Keep Praying

Like most combat vets, I carry some ghosts around with me. They have visited and revisited me over the years. By now, most of them have found a place to settle—for good, I hope. Yet, every once in a while, one of them decides that it is not ready to rest and wants to play some more. Most of us learn along the way that ignoring ghosts is about as effective as ignoring unruly children. The ghosts wait impatiently for some trigger—a smell, a sound, a memory, a person, a dream—anything that rings like a school bell announcing recess. They are especially attuned to periods of solitude.

Recently in Florida, a bell rang and one of my ghosts decided to play. We were on our annual, winter trip to the Sunshine State for a three-week respite from St. Louis weather, among other things. This trip is more than a vacation; it’s more like a spiritual journey. If you can’t find God on the beach, in the waves, or in the warmth of His sun, I don’t know where you can find Him.

We attended Mass often on this trip—that means more than just on Sundays. We knew the priest from previous trips. His name is Father Viet Huynh. In Vietnamese, Viet means write and Huynh means brother. I interpreted this to mean: “Write on, brother.”

We spoke briefly before Mass. I asked him about his home in Vietnam. He was from Cam Ranh Bay, that beautiful embarkation point for Americans during the war. He was a young boy during the war and had to navigate through mine fields to go to school. I told him that like many American soldiers, I was in Cam Ranh Bay on my way to Chu Lai and Bien Hoa. He listened patiently with a warm smile that said, “Tell me more.” We chatted a bit longer and then it was time for Mass.

His first homily—that’s catholic for sermon—was on love, especially about loving your enemies. He told us about his personal odyssey in learning to love the communists whom he hated for taking over his country. He said, “Love is not only possible; it is beautiful.” He repeated this three times.

His message echoed in my mind the whole week: “Love is not only possible; it is beautiful.” His words not only resonated all week, they awakened a ghost—the restless spirit than many of us feel at times. No doubt, this influenced my approach to Lent this year. The following Sunday at Mass I had the opportunity to speak with Father Viet again before Mass. I told him what was in my heart.

I said, “Father, you are an amazing gift to us.” Of course, my words embarrassed this humble man. I continued, “We devastated your country and I was part of that. Yet, you traveled half-way around the world to save our souls.”

He responded with, “Keep praying.” I mumbled a few more words that I don’t remember. Again, he said, “Keep praying.” Maybe he thought I missed it the first time, or possibly he just wanted to be sure that it stuck. I chose my pew and sat quietly, moved spiritually and emotionally. As he said Mass, I thought, “What a remarkable, spiritual man.” God’s words never sounded so good as they did that Sunday from a humble servant with a noticeable Vietnamese accent.

At a later weekday Mass, he delivered a one-word homily in response to the Gospel reading from the 25^th chapter of Matthew: “Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or ill or in prison, and not minister to your needs? He answered them: Amen, I say to you, what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.” His one-word homily was “charity.”

I’ve been a wordsmith for most of my life. I consider myself to be pretty good with words, but this past three weeks I’ve been a student of effective communications. Love, charity, and keep praying. Who says you have to say a lot to say a lot?

Tom Reilly is author of Hope in The Shadows of War, available at AMAZON.