Chaplain Journals

A Member of a Team

2009-07-08T13:14:00.000-07:00

I am an American Soldier. I am a Warrior
and a member of a team. I serve the people of the United States
and live the Army Values.
(the rest of the Soldier’s Creed is appended)

The term, “I am a warrior,” brings to mind a variety of images. To many people, particularly those influenced by the media-driven culture of the 80's, it evokes visions of a larger than life, trained killer, like Rambo. With Special Forces skills honed in the jungles of Vietnam, John Rambo was a one-man Army. In three movies, he fought injustice, reluctantly employing his warrior skills with his cunning mind and bulging muscles (and his magic M-60 machine gun that never seemed to exhaust its single ammo belt).

Then in 2001, another cinematic milestone put the warrior in the context of a team. “Blackhawk Down” recounted a harrowing rescue operation in the heart of Mogadishu, Somalia, by Army Rangers on October 3, 1993. Two Blackhawks had been downed by RPG fire during a raid to capture an insurgent leader. 123 Rangers and Delta Force soldiers, cut off by thousands of armed militia, fought for their lives while a convoy tried make it through the city to them and the downed pilots.

Like Rambo and Chuck Norris, the Rangers were heroic. They were well trained, disciplined and tactically adept warriors. But the similarities end there. The Rangers were all about working together as a member of a team. They fought as members of a team—together, risking all for one another as a helicopter flew over the city, blaring through its speakers a message of hope to a captured pilot: “Mike Durant, we won’t leave you behind!”

1,000 militia were killed during the fifteen-hour battle, and 19 Americans. All 123 of the Soldiers could easily have been overrun and killed. But because these warriors fought in teams and as a unit, the stranded Rangers were able to hold off until reinforcements could arrive.

The advantages of team over the rugged individual are nothing new. Sages have noted the value of teamwork for thousands of years, including the writer of Ecclesiastes, who declared:

“Two are better than one because they have a good reward for their efforts. For if either falls, his companion can lift him up; but pity the one who falls without another to lift him up. Also, if two lie down together, they can keep warm; but how can one person alone keep warm? And if somebody overpowers one person, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not easily broken.”
Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

We can see this synergy of teamwork in nature. Migrating birds fly in a V, covering more ground than any of them could alone. Beasts of burden teamed together manage a greater burden than the sum of their individual efforts. Lioness hunters, drone bees and worker ants are well known for their synergistic collaboration. No wonder even ancient writers observed the phenomena of team work.

In the 1850’s, settlers headed west, traversing the continent in covered wagons. They crossed the North Platte River at a wide, shallow ford. But the current swirled strongly there, creating big potholes in the sandy bottom. The most seasoned guides could not predict where these holes might occur in the muddy water. If a team foundered into one of these holes, it might not be able to climb out, and if a wagon got stuck in one, it would most likely capsize. All the pioneer family’s possessions—and their very lives—hung in the balance.

Eventually, the settlers and guides broke the code on this hazard. They hitched all the oxen or horses together in one long team, hauling one wagon at a time across the North Platte. If a wagon or a team fell into a hole, the collective might of the entire team would free them, in a way that would be impossible for a single team.

As a skilled warrior, each Soldier makes an important contribution. A warrior who is a member of a team can draw on the strength of others when necessary, and help pull team members out of the rut at other times. From the team, we draw encouragement, direction and motivation. To the team we owe our duty, our very best—and sometimes our lives.

DEVOTIONAL:
(Please read 1 Corinthians 12:12-27)

Now you are the body of Christ, and individual members of it.
1 Corinthians 12:27

As Christians, we can take this concept of warrior and member of a team further. In the preceding verses, Paul used the analogy of a body. Some of us might be feet, and others hands. Some might be eyes, or ears, or … well, you get the picture. The Apostle’s point was that, as a foot should rejoice at being a foot, rather than complain that the hand gets all the glory, we should celebrate our diversity in the Body of Christ. If one suffers, we should all suffer, and all should rejoice at the victory of one member (v. 26).

Each one of us is uniquely created, fashioned by God to fill a unique role in the Body of Christ. We are each gifted by God with our own backgrounds, perspectives, talents, and passions. Working and living together as one, the same ministry Jesus did during his earthly ministry—healing, teaching, delivering from oppression—continues through us.

Medical experts tell us that if one member of your body is injured—your leg, for instance—your entire body reacts to the injury. In a very real way, if one part of the body suffers, the rest of the body suffers. Conversely, when a part of the body is healthy, it contributes to the well being of the entire body.

As members of the Body, we need each other. Like warriors in a cohesive team, we draw strength and encouragement from one another; we exhort one another to greatness, and console in the event of setbacks; we pool our talents and resources together to do the great work of Christ on this earth. We ARE the Body of Christ.

PRAYER:
O God, you do all things well.

You have created me to live and to love and to work as a part of your Body,
in communion with You and with my brothers and sisters.

As a member of your Body, placed just where you want me,
open my eyes to the unique ways You have gifted me;
open my ears to cries of the world around me;
open my heart to do unto others; and
open mind to accept the love and support of my fellow team members.

