The date is Wednesday, April 28 2004. This morning I am sitting in the chapel on Leighton Post in Wurtzburg, Germany. The reality of the war in Iraq is very evident here. We are in the midst of a unit who has known deployment and loss of life. The war has claimed over 20 lives from this unit in less than one month. The mood among the community has gone from determination, resolve, indestructible and undefeatable -- to doubt, despair, fear, defeat, confusion.
I am here to help a friend with music and we have just been a part of a morning chapel service. As our chapel ended a group of soldiers and chaplain’s assistants filed in to prepare for the memorial service of one of our fallen soldiers. I sit and observe how they are preparing the chapel. A two step black platform is placed at the front of the chapel. Then two soldiers carefully drape a white cloth around the platform. On the platform: a helmet and boots. Next they bring in a weapon and a plaquard with a picture, mounted under plexiglass, of a young man dressed in combat fatigues. He looks so young. It appears that the photo has been taken in Iraq. I am overwhelmed.
I ask a soldier standing nearby the rank of the young man. “Private first class.” I look at the helmet and see the name EDWARDS. I ask, “PFC Edwards?” and the soldier replies, “Yes,ma’am.” I want to immediately write his name and rank in my notebook. I need to document it so it is not lost. I have come all the way from Augusta, Georgia and have the awesome privilege of attending the memorial service of a young man who has sacrificed his life in a battle to protect, defend and ensure my freedom. I don’t ever want to forget his name.
I look around and see young men and women dressed in their desert camaflouge fatigues. They are so young. One young man in particular has such a haunting look. He seems so innocent and yet there is a heavy presence on his face. His eyes seem to long for something. Maybe hope – or maybe the assurance that this will all soon be over. I watch everything going on around me and wonder why God has allowed me to be here.
As I make my way to the back of the chapel I am unprepared for what I am about to encounter. One soldier is standing guard at the entry to the foyer. Two guards are standing on either side of the entry doors. Outside on the lawn stand seven soldiers on one side and one soldier on the other side of a sidewalk. I walk outside via a side door and peek around to see the guard out front. I am assuming this is the guard who will be responsible for the 21 gun salute. It is only 11:00 a.m. and the memorial service is not until 1:00 p.m. Will all these soldiers stand guard until then? I am overcome with emotion and weep. I am not able to control my sense of indebtedness to our military, a sense of sorrow over the loss of lives, a sense of pride over being a U.S. citizen – a sense of awe that I am here – on an army base in Wurtzburg, Germany able to observe first hand a piece of the war in Iraq.
Thank you, Lord, for these brave individuals who are willing to serve their country and fight on my behalf. Protect their lives. Comfort and encourage them and their families.
12:45 p.m. The firing squad stands guard in front of the chapel in parade rest. They have now been joined by the bugler. The chapel is filling up. A video is playing on the screen at the front of the chapel. The images cause me to weep. I force myself to watch as the song “American Soldier” plays. The images . . .
Soldiers in battle . . . covered by the desert dust. . . tear stained faces . . . guns standing in the sand with helmet resting on top . . . the makeshift memorial of a fallen soldier.
PFC Shaun Edwards was born April 6, 1984. He was killed in battle April 23, 2004. He had just turned 20. PFC Edwards was manning a machine gun when he was killed. He arrived in June 2003 to join the 121st Signal Battalion. In High School he wrestled and played football. He was apparently a genius with computers and electronics. His father, a Viet Nam veteran, his mother and sister all live in Illinois.
At the front of the chapel behind the platform bearing PFC Edwards’ helmet, boots and weapon is a table draped in a white cloth. Behind the table are three flags. On the left is the American flag. The German flag is in the middle. On the right is the unit flag with attachments (streamers) from all previous battles fought. The service
begins with the singing of our National Anthem. Following remarks from various commanders, my friend, Joanie, sings “It Is Well”.
The already emotional service takes a dramatic turn at the end with the Last Roll Call. The sergeant begins calling roll by last names. As the name is called a soldier stands and answers “here Sergeant.” As he calls PFC Edwards’ last name there is no answer. You can hear the sound of sobbing throughout the chapel . He calls again. Still no answer. I believe it is the third and final call when he uses his rank and full name. “Private First Class Shaun Edwards.” The silence is haunting. Everyone is asked to stand and the quiet is shattered by the “Firing of Volleys” from the firing squad who has stood for hours in the front lawn of the chapel. And finally, the bugler begins the playing of “Taps.”
The enormity of emotions I am experiencing is not merely a sense of patriotism. It is something much more personal. It is experiencing a realization that PFC Edwards died for me. I am experiencing a very personal awareness of the sacrifice that has been made, of the price that has been paid.
The sergeant who did the Last Roll Call today, while wiping his eyes, tells of how extremely difficult this was for him. The chaplain explained later that if there is family present sometimes they don’t do the Last Roll Call because it is just too painful for them.
A young man I saw earlier this morning who came and sat in the chapel while it was prepared for the memorial is apparently PFC Edwards’ supervisor. He said a few words during the service. After everyone cleared out of the chapel he has come back in and sits alone on the front row for quite a while. A very sad picture of a grieving friend and comrade. I believe his name is Dowdy. It is contained sorrow, but so very evident. Twice I've seen him all alone just sitting – I wonder what he is thinking. It seems clear to me that he is very affected by this death – or maybe it is this death and the 20 or so other soldiers from this unit who have lost their lives this month.
O Lord, have mercy on all of our service men and women.
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