Lest We Forget

War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children

- Jimmy Carter

Remembrance Day Thought

War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children

- Jimmy Carter

Wars

All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers... Each one owes infinitely more to the human race than to the particular country in which he was born

- Francois Fenelon

War

Night fell again. There was war to the south, but our sector was quiet. The battle was over. Our casualties were some thirteen thousand killed - thirteen thousand minds, memories, loves, sensations, worlds, universes - because the human mind is more a universe than the universe itself - and all for a few hundred yards of useless mud.

- John Fowles [The Magus, 1965] -

Overconfident Naval Officer Loses His Way in the Fog

During a 1923 training exercise, a naval destroyer called the USS Delphy led a flotilla of seven vessels down the California coast. The USS Delphy was captained by Lieutenant Commander Donald T. Hunter, an experienced navigator and instructor at the Naval Academy. Without warning, about half way on their training mission, a thick blanket of fog descended on the ships. In the midst of the fog (Hunter claimed it looked like "pea soup"), Hunter couldn't get an accurate evaluation of his location. Contrary to Hunter's calculations, the lead ship was headed right into Devil's Jaw, a scant two miles off the California coast. But that didn't stop Hunter from ploughing ahead. That is not surprising, for Hunter was known for his self-confident decisiveness and what others called his "magic infallibility" to guide his ship.
Traveling at 20 knots, suddenly the USS Delphy smashed broadside into the rocky Point Arguello shoreline. The force of the massive collision of welded steel and jagged rock split the hull of the USS Delphy in half. One by one, the other destroyers followed the Delphy's lead and smashed into the rocks. Twenty-two naval men died. The accident resulted in the loss of all seven ships. It still stands as one of the worst peacetime naval disasters in history.

Sources: Robert McKenna, The Dictionary of Nautical Literacy (McGraw Hill, 2003), p. 97;

Charles Lockwood & Hans Christian Adamson, Tragedy at Honda (Naval Institute Press, 1986), pp. 29-49

The Statue in Washington D.C. That Nobody Notices — But Should

In The Masculine Mandate: God's Calling to Men, author Richard Phillips shows us that behind every great man in history is a humble person who helped make that man great. Phillips writes:
There are two statues in Washington D.C. that together tell a remarkable story. One is the massive memorial to General Ulysses S. Grant that stands at the east end of the Reflecting Pool, literally in the morning shadow of the U. S. Capitol building. Visitors can hardly miss this majestic depiction of the legendary general atop his war stallion. Grant's military leadership was decisive to the Union's victory in the Civil War, and he is considered a symbol of the force of human will, an icon of the strong man who stands against the storm when all others have shrunk back.
Some two-and-a-half miles away, in a pleasant but nondescript city park, stands a more commonplace memorial. The statue of this lesser-known Civil War figure, Major General John Rawlins, has actually had eight different locations and is hardly ever noticed by visitors. Rawlins had been a lawyer in Galena, Illinois, where Grant lived just prior to the war, and he became Grant's chief of staff. Rawlins knew Grant's character flaws, especially his weakness for alcohol. At the beginning of the war, Rawlins extracted a pledge from Grant to abstain from drunkenness, and when the general threatened to fall away from that promise, his friend would plead with him and support him until Grant could get back on track. In many ways, it was Rawlins who stood beside the seemingly solitary figure of Grant the great general. Rawlins' memorial is modest compared to the mounted glory afforded Grant, yet without his unheralded love and support, Grant would hardly have managed even to climb into the saddle.

Richard D. Phillips, The Masculine Mandate (Reformation Trust, 2010), pp. 121-122

The God Bearer

What Iraq taught me about living the Presence

by Lieutenant Commander Bruce Crouterfield

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 organized. 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 behavior.