In the name of Jesus, to whose Body I belong,
Amen.

(c) 2009, Jeff Peppers
--------------------------------------------------
The Soldier's Creed

I am an American Soldier.
I am a Warrior and a member of a team.
I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values.

I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.

I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and
proficient in my warrior tasks and drills.
I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.

I am an expert and I am a professional.
I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies
of the United States of America in close combat.

I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.
I am an American Soldier.

2009-07-05T19:20:00.000-07:00

New article on the 779th's deployment in the Tallahassee Democrat.

In the Company of Heroes

2009-07-05T13:07:00.000-07:00

After the farewell extravaganza in Tallahassee (see blog entry), a reporter asked me what it felt like to be a hero, or words to that effect. “I’m no hero,” I replied right away. I thought, We haven’t even left Florida; aren’t we being a bit premature? “Now these young soldiers, and the ones leaving behind their young children—they’re the heroes. And the ones who fought through the first part of this war, they’re heroes. And those who fought in Vietnam, and in World War II. They’re the heroes.”

I understand where the reporter was coming from. We Americans, we love our heroes. And so do I. Whether more or less than others, I can’t judge that. I just know that I value the sacrifice and personal expenditure so many have made, so that we can all be free and safe.

O beautiful, for heroes proved in liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life!

As we sang this stanza of America the Beautiful in chapel this morning, time stood still—enough for me to glance around at the soldiers worshiping with me. Some were young, some old, some new to the military, some going back for their second or third tour. All of them are heroes to me. That is why I feel so honored to be their “Chappy.”

Band of Brothers, an HBO mini-series, recreated the events of “Easy Company” from before D-Day through the end of WWII, based on actual events and interviews. Lieutenant (later Major) Winters became the E Company commander, and one episode ends with the actual Major Winters discussing a letter he received from a comrade. Like Winters, the friend had been decorated by President Eisenhower for valor. “"I cherish the memories of a question my grandson asked the other day,” read an emotional Major Winters, “when he said, 'Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?' Grandpa said, 'No, but I served in a company of heroes.’”

We may not be destined for the hardships of Normandy or Bastogne, but I could not be more proud of these fine young men and women. It is an honor to serve in the company of heroes.

An American Soldier

2009-07-03T18:54:00.000-07:00

This is the first installment of a series of reflections I have undertaken to write, based on "The Soldier's Creed." Some, like this one, will have an appeal to the Army values and patriotism, but most will also include a devotional aspect as well.
I welcome any comments ... especially criticism.

-------------------------------------

I am an American Soldier.
I am a Warrior and a member of a team.
I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values.
(*the rest of the Soldier's Creed is annotated at the end.)

Former President George H. W. Bush, in an interview late in 2007, described his favorite photo of Operation Desert Storm. It depicted a terrified Iraqi soldier in his foxhole, surrounded by American Soldiers. An emotional President Bush recalled, “and the American guy says, ‘We're not going to harm you. We're American soldiers.’”

We’re not like the others, the Soldier was saying. You can count on us to be humane, even amidst the inhumanity of war.

There is something about the claim, “I am an American Soldier” that provokes in me a certain pride—but also the humility of being in undeserved company of greatness. It is the American Soldiers, not the generals or the policy wonks, who have captured the hearts of Americans, particularly since 9/11. TIME Magazine portrayed the American Soldiers in 2003 as, “the bright, sharp instrument of a blunt policy, and success or failure in a war unlike any in history ultimately rests with them.

“For uncommon skills and service, for the choices each one of them has made and the ones still ahead, for the challenge of defending not only our freedoms but those barely stirring half a world away, the American soldier is TIME's Person of the Year.”

Forty years after Vietnam, the American People have rekindled their love for their Soldiers. Whether they agree with the current war or not, people often stop me when I am in uniform, just to say, “Thank you for your service.” It humbles me, having never served a moment in combat, to be thanked for the courageous contributions the American Soldier has been making for six years.

Most of these soldiers are young enough to be my children. Just a few months or a couple of years ago, they wore baggy pants and lip rings, and their biggest challenge had been to master the latest video game. And now they exemplify the best of American values, giving themselves for their buddies and their country.

General Douglas MacArthur, in his famous “Duty, Honor, Courage” speech to the West Point graduating class of 1962, described the American Soldier:

“His name and fame are the birthright of every American citizen. In his youth and strength, his love and loyalty, he gave all that mortality can give. … He has written his own history and written it in red on his enemy's breast.

“…In 20 campaigns, on a hundred battlefields, around a thousand campfires, I have witnessed that enduring fortitude, that patriotic self-abnegation, and that invincible determination, which have carved his statue in the hearts of his people. From one end of the world to the other, he has drained deep the chalice of courage.”

“I am an American Soldier,” says we are different. We are not just soldiers, but we are AMERICAN Soldiers. We don’t abuse prisoners. We defend not only our own freedom but even the faint stirrings of liberty a world away. We flush with discomfiture at the thank yous—after all, “I am an American Soldier; it’s what I do.”

