Tag: Safest Place in Iraq

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I Wish I Were Catholic

Celebrating Christ’s resurrection is one of the high points of the year for many Christians, both Protestant and Catholic, and to start the day without mortars made it even better. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t hot yet. We enjoyed the music and I preached on the love of God. At the end of the message, I asked everyone to repeat a prayer of commitment to the Lord. Two people confessed faith in Christ for the first time, and it was an awesome celebration of the Resurrection.

The joy and camaraderie continued as we transitioned from worship to fellowship, with twenty-seven of us going to have lunch together. The DFAC staff had decided to make Easter Sunday a special event, so the entire dining area was decorated in Easter colors and themes: banners, a huge Easter Bunny, streamers, and a special holiday menu. The food was always good, with a lot of options. But today we could select whatever our family’s traditional Easter feast was back home: ham, turkey, roast beef, pumpkin pie. They also brought in a sound system and played music all afternoon.

It was just a wonderful day: worship, celebrating the Risen Lord, fellowship with good brothers and sisters in Christ, great weather, and really good food.

After the last of our group left, I decided to go back to the office. The senior chaplain at Camp Victory required each chaplain to send a weekly report. As I was writing the email around two-thirty in the afternoon, I heard the sirens, so I put on my Kevlar vest and helmet and ran down the hall to go out to the bunker, as shrapnel and gravel pelted the roof of the one-story building. The three explosions were really close.

I ducked into the bunker outside the door, the Colonel and Sergeant Major soon joining me. Just three of us this time. On a typical day there might be more than a dozen of us crammed in there.

After we heard the all-clear signal, I said, “Sir, it’s been fun chatting with you, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to run over to the clinic to see if we have any casualties.”

“OK, Chaps. Let me know.”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

The medical clinic was a buzz of activity when I rushed in the front door. About twenty-five people crammed into a lobby that had only a dozen chairs. Six on one side facing the six on the other side. Not your typical waiting room, this area was mostly a place to drop your gear before going in to see a doc or nurse, or before going in to visit a patient.

“How many?” I asked the guy behind the counter.

“Four so far, Chaplain. No deaths reported as far as I know.”

“Thanks.”

“May I go in?” I asked.

“Sure, Chaplain. Go on in.”

When I asked one soldier how he was doing, he began to mutter, and there were tears in his eyes. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, and assumed he was crying because of the pain. He mumbled something again. Then I understood his words and his tears. “I’m hurt, but my best friend is dead.”

“Your friend is dead?” I needed to clarify, because nobody had mentioned this to me.

“Yes. He was standing right next to me. The mortar landed on the other side of him, cutting him in half instantly. My injuries are nothing compared to what happened to him. He saved my life.”

I rushed out to see the receptionist. “Have you guys heard anything about someone being killed in that mortar attack?”

“No, not yet.”

Just then, a Sergeant Major ran in. I hadn’t seen him before. “Chaplain, we need you to come with us. We have a dead soldier and we have to evacuate him immediately. Are you a Catholic priest?”

Others from the unit started pouring into the clinic. During the next half-hour, more than a hundred people asked the same question, “Are you Catholic? Are you a priest?”

Never in my life did it hurt so much to say I was not Catholic. I wanted so badly to say, “Yes, I am a priest.”

The Soldier who died was the most popular guy in the unit. Many of the visiting Soldiers were Catholic, including him. After the dust and smoke cleared, everyone saw him lying on the ground. They were traumatized. He was, in a way, their emotional and spiritual leader–a devout, godly, personable man who cared deeply about each of them. His fellow soldiers loved and respected him. Now they needed a Roman Catholic Priest.

I conducted a flight-line memorial service as the helicopter crew prepared to take off. The men and women of the unit formed a double line extending from the medical clinic to the evac helicopter, wide enough for the funeral procession to march between the saluting soldiers. It was a tragic, but impressive sight. As the Blackhawk rotors thundered overhead, making it almost impossible to hear, I prayed and committed his soul to God. A Catholic chaplain would have to administer Last Rites somewhere else along the way.

For all Christians, the Resurrection of Jesus Christ is a celebration of life over death, healing after hurting, and overcoming suffering. I had experienced all of it in one day, the good and the bad, and had no idea what the next day or two would bring.

This is an excerpt from my book, Safest Place in Iraq, which is available from any bookseller or from this website.

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Ministry Follows Friendship

In 1986, Blue Diamond Growers in California initiated an ad campaign asking shoppers to buy a can of almonds each week. This was based on the fact that one almond tree produces fifty-two cans of almonds per year, and there are exactly fifty-two weeks in a year. Their slogan? “A can a week, that’s all we ask.” You can still find the old commercials on YouTube.

