God & War - Five who found faith

[darrels joy]

Five who found faith

These service members' spirituality was profoundly strengthened by their experiences in Iraq.

It is said there are no atheists in foxholes. In a literal sense, of course, that isn't the case; the Military Association of Atheists and Freethinkers is an active, online resource for non-religious people in the military. Still, the presence of faith is strong in the armed services, especially in wartime. With that in mind, USA WEEKEND recently found men and women who have served in Iraq -- people whose spirituality has been profoundly strengthened by their experiences there -- and listened to their stories. Some rediscovered faith that had been missing from their lives. Others arrived in Iraq with an active religious life and gained a greater sense of God through their experiences. All, however, strongly believe the war has made them better, more enlightened people.

NAME/RANK/AGE: Staff Sgt. Edward Parker Gyokeres, 30
HOMETOWN: Howell, Mich.
IN IRAQ: 10 seconds of repentance in midair.

I can't really say one particular experience in Iraq has brought me closer to God. No, being here has been a long journey, defined by seemingly random but, in the end, connected episodes. And each one has opened my eyes just a little bit more.

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"I'm no longer ashamed to say my strength comes directly from my faith in God."
-- Staff Sgt. Edward Parker Gyokeres
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I was religious as a teen, active in youth ministry. But after joining the military in 1992, I fell into a lifestyle that led me off the track. That changed in Iraq. It began when I arrived in November 2003. My first hour there came far too close to being my last hour. Serving with the Air Force as an escort for Iraqis who worked on my base, we entered Iraqi airspace and began our descent into Balad, a notorious locale called "Anaconda" by the Army guys. In other words, it wasn't Barbados, folks.

It's unclear what happened, but our C-130 plane had to descend to avoid danger. We were doing some serious dodging and weaving, then fell like a stone to the relative safety of land. Within 10 seconds, we'd know whether we were in the clear or not. If the worst happened, I had 10 seconds to sort out my life. All I could think of was that I was going to make my wife, Tina, a widow on my first day in Iraq. The seconds ticked by, and I had more questions, yet no answers:

Was I the best person I could have been?
Will I get a chance to do better?

Ten seconds passed: Time's up. We fell onto the airfield. I bit my tongue, noticed blood and laughed to myself, realizing I had to be alive to taste it. We were OK. Then, realizing that we could meet with trouble if we stuck around, we made it back to the runway and quickly got airborne again. I needed a beer, but I was a long way from getting one. And it wasn't a beer, ultimately, that filled the void I had ignored for so long.

For weeks after, I encountered scene after scene of horror. In Nasiriyah, the Italian mission headquarters was attacked. There were so many casualties, they treated the injured in a hospital parking lot. Then, I was in Tallil when an Iraqi ambulance pulled in with a critically wounded man. His hands were stumps. All of his wounds were infected. He had no chance.

A medic climbed inside to comfort him. She silently prayed for him. Four of the injured man's companions were there. They wanted to know what our medic was doing. "She's trying to help your brother by praying," our interpreter told them. They began to laugh. The interpreter then asked, "Where is your faith?" With that, the men stopped laughing, knelt in the direction of Mecca and prayed. The power of the scene shook me to my core. It helped redefine my trust in God, whom I was struggling to understand because of the things I had seen.

Since then, my spiritual exploration has continued. I no longer ask why my life has extended beyond those 10 seconds in the air. I don't need to understand why things happen. A power exists, one that is getting me through time after time of man at his worst, and helping me contribute to acts that represent man at his best. As a younger man, I would have said faith has nothing to do with who I am. Now I'm no longer ashamed to say my strength comes directly from my faith in God.

As the year ended, we celebrated Christmas in a liberated country. Never mind that I was spending my first Christmas apart from my wife. We packed our tiny chapel, singing "Silent Night" by candlelight. I quietly cried. I turned around and saw everyone was doing the same.

NAME/RANK/AGE: Cpl. Damien Luten, 25
HOMETOWN: Indianapolis
IN IRAQ: Proud he ministered to fellow soldiers.

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"Once the gunfire started, I prayed and never stopped. Then I was shot in the knee. I screamed out to Jesus to ease my pain."