---------------------------
The Soldier's Creed

I am an American Soldier.
I am a Warrior and a member of a team.
I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values.

I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.

I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and
proficient in my warrior tasks and drills.
I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.

I am an expert and I am a professional.
I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies
of the United States of America in close combat.

I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.
I am an American Soldier.

How Rumors Start

2009-05-28T20:46:00.001-07:00

The first few days up here is a whirl of standing in long lines for chow, then more long lines for record checks, finance, insurance, wills and powers of attorney, and assorted other administrative check points. Then longer lines for medical and dental checks, shots, vision test, more shots and the longest line possible for a 20-minute psych eval.

This morning, I waited an hour and a half to make it in to a waiting room where I got to sit and wait for another hour for a CIF issue. (Central Issue Facility: that's where they issue us all our soldier gear.) Could have been worse, I suppose. We went thru in alphabetical order and there are a lot of letters higher than P.

First we received new NBC suits (Nuclear, Biological and Chemical defense suits, vacuum sealed, along with boots, gloves, a charcoal filter canister, and decon kits). Then the newest ruck sack, which is dramatically improved over the old style, and an assault pack with LBV (load bearing vest) and assorted whiz-bang high-speed attachments, pouches, and other devices that clip, strap and snap on in various configurations.

We got fitted for new IBA (Improved Ballistic Armor: a kevlar vest with pouches for front and rear ballistic plates to protect your torso) and neck protectors, deltoid flaps, and even a groin protector. Thanks to the IBA kit, the duffle bag weighed ... well, I don't know, but I'm a pretty strong guy and I had a hard time with it.

Next was our RFI (Rapid Fielding Initiative) issue. New gloves, several sets of protective eyewear, a new sleeping system (three sleeping bags in one, so you can determine the level of protection you need). And a complete set of Extreme Cold Weather Clothing, that would supposedly keep us warm in weather as cold as 50 below. Not sure if I believe it would keep us warm. But perhaps survivable. The best thing about the RFI issue is we don't have to turn any of that back in. The ECWC is worth well over a grand, so I'm glad I don't have to worry about getting a fat payroll deduction later, if I were to lose track of part of it.

Then after the issuing was complete was (you guessed it) more waiting around, this time for transportation back to the billeting area. Some things just don't change. Hurry up and wait. While we were waiting, the soldiers are chatting, as they always seem to be.

"So why do you think they issued us all that Cold Weather stuff?"

"We're probably going to Afghanistan, not Iraq."

"Or Korea."

"Hey what was that? We're going to Korea?"

"Yeah, haven't you heard the news at chow?" (There is a TV in the chow hall that plays CNN.)

"Oh, that explains why they issued us the ECWC." (Pronounced eck-widk)

Later, a soldier asked me, "Sir, you think we're going to Iraq or Korea?"

Of course, I can't comment here on exactly where we are going in Iraq -- even if I knew -- but our mobilization orders read, "MOBILIZATION IS IN SUPPORT OF OPER IRAQI FREEDOM." But then again, when have orders form the President stood a chance against the inertia of the grapevine?

Blessing the Troops

2009-05-26T20:45:00.000-07:00

Following is the prayer I wrote for this morning's send-off ceremony at the state capitol.

"Most merciful and gracious God,

"We thank you for the many blessings you have bestowed upon us. All of our needs your hand has provided. By your grace, we have enjoyed unparalleled freedom and opportunity in this land we love and defend.

"As we prepare to depart this assembly, we humbly ask your further blessing upon those gathered. For the leaders of this land, both present and represented, we pray your continued guidance and wisdom, that we and our families might continue to enjoy the blessings of liberty.

"For the loved ones gathered -- wives and husbands, children, parents, friends and family -- we pray that you would grant the calm assurance of knowing that we are in your hands now, and that you care for all of us. Ease the pangs of loneliness, slake the hunger of their souls, and bind together these individuals into one family.

"And for these soldiers gathered, we beseech above all your hand of protection. Although we have the best equipment, the best training, the best leadership possible, we know that ultimately, we are in your hands. As the psalmist wrote so many centuries ago:

"'We who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust." For you will deliver us from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence; you will cover us with your pinions, and under your wings will we find refuge; your faithfulness is a shield and buckler.'

"We ask of you these blessings, knowing that you are ever more ready to hear us than we are ready to pray. We ask all these things for your glory, in accordance with your will, and in your eternal and holy name. Amen."

A Moving Send-Off

2009-05-26T19:43:00.000-07:00

Well, we're off. Today the 779th Engnieer Battalion was sent off for duty in Iraq with a moving ceremony and the gratitude of a city and state. At 1000 this morning we had a ceremony in a big courtyard behind the capitol building in Tallahassee.

I was initially scheduled to be on the platform. Just the governor, the TAG (the Adjutant General -- the two-star commander of the FL Guard), my commander, LTC Jarriel, and me. But at the last minute, the Lieutenant Governor wanted to participate, and there were only four chairs on the platform, so guess who got bumped. I don't mind at all. Instead, I came out to the ceremony with the official party and then took my place with the battalion staff in formation. Then at the end, I tripped all the way up the big stairs before asking God's blessings.

