Something about being in uniform seems to bring me back to church. And it's not the usual blessmelordsoIdon'tgetshot thing. It's more about finding a small escape, a little bit of peace amid the rumbling humvees, the screaming jets, and all the guns (although I do take a pistol to mass).
This base is terribly ugly. All old soviet bunkers, cheap wooden huts, barbed wire and diesel fumes. But the Chapel here is lovely. It's a big, airy, white building with wooden floors, comfy chairs, and exposed rafters. It's even decorated for Christmas right now. The priests are an old polish guy with coke bottle glasses and a younger East African firebrand. They're both great. They both wear camouflage and combat boots under their robes. The band is surprisingly cool. They've got a choir with a couple of angel voiced female sailors, an old-school choir director who strums his little guitar with kumbaya earnestness, and a guitar and bass player who sound like they're trying out for the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It's weird, but moving after a long week.
I'll admit that I find it a little hard to pray sometimes. I'll get into the groove and my mind starts wandering -- good music, good people, good times. But I figure the Big Guy's not jealous, and I imagine he'd smile to think of the love between my family, my friends, and me. When I do settle in for a little prayer, I thank him for the people in my life, asks that he keep them safe, and ask that he helps them not worry about me. It's all about finding a little peace.
1 comment:
I've been assuming that eventually I'll respond to your earnestness with a heartfelt post- as opposed to my usual semi-sarcasm. But. . ."the band"????
Jesus Christ! literally. . .
On the other hand, moments of peace are surely especially important where you are, and your esteemed colleagues probably don't view yoga too tolerantly. . .
So rock on with Jesus!
And gey gezunteh heit, as my people would say.
Limes
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