Sunday, August 30, 2015
Deuteronomy,
Chapter 1, Verse 17
Then we set out from
Horeb and journeyed through that whole vast and fearful wilderness that you have seen, in the direction of the hill
country of the Amorites, as the LORD, our God, had commanded; and we came to
Kadesh-barnea.
Sometimes
the Lord asks us to go out into the desert for it is in the desert that we can;
like Abraham and Moses, have an encounter with the living God. Deserts are
fearful places and are full of rocks, pointy things, snakes, spiders and the
indescribable beauty of God’s creation. By encountering God in the desert we
learn that the very same stones that somehow get in our shoes and make progress
impossible are the very same stones that lay foundations, bridges and roads.
In
the desert we can search for God; avoid of our distractions and find Him. In
the desert we can write out our sins and confess them to God. In the desert we can
shed our old lives like the snake sheds its skin and find a new perspective for
life. It is during this time alone with; He that IS; we make a spiritual change of clothes. In the desert we can
make an all-night vigil and with the coming of the new day we can proclaim as
in the Negro spiritual: When I fall on my
knees with my face to the rising sun, O Lord, have mercy on me.
For it is in the desert that we can quit deluding ourselves and be doers of the word and not hearers only. For it is in the desert with can find the strength to keep ourselves unstained by the world and find that pure and undefiled religion is to care for others in their afflictions. It is also out in the desert that we find peace and tolerance with ourselves and others; which brings us to our continuing study of John McCain’s book “Character is Destiny”[1] John portraits the life of “The Four Chaplains” as a model of great religious tolerance that allowed them to risk all to protect others of a different faith or race.
It was the evening of Feb. 2, 1943, and the U.S.A.T.
Dorchester was crowded to capacity, carrying 902 service men, merchant seamen
and civilian workers. Once a luxury coastal liner, the 5,649-ton vessel had
been converted into an Army transport ship. The Dorchester was one of three
ships steadily moving across the icy waters from Newfoundland toward an
American base in Greenland.
Hans J. Danielsen, the ship’s captain, was concerned and
cautious because he knew he was in dangerous waters. German U-boats were
constantly prowling these vital sea lanes, and several ships had already been
blasted and sunk. The Dorchester was now only 150 miles from its destination,
but the captain ordered the men to sleep in their clothing and keep life
jackets on. Many soldiers sleeping deep in the ship’s hold disregarded the
order because of the engine’s heat. Others ignored it because the life jackets
were uncomfortable.
On Feb. 3, at 12:55 a.m., a periscope broke the chilly
Atlantic waters. Through the cross hairs, an officer aboard the German
submarine U-223 spotted the Dorchester. The U-223 approached the convoy on the surface, and after identifying
and targeting the ship, he gave orders to fire the torpedoes, a fan of three
were fired. The one that hit was decisive–and deadly–striking the
starboard side, amid ship, far below the water line. Captain Danielsen, alerted that the Dorchester was taking
water rapidly and sinking, gave the order to abandon ship. In less than 20
minutes, the Dorchester would slip beneath the Atlantic’s icy waters.
Aboard the Dorchester, panic and chaos had set in. The blast
had killed scores of men, and many more were seriously wounded. Others, stunned
by the explosion were groping in the darkness. Those sleeping without
clothing rushed topside where they were confronted first by a blast of icy
Arctic air and then by the knowledge that death awaited.
Men jumped from the ship into lifeboats, over-crowding them
to the point of capsizing, according to eyewitnesses. Other rafts, tossed into
the Atlantic, drifted away before soldiers could get in them.
Through the pandemonium, according to those present, four Army chaplains brought hope in
despair and light in darkness. Those chaplains were Lt. George L. Fox,
Methodist; Lt. Alexander D. Goode, Jewish; Lt. John P. Washington, Roman
Catholic; and Lt. Clark V. Poling, Dutch Reformed.
Quickly and quietly, the four chaplains spread out among the
soldiers. There they tried to calm the frightened, tend the wounded and guide
the disoriented toward safety.
“Witnesses of that terrible night remember hearing the four
men offer prayers for the dying and encouragement for those who would live,”
says Wyatt R. Fox, son of Reverend Fox.
One witness, Private William B. Bednar, found himself
floating in oil-smeared water surrounded by dead bodies and debris. “I could
hear men crying, pleading, praying,” Bednar recalls. “I could also hear the
chaplains preaching courage. Their voices were the only thing that keptme
going.”
Another sailor, Petty Officer John J. Mahoney, tried to
reenter his cabin but Rabbi Goode stopped him. Mahoney, concerned about the
cold Arctic air, explained he had forgotten his gloves.
“Never mind,” Goode responded. “I have two pairs.” The rabbi
then gave the petty officer his own gloves. In retrospect, Mahoney realized
that Rabbi Goode was not conveniently carrying two pairs of gloves, and that
the rabbi had decided not to leave the Dorchester.
By this time, most of the men were topside, and the
chaplains opened a storage locker and began distributing life jackets. It
was then that Engineer Grady Clark witnessed an astonishing sight.
When there were no more lifejackets in the storage room, the
chaplains removed theirs and gave them to four frightened young men.
“It was the finest thing I have seen or hope to see this
side of heaven,” said John Ladd, another survivor who saw the chaplains’
selfless act.
Ladd’s response is understandable. The altruistic action of
the four chaplains constitutes one of the purest spiritual and ethical
acts a person can make. When giving their life jackets, Rabbi Goode did not
call out for a Jew; Father Washington did not call out for a Catholic; nor did
the Reverends Fox and Poling call out for a Protestant. They simply gave their
life jackets to the next man in line.
As the ship went down, survivors in nearby rafts could see
the four chaplains–arms linked and braced against the slanting deck. Their
voices could also be heard offering prayers.
Of the 902 men aboard the U.S.A.T. Dorchester, 672 died,
leaving 230 survivors. When the news reached American shores, the nation was
stunned by the magnitude of the tragedy and heroic conduct of the four
chaplains.[2]
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