The most moving thing about today's sendoff was the escort. (Well, next to Lori being there, and Mom crying her eyes out.) We left the armory in four busses, escorted by probably a dozen or more motorcycle cops from Tallahassee and Leon County. Following our four busses was an "honor guard" of bikers from the Patriot Guard Riders, a motorcycle group that escorts National Guard and Reserve units deploying and returning from Iraq and Afghanistan.

It was hard not to get choked up by their display of support. I was sitting near the front of the lead bus, when the bikers started turning in to the parking lot, one after another, and queuing up. Each bike flew a large american flag. Some of the bikers wore their old military uniforms, and some just wore ... well, biker clothes. Altogether 18 motorcycles and three SUV's lined up to follow us to the capitol.

After the ceremony with the Governor, the Patriot Guard Riders accompanied us to the airport. We drove right up to the flightline and a few moments later we got on the plane, walking past these bikers as they stood at attention with their flags to wish us well.

We arrived at an Air National Guard landing strip in Wisconsin this afternoon, with considerably less fanfare. Then we got in the old yellow school buses and drove to Fort McCoy, where we will prepare for deployment for the next few weeks.

Ramping Up For Iraq

2009-04-08T13:02:00.000-07:00

For the past three weeks, I’ve been at the Camp Blanding Joint Training Center with my unit, for a five-week pre-mobilization trainup. Pre-mob means that we will be mobilizing soon, and deploying to Iraq after we mobilize. People who have not been in the military might not realize how many different and complicated tasks are required for one Soldier to fight. Most of what we have been doing out here has been Soldier-level or leader-level individual tasks: first aid, moving under fire, manning check points, calling for indirect fire, decontamination, radio communication, signaling, clearing rooms, reacting to contact, and many other combat-related tasks. The Soldiers of the 779th have had late nights and early mornings, with few breaks in the pace.

Some reporters from the Tallahassee Democrat stayed with us for a few days early on. They even wrote an article about the suicide prevention training I’m doing with them. You can find the article at http://www.tallahassee.com/article/20090330/NEWS01/903300315/1010. There is also a video interview with me to the right of the article, on the same page.

Since I’m the chaplain, I cannot carry a weapon, or train with one. Some have noted the irony that, while I wear Air Assault Wings, Parachute Badge, the Expert Infantry Badge and I’m one of three soldiers in the battalion to have a Ranger Tab, I can’t carry a weapon. So I carry a fork. That’s right, tucked in the loops of my IBA (Improved Ballistic Armor) vest is a plastic fork. It was one of our nice plastic forks from home. It looks like pewter. But we’re only training, so it’s plastic. I figure when we get in theatre, I might replace it with a real fork.

It’s really just a conversation piece, and not meant to be a weapon, really. But during a react to contact drill or something, I pulled out my fork while doing these three-to-five-second rushes. (They somehow require so much more effort now than they did twenty years ago). Not to be used as a weapon, mind you. After all, we all know the chaplain is a non-combatant. But I gotta eat.

I’m sad to report that the fork did not make it through all the training. It apparently got smashed between my IBA and the ledge of a window I had to crawl over. A sergeant found the pieces and brought them to me, gingerly holding them in his hands. “Here, Chappy,” he said, “It looks like your fork didn’t make it.” After that I went to carrying a plain old white plastic fork. It just wasn’t the same. Sure, we can get a new puppy.

Besides getting trained myself in whatever tasks don’t require me to engage the enemy (which includes most of them), I have also to care for the spiritual well-being of the Soldiers. Early in our training, I delivered a briefing in the “Maintaining Your Battle Focus” series. My part was “Staying Spiritually, Emotionally and Mentally Fit.” All in thirty minutes. Isn’t Power Point wonderful?

A little later, I had a more lengthy and interactive discussion with them on Combat Stress. It used to be that if a Soldier had battle fatigue, he became a pariah, and was labeled a coward or weak. Now, our approach is to recognize the signs of Combat Stress early, and then get the Soldier a little rest, some hot chow, and maybe a few hours out of the thick of things. (All this is if the situation allows this, as it usually does.) Getting the Soldier to talk about his feelings and getting him back to normal things is part of the healing process. Most soldiers don’t require evacuation out of the combat zone, just a little rest. Of course, more severe cases of Combat Stress require treatment. But most Soldiers with Combat Stress—70 to 85%—can be returned to their combat units within three days.

There are two other related areas I am responsible for training as we prepare to go to war. I’ll talk more later about suicide prevention and preparing the Soldiers’ minds for what they might encounter during “Battlemind” training.

Army Chaplain: Mule or Prius?

2008-12-03T21:27:00.000-08:00

In the course of CH-BOLC, we have written lots of papers on the topics of our instruction. This is one paper I recently submitted, on the subject, "The Professional Ethic Of an Army Chaplain." Our directions were to answer certain questions, and reference certain external readings. So it wasn't exactly written with a blog in mind. But I thought it might be helpful if someone wanted to know what was the big deal about being an Army chaplain. Enjoy the read. Or at least print it out and use as a cure for insomnia!

