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Saturday, November 5, 2005
Young chaplain struggles with own grief
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Camp Striker, Iraq —- The young chaplain reached out and straightened the fallen soldier’s dog tag so other troops could see it dangling clearly in front of the upended rifle. Next, 1st Lt. Jonathan Fisher adjusted the soldier’s empty boots. He rearranged some chairs in the loose, gray gravel so they were just right for the audience. And he moved his podium to a better position on the wooden stage.
Then, Fisher paused and stood to one side of the stage in a moment of quiet reflection about the tragic five months he has spent in Iraq.
For the sixth time since his arrival here, Fisher was meticulously preparing for a memorial service for a soldier from the 48th Brigade Combat Team. This one was for Staff Sgt. Dennis Paul Merck, who died Oct. 20 from an apparent accidental gunshot.
“I hope this is the last one I do. Period,” Fisher said as he watched other soldiers preparing for Merck’s ceremony. “I don’t want to do any more of these.”
Military leaders consider chaplains such as Fisher a “force multiplier” in that they help boost soldiers’ spirits so they can better focus on their missions. Besides leading prayers, chaplains also counsel soldiers about their fears, their marriages, even their careers. They accompany soldiers on and off the battlefield. And, of course, one of their key duties is responding to deaths in their unit.
At times, Fisher has worried about his ability to do this solemn duty. He is only 26 and joined the National Guard just a year ago.
He remembers a soldier waking him the night of Oct. 20 to inform him of what had happened to Merck, a father of three from Evans. Merck’s tent mates suspect he accidentally shot himself while cleaning his weapon.
As the soldier roused him from sleep, Fisher remembers thinking, “Lord, I can’t do another one of these. I can’t do another death.” But God, the chaplain said, gave him “supernatural peace” to comfort Merck’s buddies that evening and organize his memorial ceremony.
A schoolteacher from Fayetteville on his first overseas deployment, Fisher has led services for 13 soldiers and one Arabic interpreter serving with the 48th. He had counseled some of the soldiers and grown close to them before they were killed. Some were still grieving for their buddies when they died.
Fisher, an evangelical Christian, said God helped brace him for these soldiers’ deaths long before he became an officer. He suffered several tragedies in the years before his deployment that he said made him stronger. His mother died of a cancerous brain tumor in 2000. It was left to him to conduct her funeral services. Less than two months later, one of his brother’s twin daughters died at birth. And in 2003, his sister broke her back in a car wreck, paralyzing her from the waist down.
Fisher has been preaching since he was 16. His parents founded a Baptist church in Chase, Mich., where Fisher sometimes led Sunday services. But the troubles that rocked his family made him question his faith. He started questioning why God would cause these things to happen. He stopped going to church.
“It was like every six months something really bad happened to our family,” he said. “That really broke the back of my faith.”
Fisher regained his faith after deciding that God was not responsible for what happened to his family.
“We live in a broken world where bad things happen. It’s not God’s fault,” he said. “It’s the response that really matters.”
The first soldier in Fisher’s unit to die was Sgt. Chad Mercer. The 25-year-old soldier was killed June 30 when the Bradley Fighting Vehicle he commanded rolled over during a night patrol.
A soldier woke Fisher that night by shining a flashlight in his face. Fisher worried if he had the strength to put his hands on Mercer’s body and pray for his soul.
“I was talking to God the whole time. I was asking him, ‘How am I going to do this?’” Fisher said.
God, Fisher said, gave him the peace to pray over Mercer’s body.
The following month, four Georgia National Guard soldiers died when a bomb planted in the road hit their Humvee. Less than a week later, as Fisher was still helping other soldiers cope with the loss of their buddies, four more from the same unit were killed by a similar bomb.
Fisher volunteered to help recover the soldiers’ remains.
“I felt compelled to do it. I wanted the soldiers to see I could do it and wasn’t above it. Some of the soldiers didn’t want to do it,” Fisher said.
Fisher remembers finding a pair of pants that belonged to one of the soldiers. He spotted another victim’s dog tag. He found an identification badge for a third.
Just four days later, three more soldiers from Fisher’s brigade were killed by a car bomb attack at a traffic checkpoint.
Some soldiers were afraid of going outside the wire after the killings. Fisher said they found the will to do it after he prayed with them. He said witnessing God acting in their lives has strengthened his own faith.
“I believe it is nothing but the peace of God that gives them the strength to do that,” Fisher said.
Military memorial ceremonies often follow the same pattern. First, a few comrades share memories about their fallen friend. Then, the chaplain leads a prayer. Taps are played. And there is a gun salute.
Fisher carefully prepares days in advance for these events. He interviews friends of the fallen soldier, writes detailed scripts, selects the music, and leads rehearsals up until minutes before the ceremonies begin. He said he works hard on them, partly because they are filmed for the soldiers’ families back home.
“We are all casualties of this place,” Fisher said during his Oct. 26 eulogy for Merck. “We all bear in us the scars from the brokenness of the life we have led here. Each of us is indelibly marked by the people we have met, the actions we have taken and the moments lived.”
At the end of Merck’s memorial ceremony, his buddies lined up to salute his empty boots. Some reached out and held his dog tag. The chaplain was the first to hug them as they walked off the stage.
Then, it was his turn.
As a recording of the hymn “Be Still, My Soul” played in the amphitheater, Fisher saluted Merck’s boots and helmet. He reached out, held Merck’s dog tag in his hand and prayed.
“Father, be with his family this night,” Fisher said. “Comfort them, hold them, love them, give them strength to face tomorrow.”
Part of a yearlong series that will follow the lives of the citizen soldiers of Georgia’s National Guard and their families back home.
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