better, but now I'm down for the count at the moment with a sinus crud that had my face feeling as though it would explode at any moment last night. As if each movement of my head might result in the fate of the nefarious businessman in "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade," just before the ancient Knight observes drily, "He chose.... poorly."

No over-the-counter medications on hand.

No sleep, either.

I surrendered this morning and went to the TMC.

They gave me some stuff to take, but I was secretly hoping there was something they could lance, like my eyeballs, just to relieve the pressure, and give me some immediate relief. Alas! That was not to be.

Now the headache has moved more globally, and the floodgates of my nostrils only open occasionally, but still with exudate that makes my microbiologist's heart flutter. However, that seems to happen without warning, and with great urgency.

As an aside, it's amazing how raw skin can become from having to use 'facial quality tissue.' The stuff here must have microscopic barbs engineered into it. (There are many uses for this 'tissue' -- think about it.)

Yet, there's never enough of it around when it's needed. How does that work?

My boss ordered me to go back to my CHU this morning, so once the folks who process the paperwork I do got their stuff done (I think they were all off watching the Olympics, it took them so long), I went to lunch with SFC McG and then came back here for a nap.

It's now time for dinner.

Naps are a very spiritual experience.

But all in all, I'd rather be in Qatar....

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Monday, August 18, 2008

Milestones and millstone

Today is my friend Fr. Tom W's thirty-second sober birthday. Hooray for the Higher Power! What a miracle of God's grace! And what a blessing that he's been able to share that sobriety and his journey of recovery with so many people for so long now.

It's because of Tom that I have given over 100 weekend retreats for folks recovering from addictions over the past seventeen years. I spent five months with him during my last year of priest-school, running around the country learning how to do what he does.

Though it often felt like a junket, it was an opportunity to apprentice with a master, with the best of the best. Hanging out at Stinson Beach so much of the time when we weren't on the road didn't hurt, however!

Through Tom I've met many of the folks who've become my closest friends: Susan R, Bobette, Karin, Glenn L, Msgr. Terry, Owen, Gary, Terry O, Jim H, Mary C, Steve L, Cormac B, Kevin T, Bert W, Patricia F, Brian B -- and too many more to mention this late at night when I need to get to sleep!

I never knew that so many people didn't have last names! Go figure.

It was Tom who first said to me, as we were on the road from the Bay Area to Seattle (he was going there for AA's fifty-fifth birthday party): "You should have known that your God is too small, Tim. Your God hates all the same people *you* do!"

[As an aside, I *hate* it when people tell me, with great unctuousness, 'you should have known'....] Boy, did I want to strangle him. But he was driving, and I figured that might be counterproductive.

But, boy, was he correct!!

Since that time, then, I've put my God on a strenuous conditioning program. Steroids, too. And it's worked!

My God, as I've alluded to in earlier posts is very, very, very big these days, and getting bigger by the nanosecond.

That's a good thing, especially on days like today when I learned that one of my colleagues in the Biology Department at my first college-teaching gig was struck by a car while he was riding his bicycle and killed yesterday. He was just a few years older than me.

I'd not seen Miles in about eight years, but found myself deeply saddened. How I wish I could be there to grieve with his beautiful wife Peggy and their two children! So much powerlessness!

But a very, very, very big -- and constantly getting bigger -- Higher Power remains able to bring life even out of the most death-dealing of circumstances. Cold comfort in the midst of immediate, shocking loss, but a comfort that warms and soothes, eventually.

I'm glad too, for a really big God in my life when I find out once again, as I did over the weekend, that I've managed to vex, annoy, irk, pester, disturb, or otherwise flummox Important People who don't like that sort of thing. Think wimpled women singing about Julie Andrews' Maria Soon-to-be-von Trapp in the Abbey, I guess.

Sigh.

I suspect it's quite similar to a situation (though not as intentional) from a while ago which led to four (count 'em) Important People at Summer Camp - South earlier in my present sojourn to exclaim, one by one, at different times, "So! *You're* the one!"

I say again: Sigh.

