Faith, Leadership, and History

Ferdinand Foch, French general and Supreme Commander of the Western Front during World War I, wrote, “The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.”

There they gathered…sipping on mimosas, lounging in their chaises, idly chit-chatting about the goings on in the towns around them.  High-fiving each other, totally agreeing with everything that is being said…the friendliest group one could ever imagine.  There is 56 of them, but you would never know it, because they speak with one voice, waiting patiently for their turn to talk, nodding their heads at all of the ideas being shared.

If this were a recording, this is the moment when the special effects guy drags the needle across the record…screeeeeech.

The lights go out, the scene is reset, and slowly, the lights return…and reality makes an entrance.

There they gathered…that much is true.  However, they were not sipping champagne-laced orange juice…in fact, I’m not even sure that was a thing yet.  And I present to you, other things not true.  They weren’t lounging around.  No idle chit-chatting.  High-fiving?  No.  No total agreement either. No harmonious voice of ideas.  Friendliness, although many were friends, was not a character trait on center stage.  Patience?  Are you kidding me?  They were so busy talking over each other, interrupting and ignoring, that it is something spectacular to think about what came out of this group.  Heck, there weren’t even 56 of them.

Ok, after all that, it is kind of difficult to be too hard on them.  If we’re honest, we would have been just like them.  No air-conditioning.  Stuffy room.  Wigs pasted on our heads.  Windows open to allow for some facsimile of a faint breeze…a sewage-wafting breeze that is.  We would have been in a horrible mood, demanding that everyone else agree with us, all while disagreeing with everyone else.  It’s just who we are.  We can’t help it.  And neither could they.

But somehow, against all odds, a document was written, declaring independence from the tyrannical mothership, played by England in our story.  On July 2, 1776, the vote was taken, and on July 4, the piece of history was printed, and the signing started.  We are led to believe that this parchment was passed around, and one by one, signed by all 56 delegates.  At least that is how I learned it fifty-some trips around the sun ago.  I like to imagine it went something like this:  “Ok, everyone, get in a single file line, tallest in the front.  No, it doesn’t matter what state you’re from.  Virginia, you guys have to play nice with everyone else.  You are not more important than the smaller colonies.  What do you mean all 56 aren’t here?  Didn’t they get the memo? ”

Alas, it didn’t occur quite like this, but we do know that some of the 56 were not in town on July 4.  One of those guys was Samuel Chase, “Old Bacon Face”, himself.  This Marylander was, well, in Maryland.  A few weeks earlier, he had travelled to Canada, along with Benjamin Franklin, to seek military support for the upcoming revolution.  They failed, so back to Philadelphia they went.  Then, when Chase learned that Maryland was having a sale on thick-cut bacon, he dashed back to his home state.  Just kidding.  In truth, he hustled it back because Maryland’s legislators still hadn’t decided on whether they would vote for independence.  So he traveled back to persuade them to get with it and vote yes, which they did.  He then caught the red eye back to Philadelphia and signed his “John Hancock”, literally right under John Hancock’s “John Hancock”.  And while it might make a neat and tidy Sunday night movie story, we know that he didn’t sign it on July 4, like most of the other men, but at a later date, most likely August 2.

Old Bacon Face, who got his nickname from the facial expression he made the first time eating a Wendy’s Baconator hamburger, was a fiery individual, who never backed down out of fear.  Years before this group met in Philadelphia, Chase was protesting England’s hold over the colonies.  He broke into an office being used for storing stamps, and burned it, protesting the despicable Stamp Act, a British law requiring taxes to be collected for most paper documents.  He admitted to the crime, while also calling out those unwilling to stand up against these British laws, making himself out to be some kind of courageous patriot.  And here’s the thing…he was.  July 4 was a watershed moment, and while there were many who desired the status quo of British rule, there were also those who risked it all to foment a change.  They challenged that status quo.  Nothing would ever be the same again.

I am reminded of another group gathered in a very different room.  This one, much smaller, half a world away, and a couple millennia earlier, was occupied by, not 56 men, but 13.  One would soon give his life for all, one would betray, and the rest of them?  Well, they would foment a change.  They didn’t have a Bacon Face, but they did have a James and John, Peter and Andrew, and a few others, and they indeed challenged the status quo…and nothing would ever be the same.  