The Professional Ethic Of an Army Chaplain
By CH (CPT) Jeff Peppers

An Army chaplain is a unique specimen; to what shall we liken him? A chaplain is at once an officer and a clergyman/woman. It is tempting to describe the relationship between the two qualities in one person as something akin to a hybrid, like say a mule. Of course, a mule is a cross between a female horse and a male donkey, displaying the strength of its mom, and its dad’s surefootedness. The problem with this model is that a mule is neither fully horse, nor fully human. It has characteristics of each, but both traits have been compromised.

Another possible model for Army chaplain is the hybrid gas-electric vehicle. A Prius changes from combustion-based to power cell-based engine, effortlessly and without cue, based on the conditions. But in that model, the vehicle essentially ceases to be one type of engine, to become the other type.

While they come close functionally, both mule and Prius fail to illustrate the unique relationship between officer and clergyman that constitutes an Army chaplain. The Army chaplain embodies all the characteristics of a professional staff officer and a clergy person. These qualities exist without competition, and without compromise. The Army chaplain does not “change hats” continually to vacillate between officer and clergy, but remains a consistent and true embodiment of officer and clergy.

The only model (of which I am aware) that can adequate illustrate this dualism is found in the Christian understanding of the incarnation of Jesus Christ. For the first couple of centuries of the Church, the question of the exact nature of Christ’s divinity and humanity mattered comparatively little to Christian followers and leaders. But when Constantine formally ended the persecution and Christianity became a legitimate religion, leaders began to grapple with the question: how could Jesus Christ be God (or god) and human at once?

The Councils of Nicea eventually settled on what is generally considered to be the historic, orthodox interpretation of the incarnation: that in Jesus, Christ was both fully divine, as well as fully human. This is the nature of the professional ethic of the Army chaplain: fully an officer in the Army, and also fully a clergy member in the service of God. Neither aspect of person is diminished by the reality of the other. The Army chaplain may emphasize one aspect of his ministry over the other from time to time, but does not disengage from being an officer so that he may be more pastoral, and vice versa.

The dual role of the Army chaplain, while hard to enunciate, is easier seen by example. From the earliest days of the Army, chaplains have understood their role. John Gano, a Baptist minister in colonial America, served as chaplain in the Revolutionary War. He was known for his bravery under fire, appearing out near the fighting even through a hail of musket balls. But he was foremost a pastor, preaching to and nurturing the Christian faith among the Soldiers of the upstart American army.

One of the greatest examples of this Soldier-pastor role as chaplain was Father Francis P. Duffy, immortalized as the chaplain of New York’s Fighting 69th and later senior chaplain of the 42nd Division. Father Duffy was a Soldier, through and through, but a pastor as well. He lived by the advice of Chaplain Leslie Groves: “It is the one who lives with the men, enduring the hardships and encouraging the same dangers, who is ruled not by selfishness, but by love for all men … who can speak when the time comes the words that will be listened to.”

The Soldier nature of the pastor simply means that the Army chaplain does his or her duty to promote the moral and spiritual well-being of the unit and its Soldiers, in support of the mission. This does not render the chaplain combatant. Doing one’s duty as a chaplain is akin to doing one’s duty as a commander; positioning oneself at the critical place of the battlefield, the chaplain gives hope and encouragement to Soldiers when they most need it. Chaplains Poling, Fox, Goode and Washington [see blog "Pray That I Might Be Adequate."] placed themselves at the critical place on the battlefield, praying for the men and guiding them to safety as the Dorchester sank under the icy waters of the North Atlantic. Their duty as Soldiers and as pastors melded on the railing of the ship as they escorted the Soldiers under their charge to the last full measure of devotion.

Father Duffy, John Gano, and the chaplains of the Dorchester never gave up being pastors in order to be Soldiers. I consider them to be akin to the Great Soldier, who, “although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. Being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

Another dichotomy inherent to the nature of the Army chaplain resides within the pastoral component of military chaplaincy. An Army chaplain is a pastor, but a pastor is not necessarily an Army chaplain. In the earliest days of Army chaplaincy, there was no particular training of the chaplain.

The rigors of military life require the presence of chaplains within the ranks. In 1791, Congress authorized the commissioning of a chaplain for the Army, which was at that time the size of two regiments. No rank attended the commission, and the stipend was slightly more than that of a captain.

The nature of ministry in combat, however, requires additional qualities. The Army chaplain today carries the rank of an officer; this is consistent with the chaplain’s duty as adviser to the unit commander on matters of spirituality and morality. In order to advise the commander, and for the sake of credibility among the troops, the Army chaplain must be immersed enough in the Army culture to speak with authority—not only as a messenger of God, but as the combat multiplier he or she is.

Chaplain Milton Haney, of the 55th Illinois Infantry Regiment, received no special training in being a Chaplain in the Union Army. Yet he went about his task as one who knew what had to be done. He freely used his influence with senior commanders to ensure that the wounded were properly cared for, even prevailing upon General Sherman himself for the authority to order doctors to their task on a hospital steamboat. These are qualities of a pastor of action, regardless of military or civil environment.