Well, it's late here now (I was actually out and about doing priest-things!) and I've got to be up early. Happy Birthday, Tom! You're a gift.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Friday, August 15, 2008

SFC McG's Birthday

I just realized that SFC McG has a birthday next week, so if you wanted to drop him a birthday card (hint, hint) c/o me, and you don't have my snail-mail address, just write me at cptdrfrtim a t gmail d o t com (you know how to put that together; I'm trying to avoid spambots scavenging my address!), and I'll email it to you.

Just put "SFC McG" in the lower left corner of the envelopeyou then send via snail-mail, and I'll see that he opens it.

His presence here with me is a blessing beyond measure.

I suspect it's really difficult for him to be away from his family, and being surprised by cards from folks he doesn't even know might help.

Thanks!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Dependencies

One day this past week the water died while I was in the shower, and then the power went out when I got back to my CHU (containerized housing unit). I was soapy and it was 114 degrees out.

The next day SFC McG and I were at another base, and the dust in the air prevented the helicopters from coming back to get us, so we wound up being there 72 hours, rather than just four.

I, of course, had not packed an overnight bag. It's well over 100 degrees during the day, and only gets down to the high 80s or low 90s at night. No change of clothes.

Do the math.

It didn't help that the reception we received from certain Officer-types was less than gracious. (Rudeness is so last-year, but they seem not to have gotten the memo.)

However, two Junior Enlisted took as good care of us as they could, given their low-rung occupancy in the feeding chain. They embodied the Army Value of "selfless service" and I'm very grateful for their kindnesses.

(Again I found myself wishing there'd been a way to do this Chaplain thing as an Enlisted...)

In any event, I've had lots of time to reflect up the various dependencies in my life these days: water for showering, electricity for air conditioning, good weather for getting "home" when I've been able to get outside the wire, the kindness of strangers (that'd make a good line for a work of great literature, eh?).

And let's not even speak of this stupid internet connection ($65/month) that's so slow it can take me an hour to download one email message if it includes an attachment!

Dependencies.

My life is more or less unmanageable depending upon how I deal with the various dependencies in it. Fortunately, over the years, I've known many friends who go to lots of AA and Al-Anon and other 12-Step meetings, and across-the-board they've told me that the most effective way to deal with a dependency is to admit it, accept it, and work a spiritual program surrounding it.

That plan of action certainly seems to work well concerning dependencies on alcohol and other mood-altering chemicals and behaviors. Friends who go to Al-Anon meetings have told me that same plan can work when dealing with other, non-life-threatening dependencies as well.

Go figure.

So when the water stops flowing in the shower, or the air conditioner in the CHU stops working and it's 114 degrees out and the CHU heats up like a convection oven (in about as much time), or the aircraft aren't picking us up (but they are flying others to where *they* need/want to go) and it's the third day without putting on clean clothes, or the internet connection simply refuses to connect with the mail server for the eleventy-seventh time, it's time to recognize the dependency for what it is, and remember that my ultimate dependency is upon a Higher Power who cares for me and is lacking none of the essential skill sets necessary to deal with whatever mess I've gotten myself into now.

Rather than throwing temper tantrums (despite how satisfying they can be, in some perverse way) and choosing to have a bad day/week /month/lifetime because of how wronged/put-upon/victimized I am, I can choose to believe that my Higher Power can handle the situation, and that I deserve better than to add more unmanageability into the mix than is already there.

I eventually rinsed the soap off, the air conditioning came back on, we got back "home," and I got a shower and some clean clothes.

The internet is still crappy, however.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Outside the Wire

I've actually been able to get off post since my last update -- several times, in fact.

Not that I've done much in the way of ordained ministry things (SFC McG and I have been traveling with another UMT (unit ministry team), and the priest in that team is doing all the "priest-stuff"), but at least we've been out of the office, and out meeting people in other places!

We had a LOT of people at Mass last night, and then I was able to stay for about 45 minutes to chat with the folks who are in the RCIA (Rite for Christian Initiation of Adults) program at this place. A very spirit-filled and spirited worship experience, compared to others since I have been on Active Duty.