Thus, we start a journey of stories centered around the year of our birth as a nation.  We celebrate 250 years of ups and downs, good and bad, light and dark, mountain tops and valleys, victories and defeats. Where will we be next week?  You’ll have to stay tuned, or you can subscribe to my blog, link in comments. 

On yeah, one last thing, Samuel Chase didn’t really get his nickname from eating a Wendy’s hamburger…everyone knows the fast-food chain didn’t open until 1777.  

I am writing to all of you who dreamed of being the one coming to the rescue, or against all odds, jumping into the fray when no one else would.  In 1977, hundreds of thousands of 11-year-olds instantly became Luke Skywalker flying their X-wing down the Death Star’s trench and firing a proton torpedo into the vent shaft, blowing it up, and saving the Republic.  Or maybe it was just me.  A year later, those same kids (yes, that means me) and a hundred-fold more became Superman flying so fast that they spun the earth in its opposite direction, reversing time, and bringing Lois Lane back to life.  Or perhaps you were Jaime Sommers or Steve Austin, both rebuilt after catastrophic injuries, to become the bionic woman and bionic man, and worth, you already know it…six million dollars each.  That was a lot of money in 1973…today, Steve and Jaime would each be worth nearly 43 million dollars.  Inflation…got to love it.  Well, maybe you never dreamed of being one of these, but I can guarantee that when you were young, you created a scenario where you were the hero of the story…the dragon slayer…the conquering warrior…the adventurous explorer.  The desire to be these, resides in every one of us.

As a history major, I find it fascinating to visit battlefields, and in the United States, there is no better location than Virginia, especially if you are like me, and study the American Civil War.  Now, what you need to understand is, I eat, drink, breathe history.  Pretty much always have.  And most others do not.  That can be problematic if your family is in that camp.  Fortunately for me, my bride humors my addiction and plays along.  When we lived in Virginia, I set a goal of visiting as many civil war battlefields as I could.  And just to make it more fun, I dragged my family along with me.  We drove all over the region, visiting some of the most obscure places where battles took place.  I remember one was basically commemorated with just a small metal sign, right in the middle of Richmond…but we spent time there, nonetheless.  Others were quite extensive with reenactors and fantastic museums.  At nearly all of them, our daughter, who was 6-10 years old at the time, felt her experience needed to be centered around finding the best rocks for her collection.  As she aged, she became more interested in what occurred at these places.  On one of our trips to Gettysburg, she even asked me to be the professional tour guide.  Still, ten years later, those rocks remain in her possession.

Alright, enough of chasing that rabbit.  It’s 1865 and the Civil War is winding down.  General Grant has been pursuing General Lee and the Confederate Army across Virginia for a year, engaging in combat no less than 10 times.  The Union Army has now laid siege to the city of Petersburg, where Lee and the Confederates are entrenched.  The siege would last nearly 10 months with neither side gaining much ground, at the cost of thousands of lives.  Grant is not worried; he has experience in this strategy.  Two years earlier, he laid siege to Vicksburg, Mississippi.  It took three months before the city fell to the Union general.  This time it would take a considerably longer period.  In the 292 days of the Petersburg siege, the Union Army would attack multiple times, each time being repelled without gaining much ground.  Then came April 2, 1865.  This day, Captain Charles Gould, a captain in the 5^th Vermont Infantry, led part of the attacking Union force.  Confusion is usually the enemy of surprise, and this time would be no different.  Regimental communication became mixed up, and Gould, accompanied by about 50 men, were separated from the main attacking body.  The young captain was the first to reach the precipice of the defensive works and instantly jumped down into the defenders.  His first injury happened when a rebel thrust a bayonet through his cheek.  Gould responded by putting his sword through him.  Another Confederate officer hit Gould over the head, while a third bayonetted the captain in the shoulder.  Then Gould was surrounded by the enemy who began beating him, and would most certainly have killed him, if it weren’t for the Union men who showed up and dragged Gould from the front.  Back behind the attacking force, he rested, walked a mile back to the Union lines, asked for reinforcements, and then finally sought medical attention for his wounds.  A week later, the war was over, with Lee surrendering to Grant at Appomattox Court House.  Twenty-five years later, Captain Charles Gould would be awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions on that day at Petersburg.

