ACNS 4168 | MIDDLE EAST | 21 JULY 2006
Dispatches from the Iraqi desert
By Stuart Kenworthy
The Rev. Stuart Kenworthy, rector of Christ Church, Georgetown, took leave from his parish in January to serve as an Army chaplain with the 372nd Military Police Battalion in Iraq. Kenworthy, who holds the rank of major, ministers to members from all branches of the service. He is expected to return from Iraq in August. This is an excerpt from one of his regular dispatches to his congregation.
I recently concluded an eight-week Bible study on the Book of Genesis. Gathering with troops each Wednesday evening here in our small Battalion Chapel, we read and discussed large portions of this first and foundational book of the Bible. It contains the story of our beginning journey of faith with God. Reading the Abrahamic saga of promise and fulfilment, covenant and striving that began almost 4,000 years ago in the land where we are located added an immediacy and wonder that fuelled and opened our imaginations. We thrilled to open maps and see that the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers forming this fertile plain which we now call home is the same place from which Abraham heard the voice of God speak to him from beyond time and call him to a whole new future.
Now the lord said to Abram, Get out of your country, >From your family To a land that I will show you. I will make you a great nation; I will bless you And make your name great; And you shall be a blessing And in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.
And then, in the words of one scholar, two of the most profound and revolutionary words in all of the Bible appear: Abram departed.
And thus began a journey of the human family that continues right into the life we now share in God. And for us, that covenant and promise has been fulfilled supremely in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and in his promise to come again in that time for which we yearn when there will be only perfect justice, peace and joy; that time when God will call all creation unto himself and "will be all in all."
The sounds of those words speak to a deep longing in the human heart. In the meantime, in this place where I write, they intersect with a whole new array of sounds to which I am just becoming accustomed. Sounds that make a new backdrop for reality daily and nightly, and speak their own language of longing for that "Day of the Lord."
From the first day here at Camp Liberty I realized that this new "home"
was going to take some getting used to! We are adjacent to Baghdad International Airport, called BIAP by everyone here. In fact it seems everything, everyone, and all day-to-day life is encased in a lexicon of acronyms. I knew some before arrival, but they can be quite intimidating when you actually want to know what someone is telling you. I'm not afraid to interrupt and ask for an explanation. And I cannot contain a smile when they fumble around for an answer or admit they don't really know either! After a while you can approximate the new ones as you go, or at least act like you know what is being said. I've heard sentences put together where every third word is an acronym. As I am able to understand more and more with greater ease it is sort of exciting. I've never been proficient at learning a "new language" until now.
The sounds of fixed-wing aircraft overhead is a good sound. BIAP is the connection in and out of this country to the world, and an active one. A good sign, I think. There are commercial jets that daily fly within the Middle East and beyond. There are also C-130s, C-17s and other military planes, each with their very distinctive engines that drive them quickly upward with every ascent and power them though corkscrew landings that keep them over safe air space and less likely to encounter any surface-to-air fire.
The helicopters that crisscross our installation 24 hours a day are much more frequent. At night they all fly with no lights. There are three or four active helicopter pads on this installation. I can now not only distinguish the different sounds of a Blackhawk, Apache and CH-47 (Chinook), I can distinguish the way they feel as well! At night it seems the favoured flight path for the mammoth double-rotored CH-47s is right over my quarters. Everybody else in the vicinity probably feels the same way, too. But I can be lying in bed reading and as they lumber overhead (and you can hear their approaching deep and resonant thump, for quite some time) they literally cause everything to move from side to side - bed, book, quarters (a trailer) and reader! Most the time this is not a big deal, but they can be annoying when it sounds like they remain hovering over your trailer in the middle of the night.
When the wind is just right you can hear the distant sound of a muezzin calling the Muslim faithful to prayer from outside the installation. That is always preferable to the sounds of incoming indirect fire which I'm just starting to differentiate. The other day there was the most unusual sound of a very loud screaming whining wind that lasted about 10 seconds. It sounded like something had flown right over our heads. It turned out to be a rocket that landed about 150 meters away, drove itself into the ground and then moved horizontally (underground) before blowing up. The blast we could not hear, thankfully. Because if we had it would have been disastrous since it landed only 10 feet from the Troop Medical Center. The building was evacuated and everyone was shaken, but feeling very fortunate. There was some chaplaincy work to do, moving among clusters of troops outside the cordoned TMC while the impact site was being investigated.