When I told my wife during a phone call that someone at Camp Echo was coming to faith in Christ every week, she recalled the TV commercial from years earlier and said, “A soul a week, that’s all we ask.” Being from California, I understood the allusion right away.

Linda had been praying that every week, someone would come to faith in Christ, and it was happening: someone at church on Sunday, a visitor to my office during the week, or a soldier in a unit training area. She prayed for the people I was ministering to, and God answered her prayers: a soul a week.

When I was a rookie chaplain, my supervisor showed up one day to mentor me. “Here’s my philosophy of serving as a military chaplain: ministry follows friendship. If you love your soldiers and spend time with them and they know you like them, then they’ll come to you when they want to talk about their spiritual need. Just love them, spend time with them, and trust the Holy Spirit to draw them. When they are ready to talk about the Lord, they’ll know who to go to.”

That sounded pretty good to me, so I adopted his philosophy of chaplain ministry. It was an effective approach throughout my military career, and it was true in Iraq.

Laughin’ and Prayin’

One Tuesday morning a big ol’ boy stepped into my office, and entered the Kingdom of God. He walked in unannounced. “Mind if I drop my body armor, chaplain?” It was already hitting the floor before I had a chance to reply.

“Not at all. Be my guest. Where are you from?”

“I’m from Brevard, North Carolina.”

“Brevard? I’ve been to Brevard.”

“Pity you,” he laughed loud at his own joke. “What were you doin’ in my town?”

“A friend of mine lives there. I was passing through and stopped to visit for a couple hours. Now, what are you doin’ in my office?”

“I grew up in church, but never got serious ‘bout Jesus or nuthin.’ Just out o’ boot camp an’ AIT, an’ they send me here. So, I figure if I’m gonna die right here in the desert at the ripe ol’ age of 19, might as well get saved, confess my sins, whole nine yards, make things right, ya know.”

I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun praying with someone as I did with him that day. Six feet four, a muscular 225-pounder with short brown hair and medium brown eyes. He walked loud, talked loud, and lived loud. I imagine he even sinned loud.

“Hey! I even know what to pray,” he grinned.

“OK, you go first, then I’ll pray.”

“Gotcha!”

He was right; he knew what to do, and he prayed a great prayer. I don’t recall ever hearing someone telling God jokes during a confessional prayer, but he did. We both started laughing. He kept on praying right through our laughter.

“Hey! I bet even the Lord has a sense of humor. Not a problem laughin’ during prayer, is it, Chaplain?”

“Not a problem. I’m sure God is laughing too. Along with all his angels up there!”

“Ha!” Then he started naming his sins from childhood, high school, basic training, all the way up to a couple days ago. Sins with girls, booze, cigarettes, lyin’, stealin’, cheatin’ in school, missin’ church. Then he concluded with, “An’ I ain’t sinned the past coupla days, Lord, so I guess that brings me up to date. Come into my heart. Amen!” Just like that, he was done.

When he finished praying, I was laughing so hard, I don’t think I could have prayed yet, so I suggested that we talk for a while and get acquainted before I take my turn.

A few days before this encounter, he was wearing his body armor while working, and injured his spine. It looked like the Army was getting ready to send him back to Brevard because he was in non-stop pain.

“So, I guess, I’m going home unless Jesus heals me.”

“Well, let’s pray about that too,” I suggested.

“Gotcha! Your turn to pray.”

Besides talking to the Lord about the young man’s back injury, my prayer was that his commitment to Christ would be genuine and lifelong, regardless of whether he stayed in the Army or went home, whether the Lord healed his back or not.

When I finished praying, my new friend looked at me, grinned and said, “Shoot, when I get home an’ show up at church, my pastor’s gonna have a heart attack. I don’t think he ever thought I was gonna get saved. Boy will he be surprised.”

He looked at his watch. “Whoa! Gotta get back to work. Hey! By the way. Can I get a Bible? When’s church?”

I handed him a Bible. “Church is at ten hundred Sunday, nineteen hundred Tuesday, and any time, any day you manage to find me.”

“Great. I’ll be your usher and deacon. You can count on it.” He hefted his body armor and Kevlar, grimaced with pain, and left just as loudly as he came. Just like that, he was gone.

The young man started coming to church. As promised, he got there early to help set up chairs and serve as usher, greeter, deacon, bulletin-passer-outer, altar worker, whatever I asked him to do. He was a tremendous addition to the ministry team. He stayed afterwards to help clean up. Then went to the DFAC with a group of us for lunch. It took about a month for him to process out and return to North Carolina. I wish I could have seen the look on his pastor’s face when he walked in the door of that Baptist church in Brevard.