I wonder if while sitting around after that attack on April 2, recuperating and getting treated for his wounds, Captain Gould looked around and picked up a couple of rocks, like our daughter, and stuck them in his pockets for memory’s sake.  I doubt it, but one never knows.  I do know this, picking up rocks on battlefields isn’t something dreamt up by our daughter.  A long time ago, but in our galaxy (not one far, far away – and the Star Wars analogies keep coming…hang tight, there are more to come), another young warrior walked onto a battlefield…this one with giants…and carefully chose a few rocks.  These did not go into his pocket for a future collection.  They were not mementos.  They were not going to end up in the bottom of a box, packed by professional movers, and moved halfway across the country, only to be rediscovered five years later after said box was finally opened.  Yep, that happened.  

David’s rocks were meant for immediate use.  There was a giant to take down.  There was a battle to be won.  There was a Death Star to be destroyed.  Ok, I made that part up.  There really weren’t X-Wings and Imperial T.I.E. fighters engaged in combat, above a poorly designed instrument of destruction. (I mean, who designs such a thing with an incomprehensible weakness?)  Here, there was only David, and this substantially bigger guy named Goliath.  And a sling.  And five rocks.  The young boy approached the behemoth, and, just as Luke was guided by Obi-Wan and the force to make that 1 in a million shot into the vent shaft, David was led by God to make his own 1 in a million shot into the enemy’s forehead, killing him instantly.  And then Chewbacca roared his Wookie celebration.  Ok, I made that part up too.  But be honest, you just imagined his growl in your head.  (It’s here that I should apologize for all the Star Wars references.  I won’t, but I should.  I just can’t stop myself.)

All throughout history there have been men and women who have stepped up and jumped in.  They turned the tide.  They inspired others.  They stopped evil.  They saved the day.  Every generation needs them…this one is no different.  So, get out there.  Get after it.  Jump in.  Live life.  And while you are doing all that…look for rocks.  There’s a battle ahead, with giants that need to be knocked down.  It may require your own 1 in a million shot.  But, with God’s help, you can do it. 

We come full circle this week.  If you have been on this journey looking at Psalm 23 through the lens of George Washington’s life, then you know that Washington lived a life often reflected through David’s words.  Did Washington camp alongside green pastures?  Indeed.  Did he walk beside still waters?  Yep; rough waters as well.  Did he walk through valleys of distress, troubles, and even death?  For sure.  Did he know that his strength and peace were found in God?  Affirmative.  Did he understand that God would be the goodness and mercy in his life?  You know he did.

It was the evening of December 13, 1799, and Washington sat at the dinner table.  He had spent the day overseeing work on his Mount Vernon estate.  It had been raining, snowing, and hailing…are we sure he didn’t live in Nebraska, because we can experience every season in a single day.  Well, since he arrived late and was a stickler for being on time, he stayed in his wet clothes and ate the meal.  Later that evening he began experiencing a persistent cough and complained of a sore throat.  Nevertheless, he went to bed believing it was nothing serious.  However, in the early morning hours of December 14, Washington awoke with a shortness of breath.  Things were not right.  Martha sent for Colonel Tobias Lear, Washington’s aide, and George Rawlins, the estate overseer.  A few hours later, Rawlins, who was practiced in blood-letting, drained 14 ounces of blood from the former president.  Now, if you don’t know about blood-letting, let me explain.  The doctor, or person performing the procedure, would cut into a vein and allow a specific volume of blood to be drawn out of the body, believing that it would remove whatever was causing the illness, as if the illness was simply contained in the immediate area from where the blood was removed…simply baffling to us today.  But it was widely practiced in Washington’s day.  When that didn’t seem to help Washington, Lear gave him some molasses mixed with vinegar, which nearly killed the patient.

