Roller Coasters

(This was written on 29 Oct 2011... my first full day in Afghanistan. I couldn't get it off my computer until this morning... sorry for the delay!)

I can only see to write this by the little pink book light that I have hanging from the coils of the bunk bed above my head. I am not sure where the book light came from... if I had to bet, I would put money on a good friend from Chestertown, MD who seems to supply me (and now many of my soldiers) with many of the important things that I don’t realize I need until I need them. I am lucky to have her as a friend.

It’s not yet 10:30 and the lights are off in my tent-- home base for the next few weeks as we wait for our more permanent housing. This means walking some distance to the “latrine” at 1AM. I have a new personal policy... no liquid after about 6PM. It’s just not worth it! There are ten women sharing my tent and I along with a colleague on night shift are left awake. This is the first night I have been awake past ten, but I wanted to capture at least a piece of my first impression before it faded.

The first few days of anything challenging are always the hardest. We are all in the process of adjusting to our life here. It has been a 48 hour period of extremes. From pictures of our first snow as we waited on “lock down” for our aircraft in Krygyzstan to the combat landing into Bagram, exciting is an understatement. I sat there, surrounded by soldiers with full “battle rattle” (weapons, body armor, helmets, etc) and wondered just how I ended up on a C-17 headed for Afghanistan. All I have to say is that Air Force pilots are amazing. I am not sure what all we did in the air before making a quick touch down on the Bagram runway, but it was not the typical descent. We have also had some real moments of drudgery. Hours and hours of training on Improvised Explosive Devices and the dust and rocks that are never-ending as well as some very somber realities have threatened my “it’s all good” attitude. The last I heard, 13 Americans and one Canadian died a short distance from us in Kabul, and we were all warned that rocket attacks in our area were predicted. This is no longer a training exercise, but we are in the middle of a war. It’s almost hard to believe and sometimes I wonder if am ready for the possibilities of what might happen.

Tomorrow we all begin our shifts. I feel that I have been “working” since I arrived at the parking lot at Ft. Sam, and that is a good thing. I have known this for a while but for the past week I have lived one of the most important aspects of chaplaincy-- friendship. Day in and out, in the bathrooms where toilet and showers have no formal doors but instead shower curtains as meager dividers, in the dining halls and getting dressed in the morning, and everything between, friendship with one another and discovering in the midst of these developing relationships, friendship with God, that is what this is all about. And so, after a day where I was on an emotional roller coaster, experiencing just about every emotion from eagerness to depression to gratitude to sobriety, I can say, at least as I prepare to close this day, that being here in this place with these companions is an incredible privilege.

Sharing God's Table

Worship in Afghanistan started off on a rocky foot. If my first service here had been a Catholic mass, I would have expected exclusion from the Holy meal. I would have gladly honored this tradition. As far as I understood, walking into the liturgical Protestant service, Presbyterians and Lutherans, as well as other mainline Protestant denominations, shared the communion table. I guess I slept through a few days of Church History. I was shocked when the first thing the chaplain said upon my entering the chapel was that I was not welcome to join in communion. If I wanted a blessing, he would give one to me, but otherwise, I should not come forward. I told him not to worry. I would be staying in my seat. The last thing I wanted was his blessing.

After a few moments of fuming to myself and thinking thoughts not fitting of a worship service, I wondered what Jesus would do. Would he go up and ask for a blessing? Would he sit there peacefully chanting a “counter” prayer under his breath? Would he have walked out, making a statement, refusing to be a part of something that marginalizes neighbors? I was fairly certain that Jesus would find a way to be generous even while pointing out a dissonance. Even Judas, his betrayer, ate bread and drank wine with Jesus at that first Eucharistic table.

As I sat in my seat, looking from a distance at the bread and wine, a sense of gratitude bubbled up inside of me. Today, I would not taste but only see at an arms length. Yet, it was valuable to feel excluded. Growing up in the church, knowing the joy and warmth of the best of what the church offers as a faith community, I have never felt apart from it. I wonder how many people each day look longingly at God’s table, but never feel welcome to sit down and join in the feast?

In this particular space, where there is so much that keeps us apart, religion, nationality, weapons, walls, and concertina wire to name a few things, it will take significant imagination to find ways to share God’s holy table. But, even after a challenging beginning, I am still hopeful that it is possible. Even when we can’t find the way ourselves, God is preparing this table for us. I am just thankful that God’s invitation extends way beyond me and my ideas of who is welcome, as well as my chaplain collegues, to places and people that I cannot fathom, into jail cells and behind prison walls, and even beyond that. Thanks be to God.