This is an excerpt from the book Safest Place in Iraq. Available from this website, Amazon, or any book store.

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Unity in Diversity

There hadn’t been a chaplain at Camp Echo during the three years before I arrived, but now that people were being wounded and some were dying, our leaders decided to send a chaplain. My job was to build a religious program from scratch, take care of the spiritual needs of the people, and provide a “ministry of presence.” To do that, I needed a ministry team. I already had four congregations of prayer partners back in the States. Now I needed “boots on the ground” partners.

My first day at the FOB, somebody told me there was a civilian worker on post who was a pastor before the war. A Baptist preacher from North Carolina, James had been leading a Bible study every Sunday morning for the past year. In essence, he had been the only pastoral presence for the people at Camp Echo.

James worked the night shift, so on Friday night, the day after I arrived, I went looking for him and found him in his office around eleven p.m. A forty-two-year-old African American, he was a trim five-foot-nine with a ready smile, slight mustache, and graying goatee. He had a gold front tooth, which sometimes gleamed and sometimes was dark, depending on the lighting.

When I walked into his office, he was sitting at his desk. In front of him were two computers, a stack of paperback Bibles, water bottle, calculator, flashlight, thesaurus, telephone, and a fly swatter: things he considered essential. He wore a blue hoodie. I never saw him without that on, no matter how hot it was. He was indeed an ordained Baptist minister, and had heard that a “real chaplain” was coming.

When he saw that I was the new chaplain, he looked at me and grinned, flashing that gold tooth, but he was serious. The first words I heard him say were, “You gonna fire me since you’re a real chaplain an’ I’m not?”

I’ve read a lot of books and articles on various leadership styles and principles, and could easily make a case for asking James to step away from his previous role in the chapel program. It’s a common practice, for example, to bring in an entirely different team when a new leader arrives. Another issue is that a lot of pastors and chaplains want to do all the ministry: preaching, teaching the Bible study, praying for people, and visiting the sick.

But I know how important it is for all God’s people to be involved in ministry. Plus, I had a good feeling about the man, and I wanted to honor him for his faithfulness over the past year of leading the Bible study and praying for people.

So I said, “Pastor James, I have no intention of firing you. You were here ministering when there was no chaplain. Chances are, you might be here after I’m gone. How would you feel about us working together as co-pastors?”

When I called him Pastor James, his eyes opened big and he got excited. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. There’s plenty to do. You already know everybody on post. You’ve been doing the job of pastor when nobody else was here. Perhaps you could show me around and introduce me to people in the various offices and sections.”

“I can do that,” James offered.

 “And if the war continues, there might be times I have to be at the clinic or visiting another FOB when it’s time for church. I think it’s better if we worked as a team. What do you say? I could use your help.”

“I like that plan,” he said.

When I held out my hand to shake his, he threw his arms around me for a long hug, instead. “What about this Sunday morning?” he asked.

“Why don’t you plan and lead the worship service, and then introduce me as the new chaplain, and I’ll preach,” I suggested. “At the end of the worship service, we’ll serve communion side by side.”

“That’ll work.”

“Then we’ll take it week by week,” I continued. “There’s a lot to do, and we can accomplish more if we work together.”

“Gotta deal.” He showed off that gold tooth again.

The differences between us were obvious: different denominations, different personalities, different spiritual gifts, different skin color, and more. But the fact that we worked together, supported one another, and honored each other had an immediate impact on the people at Camp Echo. Just as important, it seemed the Lord was pleased with the way we handled things, and he blessed our efforts from day one.

The decision to have Pastor James stay involved in the chapel program was a winner. There was a continuity that we were able to build on, and a unity that paved the way for the presence of God and the power of God to be experienced in ways we couldn’t have imagined.

This is an excerpt from the book Safest Place in Iraq. The book won first place gold at the Florida Writers Association’s Royal Palm Literary Awards as well as the first place Peach Award at the North Georgia Christian Writers Conference.

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Danger, Dust, and Death

When they told me where I was going, they said it was the Safest Place in Iraq, but by the time I got there, things had changed. On a Tuesday night, the dining facility was crowded, bustling, with hardly an empty chair, when mortars landed on the building.

People were stunned, walking around like zombies. Most avoided eating in the DFAC, even after it was repaired and they started serving meals again. From that moment, incoming mortars and rockets became part of the routine that was soon to be my daily life.