We hear Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) going off almost daily with some regularity, just outside the walls of our camp. Sometimes there are loud explosions that are called controlled detonations, usually large caches of ordnance found and disposed of by U.S. forces. These scheduled detonations are well posted and distributed, but some of us can't seem to integrate that data and still jump with each explosion wondering, friendly or not? Incoming mortar rounds are routine but nonetheless jolting to the senses. I remember one of the first nights here when a mortar round came in and landed about 300 meters from our Tactical Operation Center and my own quarters. I jumped about a foot off the ground.
Almost nightly, explosions are the rule whether they are inside or outside the camp. "I=m never going to get used to this," I thought early in my time here. About a month later I was lying in my bunk late one night, reading, and heard a very full explosion with a sort of rolling thunder sound to it. It was a big one, whatever it was. For the first time, without the usual jump or start, I paused, tried to figure out what kind it might be, thanked God I heard it (rather than the alternative), turned to the next page and continued reading. Guess I might make the necessary adjustments after all! This is a strange new reality. But I don't mean to make light of any of this. These are frightening experiences. When we receive fire within a couple of hundred meters or so we take it very personally. And everyone is reminded of the reality of where we are.
On another occasion early on I was standing all alone in a pitch black night watching the stars and thinking about this new life and work in Iraq. All of a sudden there were in the distance red streaks in the sky reminiscent of the Fourth of July. This went on for about 30 seconds. A couple moments later with the sound of stones underfoot (they are everywhere) I heard a soldier passing close by. "This question can asked anonymously under cover of total darkness," I thought. "Excuse me, did you just happen to see all those red streaks in the sky over by Antenna Hill?" "Sure did," he replied, and without pausing in step or missing a beat he continued on his way saying, "Don't worry, Chaplain, you're not gonna die." Somewhat flummoxed I thought, "Now how did he know who I was?" And with that, detected that he was holding his sides with laughter as he disappeared into complete darkness. I retreated to my quarters for the night.
Day and night there has been a whole new world of sounds to adjust to. Vehicles large and small traverse the installation: Five-ton trucks, semi-trucks carrying the ever-expanding numbers of concrete bunkers and the endless river of supplies that it takes to keep this 25,000-troop installation up and active. There also are water trucks, sanitation trucks, food trucks, road graders, SUVs, Armoured Service Vehicles, and these very strange larger vehicles with all sorts of extension arms and apparatus that go around searching for IEDs. And always, there are the ever-present rolling convoys of up-armoured humvees rolling in every direction. That is how the bulk of our troops move on their many missions day and night. There are (by requirement) always a minimum of four in any movement. And you know they are going "outside the wire" because there are four personnel in each vehicle in "full battle rattle" (body armour) with a gunner who sits atop able to swing a 50 calibre machine gun 360 degrees. On the back of these vehicles are large signs with bright red and green letters in English and Arabic that read, "Extreme Danger - Stay Back 100 Meters."
I've been in these convoys between here and Fallujah, Ar Ramadi, and the International Zone, formerly known as the Green Zone. There is an elaborate process to departing from the installation. You just don't get in and ride off. (You won't believe this but an explosion just went off quite close by. Nobody seems to be moving differently, so I'm back to writing!) There are pre-convoy briefings that last 20 minutes or so discussing route designation, route security, rules of engagement, time lines, communication channels, battle gear, contingency plans for any attacks, and on and on. And if I am going with them I usually offer a prayer with all gathered round. Once in the vehicle there is another series of checks to which everyone must respond. The right side soldier (front seat) conducts this. "Seat belts?" Check. "Eye protection?" Check. "Ear protection?" Check. "Weapons?" Check. Not hearing all four voices I am asked, "Weapons, Chaplain? Oh, sorry, I forgot." "That's right," I reply," you're my protection." And then under my breath I whisper, "God be with us as we go."