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.

source unknown

Overconfident Naval Officer Loses His Way in the Fog

During a 1923 training exercise, a naval destroyer called the USS Delphy led a flotilla of seven vessels down the California coast. The USS Delphy was captained by Lieutenant Commander Donald T. Hunter, an experienced navigator and instructor at the Naval Academy. Without warning, about half way on their training mission, a thick blanket of fog descended on the ships. In the midst of the fog (Hunter claimed it looked like "pea soup"), Hunter couldn't get an accurate evaluation of his location. Contrary to Hunter's calculations, the lead ship was headed right into Devil's Jaw, a scant two miles off the California coast. But that didn't stop Hunter from ploughing ahead. That is not surprising, for Hunter was known for his self-confident decisiveness and what others called his "magic infallibility" to guide his ship.
Traveling at 20 knots, suddenly the USS Delphy smashed broadside into the rocky Point Arguello shoreline. The force of the massive collision of welded steel and jagged rock split the hull of the USS Delphy in half. One by one, the other destroyers followed the Delphy's lead and smashed into the rocks. Twenty-two naval men died. The accident resulted in the loss of all seven ships. It still stands as one of the worst peacetime naval disasters in history.

Sources: Robert McKenna, The Dictionary of Nautical Literacy (McGraw Hill, 2003), p. 97; Charles Lockwood & Hans Christian Adamson, Tragedy at Honda (Naval Institute Press, 1986), pp. 29-49

The Statue in Washington D.C. That Nobody Notices — But Should

In The Masculine Mandate: God's Calling to Men, author Richard Phillips shows us that behind every great man in history is a humble person who helped make that man great. Phillips writes:
There are two statues in Washington D.C. that together tell a remarkable story. One is the massive memorial to General Ulysses S. Grant that stands at the east end of the Reflecting Pool, literally in the morning shadow of the U. S. Capitol building. Visitors can hardly miss this majestic depiction of the legendary general atop his war stallion. Grant's military leadership was decisive to the Union's victory in the Civil War, and he is considered a symbol of the force of human will, an icon of the strong man who stands against the storm when all others have shrunk back.
Some two-and-a-half miles away, in a pleasant but nondescript city park, stands a more commonplace memorial. The statue of this lesser-known Civil War figure, Major General John Rawlins, has actually had eight different locations and is hardly ever noticed by visitors. Rawlins had been a lawyer in Galena, Illinois, where Grant lived just prior to the war, and he became Grant's chief of staff. Rawlins knew Grant's character flaws, especially his weakness for alcohol. At the beginning of the war, Rawlins extracted a pledge from Grant to abstain from drunkenness, and when the general threatened to fall away from that promise, his friend would plead with him and support him until Grant could get back on track. In many ways, it was Rawlins who stood beside the seemingly solitary figure of Grant the great general. Rawlins' memorial is modest compared to the mounted glory afforded Grant, yet without his unheralded love and support, Grant would hardly have managed even to climb into the saddle.

Richard D. Phillips, The Masculine Mandate (Reformation Trust, 2010), pp. 121-122

Winning a Son's Heart

In his book The Masculine Mandate, pastor and author Richard D. Phillips writes of his meaningful relationship with his father. In 1972, Phillips was just 12-years-old when his father was sent to Vietnam. The only way he and his father could communicate was through letters. He writes:
One of the most powerful memories is the thrill of the letter I would receive from my father almost every week …. Recalling my personal letters from Dad practically brings me to tears even now. He would simply begin by telling me about his life. Not big military issues, but "neat stuff" that happened or that he saw. Then he would talk to me about my life, writing things like this: "Dear Ricky, I heard you had a great baseball game and made a great catch. Your mother told me how exciting it was when you won. How I wish I could have been there, but I can see you making that catch in my mind." …
Do you see what [my dad] was doing? My dad was telling me that I was his boy and that his heart was fully engaged with me, even from halfway around the world …. In the midst of a life-and-death war zone, with all the weighty responsibilities of a senior Army officer, my father was truly absorbed in my life. And I knew it. So when he said to me, in effect, "My son, give me your heart," he had already given every bit of his heart to me, his boy. I couldn't possibly help giving my heart back to him.