Being an Army chaplain requires a mindset, as well as technical skills and training, which simply do not apply to clergy in a civilian setting. Chaplains in the Vietnam conflict monitored their command nets, hopped helicopter flights, moved out with their units and dug foxholes with them. Their altar was often the hood of a jeep and they soldiered alongside the Soldiers. Living the life of the Soldier earned the chaplains the respect and love from the men, so needed to bring to them the Word during a moment when they desperately needed it. One Soldier, when asked about his chaplain, replied, “I can’t talk about him. You just wouldn’t understand. You haven’t been with us.”

Chaplains in Desert Storm were assigned to all sorts of units, combat arms, combat support and combat service support. Chaplain Timothy Kikkert of the 4-66th Armored Battalion, while not maneuvering tanks to engage the enemy, understood the general plan and how his unit played in the overall mission of defending Kuwait. The same can be said (or at least, should be said) for chaplains operating in all theatres of war, particularly since World War II. There are military-specific tasks, such as conducting memorial services, ministering in a triage of casualties, and preparing the hearts and minds of Soldiers for combat, for which a civilian pastor need not be concerned.

Fully Soldier and fully clergy, military not civilian, born in seminary and baptized in the fire of combat, the Army chaplain embodies a professional ethic unlike any other. I am proud and humbled to be numbered among them.

Pray That God Will Make Me Adequate

2008-12-01T02:19:00.000-08:00

A young chaplain named Clark Poling wrote his to his father, “I know I shall have your prayers, but please don’t pray simply that God will keep me safe. War is dangerous business. Pray that God will make me adequate!”
As he wrote those words, the young RCA (Reformed Church in America) pastor and Army chaplain was being deployed with his unit. Aboard the ship, Clark became friends with fellow first lieutenant chaplains George Fox, a Methodist; Rabbi Alexander Goode; and Roman Catholic Father John Washington. The four found themselves in a fruitful ministry aboard the transport ship Dorchester, serving the spiritual needs of American soldiers headed to the uncertainties of a violent battlefield.
On February 3, 1943, the Dorchester was torpedoed, and rapidly began to sink. Clark Poling and his three fellow chaplains assisted in the evacuation of the ship, calmed the fearful, and guided the wounded to safety. Even with life jackets, the chances of survival were small in the frigid water. But without life jackets the chances of survival were zero. The four chaplains gave their own life vests to others, remaining behind until the ship sank below the surface. One survivor recalled what he saw from the water:
“The last thing I saw, the Four Chaplains were up there praying for the safety of the men. They had done everything they could. I did not see them again. They themselves did not have a chance without their life jackets.”
Of the 940 men aboard the Dorchester, only 230 survived. Many of those who did, at least four perhaps, owed their lives to four clergymen who were found to be adequate for the task.
The Iraqi theater of operations is not exactly Normandy. In five years (+) of fighting, there have been less than one third the casualties of the Battle of the Bulge. The heroes of this war are those who went in early on, and have made it a safer place. Nonetheless, there are still people there who live only to see another American soldier die, so it is not exactly a safe place. Just safer.
As you pray for me and the soldiers of the 779th Engineer Battalion, I ask you to go back to the top and read Chaplain Poling’s request to his father. Pray that God will make me adequate.

Update on Achilles Injury

2008-11-07T13:29:00.000-08:00

First, I want to apologize for taking so long to update this blog. I will endeavor to bring this current every couple of weeks.

The Achilles heel injury is healing nicely. About every two weeks, I go to see ortho. The surgeon is a Lieutenant Colonel, but he seems so young. And yet, there is a confidence about him that I would not trade for the world. When he comes through, he always seems to have an intern in tow. I don’t know this, but I think he is particularly proud of his work on my ankle. He shows them how well the five-inch incision is healing up now. And then he talks about reconstructing the shredded tendons, reattaching the tendons and calf muscle and tucking everything back inside the incision and closing up. Then he quizzes the interns on other options, such as non-surgical treatment, which has a very long recovery rate and a high rate of re-ruptures.

We’re working on an accelerated rehabilitation; I’m already a month ahead of schedule. I told Dr. Eslava even before surgery that my number one priority was getting on my feet and running as soon as possible. At this rate, it looks like I will be running about the beginning of the year.

I wear a “moon boot” cast—a Velcro adjustable boot that provides a rigid sole and two vertical rods on the side. Every two weeks or so, ortho would ratchet up the angle of the sole, to gradually stretch the tendons back into place. Earlier this week, the doc skipped the final angle and set my foot to neutral (90 degrees). That was good. I also started physical therapy the same day. That was bad.

Physical therapy, many people already know, is the realm of medical practice reserved for a special type of specialist. These people give every appearance of being just like you and I. They are courteous; they smile and open the door for you; they appear to be gentle, caring health care workers whose primary concern is the well-being of the patient.