Seven hours after Washington first woke with breathing difficulties, Dr. Craik arrived having been sent for by Lear.  Within a few minutes, Craik was applying a blister of cantharides, a medicinal concoction designed to counteract the inflammation of the throat.  Following that, Dr. Craik performed another blood-letting procedure, this time removing 18 ounces.  A short time later, a third blood-letting removed another 18 ounces.  A fourth blood-letting removed 32 ounces…now, a total of 80 ounces (a shocking 50 percent of the body’s blood) had been removed.

Two other doctors arrived and monitored the patient, and around 4 pm, Dr. Gustavus Brown, the last one to arrive, recommended a dose of calomel, also known as mercurous chloride.  It was designed to make the patient vomit excessively.  Of course, we know today, that mercury, in any form, is toxic to the human body, but in Washington’s day, that was not fully understood.  Washington sensed that his time was nearly over, so he thanked the doctors for their care, and at 10 pm, he called over Colonel Lear and asked to have a decent burial, and to not be placed in the vault for three days, a common request of his day, for fears of being buried too soon.  Washington wanted a clear understanding from Lear, so he asked him, “Do you understand?”  Lear responded that he did, and with that, the man that was affectionately referred to as “First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen, uttered his final words, “Tis well.” 

We celebrate the life of Washington and all that he accomplished for our country.  It was a life well lived in many ways.  That is not to say that everything in Washington’s life was good.  One of the hardest things to reconcile with him (and many others) is the fact that he was a slaveholder.  I despise this fact…there is nothing more egregious than the idea of a person owning another person.  This will forever be a stain over Washington’s life that can never be reconciled or erased.  But we cannot simply throw out the goodness that he accomplished because of this black cloud over his life.  In the end, we must be honest with both sides of the man.  

There is no doubt that God’s hand of Providence followed George Washington throughout his life.  The goodness and mercy of the heavenly Father were very real to the Virginian.  And in the end, he breathed his last and dwelled in the house of the Lord forever.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.”  Picture this…its Taco Tuesday, you’ve sat down, and with a street taco in each hand, you look across the table, and just a few feet away, there your nemesis sits, giving you that certain hangry look.  Or perhaps, without a care in the world, you are about to cut into that perfectly cooked steak, and there, across the dinner table, sits your foe.  Not a very pleasant image, is it? 

As a boy, George Washington copied a list of Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation, originally published by French Jesuits.  It is an interesting read if you get past the old English vernacular.  There are 110 rules to live by, ranging from how to talk to others, to general etiquette.  Among the 110, there are 19 rules that deal specifically with eating and drinking in the presence of others.  Here are a couple of them (copied as they are written):

                  Rule #97 – Put not another bit into your Mouth til the former be Swallowed; let not your Morsels be too big for the Gowls.  (**In other words, don’t be a chipmunk and stuff as much food in your mouth as you can.)

                  Rule #91 – Make no Shew of taking great Delight in your Victuals, Feed not with Greediness; cut your Bread with a Knife, lean not on the Table, neither find fault with what you Eat.

And my favorite:

                  Rule #90 – Being Set at meat Scratch not neither Spit Cough or blow your Nose except there’s a Necessity for it.  (**Yeah, no one wants to sit next to an individual blowing their nose, so don’t be that person.)

Would Washington have held to the same dining standards during a meal with Thomas Jefferson in Philadelphia as he would with British General Cornwallis at Yorktown.  Since people lived by a different code in his days, there is no doubt that yes, he would have treated enemies at the table just as he did friends. 

At the very core of this image of eating in the presence of one’s enemies though, is that God is providing protection in one of our most vulnerable moments.  He is in the personal bodyguard business.  In David’s time, the host of the meal was responsible for the well-being and safety of all guests.  So, David is saying that God, who is the host, will provide that protection while gathered around the table…the guest is not to be worried.

In an environment today where it seems some people cannot possibly get along with each other, perhaps we should start gathering around the dinner table and let God bring us together.  Let food be the common ground…and again, don’t be that coughing, spitting, nose-blowing complainer with food-stuffed cheeks.  Just don’t. 