Getting outside the wire and back has been an experience, too. It would be really fun, actually, except for the whole people-with-
big-weapons-locked-and-loaded-pointed-out-of-the-windows thing. That of course leads one to believe that there might be other people with big weapons locked and loaded and pointed at us.... That thought has definitely crossed my mind as we've been moving.

Since going outside the wire, I've had the experience of hearing a siren go off, and the loudspeaker proclaim "incoming, incoming, incoming."

No boom, though.

I was grateful.

At the moment there's so much sand in the air we're trapped where we wound up last night (I *knew* I should have brought a bag with me!). No telling when (or by what means) we'll get back.

I'll keep you posted.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Pebbles

I'm here a week now, as of this afternoon. In that time I've presided at no Masses, heard no confessions, led no prayer sessions, done no Bible studies -- in short, I've not done anything remotely looking like what I as a priest am accustomed to doing.

Instead, I've been sitting at a desk a lot, looking at computer screens, and wandering around from the CHUs (containerized housing units -- think of it as me living in an industrial-sized dumpster with a door and a window mostly covered with ratty duct tape, but with an air conditioner that works) to the office, to the DFAC (the dining facility), to the latrines (the ones in the dumpster-like buildings are preferable to the porta-potties), to the shower facility (another dumpster-building).

There's gravel almost everywhere.

Lots and lots of gravel -- quite deep in (too) many places.

When was the last time you marched along in fairly deep gravel? It crunches underfoot not unlike schlepping along in deep, really cold snow.

In this heat, it's at least as taxing, though not as cold.

I've sort of lucked out -- the shower-dumpster is just is just a few CHUs down from my CHU, and I can skirt around the margins of that building, along the space between the backs of the CHUs, and around the margins of the latrine dumpster to get some relief -- without having to endure too much gravel. I don't have to deal with quite as many of those pebbles as some others do, in their quest for "personal PMCS" (preventive maintenance checks and services). :-)

Try it in the middle of the night, wearing flip-flops (we call them 'shower shoes'). One would not dare enter either of those two aforementioned buildings without wearing foot covering of some sort, ever.

Shower shoes and gravel are not a happy combination, especially in the middle of the night. Nor after a shower, the whole point of which was to get the feet (among other things) clean.

Oh well.

Early in my life as a Jesuit I spent lots of time in the "little finger" of Michigan, at the Jesuit summer place on the shores of Grand Traverse Bay. There's very little in the way of natural, sandy beaches along the part of GTB where the Jesuits have their property. Among the gravel up there one can find Petoskey stones -- which are a fossilized coral animal from some 350 million years ago.

I find myself instinctively looking for Petoskey stones as I'm trudging along in the pebbles.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Turtles

Here on post there's an irrigation canal (I suppose) that runs between the living areas (the Containerized Housing Units -- known as CHUs) and the dining facility (DFAC). There are several small bridges crossing the canal, one of which is near the DFAC.

Beneath that particular bridge there's a huge school of carp, along with more turtles than I've seen in one place, other than at a zoo. The fish hang out there because Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, and Airmen (and presumably Coasties, if we had any here) will often throw food off the bridge to them.

This is especially the case in the mornings, because the DFAC makes it really easy to feed the fish by providing cereal in individual servings, which are easily removed from the premises. Cheerios are a favorite -- presumably of the fish, too.

This morning, as SFC McG and I were leaving (at 0600) the DFAC, there was a gaggle of Soldiers on the bridge feeding the fish. One guy, with Cheerios, was rooting for the small turtles to get the proffered goodies.

More often than not, if the little turtles were able to grab a bit of cereal, some fish would come and practically bite the turtle's head off, stealing the food right out of the little one's mouth.

Life is so often like that, isn't it?

However, the Soldier rooting for the little turtles chuckled a bit and said, "Though they're not doing so well now, they do have an advantage over the fish."

He then threw the Cheerios closer and closer to the bank of the canal, with the little turtles swimming closer and closer to the edge of the water. He finally threw some of the cereal on the bank itself and smiled.

"The fish won't be able to get those, but my turtles will."

God is often like that with us, too.

