A Sailor's Phone Call

Last evening, our son called us from overseas. It is always good to hear his voice and when he's several times zones away and it's been a while since we had the chance to talk (and not knowing when the next time will be), it's a treat. Like Vianetta ice cream when we were kids, it's special because it doesn't happen often. 

In the background were voices of many other sailors, all clambering to get aboard the ship. I could envision a gaggle of sailors, a flock of seamen, a herd of Swabbies all milling around on the pier, savoring the last moments of solid ground before hiking up the gangway to the steel-hulled behemoth that will again be their 24-7 home for the next leg of their tour, living, working, resting, playing together while doing their various and diverse jobs. 

This call was a little different. He wasn't telling us about the sights, sounds and smells of the city where they enjoyed liberty. It wasn't a food review, or stories about what he observed, or even vignettes about what his buddies did. Without saying "where," he plainly spoke to us about what could be ahead. It was a wee bit unsettling. He used words like "we could be shot at," "things could get pretty intense," and "well, we don't know exactly what's going to happen and most of that isn't up to us, anyway." Let the reader understand. Then, the hard words I'm not sure a not-quite-twenty-year-old was ready to say: "If something were to happen, know that I love you." He said it plainly, clearly, with maturity and strength. He did better saying it than I did hearing it. 

Gulp. 

Deep breath. Swallow hard. One more breath while simultaneously looking at and not looking at my wife's eyes and thinking "Did she catch what that actually meant? Do I ask? Do I tell her that her son was saying....well, you know, just in case?"

I chickened out and said nothing, giving her hand a squeeze instead, an unsaid, "It's gonna be OK" passing from my palm to hers, hoping and praying situations would not arise to prove me a liar. 

By vocation, I am a pastor. My job is to preach Christ crucified. It's interesting reading the Gospels and how often Jesus foretells going to Jerusalem to suffer and die at the hands of the Jewish leaders. The disciples either poo-pooed His words, ignored their plain meaning, or flat-out refused to accept what He was saying. Maybe for the first time ever, although having read those various narratives dozens and dozens of times, I have a new understanding of what and how they understood Jesus' saying "I have to go die." I empathize more with them this morning. But their understanding, deliberate or otherwise, didn't change what Jesus has to do.

Don't worry - I'm not equating my son with Jesus. But, my son has a job to do which, collectively, is going to potentially, possibly, probably (?) put him in harms way with 300 other shipmates. Do your job, I told him. Help the guy to your right and woman to your left do theirs. Watch each other's back. Your job is rather narrow in focus. Make sure your job is done well so others can rely on what you do, and they will do their job so you can rely on their work. 

Finally, he told us he joined the fleet of the tattooed - a knight with sword in hand, and "Ephesians 6:8-10" written below it. "I wanted a reminder of God's promise for me," he explained. "You already have the sign of the cross in your forehead and heart," I thought. "I put it there in your baptism - I should know!" But, I didn't say that, instead chosing the easy route again - "Did it hurt?" Nah, it wasn't bad, he said. "Keep it clean and use a good antiseptic cream to prevent infection," I said. Wow...what great advice when the rubber band guns start lofting spicy spit wads back and forth...worry about your arm. Sigh... 

We wrapped up the call with a little more idle chatter. How's the food? Your birthday package is en route. Yes, we used the address you gave. Good to hear your voice. Email when you can. 

And, with a final volley of "Love yous" and "take cares", there was a faint "blip" and then silence. 

Today is veterans day, recalling the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the War to End All Wars. Maybe some day, that will be true. I look forward to it even if it doesn't happen until Jesus returns. Then wars will cease, and bows will be broken and spears shattered and weapons of war will cease to be used as such. But, until then, there will be wars to fight and men and women to fight in them. God bless and keep them so, one day, they can remember and tell their own stories on a Veteran's Day of their own.