Serving a one-year tour in Iraq as a Navy chaplain, I was assigned to the II Marine Expeditionary Force. My task: to provide ministry coverage to a battalion special task force located in the western desert of the Al Anbar province, an area bordering Syria and Jordan.
The region is arid, isolated, and harsh. The task force of marines providing security to the area was spread out in small groups occupying command outposts and forward operating bases throughout the region.
Providing ministry coverage required long convoys to the outposts from a base camp known as Camp Korean Village, a small village once built and occupied by North Koreans who were contracted by Saddam Hussein to build the highway that connects Jordan and Syria with Central Iraq.
In the summer, the temperature reaches 140 degrees. Doing ministry in this environment means long hours of boredom mixed with conducting field services for sometimes as few as two or three and at other times as many as 40.
I wasn't there long before I began to wonder if the personnel I was serving valued what I was doing. The military culture is not highly expressive, so it's sometimes hard to gauge how you're being received.
I wondered, "Do these people value what I'm doing, even in a general sense? Does it make sense to get the education required, then go through the military training and the family sacrifices that are inherent with military chaplaincy? Can a person make an impact for God doing this?"
After five months at Korean Village, I returned to Fallujah and rediscovered the refreshment that comes from the companionship of other chaplains. I quickly learned that other chaplains were having the same thoughts and questions.
I asked one chaplain friend how things were going. A reservist who had been activated to serve a year in Iraq with a unit he really didn't know, his eyes dropped to the floor and he lowered his voice as if making a confession.
He talked about how he had been visiting marines and sailors in their work spaces and doing "deck-plate ministry," but he said he couldn't tell if he was making any difference in their lives.
Like others in pastorates and other forms of ministry, we question our real value. We can live with a haunting feeling that our ministry could end at any minute without any significance. We long to see lives transformed, but sometimes we don't sense much of that happening. Just doing the tasks and functions of ministry isn't enough.
The Real Job amid Multi-Tasks
Don't get me wrong, there is a place for tasks and functions in ministry. We need to keep our to-do list to stay organised. We need to set goals. We need to do real work and establish measurable objectives.
In my office I have shelves full of canned programs, and programs I've created, and even a file entitled "Good Ideas I've Stolen from Other Chaplains." I have programs for marriage enrichment, troop retreats, and character development. I conduct worship services on bases and at remote outposts.
These are some of the tasks of "doing ministry." But most of us long to be something more than just a "doer of tasks."
In a task-driven ministry, our day is planned and carried out according to the to-do list and daily planner. But task-driven ministry sometimes gets in the way of opportunities to do God's will.
Amid the to-do lists, we can miss the Spirit-led ministry, the divine appointments God provides for us to do his will. This is the evangelism that is guided by God; it's spontaneous, serendipitous, divinely appointed.
My Real Identity
A bigger problem with task-driven ministry is that it often places a professional identity upon the minister or chaplain. I'm not sure I want to be "a ministry professional." That's not to say I don't want to conduct myself professionally, but I don't want to be identified as a professional marriage counselor, a professional social worker, or a professional recreation coordinator.
I'm okay with doing some of those things, but that's not who I am. When I become the skilled expert, I can become so associated with those skills that the real identity I yearn for becomes lost. This can become a stumbling block for us in ministry; out of a need to feel relevant, we can find ourselves assuming our identity is that of an expert.
How we define ourselves, how we view our self-identity will guide us in how we do ministry. I want my sense of relevance to come from something other than running programs.
This finally became clear to me, believe it or not, as a result of talking with the marines and sailors in remote western Iraq.
Calling in the Marines
Sensing that I was missing something, I started talking individually to marines and sailors and asking them about chaplains. I talked about the programs we oversee as well as the more general "ministry of presence" that we provide. I asked them what, if anything, they considered valuable.
Their responses blew me away!
One marine told me, "When the chaplain is on convoy with us, we feel safer." (We were in combat.)
"When the chaplain is around, the Gunnery Sergeant is nicer," another said.
A corporal told me, "Sir, when the Commanding Officer comes in the room, he gets respect, but when the chaplain comes in the room, he gets reverence."
I talked to 100 marines and sailors serving in a combat zone, collecting their thoughts about chaplains. No two answers were exactly alike, but I began to see a trend. For some, the presence of the chaplain offered a sense of comfort. For others, a sense of safety. For still others, the chaplain's presence caused a change in the behavior of people.
None talked about the programs, as necessary as they are to make our presence possible.
It occurred to me that the presence of the chaplain had, in some ways, the same effect as the presence of God, which brings a sense of comfort, a sense of safety, and causes people to change their behaviour.
In other words, perhaps the most important role of the chaplain is reminding our personnel of the presence of God. When I asked directly, "Does the chaplain remind people of the presence of God?" overwhelmingly, the answer was Yes!
Where's God in the mirror?
When I look in the mirror in the morning, I don't immediately see the presence of God. I see a sinner saved by grace, grateful for God's love and Christ's atoning sacrifice on the cross. I see a person who struggles and is often conflicted. I see someone who wants to be loved, accepted, and valued. I see someone who is often uncertain about the matters and issues of life; I see someone who has fears and worries. I don't see the presence of God.
The conclusion? Others see me and other chaplains, pastors, and ministers differently than we see ourselves.
That was an eye-opener. That is what has been missing!
In 2 Corinthians 1:3-7, we see that comfort comes from God through the agency of human beings. God uses people like you and me to deliver comfort to others. In this text, the English word "comfort" is used to translate the Greek word paraklēsis, which is related to the familiar word paraclete, "one who comes alongside to help," another name for the Holy Spirit.
When we come alongside someone else and share the same comfort we have received from God, doesn't God come with us? Yes! Doesn't that make each of us bearers of the presence of God?
The Emanuel factor
To bring such comfort, and thus, to bring God's presence into a situation, is the most basic form of ministry. When we comfort those troubled, stressed, or in crisis, we bring unto others what we are not: God.
As ministers, pastors, or chaplains, our presence becomes the "God With Us Factor." My most important role: "The Emanuel Factor."
When we come alongside another after God has come alongside us, God is there. That makes the Christian who has received the comfort of God a bearer of the presence of God.
A person's life is truly relevant when it becomes a bearer of God's presence. Living the presence well might not allow me to be an "expert" in anything, but it does allow me to fulfill the calling of God on my life and to share his presence with others. As Henri Nouwen put it: "God wants you to live for others and to live that presence well."
Lieutenant Commander Bruce Crouterfield currently serves at the Naval Chaplaincy School and Center in Ft. Jackson, South Carolina, training new chaplains. (2009)
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