Trying to Arrive

I think it’s Wednesday, which means that we have been in the process of arriving in Afghanistan for a while. We are still waiting. I should admit that I don’t mind this particular wait. Kyrgyzstan is beautiful. Despite the rain and fog which greeted us upon touching down at the airport, the weather has taken a pleasant turn. Yesterday morning’s sunrise revealed that we are on the edge of an amazing mountain range. Ninth grade geography didn’t equip me with much knowledge of Kyrgyzstan, so I am not sure what these mountains are called. They are snow covered, massive and a breath taking reminder of the natural beauty of this region.
　
Right now our neighboring countries are China, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. I have been telling people for weeks that our transit station was in Uzbekistan, so it shouldn’t surprise me that I was completely unprepared for a visit to Kyrgyzstan. The people look very Asian and speak both Kyrgyz and Russian. As one woman working in a coffee shop told me when I asked which she was speaking to her co-worker, "It’s a mix between Kyrgyz and Russian... kind of like Spanglish."
　
Another surprise has been the presence of soldiers from across NATO’s ranks. Between the Polish and the Romanian soldiers and then the different branches of American forces, both enlisted and officer corps, it’s hard to tell when to salute. So far my strategy is to stick with my company commander, who is a West Point graduate. When she salutes, I do too. It’s worked well so far!
　
Spending two nights on a plane and moving higher in elevation has meant that most of us are pretty tired. After confusing sugar for salt and putting it on my salad (which I ate nonetheless though I don’t encourage the combination), I called it a night at 7:30. Honestly, I don’t know if I have ever gone to bed that early. I am hoping that after a few more days, we will have all adjusted! We also had a carbon monoxide "scare" in the middle of the night, which meant that we all went to the chow hall at 1AM to wait for the people to come and test our tent for a gas leak. When the alarm went off, none of us paid any attention, until one young lieutenant announced that the fire department was on the way because the carbon monoxide alarm was going off. She didn’t have to say that twice. Now, I don’t know much about carbon monoxide poisoning but I figured that because the alarm had been going off for a while, I might not have much time left before sudden death. I held my breath, grabbed my shoes and ran for the door to breathe the outside air before running back inside to grab the rest of my undergarments. My priorities were straight, breathing first, getting fully dressed next.... I have decided that one of the gifts I will give my soldiers is that I love to make fun of myself. I have told the story a few times, and every time we have ended up crying with laughter.
　
It’s amazing how quickly we have become a close knit group. The hardest moments of our deployment so far were the minutes leading up to our departure from the parking lot at Ft. Sam. Families and friends had all gathered to wait for the few hours that it took to get 100% accountability and load our duffle bags. At first, we were in great spirits, giving each other high fives. But, as the leaving hour neared, there were more and more tears. I was doing fine, even as others around me cried, that is until Fisch, and I had a moment alone. I went to check in with him, and he, still being very brave, indicated that he was struggling. He had just called home to say goodbye. As soon as I opened my mouth to respond, I started crying. It was just us, and I figure, in a way, it was exactly what should have happened in our unit ministry team. It was hard and sad. Even remembering our exchange causes me to pause and take a deep breath. I know over this year we may experience, side by side, a whole host of things. And, we will go together. I guess, in that moment, I realized that as much as he will protect me, I must also take care of him. I will lead us into places that neither of us can yet imagine.
　
So our traveling continues. We are definitely in this together. And, every time I hear from a friend from home, I realize that it’s more than just my unit who is on this journey. These reminders never cease to give me just the encouragement I need! Thank you!

Invocations and Benedictions

We are officially ready to leave Texas. Our unit colors (the flag with our special emblem) have been cased in an official send off ceremony and our bags packed (at least mostly). Sometime this weekend, we will begin the journey to Afghanistan. If I knew the exact route, I would be forbidden from advertising it on the internet, but with these military flights, none of us will really know what airports we will fly through until we are "wheels up." I know it will take almost a week to get to Bagram, and it will be a surprise to find out all the details. For the first time in this preparation season, I am actually excited. It finally feels like I am on the brink of an adventure and I am realizing more and more that the travelers who will accompany me will surely be the manna needed to survive this next year.