Richard D. Phillips, The Masculine Mandate (Reformation Trust, 2010), pp. 97-98

Celebrating the Community Contributions of Believers

I lived in Boston in the 1980s, and I spoke with a pastor of a major church there. We were reflecting on the ways the church doesn't always recognise the culture cultivators and creators in its midst. This pastor said, "There's a woman in our church who was the lead litigator for the Environmental Protection Agency for the clean up of Boston Harbour. It's occurred to me since then that she played this incredibly important role in one of the great environmental success stories of the second half of the Twentieth Century. When I started high school, no one would put a toe in Boston Harbour, it was so polluted. And now there are beaches, and people go to the beach and swim. This Christian woman lawyer succeeded in litigating that case." He said, "The only time we have ever recognised her in church was for her role in teaching second grade Sunday school. And of course we absolutely should celebrate Sunday school teachers, but why did we never celebrate her incredible contribution to our whole city as a Christian, taking care of God's creation?"

source unknown

WW2 Prisoner of War Converted, Becomes Missionary to Japan

On April 18, 1942, Army Corporal Jacob DeShazer boarded a bomber plane with his pilot, Lieutenant William Farrow, and a co-pilot, navigator, and rear gunner. Their mission was to bomb Tokyo and its surrounding cities. When the mission was accomplished, they were to land on the shores of enemy territory and elude the opposing forces as they awaited further instructions. The bombing was a success, but they never received word as to where they were to land. With fuel running low, Lt. Farrow gave the order for all on board to jump. DeShazer made a safe landing and was taken prisoner by ten Japanese soldiers shortly thereafter. Though his life was spared, he was tortured ruthlessly before being placed into solitary confinement at a filthy prison camp. DeShazer remained in captivity for almost two years, struggling with starvation and illness. After one of his fellow prisoners died of dysentery, Japanese authorities increased the rations of food and allowed the prisoners to have reading material, including the Bible. Because there was only one Bible, DeShazer had to wait six months to get his turn with it. Finally, when his turn came, DeShazer read the Scriptures over and over again. Though raised in a Christian home, he had never accepted Christ. On the final day he was allowed to have the Bible, he read Romans 10:9 once more, confessed his belief in Christ, and begged for forgiveness. DeShazer had been converted to a follower of Christ. Immediately he realised this demanded changes in his life—both while in a prison camp and beyond (should he ever be released). In an article on DeShazer's life for Today's Christian, Elsie J. Larson shares what happened next:
Bad habits and attitudes don't just go away when a person accepts Christ. One day after the exercise period, DeShazer's guard hurried him toward his cell, shoved him inside, slamming the door on DeShazer's foot. Instead of opening the door, the guard kicked the prisoner's foot with his hobnailed boots.
DeShazer desperately pushed the door until he could free his foot. His mind blazed with rage. However, Jesus' words came to him: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them, which despitefully use you."
Nursing his foot, DeShazer wished for a while that his mind would go blank; instead, all the Scripture God had helped him memorise flooded into his mind. Calming down, he decided, God commanded me to love. What a wonderful world it would be if we would all try to love one another. I'll try.
The next morning was the test. DeShazer greeted the guard respectfully in Japanese.
The guard gave him a puzzled look and said nothing.
Every morning, the prisoner offered friendly greetings and received no response. Then one morning the guard walked straight to DeShazer's cell, and spoke to him through the door. He was smiling. DeShazer asked about his family. From that time on, the guard treated him with respect and kindness, and once even brought him a boiled sweet potato. Another time, the guard slipped DeShazer figs and candy.
A year after his conversion, in June 1945, the Americans were transferred to a prison in Beijing (Peking). Conditions were worse than in Nanjing (Nanking). DeShazer nearly died of starvation and disease, but he grew spiritually. Like the prophet Daniel, he knelt and prayed diligently.
On August 6, 1945, the day the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, DeShazer woke up about 7am and was impressed to pray for peace. At 2pm the Holy Spirit told the prisoner, "You don't need to pray any more. The victory is won." DeShazer thought this was a better way to receive world news than waiting for a radio report. Immediately, his thoughts turned to his captors. Wondering what would happen to the Japanese people, God gave him the answer: he was to eventually return to Japan and teach them about his Saviour.
In 1948, Jacob DeShazer returned to Japan with his wife, Florence, as a missionary. By that time, Army chaplains had distributed more than a million tracts containing DeShazer's testimony titled, "I Was a Prisoner of the Japanese." Thousands of Japanese people wanted to see the man who could forgive his enemies. In his first few months in Japan, the former [bomber] had spoken in two hundred places. Soon he, with his wife Florence, helped Japanese Christians to establish churches.
Although the church planting was going well, early in 1950, DeShazer longed for a revival for Japan. He fasted 40 days, praying for the salvation of the Japanese.
A few days after he ended his fast, a man came to his home and introduced himself—Mitsuo Fuchida, flight commander of the 360 planes that attacked Pearl Harbor. After reading DeShazer's testimony, Fuchida had purchased a New Testament, read it, and had accepted Christ.
DeShazer welcomed him as a brother and counseled him to be baptized. Within a short time, Fuchida became an evangelist, preaching in Japan and all over the world.
In 1959 a dream came true for DeShazer when he moved to Nagoya to establish a Christian church in the city he had bombed. Because of one shared Bible, the man who first came to [bomb] Japan…returned on the wings of a dove to spread the "peace that passeth understanding" in that country for the next thirty years.

