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I’m sure most of you have watched, or at least heard of, Band of Brothers, that HBO classic depicting the soldiers of Easy Company, 506 Regt, 101 Airborne Div. The first time I watched the mini-series, I was spell-bound. I still am – and I’ve watched it half a dozen times. It’s a staple at this time of year. The cast portray the rigors and comradery of life in a close-knit unit with great sensitivity, attention to detail, and verisimilitude.
Padre (Major) Howard Rittenhouse – File Photo
I remember watching when it was first broadcast in 2001, and wondering how such young men endured first the training (a three mile run up a mountain and three miles down all the while with their company commander yelling, “High-ho, Silver!”?!), and then D-Day, and then the other actions (especially Bastogne). They were only 18, 20, 22 (the same age as my oldest son now). I couldn’t imagine being that age and seeing what they saw and doing what they did. I still can’t.
There’s one scene in particular that stands out for me, though. It’s in the days after D-Day and Easy Company is moving to link up with the units pushing off of the invasion beaches. On the outskirts of Carentan, they’re held down by withering machine gun fire; the men take cover in roadside ditches and behind trees. But Lt. Winters, their new company commander – standing in the middle of road in plain sight and with no thought for his own safety– chivvies and cajoles his men up and into the town. And they go.
As they move from house to house, sniper fire coming from upper stories, machine gun nests in every window – and Death striding among them – several of the men stop and stare. In the middle of the street stands one man heedless of the gunfire. He moves calmly and purposefully, without haste or apparent worry. It’s their Roman Catholic chaplain. He’s never named and – to my knowledge – never seen again in the series. He stops at each of the wounded, kneels beside every dead trooper, and provides what spiritual comfort and aid he can. He prays with, and for, them. He hears their confessions said in voices edged in fear, barely audible among the crackle of bullets and cacophony of explosions. There is nothing more important than that soldier at that moment as he stands balanced on the edge of eternity.
It’s only a few moments, and then the action moves on. The soldiers of Easy Company who have seen this are incredulous. They’re frightened – and they have rifles, grenades, and machine guns with which to defend themselves. This chaplain had nothing but a Bible and a stole – and his faith. But faith doesn’t stop bullets; it doesn’t protect one from shrapnel.
Now, I don’t know if I could do what that chaplain did in Carentan (and frankly, I don’t like some of you enough even to walk across the street let alone step in front of live fire, but that’s another issue). But the example of that nameless chaplain is both an inspiration and a rebuke to me. Could I move under fire with eternal purpose in my mind? Could I act with determined faith – even should it cause my death? Would I be a source of comfort and grace, of solace and peace to the wounded and dying? It may surprise some of you to hear thoughts like these from a sarcastic curmudgeon like me, but I’m deeper than you may think, and faith – and service to you and to God – is what and Who called me to the military.
I don’t have easy answers to these questions. There are no easy answers to the questions most worth asking. But they are worth the struggle, they’re worth the work, they’re worth wrestling with.