I think, more than anything else, I am ready to go because of the love and support I have felt over these weeks. At our casing ceremony on Wednesday, many of my Texas Presbyterian family were present. I told my parents, much to their dismay, that they couldn't come out this week. It wasn't because I didn't want to have family here in the final days, but it was because I knew that these days would be important time to spend with soldiers and their families, helping in this transition and offering small assurances where possible. All I can say is that I am glad I am an extrovert. I have felt a little like a teacher at an open house, meeting parents and wives and babies in rapid succession. Even though I may never see some of these people again, for this time, as we look to our mission in Afghanistan with excitement, fear, curiosity, and determination, I will always have a picture of the people who stood there with us, sending us on our way. I also knew that I would not feel sad or alone because I have a family here, too. I marvel at how six months can facilitate deep, abiding friendship. And, yet, I have decided that it is not really time that paves a way for these kinds of relationships, but more it is a willingness to embrace a person if the opportunity arises. As the Presbyterians came out on Wednesday morning, I knew my family was with me. Not every family member can make every important event. We can be grateful though for the ones that are able to come, remembering that they are a piece of a greater, wider whole.

Over these weeks, around the world, I have felt the power of prayers and blessings. These benedictions, offered around a dinner table saying grace, standing in front of a church congregation being commissioned and sent, in the quiet space of a few friends offering prayers and thanksgivings, or through emails sent with love and care, have been the encouragement that I needed to arrive at this moment. Now I am ready to give them away. In my invocation wednesday morning, I prayed for God's protection and presence, especially for families who, from this time until the day we come home next year, live with a measure of uncertainty. I asked that we always remember that we work for justice and that we might become instruments of peace. Though it may be hard to imagine in this space and time, with God's help even this is possible. I acknowledged that our times are in God's hands, therefore we put our trust in God. Of course, this is not just for soldiers and families or for this next year, but it is for all of us, now until forever. I guess that deserves an "Amen."

Baptisms!!

There is nothing like a baptism less than a week before deploying to help a pastor keep her priorities straight. These past couple of weeks have meant back to back meetings and a litany of tasks, many of which I have little true interest. Don't misunderstand, it IS important that I assemble my kevlar helmet and IOTV (Improved Outer Tactical Vest...I actually just looked it up myself) to standard, but in this build up to our departure, I have missed being in the church, pronouncing benedictions, shaking hands at the door, and many of the other markers of worship. Perhaps this is why being asked to perform a baptism this past weekend for two daughters of a soldier in my unit meant so much to me.

Looking out over the gathered crowd, there were many faces that I recognized. Even though I have been here less than six months, in the life cycle of a military tour, that is plenty of time to form real connections. I met this particular family in the early weeks of my Texas life and have loved being a part of their lives ever since. Besides the part of the service when the two-year-old shook her head violently, hoping to avoid my oily finger, my favorite moments were when the older sisters, 10 and 7, volunteered to read parts of the scripture and liturgy. Neither had any prior practice in church reading, but because they came from a family where reading is a daily practice, the girls didn't miss a beat. Who knows what their future in public speaking may be, but they are both off to a wonderful start.

In some ways, having me, an Army chaplain, perform this service was more important to the mother than following her Catholic upbringing. I did make sure that she warned her family that I was a woman and not able to perform mass. As I have discovered in these few short months, the Army can be it own kind of faith community. It extends far and wide, across the world even, but in ways that surprise, it is palpable and true. As one friend reminded me recently, the church is everywhere.

At the family reception after the service, I met a wounded soldier who, that very day, marked the one month anniversary of losing his leg to an IED in Afghanistan. Sitting quietly with just a few visible IV tubes peaking out from beneath his short sleeve shirt, besides his missing leg, I would have never known that just a month earlier he barely survived a horrific explosion while on patrol with his Infantry unit. His doctors have been surprised that his physical healing has come so far so fast. He told me that he remembers every part of the explosion. Given this, I wonder about the other kinds of healing which will be needed over these months. Yet in this Army community, where faith and hope are found in our belonging to both God and one another, I know that he will be carried and strengthened each day, until he can stand again on his own.

My Assistant Fish... ready for anything

After a morning of Nuclear, Biohazard, and Chemical (NBC) Warfare training, this is a picture of Kyle Fischer (Fish, as we all call him) and me. I promise that I actually DID the training. Fish looks like he has been rolling around in charcoal, and I look relatively normal. I am only sorry we didn't get any pictures of us wearing our gas masks. Fish is very proud of this picture which is not surprising given his personality. On any given day, he is ready for anything, strapped down with multiple knives and blades just in case "something" comes up. Next time I head to my storage unit for gear retrieval, he is coming along. He also happens to be a great shot, which bodes well for me.