The trip to our Entry Control Point seems to take a long time. This installation is very large. There are perhaps seven ECPs. Near our point of departure from the camp there is a large sign alongside the dusty road, "Deadly Force in Effect - Load Weapons." The convoy stops. Everyone gets out but me and all you hear up and down the line are the metal clicks and snaps of ammunition clips and bolts as people lock and load their weapons. Then it is on to the next check point where a guard looks at a manifest of everyone in each vehicle. The presence of tall guard towers and high walls signal that we are close to our line of departure. Then it is on to one more last guard point where any last minute checks are made and the convoy begins to pick up speed.
Once you have "broken the wire" and security of the camp, the sound of radios crackling with transmissions begins, with all eyes reporting any movement around us, both pedestrian and vehicular. The driver and right side rider and gunner are all connected by headphones for easy communication. The sounds of the roaring engine, air conditioner, radio transmissions and voices within the vehicle all make that necessary. The vehicles are in a constant state of radio communication with each other. Tactical distances are observed as well as evasive manoeuvres around underpasses and other places with high incidents of IED attacks or snipers. The sirens are intermittently sounded along with strong and practiced hand signals by the gunner (who is sticking out of the top of the hummer) to move other vehicles away from our path. If that does not work there is a microphone which can broadcast warnings to anyone approaching the convoy too closely.
Vehicle-borne IEDs are one of the big threat in these scenarios. They simply pull up along side and detonate. They are generally very large blasts because they are packed to the hilt with large ordnance. And then as we speed along toward our destination all eyes - chaplain included - scan every sector looking for anything that could bring immediate threat or danger. I have been amazed how calm I have felt throughout these missions and not sure whether to attribute it to inexperience or a deeper and abiding trust in God's protection. Both could be true. I hope that question will not be tested to further limits, but that is always possible.
The return trip is all of the above described, in reverse, except for the palpable sense of relief and even exhilaration that comes with being back inside the walls of safety. And lastly and most importantly, there is the sound of a whispered prayer of thanks for safe passage out and back.
Two last sounds to share. One was after a night of several explosions of indirect fire. The next morning I emerged from my quarters into the early morning light. Standing near the entrance and taking all this in I heard the most delicate and sweet sounds of some chirping birds. They were just a few feet away and did not seem to be bothered by my presence. They continued to chirp and it seemed to be playing with one another. It must have been a full minute that I stood there transfixed by this sight and their happy sounds. "Guess they don't know there is a war going on," I thought. They seemed so utterly happy to simply be with each other on that beautiful day. It was a lovely greeting from our Lord in a place that is short on loveliness. And they continue to commence their chirping each morning in the same place! It is a wonderful sound to which to awaken. They don't know it but they are my new friends!
And finally, the last sounds I want to share with you are ones I both voice and hear every Saturday evening at 1730 and every Sunday afternoon at 1300. "The Lord be with you..." The clink of a glass decanter as wine is poured, the sound of God's holy word being read, prayers for loved ones, wounded soldiers, peace in this place all being offered to God, the Creed - our old friend, the Creed - confession of our sins, forgiveness, the Body of Christ, the Blood of Christ.
These are sounds that bring comfort and strength with an immediacy and intimacy that is almost overwhelming when expressed and heard here. They have the power to make any place on God's good earth become home. And they do so here right in Baghdad, amid the struggle of and with these good people who dearly want to take their land and destiny back into their own hands; who want a peace that offers freedom and security; who want everything you and I want for ourselves and our loved ones, but must now struggle and endure to attain.
Yet these sacred sounds and words also speak of another home, another time, and another peace and hope that is grounded in our faith and God. It is a deep and abiding sense that this struggle, too, will one day pass. That in truth all things will pass, God will judge, and fill all things with his light and love, giving us all the peace and justice and security that the world can never give, and given for all eternity.
All will be well. All will be well. Thanks be to God.
Article from:
Washington Window Vol. 75, No. 8, July/August 2006 http://www.edow.org/news/window/julyaug2006/kenworthy.htm By Stuart Kenworthy
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