Men from Diwaniyah would drive to a vacant field on the edge of town, bringing their rockets and mortars to fire at us. They did this in the morning on their way to work. Sometimes it was mid-day during a lunch break, and other times in the evening on their way home from work. Occasionally it was in the middle of the night. Some of the people shooting at us were teens or even younger. Often, they would launch their missiles-of-death just before, or right after their prayers.

I volunteered to go. My philosophy as a chaplain was that I wanted to be wherever soldiers had to go, and if they were at war, I wanted to be there with them. Not because I enjoy fighting. We all know that a chaplain is a non-combatant. I wasn’t there to fight.

I was there to encourage, counsel, and pray; provide worship opportunities, friendship, and guidance; nurture the living, care for the wounded, and honor the dead; and guarantee the constitutional freedom of worship to men and women of all faiths, and the same freedom to men and women of no faith. Camp Echo was my home, my parish, my fiery furnace.

I knew from the start that I could be wounded or killed. It was a weird feeling, and I came to accept it. How or when, I had no idea. But every time there was another explosion, I wondered if this was the day.

My wife also knew I might not make it home alive. Or if I did return, I might be a broken man–crippled, blind, psychologically damaged, or all of the above. With that possibility in mind, she told me before I left home, “I don’t want to find out after you get back or after you’re dead that you were in danger. I want to know right away.”

The first time I mentioned during a phone call some of the dangerous things that were happening, she said, “I already know. I saw it on TV and in the newspaper. They’re mentioning Diwaniyah and Camp Echo by name.” She scanned and sent me an LA Times article. I took it to our staff meeting the next morning, and discovered that many on our leadership team didn’t know what was going on outside the wire.

Danger, dust, and death formed the context for the job I was sent to do. Operating from the philosophy that “ministry follows friendship,” I built relationships among the men and women at Camp Echo: military, civilian, American, and Coalition. This allowed me to be there when they were at their best and when they were at their worst, in their strongest moments and in their weakest.

In the heat of the battle and the heat of the desert, hours turn into days, which transition to nights, and add up to weeks and then months. The conditions wear you down, leaving an imprint on your mind and your soul: images that will be seen in dreams for months or years, sounds that reverberate long after you’re home, people you befriended and cared about and stared at death with, but will probably never hear from again. For many of us, it’s only memory now. But for others, the war continues … on the inside.

An excerpt from the book, Safest Place in Iraq, published by Morgan James Faith.

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Veterans Day Books

If anyone is interested in a good read for Veterans Day, or perhaps getting a gift for a friend in the military, here are several books worth considering.

This book focuses on the role of the chaplain, but also takes a good look at religion in the Armed Forces. It answers a lot of questions about the rights and restrictions applicable to people of faith, and presents an accurate picture of what it’s like to be a Christian in today’s military. Containing a lot of anecdotes and real life examples, it also shows that there is an open door for genuine sharing of faith when done correctly and respectfully. Click on the book to see it on Amazon.

Being in Iraq in 2007 was scary and dangerous. Yet, the Lord was doing some fantastic things in the lives of the men and women I served, loved, and ministered to. Written as a combination memoir and testimony, it tells stories of answered prayer, overcoming fear and temptation, and experiencing the presence of God.

My dad wrote this book about what it was like to be on the USS Yorktown in World War II. He survived the Battles of Midway and Coral Sea, experienced the amazing presence of the Lord during the toughest days of his life, and shares what it was really like. Originally published with the title God Was at Midway and then as USS Yorktown at Midway, last year my brother wrote a new introduction and I added an epilogue.

These books may be purchased on Amazon by clicking on the images of the books. You may also click on the Books tab in the menu above. And if you’d like to listen to my podcast conversations with Richard Blackaby (Blackaby Ministries International) or with Randy Zachary (Family Radio) scroll down to the bottom right and you can play them.

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The Ukrainian Stranger

My first Sunday at the FOB in Iraq was Palm Sunday, one week before Easter 2007. Eight people showed up for church that morning: a civilian I called Pastor James, four American soldiers who had been meeting with him faithfully for the past year, my Chaplain Assistant, one new guy, and me. It was easy to see that the soldiers respected James. He had been there for them, and they loved him. My sermon was based on Mark chapter eleven, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” We finished worship having communion together, Pastor James and me side-by-side.

After I thanked everyone for coming and was about to dismiss the small group, a stranger in a Ukrainian army uniform walked into the chapel unannounced and proclaimed, “I have something to say.”

He had an excellent command of English vocabulary, but with a heavy accent. He was an attractive, friendly man, about 6′ 2″ with short hair, heavy eyebrows, and green eyes.