-- Cpl. Damien Luten
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I never want to appear overbearing about faith; it's just that I have a strong spiritual side, and it comes out when I speak. In Iraq, I served as an Army supply clerk with the 507th Maintenance Company from Fort Bliss, Texas, and my devotion was well-known. When a chaplain was asked to come speak to my company in March 2003 but couldn't make it, my supervisors asked me to do it instead. I was flattered. At the time, there was one young man I counseled. He had been lost and wanted to find God again. I tried to help, but before long, battles interrupted, and I lost track of him.

The 507th is the company former POW Jessica Lynch served with. We were supply-and-maintenance people. On March 23, our convoy made a wrong turn into Nasiriyah and ended up in an ambush. Thirty-three U.S. servicemen and -women were caught in the middle: Eleven were killed, six were captured, and nine were wounded but not captured.

I was one of the nine.

Once the gunfire started, I prayed and never stopped. Then I was shot in the knee. I screamed out to Jesus to ease my pain. After an hour, the Marines got us the cover we needed. But it's been a long road to recovery. And God has been with me every step of the way.

Walter Reed Army Medical Center doctors in Washington told me that they might cut my leg off, that it was badly infected and could get worse. Then they were amazed at the "mysterious" recovery. The infection just went away. It was no mystery to me: God healed my leg.

I've been through nine surgeries, with more to come. I was told I wouldn't walk again, or that I'd need crutches or a cane. Today, I can walk a few steps at a time without assistance. I know someday I'll walk around as I did before. For every diagnosis the doctors have given, God has provided another.

And I found out what happened to that young man who needed my counseling before the ambush: He went through with what he sought; he was baptized in Iraq. He told a reporter he couldn't have done it without my words of support. Then he served on that ill-fated convoy to Nasiriyah. He didn't make it. It fills my heart with pride that I did what I could for him, to help him find his way. I know he's in heaven now.

NAME/RANK/AGE: Spc. Joe Kashnow, 25
HOMETOWN: Baltimore
IN IRAQ: Rifle at his side, he donned his prayer shawl.

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"I got grief because I wouldn't exercise on the Sabbath."
-- Spc. Joe Kashnow
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Being an Orthodox Jew in the military has presented some complications. There are only an estimated 1,500 Jewish soldiers in the Army, which has nearly 500,000 active members. (That's 1,500 who identify themselves as such to the Army; there are those who choose not to.) Serving with the 4th Infantry Division, based out of Fort Carson, Colo., I was deployed with members of my division on April 3, 2003. When we got to Kuwait, I realized the kosher MREs ("meals ready to eat") I had packed were missing. It took six weeks to have replacement meals sent over.

Then one time, I wouldn't exercise on a Friday night and got some grief -- granted, from just one guy -- but it was the start of the Sabbath. I also need to pray three times a day, and that could be difficult. Still, I did it when I could, getting up early many days to put on my prayer shawl and other traditional items and do what I needed to do. Sometimes I had my rifle next to me, which seemed strange. I even did my prayers in Saddam's second wife's house -- I'll bet he'd be less than thrilled about that! But it was important to me to honor my traditions.

Before long, we were assisting as troops took control of Baghdad. We'd set up in an observation post and look out for anyone who intended to harm our troops. We'd also go out in a light vehicle, in advance of a convoy, to scout out the area to make sure it was clear.

That's what I was doing on Sept. 17, when I was wounded. I was driving north of Baghdad when a bomb exploded near our Humvee. I broke both bones in my calf, and two of my arteries were severely damaged. But I kept control of the vehicle. I had to. Everyone was depending on me.

Although the bleeding was bad, I am expected to make a reasonable recovery. I'll be grateful to be able to walk without assistance. I never believed I would die. I felt God had decided it wasn't my time. Everything I went through to maintain my traditions and faith, and the miracle of surviving something that was intended to kill me, has deepened my commitment to God. While recovering, I met a guy who told me that he was wounded driving his truck over an anti-tank mine. An anti-tank mine? And he was still alive? That isn't something you see every day. He was meant to stay alive for a reason.

Today, while focused on getting better, I've started my own non-profit group, the Jewish Soldier Foundation (jewishsoldier.org), to help others dealing with the same situations. With donations, we work to get shipments of kosher foods to Iraq for holidays such as Passover. And we're lobbying Congress so we can get the bare minimum of accommodations for Jewish men and women serving their country, like allowing them to have the Sabbath off while based at home. That's what it's all about: serving your God and your country.

