Pistol-Packin’ Chaplain

One of the problems with having free reign over my chaplain’s duties was that I was new to everything:  the country, the Army, the ministry, the chaplaincy—I had no practical ideas about what I could or should do.  The Chaplain General, LtCol Norman Wood, was rarely in his office.  He and the other chaplain officers, were constantly on the go. 

The only person who seemed to take an interest in my development was another chaplain-sergeant who would occasionally stop by the office during one of his call-ups.  Stan Hannan, now a Baptist pastor in Florida, took on the difficult task of my chaplaincy education and development.  

As assistant chaplains with only the rank of sergeant, we were rarely called upon for the serious casualty notifications.  That was the sad duty of the officers who were ordained and, in theory, prepared for counseling in time of tragedy.  As assistant chaplains, we delivered the casualty notifications of illnesses and minor injuries that were unlikely to be life threatening.

Before venturing out on my own, I accompanied Stan for a casualty notification.  I remember riding out to the Hatfield suburb of Salisbury and standing at Stan’s side as he knocked on the door at the home of a soldier who had come down with some sort of food poisoning.  We knew that we were not bringing tragic news, but when the soldier’s wife saw us at the door with our purple and black stable belts (4” wide colored belts that signified different units), the blood drained from her terrified face.  We quickly assured her that her reservist husband’s condition was not life threatening, but it took a cup of tea and a thirty minute conversation to help her regain her equilibrium.

As we drove back to our office, Stan told me of how he had accompanied Col Wood for a casualty notification.  The woman had the front gate to her home locked and when she saw the purple and black belts on Norman and Stan, she passed out.  They could not reach her because of the locked gate.  The moral of the story:  You never know what to expect when you show up at someone’s door as a chaplain.

One thing that I was encouraged to do was to make hospital visits.  I made a few of these visits, but I was very timid about this.  I don’t know if I was intimidated by the protocol of the hospital itself, not knowing what to say to these wounded soldiers, or my own feeling of failure for not having completed my training and serving in combat.  I suspect it was the latter that held me back, but I rarely found time to visit.  To this day, I feel shame and regret about that one simple thing that I could of and did not do often enough.

Strangely, I didn’t mind the casualty notifications.  Maybe it was because I could masquerade as a “real” soldier when visiting family, but knew that my disguise would not work with wounded soldiers.

I covered up my own weakness and failure to push through the pain of my ankle injury by affecting a tough persona.  I talked the talk of soldiers, something I had picked up at Berachah Church, cursing so freely that Col Wood had to ask me to tone it down! 

Jeff, I know that in America you have some cigar-smoking, gruff-talking Christians.  But, the other chaplains here are not accustomed to that type of behavior.  If you could watch the language when you are in the office, that would be best.  It is alright for you to speak like that when with the RLI troopers, but tone it down here please.

I agreed to moderate my language, but there was more than language to my act!  Of course, all of the chaplains carried weapons.  This was a war that exempted no one.  I was issued a 9mm semi-auto pistol which I sometimes tucked into my stable belt.  I was quite a sight on my camo-painted Army-issued Yamaha motorcycle, especially with my Uzi submachine gun strapped across my back.  My new RP corporal buddy at RLI named me “The Pistol-packin’ Chaplain.”

With only casualty notifications to keep me occupied during the day, I was getting bored.  I couldn’t just sit around the office all day reading my Bible or getting in theological debates with the other chaplain assistants doing their national service.  So, I began to reach out to those I had met who seemed to show an interest in bible doctrine.

I am not sure how we first contacted Dave and Kinny Phelps, but they had discovered Thieme’s books and tapes.  They invited Pegi and me to their home for dinners and teas where we would talk about bible doctrine and Rhodesian politics. 

Kinny’s brother was a Member of Parliament (MP) and a founding member of the Rhodesian Action Party (RAP).  RAP positioned itself as the opposition to Prime Minister Ian Smith’s Rhodesian Front.  However, they were the conservative opposition to a conservative leader.  We quickly learned that there was no organized liberal opposition in Rhodesia.  The RAP saw Smith’s drift toward conciliation with the blacks as a departure from the standards by which he was elected and led the country to UDI (Unilateral Declaration of Independence) in 1964. 

Initially, Pegi and I found ourselves in sympathy with the more conservative stance of the RAP.  This was the first time we began to question the direction of the Smith government.  Although we were questioning his government from the “right,” questions led to more questions as we began to examine the assumptions that we had made in coming to Rhodesia in the first place.  We began to be disillusioned with the waning purpose and what we saw as compromising positions of the government and many of the Rhodesian people.

But, because questions lead to questions, this would eventually cause us to wonder about the entire Rhodesian endeavor, especially as we began to see evidence of real discrimination against the black African population.

Next:  The Return of the Wondering Wanderer