He was America’s first superhero.  He predated Spider-Man, Captain America, Ironman, Thor, and every other Marvel comic character.  He came before Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Green Lantern, and all of the DC comic heroes you can name.  He did not wear a symbol or letter on his chest.  He lacked any superpowers gained from an insect bite, chemical spill, or mutant gene.  He wasn’t from an alien planet.  He didn’t have any cool tools of the trade like the batarang, bat-laser, bat-shield, or bat-scope.  He didn’t get around town in a batmobile, bat-plane, bat-boat, bat-cycle, bat-copter, or have an underground cave where he parked all these amazing bat-vehicles.  And he didn’t have a really awesome utility belt that held, among other things, universal bat-pills, designed to cure everything.

No, George Washington did not have any special equipment.  However, what he lacked in that department, he more than made up for in courage.  

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death….”  On July 9, 1755, George Washington was serving as an aide-de-camp to General Braddock of the British Army, as they were attempting to clear out the French army in the region.  The target this day was Fort Duquesne, a French stronghold that lay between the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers.  The French, accompanied by Canadians and Native Americans, waited patiently until the British army came within 10 miles, then attacked full force.  For three hours the French poured every effort into defeating the invaders.  It was an exceedingly intense battle…but it was largely one-sided.  The British were surprised and suffered nearly 1,000 soldiers, including General Braddock.  Washington, for his part, had two horses shot out from under him.  With Braddock mortally wounded, leadership of the British army was handed to Washington, who had no choice but to order a retreat.  His calm resolve helped save many British troops from certain death.  After the battle, Washington noticed that his overcoat had four bullet holes in it.  In the valley of death, his life had been spared.  Was it luck?  Or divine protection.  Washington believed the latter.

Three years later, Washington returned to the valley of death, this time with General John Forbes, to once again attempt to drive the French from the region.  It takes great courage to return to the scene of what should have been your death.  But there Washington was, right in the middle of the fray, and on one particular night, British soldiers mistook another British unit for the French army and began firing into their ranks.  Washington recognized what was happening and rose along one of the lines hitting their muskets with his sword, yelling for the firing to stop.  Once again, Washington risked everything in the height of battle.  And once again, Washington avoided certain death.

Nelson Mandela reminded us, “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it”.  This helps when we walk through those moments where it seems natural to be afraid.  But we don’t have to remain there…we can dig deep and let courage break the surface and take over our thoughts and actions.  Only then can we honestly agree with David and say, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” 

The second part of that verse goes like this: “For you are with me; your rod and staff they comfort me.”  This is the reassurance that, just as sheep experience protection by way of the shepherd and his rod and staff, God protects his followers from harm from outside and from within.  Even when we, like sheep, don’t realize we are on danger, God steps in and saves the day…making the bullets of life, that mean to take us out, miss.  Then, when we take the time to focus on the valley we just traversed, we are astonished to see the holes in our overcoat.

Dateline: 7 September, 1774.

Location: Carpenters’ Hall, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

The Reverend Jacob Duché stands.  All eyes are on him.  What he is about to do has been a topic of discussion and debate for several days among those gathered.  We’ll get to that in a moment.  If you study early U.S. history enough, you begin to see common threads of faith interwoven through who we know refer to as our nation’s founding fathers.  There is some discussion that John Adams, his cousin Samuel, Patrick Henry, Roger Sherman, John Jay, George Washington, and others were not individuals who held particular faith beliefs.  But nothing could be further from the truth.  What the good reverend says sets the bedrock for the First Amendment.  No, these men certainly did not distance themselves from their faith.  They embraced it.

The good reverend begins, “O Lord our Heavenly Father, high and mighty King of kings, and Lord of lords, who dost from thy throne behold all the dwellers on earth and reignest with power supreme and uncontrolled over all the Kingdoms, Empires and Governments; look down in mercy, we beseech Thee, on these our American States, who have fled to Thee from the rod of the oppressor and thrown themselves on Thy gracious protection, desiring to be henceforth dependent only on Thee.”  This was only the beginning.  Duché continued with requests for harmony, peace, truth, justice, and blessings…and closing this first prayer of the First Continental Congress with this – “All this we ask in the name and through the merits of Jesus Christ, Thy Son and our Savior.”  No, these men did not shy away from their faith as some might want us to believe.