NAME/RANK/AGE: Capt. Idongesit Essiet, 32
HOMETOWN: Silver Spring, Md.
IN IRAQ: Newlywed soldier feels more blessed than ever.

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"I realize I'm intensely involved in God's work."
-- Capt. Idongesit Essiet
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What a remarkable journey I've made in the last year. My husband, Joseph Gibson, a native of Liberia, and I were married on Aug. 17, 2002, in a traditional church wedding in the United States. Then, before year's end, we went to my homeland, Nigeria, for a traditional Nigerian ceremony. I'd heard rumors that my Army reserve unit, the 354th Civil Affairs Brigade in Riverdale, Md., would be deployed to the Mideast. In January 2003, my unit had already been activated. I was given two days to settle in, then I had to report to my unit for two weeks of active duty before the official orders came. By the end of February, we received word by e-mail: We were going to Kuwait.

My head spun. I was in my last semester at George Washington University, getting a master's degree in international health -- how would this be affected? My husband and I prepared for the possibility that I might not come home. It was a wrenching thought for us. In 1990, my husband escaped war-torn Liberia; now he was sending his new wife off to a battle zone. This was truly a test of our faith.

After the United States ousted Saddam's regime, my unit moved into Baghdad, where we've stayed since. I've dealt with spending my first wedding anniversary apart from my husband in a strange land. I've had close calls. Explosives went off under an overpass where I had passed an hour before. I've been in a convoy where an unexploded bomb was waiting just ahead.

My job involves getting assistance for the displaced people of Iraq, working with U.N. officials, for example. It's through this experience that I realize, with a deeper understanding than ever, that I'm intensely involved in God's work. At our Sunday services, there are Iraqis just beginning to know Christ. I consider myself more blessed than ever. I continue to join daily with all of those who are praying for our unit. And not a single member of my unit has been killed or injured, even though we've been on the ground since April 2003. I know God is keeping us safe.

NAME/RANK: Gunnery Sgt. Bryan Jackway, 32
HOMETOWN: San Clemente, Calif.
IN IRAQ: He sees the hand of God in fiery battle.

I grew up in Lansing, Mich., in a family torn apart by divorce. It was tough; we went without a lot, like a decent jacket in the winter. As a result, I believed in God, but I had little faith in the church of man.

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"Our truck was hit by one blast that should have killed or wounded us all. We barely got scratched."
-- Gunnery Sgt. Bryan Jackway
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I joined the Marines at age 17 to escape poverty. I served in the first Iraq war, in Somalia, in Honduras and in Iraq again. But, ironically, it was an accident at home that brought me closer to God. I was driving to Kalamazoo, Mich., in 1997 when I lost control on black ice and hit a guardrail. My truck bounced off the rail and back into the road, where it was smacked sideways by an 18-wheeler. I wasn't wearing a seat belt. I knew I was going to die. But I didn't. I walked away as if nothing had happened. A seed of faith began to grow.

Still, the process was an evolution, not a revolution. Training in Bridgeport, Calif., I watched on TV as the World Trade Center went down on Sept. 11, 2001, and realized I needed more spirituality in my life to help me make sense of this world. A week later, I met my wife, Jennifer, who brought me closer to God in the 16 months we dated.

On Feb. 4, 2003, I was deployed to Kuwait. I kept a Bible with me. I was a section leader for the Counter Mechanized Platoon, Weapons Company, with the 1st Battalion 5th Marines. On April 10, we went into Baghdad for what would become the war's most decisive battle. Ambushes came from everywhere. Thousands of bullets pierced the air. Our truck was hit by one blast that should have killed or wounded us all. It went through the windshield. We barely got scratched. After the long day of fighting, only one of the 1,500 Marines in the battalion was killed. "How could that be?" I wondered. It could only be that God had decided that, for all but one of us, it wasn't our time.

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Growing in faith "was an evolution, not a revolution."
-- Gunnery Sgt. Bryan Jackway
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In the months that have followed, I've gone back to my church and continued to ponder the significance of it all. My pastor put it to me best. When you're in a situation of life and death, two things come to mind: One is family; the other is your place in eternity.

http://www.usaweekend.com/04_issues/...taryfaith.html