For the next year, Fish, who is a 19-year-old cowboy from Iowa, and I will be sharing an office. I have no doubt on many days I will be ready to abandon my any commitment I have to Christian non-violence (he will likely feel the same way), but I know I am lucky to have a chaplain's assistant who is as dedicated and faithful as Fish. He is one of the youngest soldiers on the whole post, but has more motivation that most. No doubt, many of my stories will involve Fish, since he and I will be basically joined at the hip for the next 365 days. I keep telling him all the ways to keep me stress-free and happy, but I know, since he is basically a younger brother to me, he will probably end up using that personal intel against me.

We have about a week left before we leave. It's definitely a sprint to get everything done... For now, though, it is the weekend. No one is planning beyond sunday, but trying to enjoy every bit of this free time. Denial is often a helpful coping mechanism. And, so, for the next few days, we will all go on with our lives as if nothing is about to happen. Yet, we have all been feeling ourselves being drawn together and prepared for our mission. Every morning when I first wake up, I figure out is how many weeks we have left. Now, we are down to days. The amazing thing is that the closer the day is, the more we feed on each other's excitement. Even in the dread of separation from family and friends or just the luxuries of life at home like driving a car or drinking coffee from a favorite coffee mug, there is an energy which pulses through our offices and hallways. And, as one soldier said today, "We have to get there before we can all come home again." Well said.

Two weeks and a wake up!

With two weeks before I, along with 200 the other soldiers of the 14th MI BN, board a flight to Afghanistan, I have realized that I can no longer postpone certain line items on my “to do” list. This list, comprised mostly of banality like “suspend Verizon wireless coverage,” “find the house slippers accidentally put in the storage unit,” “take off the toe nail polish dating back to last April,” etc, also includes “establish a blog.” With my days slipping away, I decided today is the day to begin.

Over the past few weeks, I have wondered just how to start this process. I have read plenty of blogs and have never wanted to write one, but anticipating this upcoming year in Afghanistan has caused a change of heart. I have been connected formally to the military since 2002 when I signed my ROTC contract while an undergrad at Duke, but this is the first time in all of the years since that I will deploy. Many of my friends and family have been through other milestones in my military career: basic training woes, jump school concussion stories, and even the process of answering a call to Army chaplaincy. Deploying to Afghanistan is another story altogether and seems to warrant deeper reflection on my part. I am hoping that by making my experiences, thoughts, daily struggles and joys publicly accessible, I may offer an opportunity for raised awareness of the issues and realities many, soldiers and civilians alike, are facing in Afghanistan after a decade of war.

In the coming weeks, as I write my thoughts on our preparation and departure and then as I enter my life as a chaplain based out of the largest detention center facility in Afghanistan run by the US government, my blog will likely evolve to include a few pictures and stylistic features. For now, though, it will remain “under construction.” If I waited for a completed “blog” product before I wrote my first entry, I may have never written a word.

Appropriately, I begin both my blog and my year of deployment, having little clue what to expect but still knowing that there will be plenty of work in which to engage. If this next year is anything like the last months of training before deploying, I will have my hands very full. It is the good kind of full, at least on most days. That my office is often buzzing with soldiers who are rummaging for homemade cookies or brownies baked and shipped by friends in Maryland or occupied by a soldier who needs simply to talk to someone about the difficulties of transitioning post deployments, divorce, and moving many miles away from family, I am grateful. I definitely don’t want to eat all of those cookies alone and am aware that without stable community, the chaplain is sometimes the one person a soldier has to go to in the midst of crisis. I have been surprised when, on a first meeting or encounter, a soldier feels comfortable sharing stories of pain or vulnerability. I have realized that my office and company is one of few places of safety where a person whose job requires strength and courage, has the space to admit and wrestle with fear, anxiety, disappointment, and grief.

I want to close this first entry with two stories from this past weekend. If anything, the range of these reflections may indicate just what my readers should expect from me over the next year-- a true spectrum of emotions and depictions.