I hope you find God's Cheerios on the bank of your canal today.
All rights reserved, 2008
Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Monday, August 04, 2008

Bait and Switch

Wikipedia defines "bait and switch" as

I arrived Down Range on Sunday pretty much sleep-deprived, so I told myself, "Self, I must be hallucinating. This will all seem a bad dream after I've had some sleep and can think clearly" when I was being told that my job was going to be doing paperwork that absolutely anyone else could be doing, instead of doing actual ministry with Soldiers who are in harm's way and have very little access to a Catholic priest -- which is why I signed up at age 50, with no prior service, in the first place.

Imagine, then, my reaction (remember: I'm a curmudgeon, after all) yesterday upon learning that, indeed, at least 80% of my time will be spent in an air-conditioned office doing scut-work that literally any idiot could be doing (after all, they have *me* doing it! Q.E.D.).

I'd been led to believe that there are not enough Catholic priests in the military to serve the needs of the Catholic military personnel and approved DoD civilians Down Range (true). I'd also been led to believe that my being a priest would mean that I'd be doing lots and lots of ministry with and for Soldiers and others Down Range who could not get access to Catholic sacraments (not true).

How do you spell "bait and switch"?

I'm scheduled to do only two Masses per week (one for some poobahs, mid-week, and one at a post chapel on the weekend). I'll also give a briefing each week to Soldiers getting ready to do something. I get to go to two administrative-type meetings each week. We have a morning update with the boss for a few minutes each morning. And I get to spend probably an hour (at most) each day doing the paperwork I mentioned. Sure, we put in twelve-hour days, but factor into that a trip to the gym, and a couple of trips to the dining facility, and maybe even a catnap. Clearly it's important to have a Catholic priest here doing this!

I'm told that I might occasionally be able to go "outside the wire" to do ministry, but that's not something that can be scheduled long-range.

Thank God that over the years I've had lots of friends who go to AA and Al-Anon (and other 12-Step meetings) who have taught me that by identifying the "powerlessness du jour" I can be reminded that "there is One who has all power. That One is God. May you find God now." I think those people are on to something! The first Step says, "We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable." What my friends who go to Al-Anon meetings (in particular) have shared with me is that my life will be more or less unmanageable, depending upon how I deal with (or not!) the powerlessnesses I'm experiencing.

They've also taught me that my love cannot save the ones I love.

I especially hate that, to be honest.

So, I guess what's going on in this "bait and switch" is that I'm experiencing a massive amount of powerlessness, and an especially painful instance of my love not being able to even help -- let alone save -- the ones I love and am trying to serve.

Thus, I can either choose to add more unmanageability into this situation (which has more than enough, thank you very much) or not. It all depends upon my response to the powerlessness. Friends who go to 12-Step meetings say that by admitting that powerlessness, they're able to work eleven other steps on that situation, giving them a 'program for living.' They tell me it works concerning their powerlessness over alcohol, and they've found it works over any other powerlessness they identify, as well. Sounds like a plan to me.

So in the midst of feeling my spirit being stomped into the dust and gravel (there's a lot of that here, both underfoot and in the air), I've decided to surrender, recognizing that there is, indeed, One who has all power. I'm going to "get out of God's way" as my friend Gil G used to say (he died with about 30 years sober). I figure my Higher Power has all the essential skill sets necessary to bring life out of even the most death-dealing of situations, so this mess should be a no-brainer for God.

It's just going to take a lot of "acting as if" on my part, especially as I hear of bad stuff happening (as I did yesterday) -- and don't kid yourselves: there's still very bad stuff happening over here, though perhaps not as much as when it's been at its worst....

It's Tuesday morning here, and I'm off to "work".

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Saturday, August 02, 2008

My new home... for now, anyway

I've arrived Down Range. It took about more than 36 hours (keeping mind that I don't sleep when in moving vehicles -- unless I'm driving [think about it...]).

Those of you who've been through the lovely garden spot that is the first stop in a war zone may appreciate the fact that SFC McG managed to get us out of there in 14 hours' time -- we didn't make the intermediate stop everyone has to make before winding up Down Range, even though we were told it would take an 'exception to policy letter' signed by no less than a one-star General.

No letter, but no trip to Camp B, either!

