It was Easter Sunrise, 1969, on a beach in Phu Yen province. Rising before the dawn two chaplains and a chaplain’s assistant carried three crosses to a place just beyond the reach of the South China Sea. Looking back, we could see the tracks the crosses made as they were drug through the sand. There we planted them, leaning slightly toward the wind and the waves. Then we sat down on logs and awaited the dawn.
Soon we three were joined by two other chaplains, a Jewish rabbi and a Catholic priest. That morning we stood on pallets and conducted an ecumenical service. We watched the rising sun illuminate the faces of a great diversity of ranks and ethnicities. Doctors and nurses came over from the combat support hospital. Troops from the Republic of Korea (that protected our perimeter) were in attendance with their chaplain, as well as Vietnamese troops. All colors and creeds were represented and they were all looking toward the dawning of a new day that could be bright with hope. We joined as one in praying that peace would rise out of the ashes of war and that broken dreams and failed policies could be healed by a love that was stronger than death.
After the service, the hospital mess hall invited us all to an Easter breakfast. After breakfast, some of us boarded a bus and drove into the town of Tuy Hoa to visit a Catholic orphanage. The GIs set to work painting walls and repairing equipment. The children squealed with delight as they were given horsy-back rides. Combat hardened faces seemed to soften. As we were bused back to the military compound, everybody was in good spirits. Our morale was soaring on the wings of a faith that is risen and survives even in the insanity of war.
I came out of that experience with a new respect for the spirit of unity and the bond of brotherhood than binds us together; orient and occident, north and south, east and west. The Spirit of our risen Lord is as relevant on a beach in a Buddhist country as in the Bible belt of the United States. Jesus of Nazareth has become the cosmic Christ of faith, whose love draws a circle to include the circumferences of planet earth. We often draw circles to exclude people who look and act differently.
A piece of doggerel put it this way: He drew a circle to shut me out; rebel, heretic, a thing to flout. But love and me had the wit to win; we drew a circle that took him in.
The quality I miss the most during my years as a military chaplain is the spirit of ecumenicity that enabled us to cooperate across denomination lines, in order to fulfill our mission of bringing God to man and man to God.
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