Don’t believe it! Inside each of these gentle, pleasant charlatans is a heart as cold and dark as a Dakota coffin. Up until now, the experience has been relatively pain free. (Except for getting the IV block before surgery … see earlier blog.) Thanks to the good folks in Physical Therapy, the party is over. Of course, the joke about physical therapists is nothing new; I’ve fallen into a bit of stereotype bigotry. In truth, the health professionals at physical therapy do dish out pain. But with the understanding that it is the only path to healing.

Bottom line is, my Achilles tendon is healing as well as humanly possible. The doc said to me this week, “There are two things that determine how fast you will rehab: your motivation and your age.” After a brief pause, he added, “Well, I can see you’re motivated.”

The Busiest 24 Hours Of My Life

2008-09-29T18:49:00.000-07:00

“You know, the last time I did this was in Ranger School,” I remarked to one of my fellow chaplains. We were all standing in line, waiting (something we do quite well, along with hurrying up) to go up the rappel tower. “That was 16 years ago, and I felt too old then.” After a (polite, perhaps) chuckle, I just had to add, “Oh well, what could possibly happen?” 24 hours later, I was coming to after emergency surgery. My first words to the nurse were, “Hey, guess what? I’m a grandfather.”

It all started at about 1530 (3:30 pm) on Monday, 22 September. I hooked up to the line, found the ledge over the side and leaned back, away from the platform of Victory Tower. I thought I might be a bit apprehensive, having been so long since my last rappel. But Victory Tower is only 40 feet, not exactly the most intimidating structure from which to rappel. Plus, I loved every second of it. I loved hooking up, then leaning back with legs straight, until I got that “perfect L-shape” and the instructor’s okay to jump. I pushed off vigorously, throwing out my right hand for the slack to play through, and then braking by pressing my right fist into the small of my back. I did okay on that bound, but it was nothing to write home about. (Mental note: brush up on meaningless clichés and euphemisms.) The second bound was much better. The only sound was the rope, zzzzznnnnnnnggging through the clip. A hard brake, and the wall came toward me. Feet out, I touched down with the balls of my feet, ready to push off again.

But when I hit the wall, it was as if my ankle exploded. I could feel the tendons behind my heel stretching, straining, shuddering. I later described it as if you were to grasp a glass rod tightly and squeege your fingers down its length. I was most of the way down the tower, and I pushed out with my good foot, easing down as best I could.

Back at the holding area I took my boot off. If the Achilles tendon was torn, I expected that there would be bruising immediately, and also disfiguration. A couple of the cadre stopped by and took a look as well. I have to admit, it was remarkably unremarkable. There was very slight swelling, and perhaps the faintest tinge of brown (or was that just dirt? Sorry, mom). But I expected that if the Achilles was torn, as opposed to just strained a bit, it would be black and blue, swollen and hurt like the dickens. It did neither. Aside from the initial wince of pain, it only hurt when I walked on the ball of my left foot. As long as I splayed that foot out to the side, I was able to hobble around nicely.

I rode in a vehicle, while the class marched back to our formation area. There are 77 chaplains and chaplain candidates in the class, broken down into four platoons. The previous weekend I think there might have been a little resentment about some extra training I felt was needed, as the platoon leader. Now only a few days removed, the only thing expressed was concern. They laid hands on me and prayed for my healing. Now, THAT is something I have never encountered in another Army school. Praise God!

At about 1800, I went to the Urgent Care Clinic, seeing the doctor about 2000. He diagnosed it as a possible tear, gave me Percocet, scheduled an MRI and suggested I follow up with TMC (Troop Medical Clinic, or sick call) in the morning. While I was waiting for Urgent Care, Lori called to tell me Jeri was in labor. I don’t know if I was as excited when any of our three boys were born. I was so happy. By the time I got back to the dorm, it was time for bed. Somehow, I didn’t see the text message that her water broke at 11 pm. I’m sure Lori appreciated my 0500 wake up call (she had been up several times during the night with updates) but I needed to know. I met the platoon for formation at 0600 and announced to them that I was a grandfather, as of ninety minutes ago. We didn’t do cigars because, well, because we are in Initial Entry Training (boot camp … loosely speaking) and not allowed to use tobacco. Besides, how many chaplains smoke cigars? At 6 in the morning anyway?

After the class marched off to another training area, I reported to TMC. By the time I was referred to Physical Therapy, it was close to 0900. The PT doc had me lay face down, and prodded. “Ow!” I yelled.

“That hurt?”

“No, sir. I’m just practicing.”

Then the doc called over two others, both for confirmation and also to tutor the intern about how to tell if the Achilles is severed, and how severely. There were lots of “Ooo”s and “Mmm”s. Interestingly, the only real pain was a little soreness in my calf.

“Completely severed. Just a little of the sheath left, perhaps.”

"Oh, is that bad,” I asked. Duh.

The whole medical record is electronic now, which is a HUGE improvement, in my book. Besides that, the doctor always looked off into space as he prodded around my ankle—as if he was viewing my x-ray on an invisible teleprompter or something. “Okay, I want you to go right away to Ortho, on the seventh floor. They’ll be waiting for you.”

Just as this was sinking in, he said, “Have you had breakfast?” (For the benefit of any readers who have enjoyed such healthy lives that you might be unaware, this is asked before surgery, as a person under general anesthesia will sometimes vomit.)