Condensed from Today's Christian, © 1997 - Elsie J. Larson, "From Bombs to Something More Powerful," Today's Christian (November/December 1997)

Take My Son

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.
He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.' The young man held out this package. 'I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'
The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. 'Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.'
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. 'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?'
There was silence.
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.'
But the auctioneer persisted. 'Will somebody bid for this painting. Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?'
Another voice angrily. 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!'
But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the son?'
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting.' Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.
'We have $10, who will bid $20?'
'Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters.'
'$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?'
The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. 'Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!'
A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Now let's get on with the collection!'
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the auction is over.'
'What about the paintings?'
'I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.
The man who took the son gets everything!'
God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: 'The son, the son, who'll take the son?'
Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

source unknown

Slain Missionary Expected to Suffer for Christ

Missionary Karen Watson counted the cost of following Jesus. That's why she left a letter with her pastor before going to Iraq. She went to provide humanitarian relief in the name of Jesus—but she was gunned down in the country she came to serve.
The letter began, "You're only reading this if I died." It included gracious words to family and friends, and this simple summary of following Christ: "To obey was my objective, to suffer was expected, his glory my reward."

"Missionary Slain in Iraq Mourned," Los Angeles Times (17 March 2004)

Deck of Cards

During the North African campaign, a bunch of soldier boys had been on a long hike and they arrived in a little town called Casino.
The next morning being Sunday, several of the boys went to Church.
A sergeant commanded the boys in Church and after the Chaplain had read the prayer, the text was taken up next. Those of the boys who had a prayer book took them out, but this one boy had only a deck of cards, and so he spread them out.
The Sergeant saw the cards and said, "Soldier, put away those cards."
After the services was over, the soldier was taken prisoner and brought before the Provost Marshall. The Marshall said, "Sergeant, why have you brought this man here?"
"For playing cards in church, Sir."
"And what have you to say for yourself, son?"
"Much, Sir," replied the soldier.
The Marshall said, "I hope so, for if not I shall punish you more than any man was ever punished."
The soldier said, "Sir, I have been on the march for about six days.
I have neither a Bible nor a prayer book, but I hope to satisfy you, Sir, with the purity of my intentions." And with that, the boy started his story:
"You see Sir, when I look at the Ace, it reminds me that there is but one God.
And the Deuce reminds me that the Bible is divided into two parts, the Old and the New Testaments.
When I see the Trey, I think of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
And when I see the Four, I think of the four Evangelists who preached the Gospel; there was Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
And when I see the Five, it reminds me of the five wise virgins who trimmed their lamps; there were ten of them: five were wise and were saved, five were foolish and were shut out.
When I see the Six, it reminds me that in six days, God made this great heaven and earth.
When I see the Seven, it reminds me that on the seventh day, God rested from His great work.
And when I see the Eight, I think of the eight righteous persons God saved when He destroyed this earth; there was Noah, his wife, their sons and their wives.
And when I see the Nine, I think of the lepers our Saviour cleansed, and nine out of the ten didn't even thank Him.
When I see the Ten, I think of the Ten Commandments God handed down to Moses on a table of stone.
When I see the King, it reminds me that there is but one King of Heaven, God Almighty.
And when I see the Queen, I think of the Blessed Virgin Mary, who is Queen of Heaven.
And the Jack or Knave is the Devil.
When I count the number of spots on a deck of cards, I find 365, the number of days in a year. There are 52 cards, the number of weeks in a year. There are 4 suits, the number of weeks in a month.
There are 12 picture cards, the number of months in a year.
There are 13 tricks, the number of weeks in a quarter.
So you see, Sir, my pack of cards serves me as a Bible, an Almanac and a Prayer Book." "And friends, the story is true. I know, I was that soldier."