“I am not a Christian. Several months ago, I started having problems with my eyes. I went to the doctors here in our medical clinic. They told me I had an incurable eye condition. They brought in a specialist who confirmed the diagnosis. He said there was nothing they could do for me. No treatment. No medicine. No surgery. He said my eyes would gradually get worse until I was totally blind. Last Sunday I came here and asked the men if they would pray for me.” He pointed to James and said, “That man put his hands on my head and prayed. These other guys put their hands on me and prayed too.”

“The next day, last Monday, I could see better, so I went back to the clinic. The doctors did the same tests all over again. This time, they said I don’t have that disease. I have been back to the clinic to see the doctors almost every day this week. Your God healed me. I am not going to lose my eyes. I am so happy. How can I become a Christian?”

You could hear the sounds of surprise and amazement from the small congregation, especially from Pastor James and the men who had prayed with him the previous Sunday. In simple terms, I explained who Jesus was and what it meant to receive him as Lord and Savior.

I wasn’t a part of the miracle of healing that he experienced the previous week. Pastor James and the others had prayed for him. But on my first Sunday at Camp Echo, I had the privilege of praying with this man, a captain in the Ukrainian army, as he asked Jesus to come into his heart. The feeling among our little group was incredible.

The Ukrainian brother came alive. Every time I saw him, whether walking down the street, sitting in the DFAC, or attending a staff meeting, he hugged me, told me how thankful he was that Jesus healed him and saved him. And then he’d say, “We have to tell people about Jesus. They have to know him.”

The rest of the story may be read in the book Safest Place in Iraq. You may click the Books tab above or order it through any bookstore.

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Should I Give This to a Friend?

I got this email through my website yesterday:

Hi,  Paul. A friend loaned me a copy of your book and I read it. I enjoyed it, so I bought a couple of copies. My pastors wants to read it. Here’s my question: I have a friend who served in Iraq some time ago, maybe 15 years ago or more. He did lose some friends and saw action that had casualties. Do you think this book would be appropriate to offer for him to read? Would it bring some perspective or healing? Or take him back to relive the horrors of war? I would appreciate your input.

And here’s what I wrote back to him:

Hello, friend. Great to get your email. Thank you. I think the book would be a good thing for your friend to read. While it mentions some of the painful stuff and the danger, it also shows how some of us processed the PTSD and got better. The Lord is a huge part of that, and I think it could be helpful for your friend. I’ve had a chance to talk with other veterans who went through some pretty horrible experiences, and they told me it was helpful. So go ahead and share it with him, and tell him he’s welcome to give me a call or an email if he wants to talk about his experiences over there.

The man’s pastor wants to read the book, which leads me to say this: Anyone looking for a book to use for a book group, a Bible study, or a home group discussion might consider using Safest Place in Iraq. There are discussion questions in the back. Plus, there’s a separate study guide. Consider using it in your group or at your church.

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Recommendation for Safest Place in Iraq

I pray that all of you are doing well after a week of glorifying God during Holy Week.  As I compose this email, I have a lingering awe over the profound power of Jesus’ resurrection . . . how that day changed everything for everybody for all of history and all of eternity . . . how it changes you and me every time we bow our heads in prayer!  God is so good!

Here is a recently released book by a chaplain:

“Safest Place in Iraq: Experiencing God During War” by Chaplain Paul Linzey, is an excellent resource for chaplains, as they consider how they might handle combat ministry.  Great vignettes throughout.  Honest and inspiring.  It’s widely available and costs about $20 in paperback.  It is published by Morgan James Faith.

From Rev. Jim Denley, Retired Navy Captain, now the military chaplain endorser of the Assemblies of God. The book may be purchased on this website, from the publisher, or ordered from any bookstore.

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Christmas Present

If you’re wondering what to give someone for Christmas, let me suggest the book Safest Place in Iraq. The emphasis is on the presence of Christ during tough times. And that’s the meaning of Immanuel . . . God is with us.

As one reviewer wrote, “It is very clear that even in the greatest uncertainties of life, God makes a difference for those who turn to Him. Lives touched for Jesus Christ are given the opportunity to be changed for a lifetime.”

Give the gift of faith, hope, and love this year. And if you order it from this website, it’ll get there faster than ordering it on Amazon or Barnes & Noble. Just click on the Books menu above.

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Publisher’s Virtual Book Launch

I am so excited for my publisher’s Virtual Book Launch event for their fall 2020 catalog of new books. The book launch week of November 16-20 will be an incredible celebration of sharing author interviews and conversations with the world!

The event will be hosted on www.MorganJamesBookLaunch.com. Each day of the week, November 16-20, will spotlight a different theme. My book is included in the “Get Lost in a Good Story” category, and will be featured on the website at 3:00PM EST on Tuesday November 17th.

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