Friday, 7 OCT 2011-

A trip to public storage: a reminder that even the best Army training cannot make up for all that I missed not becoming a Girl Scout. I may be “always prepared” for a lipstick crisis or a hair snafu requiring bobby pins and travel sized mousse, being raised in the south with a former cheerleader as a mother, but rarely, if ever, do I remember to carry emergency flashlights and spelunking gear in case of an emergency deep within the bowels of my storage unit. Perhaps last friday’s “incident” is gentle preparation for what I may need to be prepared for around “camp” in Bagram.

I realized early last week that I had no kevlar helmet to go under the “multi-cam” helmet cover that was issued to me last month on a day trip to Ft. Hood. I figured, erroneously, that I would get a new helmet for Afghanistan since the one I have has probably been in service since at least the early 80s. I guess they never go bad or out of fashion, but still, my brain is important to me. Nonetheless, if I wanted to avoid telling my commander that I forgot or lost my helmet, I needed to retrieve it from storage. For all of you out there with storage units, you probably don’t need to read any further. You know where this helmet retrieval story is going. Obviously, when we need to find something in a tightly packed, dark space, it is going to be in the furtherest, least accessible corner.

My first lesson for Afghanistan, always tell SOMEONE where you are going, in case you get stuck and need to be rescued. Trying to visualize gymnastics moves of years gone by, I mounted my couch which was at least 10 feet tall on its side to make more space for other household items. My weight lifting finally paid off and I was able to balance with one foot on top of a stack of boxes of books (stable, yes), but teetering perilously close to another box labeled “VERY fragile.” Upon clearing the couch, the lights in the hallway which work on a timer, went off. In the dark, standing on one foot and knowing that a false move could cause the destruction of my precious pink china which I had just lugged across the country, I saw little hope. Good thing I am a trained soldier. Giving up was not an option. So what if it was dark, I had the use of only one foot, and needed to lift and relocate multiple boxes of books and clothes in order to find my hemet that was probably used last by an extra on MASH, I had no choice but to keep at it.

The good news is, I found my helmet and only incurred a few minor bruises. I will think twice before leaving home or my houch (what we call our rooms at the camp) without a pocket sized flashlight and smoke signals in case I find myself in a similar sticky situation.

Sunday, 9 OCT 2011-

Last night, the family I am living with in San Antonio in these weeks before deploying (Kelly, John, Clare, and David... all good Presbyterians!) hosted a dinner which included a man who recently spent a year in Afghanistan doing work on conflict resolution with the Army and local Afghan tribal leaders. It was a wonderful opportunity for me to ask questions about life in Afghanistan. Toward the end of the evening, though, another guest asked me whether or not I was afraid about being deployed.

The source of fear is not always easy to locate. When I have talked to my soldiers about their anxiety and fear, most of them, myself included, have not named our deployment as culpable. Separation from family and friends, perhaps, and even the knowledge that for a whole year, our lives will not be our own but always monitored and regulated by the powers-that-be, this is all worthy of alleviated stress, but Afghanistan... not really. After all, we are going to be at a secured facility and will scarcely if ever leave its protection. Many of our brothers and sisters in arms do not have that security. It seems weak to admit fear, when in the scheme of the war in Afghanistan, we will have it pretty easy.

Regardless of where our mission falls on the spectrum of risk, we are headed to a combat zone and there are no guarantees. We can prepare and train for everything we know about, but the unknowns still lurk dangerously over the horizon. This is true for all of us whether we face a deployment or just another day of life where none of us know the number of hours, days, and years that we will enjoy. Boarding a plane for war is a stark reminder of the fragile and fleeting nature of life. We cannot fully control or secure our lives or the lives of our loved ones, and so we are left to cope with all that we can’t know.

There are many things that I fear, raw chicken at the top of the list! But, these past three years of ministry have helped me to grasp more deeply the promises that God has made to each of us. Whether it was standing around a grave in South Africa, watching members of my church sing praises to a God who grants life to us even in the midst of death or being reminded that even into the unknown places and paths where we are called to go and serve, God is always with us, I face this next year and, perhaps more significantly, my life, holding on to these promises.

About a year ago, preparing for Advent, I ran across a Henri Nouwen quote which has helped reorient me when I have felt my trust slipping. Nouwen said, “When you pray with hope, you turn yourself toward a God who will bring forth his promises; it is enough to know that He is a faithful God.” It is with this in mind that I prepare to go in just two weeks. There may be much that is unknown, but with this knowledge of God’s presence with us wherever it is that we go, what more do we really need to know.