as narrated by Wink Martindal

Leader Forgot the Big Picture

In the movie The Bridge on the River Kwai, the lead character, Colonel Nicholson, is a prisoner of war in Burma who leads his men to build a bridge for his Japanese captors. Nicholson is an officer of high integrity, dedicated to excellence, a great leader of men—and thus well trained to complete any mission that he is given.
He builds a beautiful bridge. By the film's end, he finds himself in the painful position of defending the bridge from attack by fellow officers who want to destroy it to prevent Japanese trains from using it. There's a chilling moment of realisation, right before he detonates the bridge, when Nicholson (Alec Guinness) utters the famous line, "What have I done?" He was so focused on his goal—building the bridge—that he forgot the larger mission of winning the war.

- Marshall Goldsmith, "Goal 1, Mission 0," Fast Company

Accepting Challenges

The highly regarded HBO miniseries Band of Brothers follows a company of U.S. paratroopers through the preparation and experience of invading Europe on D-Day. Based on real life interviews with survivors, the series captures both the intensity of war and the heroism of the troops.
Lieutenant Richard Winters is a powerful example of a leader who understands his calling. While leading his troops into their most celebrated and challenging task of the war, combating the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge, Winters is approached by an exhausted soldier leaving the front line.
"Looks like you guys are going to be surrounded," the soldier says ominously.
Without hesitation Winters replies, "We're paratroopers, Lieutenant. We're supposed to be surrounded."

Band of Brothers DVD 6 (Warner Brothers Home Video, 2001)