I don't know how he does it, but SFC McG works miracles. (He also seems able to sleep, anytime, anywhere, and for that, we *hate* him!)

It's now 0316 hours, and I've only have five hours of sleep tonight (on top of the very few I've had over the past four days now), but I'm wide awake. I finally managed to get signed up for wireless network access here -- $65/month -- another way to screw the Soldier/Sailor/Marine/Airman/Coastie. It's so nice to know that so many Americans 'support the troops'!

My wristwatch, which seems to give pretty accurate ambient temperature readings, reported an air temp of 117 degrees Fahrenheit yesterday upon my arrival Down Range. Sheesh.

I'll try to post more later; I'm actually hoping I can get back to sleep for a few more hours now.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Feast of St. Ignatius Loyola

Not much time right now; it's very, very early, and I've already been up for almost two hours.

Suffice it to say that there's some serendipity to the fact that today is the Feast of the Founder of the Society of Jesus, and I'm on my way.

Please keep the prayer support coming, as I'm really needing it now more than ever. I'll post again when I next get the chance. In the meantime, I'll be praying for y'all (as they say here at Summer Camp - South).

Blessings to one and all!

Fr. Tim, SJ

Monday, July 28, 2008

Wow! Celery!!

Here's an indication of what's been going on regarding food here at Summer Camp - South for almost the last month: three nights ago, as I was passing the "salad bar" [note the quotation marks], I exclaimed aloud, "Wow! Celery!" That was, of course, because that was the first time since I'd arrived at Summer Camp - South that they'd had celery (somewhat wilted, with browned ends, but celery to be sure) at the "salad bar."

The wider context needs to be noted: Since arriving at Summer Camp - South, the only cooked vegetables have been canned peas, canned beans, or several variations of canned corn (with one offering of a frozen -- read: rubbery -- vegetable medley, and two offerings of previously frozen -- read: baby-food-mushy -- corn on the cob. Sigh.

Suffice it to say that there's an odd symmetry between the quality of the vegetables at supper time and the quality of the training I've had to endure (with three notable exceptions: land navigation, HEAT (up-armored Humvee rollover training), and the theatre-specific Rules of Engagement briefing).

I'm hoping that my change in situation soon will mean an increased ability to connect to the internet, but there's no guarantee. So, again, my apologies for the spotty postings to this blog! I'm hoping to become a much better correspondent in the near future. Time will tell.

In the meantime, thanks for your prayerful support! I'll try to write again very soon.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Blog Blocking By Big Brother....

I've got just a moment, and don't have the ability at the moment to post what's written elsewhere. Someday I'll be able to do it!

First off, thanks for your continuing prayers. They're helping!

It turns out that the those who run this "summer camp" block access to blogs, so I'm not able to read my own blog, or the comments that folks are leaving. Who knew?

A sober friend Steve C (whom I've known since he was 10 years old -- probably the only time since we've known each other when he was smaller than me) has told me he knows someone at work who might be able to help me get set up with my own domain name as a solution to this problem. I'll let you know!

In the meantime, suffice it to say that it's hot and sticky -- constantly -- and the new flame-resistant ACUs (camouflage uniform) they've issued are even less breathable than the ones I brought with me. How do you spell 'sauna time'?

In the "department of efficiency department" (or is that the department of redundancy department?) get a load of this: The day before I arrived at Summer Camp - South a huge sheaf of documents detailing my participation in training conducted back home under the watchful eye of Big Brother was hand-carried and personally delivered to the people here at Summer Camp - South whose job is to make sure everyone has been trained.

I discovered this past Wednesday (Wednesday being the 14th day I'd been here) that those who took receipt of those documents on 02JUL08 managed to lose track of them almost immediately -- before they'd been processed. So in addition to my not having received any training at all in specifically Chaplain-related tasks up to this point, I've had to repeat (breathtakingly stultifying) training that I'd already been certified as having completed.

I found those documents myself and hand-carried them back to the folks who lost them in the first place. A real confidence-builder, eh??