More Love: Romans 13:8-14

I plan to post the sermons that I preach each sunday while I am at Bagram. Every chaplain is responsible for leading worship at one service a week. I won't know, until I arrive there, which service will be "mine." In the meantime, this is a sermon I preached at Trinity Presbyterian Church (the church in which I grew up) in Pensacola, FL this past September. In many way, it encapsulates my feelings and hopes for this deployment and my work with both US soldiers and Afghan civilians and detainees.

About 13 years ago in our church gym, some of the boys in Lightshine got together and sold then high school, PHS senior, Patrick Hightower, into slavery. Well, actually they sold him to Joy and Ed Kidd who were our resident Ishmaelites. They turned around and sold him for a profit to Evan Baher, otherwise known as Potiphar, one of Egypt’s millionaires. This is where it gets complicated. Things between Evan and Patrick were great for about half a musical number, that is until Evan found out that his “wife,” either Jessie Gasgoine, Megan Riegle, or Rachel Heffner, depending on the night of the weekend, tried to seduce Patrick because of his looks and charm.

Poor Patrick, playing the role of Joseph was not an easy task. Sold by his Lightshine brothers and imprisoned by the Pharaoh, and all only in the first act. At one point, things were so dismal that Patrick, from his makeshift jail cell, sang a song entitled “Close every door to me.” Here he confesses that he wants nothing to do with the world. He feels utterly unloved and thrown away. He is drowning in pain experienced from rejection and betrayal. The door of his heart has been slammed shut and when the curtain closes, we are left to wonder if it will ever be opened again.

Many of you remember Lightshine’s production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. You may not just remember it, you may still have props in your garage or in an upstairs closet as well as scars from set construction and costume design to prove your involvement. Whether you were a member of the church at the time or like me, a friend of a member of the church, none of us got away unscathed. There were infinite hours of dance rehearsal where the guys, normally soccer, baseball and cross country stars, were forced to perfect the can-can kick or learn all those many colors most of us had never even heard of like “azure” and “russet” which I still don’t know or “ochre” which I thought was a vegetable that should only be eaten fried with lots of condiments. I would bet that most of us could still get them all in the right order after days of Marilyn's repeated color drills.

In those weeks, we all became a part of Joesph’s story. And, while the miracle of the boys kicking at the same time all in the right direction on opening night after a pretty rocky dress rehearsal, seemed like the greatest triumph of the whole affair, these many years later, I have realized the lasting, profound impact this story has had on my life. It is one of the Bible’s finest examples of radical love, and, in this place, I was given the opportunity to participate in it. Joseph taught us, even as we sang and danced, that faithfulness and forgiveness go hand in hand. Being faithful to God means forgiving those who have hurt us, even when the pain that we have felt is so great that we would rather close off our heart altogether. Forgiveness is born out of radical love. Radical because it is risky and doesn’t make sense to the world. Radical because it requires the one who has been harmed to reach out with love nonetheless. We learned these things from Joseph as he reached out and saved his brothers from famine and death, those same brothers who had sold him into slavery years before.

Sometimes stories, even ones from the Bible, seem well and good in theory but in practice, in real life, we wonder how they could be possible? How are we supposed to live this kind of radical love in our lives? Many days, when I am struggling with this very question, knowing what I should do but feeling like I simply don’t have it in me to actually do it, I remember a friend a have in South Africa. I found out early in our acquaintance that her nephew had murdered her son. Once when I was at her house, she introduced me to a young man who she called her nephew. Surely, I thought to myself, this is not the nephew, the one who killed her boy. So, later I asked her. “Johanna, that boy, that nephew at your home, that’s not...” I didn’t even have to finish the question. Her face changed and in a moment of mixed anguish and love and with tears rolling down her face, she whispered, “Yes, yes it is.” For years, she has given him shelter and clothes and food and money for the doctor, this nephew who took her son’s life. “Why,” I must have asked her in my shock. “Because, I can’t help but remember Jesus needing a place to lay his head.” Radical love that is risky and painful will sooner bring you to your knees with grief than send you over the moon with feelings of bliss. But this is love.

