This morning I bumped into our Sky Pilot and as he warmly greeted me he mentioned that today was Palm Sunday. The news came as a surprise – I didn’t even know that it was Sunday morning. Back home in the “real” world there is an orderly progression of days, each a distinct entity separated from the others by both habit and ritual. The primacy of days is so deeply enmeshed in the ebb and flow of American society it operates like an immutable law of nature. But here in Iraq knowing the day of the week divines nothing, for every day is the same. There are no weekends to look forward to, and no evenings that don’t threaten to stretch until they’ve hybridized separate days. There is just the date – a dry numerical reference to the steady passage of time’s arrow.
The long hours I spent the night prior had put me slightly ahead of my taskings, so I seized the opportunity to attend church services. I walked over to our chapel, a drab concrete building whose defining characteristic is an odd architectural feature that resembles a missile ready to puncture the sky, and entered its single room. As I took my seat I looked around and noticed that in addition to my Army brethren there were Marines, Bangladeshi contractors, Eastern European truck drivers, and several Iraqi interpreters all silently gathered in this small outpost of faith. Our admixture of origins and backgrounds made no difference, for the rest of the mass we were one in faith. There in that small chapel a few hundred miles removed from the ancient cities of the gospel I truly understood the sanctifying power of belief.
The closing hymn was one I remember from my years as an alter boy, but its meaning seemed to have taken on greater gravity in the ensuing years. My voice is ill suited for carrying a tune, but I managed to sing one of the verses - “If you stand before the power of hell, and death is at your side, know that I am with you through it all”. The words were a spiritual salve, and I left the chapel a stronger man then when I entered.
As I walked back to the TOC my thoughts wandered to the jihadist insurgents and the differences between my beliefs and their own. The answer was simple, it wasn’t faith that separated us but our concept of the value of free will. I grew up believing that faith was a deeply personal decision that helped guide individual actions, not as the basis for a system of government. The jihadists believe the opposite – that their version of faith is compulsory and should shape every aspect of the government. As the Iraqi people continue to shape their destiny they will forge a democracy that will be both familiar and strange to our eyes. But as long as it embraces free will – the jihadists are destined to fail.


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