I walked in the door to Ortho at about 0945 or so, and went to the sign-in counter. “I’m Chaplain Peppers, and –”

“Captain Peppers? I’ll take him. Right this way, sir! You eat breakfast this morning?” An all-business sergeant first class materialized and escorted me back to a gurney. “We’ll be with you in a few, sir.”

About an hour later (well, that’s a few … quite a few, but they were busy. Really busy. If the ortho clinic was a wings and beer joint, they’d be opening another franchise next week.), the sergeant and the doc came by. The doc spent about one minute with me, and I was fine with that. He had a calm confidence, like this is something he has seen hundreds of times before, but my case was still special enough to warrant his undivided attention. He initialed my left (hurt) ankle, and then drew on the other heel to show where the incision was going to be. Any questions? Okay, seeya when you come to.

Jeri sent me a picture message of little Nathan Thomas Peppers, about the time I walked in to ortho. But everyone who passed by my gurney seemed on a life-or-death mission, so I didn’t get to show it to anyone. He looked just like Justin, when he was a newborn.

The last time I saw a clock it was about 1130. I guess they figured enough time passed since I ate breakfast. And then came the pain. Such an incredible, sharp burning torture. But I knew I must withstand, and be strong. Endure like a man. Face set against the tyrannical pain, with steely resolve I stood up to the agony. “There! All done. See, now all we have to do when you need meds or fluids is just to hook it up to this little catheter. We call this an IV block. Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Speak for yourself, fella.

Another half dozen people asked if I had anything to eat today. I think maybe they had a pool going on whether I would heave or not. I thought maybe I should try to get in on it. Then they wheeled me in to a cold, all-tile room. Floor, walls, ceiling, I think even the vents were made of tile. It seemed eerily and strikingly similar to the cold, all-tile room they brought me to at Fort Gordon, before my back surgery. I met the anesthesiologist again. He was quite … zzzzzzzzzz.

It was 1530 when I came to in my room. “Hey, guess what? I’m a grandfather,” I boasted groggily.

“Well, congratulations. Haven’t you had a busy day.”

She had no idea.

For Such a Time As This: Back In the Army, 10 Years Later

2008-09-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

Well, this is my first blog attempt, so please be gentle with me.

There's a popular jody call* that begins with, "Here we go again (echo), Same old stuff again (echo ...it has been sanitized in recent years to "stuff again")..." Talk about de ja vu all over again. Here we go again, back in the military, this time as an Army Chaplain, with the Florida National Guard. A few Sundays ago, we bid our farewells at my last service as pastor, and I embarked on the newest leg of the journey. I’ve just completed my first week of the three-month Chaplain Officer Basic Course (now it’s called CH-BOLC – more on that later). After finishing the school, I’ll spend a few months on active duty with my unit, the 779th Engineer Battalion out of Tallahassee, and then we will be deploying to Iraq in late spring for a year. Eventually, I will return to congregational ministry and continue as a drilling National Guard Chaplain. But for now, it’s just Army.

Some might wonder why. Why start a new thing all over again? Am I leaving the ministry for the military? Fair questions, and worthy of consideration.

My first concern is to the question of this being something new. Instead, I look at it like God has been preparing my life for thirty years for just this moment. More than ever, I can Identify with Queen Esther, who was challenged by her Uncle Mordecai: “Who knows if perhaps you were made queen for just such a time as this?" Okay, I SORT OF identify with her. It’s not like I’ve been made … well, I think you get what I’m saying.

The beautiful Esther was prepared and put in a position where she, and only she, could speak freely to the king. She did so, and saved her people from a vicious persecution. In the same respect, I believe that God has prepared me to be able to speak into the lives of soldiers. Many of these soldiers will be afraid, or angry, or lonely. So many will be asking, perhaps for the first time or the only time, “Does God have a word for me??” I consider it a privilege -- a humbling, undeserved privilege -- to bring that word from God.

Over these past thirty years, God has developed me along two fronts: military and pastoral. I spent the last ten years in pastoral ministry and the ten years before that as a commissioned officer in the Army. In the ten years prior to that, I served a tour in the Marines, picked up my undergraduate degree in Christian Studies and Business, and spent time in the Army Reserves and Hawaii National Guard, while the call of God to ministry was being birthed in my life. All of these experiences are coming together in this newest chapter.

If you want to see in more detail how the military and ministry aspects of my life have led to this moment, you can wade through the endless succession of jobs in my profile, here or on Facebook.com.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be adding some more comments, on what it’s like going back into the Army as a 47 year-old soon-to-be grandpa. A lot has changed in the interim. And a lot has stayed the same.

Thank you for joining me on this journey. I look forward to any comments. May God bless you in every possible way.

Chaplain (Captain) Jeff Peppers

*jody call: one of those sung cadences the soldiers echo while marching or running in formation. They are called "Jody Calls" after the ubiquitous stealer of women, liquor and cadillacs. Jody calls lamented things like "Ain't no use in looking down, Jody's got your girl and gone." Doesn't rhyme or make much sense. But they don't have to.