First of all, an update.  I have had some friends writing to ask my wife how I’m doing over in Iraq.  I am not in Iraq.  I trained to go to Iraq, but the “needs of the Army” dictated that I stay in Richmond, Virginia, at our Division Headquarters for the year.  There was continuing talk about sending me over to join the deployed troops in Iraq, but that talk has subsided now and I’m fairly sure that my contribution to the Global War on Terrorism will be made from the United States.

My Division lost a Soldier two weeks ago.  We have a group of guys who run convoys in Baghdad.  They call themselves the “Rough Riders” and they transport high-level personnel in and around the Big City.  Unfortunately, this brave bunch got hit with an IED.  One was killed, three were wounded.  Just like that.

I was at lunch when it happened. 

It is a remarkable experience of mourning and loss.  For me, it meant gathering my stuff and relocating to where the family lived for awhile.  It meant beginning to get acquainted with this man, who just gave his life for his country; finding out how many children he has.  Finding out how much the family wants of me…I’m a Chaplain.  Being a Chaplain means that I am a minister and families love ministers at times of loss, but being a Chaplain also means I’m in the Army.  I show up in uniform.  You would think they would just want me to leave.  But they never do.

This man was also a Police Officer.  The outpouring of support was incredible.  The funeral was held at a large Roman Catholic Church in Maryland.  The graveside military honors were mine to extend, with the help of the Old Guard from Fort Myer in Washington, DC.  I did my best to honor his sacrifice.

This week is our preparation for Easter, and as I went through the process of loss—this process where a “casualty in Iraq” becomes an actual man, a man I knew, a man with a fiancé, a man with kids, and a house, and a car...—as I went through that process this week, one Biblical principle kept breaking into my confused and flustered head:  we participate in the sufferings of Christ.

Paul wrote, after listing a series of his own trials and sufferings in Second Corinthians, we “carry in our bodies the death of Jesus.”  Living day by day is somehow also a demonstration of dying—the death of Jesus.  The Passion of the Lord.  As we participate in a fallen world.  As we feel the effects of war.  As we suffer the little injustices and pricks and lashes of the nasty world around us.  The offense of an unjust boss.  The pain of a broken relationship.  The dull ache of unforgiven sin.  Day by day we bear in our bodies the death of Jesus—so that the life of Jesus can also shine through.  My Soldier was killed entirely, just trying to live and bring order to an unjust world.  We all somehow participate in the death of Jesus.

All that doesn’t mean this fellow was a saint.  He wasn’t.  I have to be careful not to get confused in my role as a Chaplain.  There is pressure to idolize the sacrificed Soldier.  He died for his country, so he’s a patriot, so he’s a martyr, so he’s a saint.  Patriotism and faith get quickly rolled together.  He was not a saint.  But we are none of us saints.  Not me, not you.  We all rely equally on the grace of Jesus Christ and that grace is sufficient for him, if it is sufficient for me. 

We participate in the sufferings of Christ.  Not to be dark, but death is at work in us.  We participate in death every day.  Where is our urgency to feel the power of the resurrection?  May the realization of our participation in the death of all things produce an immediate yearning to participate in the life, in the redemption, in the reconciliation—in the eternal life granted through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord.   Yes, death is at work in us, and around us, and even through us—but the life of Jesus is made manifest in our mortal flesh.  In this world you have tribulation, but be not afraid, for I have overcome the world.