Francis and the Sultan

In 1219, Francis of Assisi traveled to the Holy Land to bring the gospel to the Muslims. Given a pass through enemy lines, he met with Sultan Melek Al-Kamil. A sickle-shaped sword presented to Francis by the sultan as a memento of their encounter can still be seen in Assisi...
Francis of Assisi was sorely troubled. A great army of his Christian countrymen had come to Egypt to fight the Mohammedans. They were on a crusade to win the Holy Land from the Turks. They were killing many people. Francis saw people starving; he saw little children dying. It was not right. What could he do to stop the terrible massacre?
Francis decided to go to Cardinal Pelagius, the Christian commander of the army.
“Please, Lord Cardinal,” he said, “stop the fighting. People are starving. People are dying without even having heard that Jesus loves them. And they are dying because of us Christians.”
But Cardinal Pelagius would not listen. “We are killing these people for a good reason,” he said. “We must conquer them so the church will be powerful. When the church is strong it will be able to conquer evil.”
“The Lord Jesus did not ask us to strive for worldly power,” replied Francis. “God uses the weak, not the powerful.”
“Ridiculous!” cried Cardinal Pelagius angrily. He dismissed the poor man from Assisi without a further word.
Since the Christian commander would not listen to him, Francis decided to go to the enemy commander, the great Muslim Sultan Al-Kamil, to plead for peace. The Sultan was a cruel man. He had vowed that no Christian would ever leave his presence alive. But Francis was not afraid of him. Death would of course only bring him into the presence of his Lord.
Calmly Francis started out one morning walking toward the enemy camp.
The Sultan’s soldiers did not take Francis seriously. He looked so small and so poor and unimportant in his threadbare cloak that they let him pass. When Francis smiled at them and asked, “Cairo? Al-Kamil? Soldan?” they just laughed and showed him the way to the Sultan’s palace.
Just as Francis neared the gates of the palace, the Sultan, bedecked with jewels and followed by his retinue and crowds of people, came galloping down the road.
“Soldan! Soldan!” shouted Francis to attract his attention.
The foreign pronunciation of the word Sultan caught Al-Kamil’s attention. As a ruler he had learned to speak Latin. He pulled his horse to an abrupt halt and looked at Francis with his piercing black eyes.
“Did you come from the Christian camp?” asked Al-Kamil.
“Yes, yes, I did,” said Francis, smiling happily.
“I knew it!” cried the Sultan. He turned to his guards. “This fellow is a Christian!”
The guards, with daggers between their teeth, leaped upon Francis.
“Stop!” said the Sultan. “Don’t kill him just yet. Bring him into the palace. I want to find out first what brought him here.”
Soon Francis sat on the floor in front of the great Sultan.
“So!” exclaimed Al-Kamil, “did they send you over here to kill me?”
“Oh, no,” said Francis. “No one sent me. I just came myself to ask you to end the war. Our commander won’t listen to me, so I came to you.”
The Sultan couldn’t believe his ears. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.
“What is your name, and where do you come from?” he asked.
“My name is Francis, and I came from the town of Assisi in Italy,” answered Francis.
“Well, Francis of Assisi, what do you want me to do?” asked the Sultan, amused. “Should I hand Egypt over to the enemy and let my people starve?”
“No,” said Francis earnestly. “Egypt belongs to you. But you must do something else that would put an end to the war.”
“What is that?” asked the Sultan.
“You must become a Christian,” said Francis simply.
The Sultan broke into a gale of laughter. “Become a Christian!” he howled. “You know I will torture you, don’t you? Aren’t you afraid to suffer?”
“Our Lord suffered for us. Why should I not suffer for him?” said Francis.
“Your God suffered?” asked the Sultan, surprised.
“Yes, he suffered more than we can understand. He laid down his life for us. That is why we love him so much.”
“Fair enough,” said the Sultan, “but why should I love him when he did nothing for me?”
“Oh, but he did it for you, too,” cried Francis. “He loves you. He knows you. You are his beloved child.”
Francis spoke with such conviction that the Sultan became thoughtful. “What does your God require you to do?” he asked.
“Nothing, except that we love him,” said Francis. “He wants us also to love everyone and share what we have with others.”
“Ah,” said the Sultan. “A long time ago we had a teacher in our midst who spoke about your faith as you do. But we have never found Christians to be like that. Christians are untruthful and cruel. They fight among themselves like wild animals. The stories about your faith are not true.”
“Unfortunately there are evil Christians,” said Francis. “Human nature is weak. But God’s mercy has no limits. Through him the most wicked can become holy. That is not possible anywhere except in Christianity.”
The Sultan sighed. “You may go now,” he said. “I will not kill you. Indeed, I will even reward you for the interesting conversation I have had with you. Take all the gold you can carry.”
“Gold!” exclaimed Francis, horrified. “I don’t need gold.”
“Well,” said the Sultan, “that is the first time I have ever seen a Christian who does not want gold! What do you want then?”
“I would very much like to visit the Holy Land where our Lord lived when he was here on earth,” said Francis. “Would you allow me to do so?”
A crafty look came into the Sultan’s eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I will even send a slave with you to take you as far as our borders. Remember, however, the slave belongs to me and you must send him back.”
Francis nodded. “I will send him back,” he said.
The Sultan turned to one of his guards. “Have one of the Christian slaves brought,” he said. “He shall accompany this man to our border.”
“But the slave will escape!” gasped the guard.
“Do as I tell you,” shouted the Sultan. “We will see,” he said to himself, “whether this Christian can be trusted. We will see whether he will send the slave back.”
Francis and the Christian left the palace of the Sultan together.
On many days the great Sultan Al-Kamil, with a wistful look in his eyes, asked his servants, “Has the slave that I sent with the Christian Francis of Assisi returned?”
“No, not yet, O great Ruler.”
The Sultan stared out of the window. “I thought this man was different from the rest. I thought he was a real Christian. But I was wrong. They are all alike. All are false. All are untruthful. There is no such a person as a true Christian.”
Just then a guard came in, bowing low. “Oh, great Ruler, I just want to report to you that the slave has returned,” he said.
“Ah,” said the Sultan. “So Francis of Assisi kept his word after all. Good! You may go.”
Some time later, the Christian army was defeated. The commander, Cardinal Pelagius, who had hoped to make the church powerful, now stood in bitter humiliation before the Sultan, Al-Kamil. “Let our twelve thousand men go home,” he begged.
“Listen to me,” said the Sultan. “I vowed that not one of you Christians should remain alive. I would kill you all. Nothing you could say would have changed my mind. But some time ago a man by the name of Francis of Assisi came to me from your camp. I think highly of him.”
Cardinal Pelagius looked up, startled. He vaguely remembered that foolish little man.
“He is the one and only man whose deeds showed me that the words about your faith are true,” continued the Sultan. “For his sake, and for his sake alone, mind you, I will spare your lives. You may all go—you, as well as all my Christian slaves. I want Francis of Assisi to remember me well.”

