Sergeant Rafferty was enjoying the camaraderie of his buddies. The boisterous squadron was returning to base from a tense, yet uneventful patrol in the red zone.
The streets were narrow and the driver, Specialist Soto, downshifted the Humvee M998 to navigate the crowd. As the vehicle leaned into a turn, voices grew louder. Rafferty instinctively turned toward the commotion and saw a speeding vehicle on collision course.
No time for evasive action. Crrwangg!! A bone-jarring impact. Acrid stench of explosives and burning fuel. A grotesque medley of anguished screams and metallic bedlam. A suicidal insurgent’s dream come true. Lights out.
Time compressed. Lights back on, but not bright. Rafferty was wrapped in white-hot thermal underwear with sandpaper insulation. Or so he thought – the mind unhinges when the body yields to shock. He alternated in and out of consciousness.
Lights dimmer still. He was the lone survivor of an attack by a Vehiclle Borne Improvised Explosive Device. Soto, Vanderveer, Kennard – all of them, gone. Pink mist, bone fragments and scorched tattooed flesh scattered along a dirty street in Khandijar.
Vignettes of special moments – family, friends, his wife and seven-month old daughter – all floating eerily through his mind. A dark emptiness enshrouded him. Sergeant Rafferty felt desparately alone.
The blurry silhouette of a chaplain hovered. Rafferty was not religious, but his life was guided by a sense of correctness. And in this moment of aloneness, as he slipped closer to the edge of mortality, his mind posited that if there if there was a God, He would demonstrate His compassion by accepting Rafferty for who he was.
Rafferty struggled to tug the chaplain’s sleeve. “Chaplain…” he mumbled, “…will The Lord have me…as I am?”
The chaplain winced. “Ahh, sorry, Sergeant, I can’t intervene. Section 5, Article 3 of DOD Circular 18520, Revised July 2011, requires prior consent to all words of last rites, and prohibits the spontaneous invocation of The Almighty’s name, even during matters involving the demise of a government issue such as yourself...”
Rafferty was stunned. He yielded to the pull of darkness and loosened his grip on the chaplain’s arm. The chaplain looked away, embarrassed, then turned and said, “I can, however, offer you cantaloupe-flavored ice-chips, for comfort during your final moments. It’s not the same as the Lord’s Prayer, but it soothes parched lips…”
Rafferty grunted and let go. He disliked cantaloupe. Dark-dark, a flash of bright white, then dark again. Pitch black. Silence.
Stillness.
Sergeant Rafferty’s narrative is not far-fetched if Arleen Ocasio gets her way.
Who?
If you haven’t heard, tune in and listen up.
Ms. Ocasio is the director of Houston’s Veterans’ Administration cemetery. Unofficially, she is a career policy wonk with credentials ideal for a first-of-its-kind appointment as “Prayer Czar,” the latest iteration of Generalissimo Obama’s crusade to change the soul of America, one bureaucracy at a time.
As Prayer Czar, or more accurately, Prayer Monitor, she is the de facto editor of all spiritual dialogue and communications on behalf of deceased war veterans and their bereaved.
Straight out of the chute, Ocasio demonstrated a flair for astonishing feats of stupidity. She disenfranchised V.A. chaplains by prohibiting utterances of The Almighty's name at burial services, and required pre-approval of all prayers and last rites. And to let everyone know she's boss, she converted the chapel into a general purpose meeting hall, for pick-up bingo and rant-fests for unemployed poets.
Locally, the blowback went down like this: When he heard about Ocasio, Congressman Ted Poe blew a head-gasket. Congressman Gene Green blew smoke and said he had to think about it when asked by radio show host Michael Berry for his opinion. Nobody wanted to know what Sheila Jackson Lee blows.
But what’s to think? Clearly, freedom of worship is under siege here, but any rush to its defense is a distraction from another major concern: commitment – making it and delivering on it as agreed.
When he joined the military, Sergeant Rafferty made a commitment. He became party to a contract with the government, and he took an oath to defend the USA. In return, the government agreed to a compensation package that included pay, food, housing, education and a host of other benefits.
For his part, Rafferty delivered and gave all – his life. A decent and honorable burial is what the government has traditionally offered in return, a burial that respects a soldier's beliefs and wishes.
If Sergeant Rafferty wanted a hound dog to howl the "Hail Mary" at his own funeral, he is owed that.
Now it's the government's turn to deliver on its commitment. And no low-watt flunky bureaucrat has the authority to change the rules.
Comments