Privileged to wear the cloth of my beloved country, I was, in 2005, in Balad, Iraq as a medic caring for front-line American and Iraqi soldiers seeking to safeguard America’s freedom and enhance Iraqi’s sovereignty. On the eve of 20 December, I was assigned to work the evening shift in the Airforce tent hospital on Balad Air Base.
I reported to work and engaged in nurturing and nursing. Early in my shift, I heard, in the distance, the enthralling sounds of Christmas music. I inquired and learned that a group of Army members were strolling around to the different areas of the tent hospital bringing Christmas cheer to the wounded. I bolted to the hallway, found the merry carolers, and implored them to not skip the area where I was working. They promised to be there shortly.
True to their word, they came and through music and merriment, awoke all that was hopeful inside of those suffering and maimed men and boys. Those most wounded and unable to stand, lifted themselves slightly from their supine positions and looked on. Others who were more fortunate climbed from their rickety cots and stood. Those most recovered and able danced. Iraqi hands raised and keeping beat with the music, waved back and forth. Large smiles spread from face to face. For a moment, pain was forgotten, hope and joy embraced. I stood in the back of the tent rejoicing with these, my Iraqi brothers, in the divine origin of Christmas music and in the glorious reason that has, for centuries, called for such jubilant celebrations across the globe. I contemplated anew how it was actually possible that the Christ Child of long ago could absolutely offer personal peace in the middle of war.
The American carolers began to sing Silent Night. Immediately a tender hush befell, and what I recognized as the Spirit of the Lord enveloped that space, and it suddenly became extraordinarily sacred, even holy. One Iraqi picked up a white cloth near his cot and began to wave it purposefully and deliberately above his head. Another injured soldier did likewise. Then another and another and another until there were several who, in flawless unison, were brandishing white.
White.
White in the baptismal font – a new beginning, a new you. White, no more crimson red sins. White – made pure from daily repenting. White trays holding symbols of reconciliation each Sabbath. The white glow of glory emanating from a sanctified face. White apparel in consecrated temples, learning how to re-enter His presence. White for forgotten, erased, blotted out blemishes between sinner and Sinless One. White for total heart surrender, for the flag of truce, for flowing peace from the Prince of Peace. “Peace,” said the Savior, “I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you…” (John 14:27)
Peace – His peace – not in the absence of unrest and conflict but right smack in the middle of it. Not as the world giveth. Given so kindly. Given so often. In the daily struggle.
So, there I was in a combat zone surrounded by peaceful yearning, white waving soldiers who didn’t as yet possess an understanding of the Messianic mission of Jesus Christ.
That hallowed night of 2005 in a makeshift hospital tent in Iraq, there was peace between me and my Savior. There was peace between that first holy Christmas and that year’s Christmas. There was peace and goodwill between Christian and Muslim. There was peace in my heart while there was war in the land. Yes, that night I wielded heavenward, with my Iraqi brothers, white. And I knew deep down in my heart that the Mighty Prince of Peace accepted my white flag of total and enduring surrender (Help me do it Thy way, Jesus) for His incomparable gift of peace – given, as He promised, “not as the world giveth.”
JamesDecember 22, 2022
Thanx for your service and caring. And thanks for sharing your testimony in what must be a life caring, sacrifice and loneliness. May your hours, days and weeks grow your soul and sustain your service.
Ed RehderDecember 21, 2022
Thank you, a wonderful story, a sacred event.