since 3/25/04
The declaration of the time in personal history when I gave my life to Jesus Christ is difficult to pinpoint as I was a culturally indoctrinated, Irish Catholic lad who was educated in Catholic Schools -- elementary and collegiate. We questioned little. The Dominican nuns who were my teachers and spiritual mentors always taught me to model my life after our Lord Savior Jesus Christ, as did my parents and aunts and uncles, all of with whom I was raised under one roof in Dixon, Illinois. My Grandpa Gorham built the church, Saint Patrick’s; my Mom played the organ; my aunt was a principal at Saint Mary’s School; my grandma said the rosary daily and my uncle was in the choir. I was an altar boy. There were no religious options in my clan. As a child I attended Mass daily and worked hard to incorporate my catechism studies and their Bible-based stories into my daily life. Lots of gold stars were earned during this era. Remember, I had more than a few adults to please!
My faith life was rooted early on and those seeds continue to enrich me to this day. I remember well my confirmation at 13 years old when I chose to become a “Soldier for Christ.” I then became active in youth activities including Boy Scouts, Knights of Columbus baseball and the Junipero Serra Club. I had always felt (to a point) that my faith in the Christ of the Resurrection was a matter of growth and maturity over time, not an inoculation against the evil of the secular world.
Pretty solid roots eh? Well, so it seemed on the surface. Until one day I had the first of a series of “burning bush” revelations, this first being that my years of Catholic education so blanketed my existence that I nearly ran right over the fruits of the Spirit.
Right after high school, my youthful pilgrimages surfing up and down the California coast and hitch-hiking across America just about squelched the Holy Spirit. And, oh yeah, the drugs and alcohol. What powerful potions of the Devil they are! Me and James Dean had a lot in common, except that my motto became “Rebel In Search of a Cause.” Then came NAM! How interesting that the United States Marine Corps was right there to fill that vacuum and yearning for a cause. Man, are they well rehearsed at providing young men with a cause! They know how to fill that hole in your heart with great efficiency. In no time at all I am stamped with a new identity -- United States Marine. I loved it. It fit so well for a lad who knew nothing but blind authority as a child. Just replace the priest and nuns with a captain and a gunny!! They knew how to mete out manhood, one teenager at a time.
I bought the boat on December 3rd, 1967. On another December 3rd, in 1968, my Hill was penetrated during Operation Meade River in the Nam. Quite ironically, the same day 34 years later, I entered a PTSD Treatment program in Tucson, Arizona.
Once that manhood was awarded after Camp Pendleton, the young reverent altar boy was now a lean mean killing machine with a new reverence for life and death. I was clearly “morphed’ and bequeathed that cause for which I had such a penchant to find. Nonetheless, the cause was a little different than what the good nuns had taught us.
My early childhood respect for authority resulted in quick promotions and its consequent responsibilities. Squad Leader; Forward Observer; 1st Marines 7th Regiment 68-69; CAP Unit Volunteer at Quang Nam Province, Arizona Territory, Dodge City and Charlie Ridge. No organs playing here. I believe this is where I lost the fruits of the spirit. My duffel bag of parochial education was depleted.
While my Christian shield remained intact, my faith life pretty much deteriorated as the pubs of America replaced the pews. That is where we vets were understood. While my theological grasp remained in the wings, I swear the Holy Spirit went on sabbatical.
Then one fateful Sunday, a few months after my marriage to my angelic wife Lydia, I was listening to a sermon by a Lutheran pastor; Ron Lavin, and I grasped, for the first time, the full meaning of Martin Luther’s term, sola fila (by faith alone). I just knew at that moment that I was to be a “stand-up Christian” without the props of the Roman Catholic Church. I knew at that time that for most of my life I had been blindly guided by the principle of good works and the ancillary blessings that they brought. Being saved by faith alone was a simple idea to me, not a biblical and spiritual truth to be lived out.
