Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Rabbi Cop
I had a lovely time visiting my parents recently. It’s always a trip to stay with my dad because he has his marksmanship targets tacked up on the back of the door of the guest room. You close the door to go to sleep and see a silhouette riddled with bulletholes. Sleep cozy, dammit.
But that’s a rather misleading artifact of his chaplaincy, a scrap of ambiguous evidence. A more relevant artifact might be the pamphlet he left with us from the Department of Justice, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives’ Seventh Annual ATF Awards Ceremony. (I was pleased to notice that “Explosives” had been added to their name. About damn time. They aren’t going to regulate themselves, are they?)
The awards ceremony was just two months ago. As I get the story from dad, and he doesn’t understand it very well himself, he got nominated for some kind of recognition for exceptional service above and beyond. There were several “ranks” of honorees - the first were the Medal of Valor, the Gold Star Medal, and the Hostile Action Award; dad surmises all of these mean, euphemistically, “Actually/Damn Near Took a Bullet.” Dad was one of two to get the “Honor Award” (the other is Robert Fromme, Detective, Iredell County Sheriff’s Dept, Statesville NC). Pretty good for a guy who’s gearing up for his 70th birthday and isn’t going out in the line of fire much anymore. He’s listed in the program just above the six professional staff members of the House and Senate Committee on Appropriations. At the ceremony, John Ashcroft himself gave the keynote address.
Asscrap. Thud. What a booger in the brownies. When dad told me that part, he immediately backed off of it - “Whatever you might say about the man, he’s very intelligent and he’s a very effective speaker.” I stammered something about him being a political celebrity, a very busy man, and very popular with a large part of this country’s population; we went on and didn’t mention him again. But even if I don’t care for the man’s politics, I have to recognize his position - and it’s pretty cool that he was on hand for dad’s recognition.
My father has dedicated more than a quarter of a century to providing pastoral guidance to law enforcement officers, but I don’t have much of a sense what he does for the ATF or what he did for the county sheriff for 20 years before that. Regardless, as long as The Man has a use for him, he stands ready to report for duty. I think he’s still rated as an expert pistol shot, but he’s done some pretty powerful ministry during his tenure as well. At scenes of horrific crimes, shootings, suicides; at weddings and funerals; at times of ethical confusion or simple exhausted despair - he offers what guidance and support he can and tries to usher his flock past life’s milestones and over its rough patches.
This is all pretty abstract. Let’s focus: Dad served as an on-site chaplain at the Ground Zero excavation site. For a week he worked 12 on, 12 off, offering aid to the crews digging through the wreckage to find evidence and to recover remains. Dad particularly commented afterwards on the stench of decay - a stink that haunts anyone who’s smelled it.
And then there was the firefighter working at the site, filthy and drooping, having spent his strength in dangerous physical labor while bearing witness to unspeakable waste and brokenness and death - and who needed to re-gather his strength so he could turn right around and go back to work. My dad wore a distinctive helmet and flak jacket to distinguish him as a clergyman. The fireman stepped up, dropped to a knee, asked “Bless me, Father.” Dad had taken some latin in high school so he muttered some conjugations while tracing a cross in the air. He wrapped up with “Bless you, my son.” The man stood up, turned around, and went back in.
To be able to impart such strength to others - that’s a gift. To be willing to do so, to dedicate your life to bringing out the best and most in others - that is a gift to us. Way to go dad - Ashcroft notwithstanding.