This past Monday was the first day I was shown an actual *printed* schedule of training, and that was just for the upcoming week. The first time I saw a "horseblanket" (Army-speak for a spreadsheet listing all the training needed, and when it's to be (or has been) done) was Wednesday -- and it didn't show me as having completed ANY prior training at all. Efficiency and competence! Hooray!!!

On an entirely different note: The good people in the Heller lab at Stanford developed an amazing technology for rapidly removing heat from the core of the human body -- completely non-invasively -- and I brought one of those devices along with me. I've used it a number of times out at various ranges, or back in our room, and all but one person have reported remarkable improvements in how they felt as a result of using the CoreControl device.

Now, if I can just convince Dr. Heller and his crew to use *me* as one of their test subjects for their newest iteration of the device, which is worn as a CamelBak and utilizes a much more glove-like heat exchanger.... C'mon guys! (I usually wind up not using the CoreControl myself, because so many others want to try it, and back at the room I let SFC M use it instead -- he really loves it!)

SFC McG and I were told this week that we should be through with training by 01AUG08, but I'll believe it when I see it. So much here at summer camp seems to be "make-it-up-as-we-go-along" -- which was at first surprising, given how many Soldiers they've processed through here.

In any event, 01AUG08 feels as though it's a runaway train careening towards us in the middle of a long tunnel from which there is no escape.... I'll keep you posted.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Very little internet access!

I apologize for not having posted in such a long time. I've written posts, but I've not been able to upload them. For reasons beyond my powers of comprehension, Summer Camp - South won't let us have access to the internet. Sigh.

It's very humid here (thunderstorms almost every day, with driving rain). My Chaplain asssistant, SFC McG, and I finally have been issued gear, so we'll actually start training tomorrow, it seems. We'll be away from communications for the following five days, most likely. Hard to believe I've been here a week now, and still have not started real training. Go figure.

My time on this connection is drawing to a close, so I've got to go. Please be patient! As soon as I can figure out a way to get connected, I'll be able to catch you up on all the wonders of Summer Camp - South here in the wilds of southern Mississippi.

Many thanks for your prayers. Let's all pray for peace.

Blessings!

Fr. Tim, SJ

Thursday, July 03, 2008

On my way....

What a week it's been! I apologize for not having posted before now. So much has gone on....

Right now I'm at the San Jose Airport, awaiting my flight to Atlanta and then to the mobilization station. My good friends from Santa Clara University ROTC showed up en masse to bid me adieu here at the airport -- at the buttcrack of dawn! What a delight!!

I was especially pleased to see so many of the newly-commissioned Second Lieutenants who showed up. Many thanks to CPT M for picking me up and schlepping my gear from my house to the airport. MAJ R was readying the Cadre and now-former Cadets for the arrival of LTC C when I got there.

I feel a great debt of gratitude to the Cadre, Staff, and Cadets of the Bronco Battalion who have taught me much about Soldiering, and about being an Officer. It was especially great to see Linda and Romeo here at the airport this morning.

The last couple of days have been filled with too much to do, and not enough time in which to get it done. Friends of mine who go to AA and/or Al-Anon keep suggesting that I say their Serenity Prayer.

When all else fails, follow directions, right? The Serenity Prayer really did help, a lot! Go figure. God, grant us serenity to accept the things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and wisdom to know the difference.

At 0130 when I finally lay down for a 90-minute nap, I'm not sure I made it all the way through that prayer before I fell asleep. 0300 came much too early! Time for that prayer again, I guess!

I just caught myself dozing with my finger on the "z" key, so I guess I'm pretty tired! I wasn't too tired to notice that Tom, the superior of my Jesuit community, was downstairs in the dark waiting for me to show up at 0400. Thanks, Tom!

I keep dozing off, so I'd better bring this to a close for now, and hope I'll be able to write something more later. I was so tired when I arrived at the airport, I'd forgotten where I'd put my camera (it was in plain sight in my shoulder bag!) Oh well. Linda took a bunch of photos, so I'll hope to post them as I get them.

They're about to board my plane, so please pray with me for knowledge of God's will and the power to carry that out. I have no idea what awaits me (which might be a blessing in disguise).

I have a reasonable belief it's going to be very, very difficult.

I'm relying on your support!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