The old phrase “understanding is the booby prize” really fit, because I understood my faith but did not allow it to infuse my life. Why? Because, contrary to what I stated earlier, I had thought I was inoculated as a youth via the sacraments. Wrong! There was no acceptance of Jesus, just adulation. Little did I know that my addiction to good works was clashing with the numbness of Vietnam. PTSD meets Altar Boy. They did battle for my soul for nigh onto 30 years. Both PTSD and the Altar Boy lost and Faith won!
I sought treatment for the post traumatic stress in 1999 and have since spent most of my waking hours with fellow Veterans of War.
In yet another serendipitous twist of fate, I attended a function in Arizona called “Base Camp,” where Point Man has a presence every year. At this wonderful place in the desert, I learned from a man named Don Weaver (82 years old, former WWll POW, now deceased) that there is another way of dealing with the demons of war. It is as simple as not worshiping them as false idols. What a twist! You place Jesus in the squad with unconditional love that comes as a promise (like boot camp) and bingo, I am a “Soldier of Christ, just as I professed at 13 years old, but absent the anxiety, rubrics and obsession with good works! How prophetic! Thank you, Point Man! Riding with agape is a nice way to travel.
As most all of you know, Nam did not exactly leave us with a feeling of having accomplished good works, ergo, the guilt was huge for the old altar boy. Yet, when on that day at Base Camp I opened the Bible with Don Weaver and Bill Fort to read Matthew 9:2 “Son be of good cheer, thy sins be forgiven thee” . . . . I will prove that I am the Son of Man and have the authority on earth to forgive sins,” it felt like my grandfather was talking to me. It is no wonder the Native Americans refer to God as “Grandfather.” It seems to penetrate your soul. So, now I am a soldier of Christ, I do not have to perform good works for grace, AND I AM FORGIVEN! What a feast!
Everything that Jesus said and did showed that sin had no hold over Him, and because of His death on the cross, sin need not have any power over me.
Paul tells us that we have been buried with Christ through baptism and that we will rise in fullness. No mention of doing anything. That is called the liberation of a Catholic Marine! The sin that may be alive in me is only in the form of idols and I can ask them to vacate. The thoughts of war are now just a bad tenant. I will not renew the lease!
Counting myself dead to sin and dead to the idols of war is not something I did nor have to plan to do in the future. It is something that God has already done for me. It is a promise: “Anyone who hears my Word and believes Him who sent me, has eternal life and does not come under judgment, but has passed from death to life.” John 5:24. There ain’t no Gunny Sergeant or nun who can promise that. So that pretty much handles the Nam guilt for me.
Henceforth the Holy Spirit has become a true source of my daily breath. I am touched with a fire that lights my dormant possibilities that the Vietnam War locked in a vault.
A life in the Spirit seems to align me with the stars and the planets, the trees and the lakes, and sparks in my heart a love of God that is accompanied with an energy that is boundless. The Spirit comes from nowhere, bringing light and connections with people and places that can only be described as grace resulting from sola filia. It is God who has graced me with the necessary tools to help meet the needs of other vets and it is God who responds to their needs with me as a simple messenger. Grace seeks us out. I cannot seem to will it to come forth. But I can leave the door open for a visit. In hindsight, I can see that grace came to visit in times of turmoil, failure, conflict, boredom, addiction and financial crisis. God is relentless in my life. He penetrates my rebellion and my oftentimes daily fear of surrender. He persists with the unconditional offer of self-disclosure. In the face of my intractable self-sufficiency and my illusion of independence, the Holy Spirit descends upon me requesting communion with my soul.
In that moment of surrender and communing with my Source, I know that it is my Life Mission to spread the very special gift of grace into the midst of my fellow Veterans.
The trust, compassion, forgiveness and encouragement gifted to me can only stay alive by using the essence of my humanity to bring forth the core of Divinity in us all.
It is through the grace of God that I have understood that my weakness and vulnerability made me receptive to the influence of my Maker.
“In our weakness we come to our full strength” ---Saint Paul
That is the way of the Warrior and that is why I am a Point Man for Christ.
Point Man International Ministries
since 3/25/04