I have been a preacher for three years and still am surprised most weeks when I read the lectionary text. More often than not, it feels as if I am reading the passage for the first time. This can’t be true, though, not officially at least, because I was required to read the whole bible when I was in seminary. While I will admit to skimming chunks of Leviticus and Chronicles and Numbers, I don’t remember skipping Romans! It’s one of the shorter books after all. But I have no memory of chapter 13? Surely I would have remembered these words, “Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. Every commandment is summed up in this word. Love your neighbor as yourself.” It’s a rephrasing of Jesus’ words in Matthew 22. When Jesus is asked, “Which commandment in the law is the greatest?’ He said, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Normally, I don’t have a lot of time for Paul. Perhaps wrongly, I give him a hard time because it seems like so many of his words are used by Christians to justify all that we seem to fight about in the church. Whether it is the roles or lack thereof of women in worship or the degree of sinfulness of a plethora of issues, homosexuality at the top of the list, Paul is more often used to divide the church than it is to bring it together. Encountering this text was just the wake up call that I needed, a reminder that bits and pieces of the Bible should never be used as a weapon to justify prejudice or hate. But all the commandments, the instruction given to us through this holy revelation are summed up in this word, “Love your neighbor as yourself. Love does no wrong to a neighbor, therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.”

Love is not about a feeling. It has little to do with emotion, at least according to Paul. Instead, it is about behavior. We know that we are loved not by what is said to us but by how we are treated. We love our neighbors through our actions, not by empty words. And Jesus has already told us who our neighbors really are. Not just those who share our pews or our opinions on politics, not just those who agree to believe in God the same way that we do, not just those who make love easy. But, Jesus says that any human being that we come into contact with, every single person, is our neighbor, family and friends of course, but also included are the strangers we meet, the person from the other side of town, the drivers of cars next to us on the road, and even our enemies. If we want to fulfill the law, if we desire to be faithful to God at all, we must do this first. We must commit to love before we move on to anything else.

Next month, I head to Afghanistan with a group of about 200 US soldiers. The 14th Military Intelligence battalion is one of two battalions in the Army whose main purpose is interrogating prisoners who are being detained by our government as are enemies of the United States. A few weeks ago, while reading through my specialized job description for Afghanistan, I came across a list of persons for whom I will provide religious support: US soldiers, US contractors, Allied soldiers and contractors, civilians, and detained persons.

Seeing this in writing caught me a little off guard. I had heard that, as a chaplain, I would be the only person from my unit with universal access to the prison. Up until that moment, I still figured that I would have little to do with them. After all, I am a young woman and a Christian. What would I have to offer 2000 Muslims being held by our government as terrorists? Paul’s letter to the Romans could not have come at a better time for me. It has been a reminder that even there in this prison where I will spend a year of my life, in a position where it is easy to conceive our side as good and their side as evil, that even there, I am called, as a chaplain and more importantly as a Christian to love. Though they may be marked as my enemies, they are nonetheless, my neighbors.

On most days I have no idea how I am going to do this. I have tried to pray for guidance, and I have asked others to pray for me, too. But I am still scared because I don’t know if I will be able to follow Jesus all the way into that prison. I don’t know if I can love them. As I stand here with you, my church family, I remember that I don’t go there alone. With knowledge of God’s radical love learned in this very place, I go, trusting that God is at work even there, sewing, creating, and nurturing a kingdom where friends and enemies look like one another. And, we are all called to be a part of it. Owe no one anything except to love. It’s not easy, nor is it safe, but it is the way of the cross.

The first scripture that I ever memorized was Psalm 23. It was what I said to myself whenever I was too afraid to fall asleep at night. For years it was the only part of the Bible I knew by heart. Looking at the psalm more closely, I have discovered that it is broken into three sections: our life on earth, our death, and our life after death. I have often puzzled with the first verse of the third section, the part about heaven. It says, “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.” It didn’t make sense to me. I thought that in heaven God would be preparing a place for me with all the people that I loved, not the people that I didn’t care for. Why did my enemies have to be present? As I have struggled to pray for my enemies, those who have hurt me, as I prepare to go to live in the midst of those who are called “enemy,” I have found great comfort in this verse.

What is being prepared for me by God, what is eternally waiting for all of us, is a place, a table, where we are in the presence of our enemies and we are not afraid. We have nothing to lose, nothing to guard. In this place where God is, there are no enemies. Where we have struggled to love, struggled to forgive, God is moving and working, binding every wound, smoothing every crack, softening every hard place. At God’s holy table, we will break bread together, friend and enemy and everyone between, taking part in a feast of love forever. This is God’s promise to us. So come, taste and see what the Lord has done. Amen.