from “Blessed Are The Meek” by Zofia Kossak, transl. Rulka Langer (New York: Roy, 1944)

Trade-offs?

How would you describe the difference between modern war and modern industry - between, say, bombing and strip mining, or between chemical warfare and chemical manufacturing? The difference seems to be only that in war the victimisation of humans is directly intentional and in industry it is "accepted" as a "trade-off"

- Wendell Berry -

Priest Experiences the Connection of Prayer

Jean Bosco Gakirage was not there when everyone he knew was murdered. It was 1994, and the Rwandan priest was returning to his home church for ordination when he received the terrible news: "Do not come home. Your parents and the whole congregation have been murdered in the sanctuary."
Jean refused to stay away. Reaching Musha, his small village, he found that only seven children remained alive. With the bodies of his parents and friends still inside the church, Jean told the children, "We are the Resurrection." But he felt that he died that day.
The story did not go untold or unnoticed. A continent away, Marie Michelle saw a picture of the tall Rwandan in a mission magazine. Marie is a nun, living in seclusion and near-silence in a Missouri convent. Her heart went out to the newly ordained priest who lost his parents and six siblings to genocide. She asked for permission to write Jean a letter.
When the letter arrived, Jean could hardly believe it was for him. There was no one left to write to him since the death of his family and friends. He placed the envelope on the table while he stared at it—"to let it rest," he said, "because it had come far."
Finally, Jean opened the envelope and read these words:
I will pray for you every day. From now on you can think of me as your sister, and I will call you not "Father Jean" but "my brother."
Jean responded to the letter with thanks and a promise to pray for Marie as well. He also included words from Psalm 141, "The evildoers appall me … but my eyes are fixed on thee, O Lord God; thou art my refuge."
The daily prayers continued for ten years. Jean corresponded regularly. Marie was limited to two letters per year, but other nuns in the order wrote seasonally. Then, on July 8, 2004, Jean was given the opportunity to visit the convent. The nuns usually communicate with outsiders only through notes, but on this day Jean would be able to speak to Marie through a metal grate. After the midday prayers and services were over, the curtain over the grate parted. Standing with her nine Passionist sisters, Marie peered through the bars at Jean.
"My brother," she said. "I thought I'd have to wait for heaven to see him."
After what will likely be their only meeting in this life, both agreed on their greatest connection.
Marie said, "The union in prayer is the deepest thing, better than letters and pictures."

source unknown