I have already pointed out that Washington did not shy away from faith in God, but what exactly did he say about the subject?  On numerous occasions, Washington would write, “On my honor and the faith of a Chistian…”.  In another moment, “To the distinguished Character of Patriot, it should be our highest Glory to add the more distinguished Character of Christian”; and as on countless diary entries quoting from The Book of Common Prayer, such as this entry from April 3, 1768, “Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us…”.  One more example – in one of his General Orders Washington writes, “The General hopes and trusts that every officer and man, will endeavor so to live, and act, as becomes a Christian Soldier defending the dearest Rights and Liberties of his country.”

So, that is what Washington said, but what did he do?  For starters, he insisted on conduct based on the scriptures.  He did not allow swearing or drunkenness, and when not on duty, soldiers were expected and required to attend church services.  To help facilitate this, Washington instituted chaplains in each regiment of the army.  Additionally, he called on his soldiers to observe a day of fasting, humiliation and prayer.  In other words, Washington was focused on this thing called righteousness.

David makes the declaration that God “leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”  What exactly does that mean?  At its foundation, those words picture an individual living a life centered on God and his principles, committed to his promises, and desiring to make known to others that message.  It is not enough to seek this path and be content that you are on it.  It is also dependent on showing others what it means to walk those paths of righteousness, for what other purpose did David record these words if not to tell others?  Solomon, David’s son, would later write, “A righteous man hates lying”; “Righteousness guards him whose way is blameless”; Righteousness leads to life”; the desire of the righteous is only good”.  These were all properties of a life of faith that Washington lived and wanted others to live as well.

Again, Washington understood the importance of faith in one’s life.  It powered his decision making and his leadership style.  He not only desired an army equipped with the necessary tools of war, as evidenced by his multiple letters to Congress asking for supplies, he also desired an army equipped with the tools necessary to walk the paths of righteousness.  In 1776, Washington reminded his soldiers , “to implore the Lord, and Giver of all victory, to pardon our manifold sins and wickedness’s, and that it would please him to bless the Continental Arms, with his divine favour and protection—All Officers, and Soldiers, are strictly enjoined to pay all due reverence, and attention on this day, to the sacred duties due to the Lord of hosts, for his mercies already received, and for those blessings, which our Holiness and Uprightness of life can alone encourage us to hope through his mercy to obtain.  

In other words…paths of righteousness.

It was Christmas 1776 and General Washington boldly stood in the bow of the boat as it made its way across the Delaware River.  Surrounding him are several men rowing and steering the craft around chunks of ice.  There is even one soldier half-way out of the boat pushing against one of the large “icebergs”.  And then there is future President James Monroe grasping the American flag, battling the wind and cold.  It is indeed a dramatic scene…one that would make a great centerpiece for an IMAX movie, with amazing THX surround sound.  Yes, it would be remarkable… if it were true.  This scene instead, was captured in a painting by Emanuel Leutze.  Oh, for sure Washington crossed the Delaware on Christmas, leading his army to victory the next day against British and Hessian forces camped in and around Trenton, New Jersey.  None of that is disputable.  Were there ice chunks?  Absolutely.  It is well documented that it was.  And it was extremely windy, making the water very rough to row across.  But Washington surely was not standing in the striking pose as he is pictured.  The weather conditions would not have allowed it.  No, these certainly were not still waters.

A year later and once again the weather is not playing nice for Washington and the army.  It is the winter at Valley Forge, and the general has his hands full.  He spends an exorbitant amount of time communicating with Congress (yes, the same Congress that would slow walk five years of pay for soldiers) about the lack of supplies, and empowering other generals to help better prepare the army for the springtime campaigns.  By the time Spring arrived, however, nearly 2,000 men had died from disease on those snow-covered, fields.  No, these certainly were not peaceful, green pastures.

Back in Psalm 23, David tells us that the Lord makes those who follow him to lie down in green pastures.  So, are we take this to mean that God is forcibly pushing individuals to take a break and lay down?  Absolutely not, but rather he leads those into moments of much needed respite.  In fact, the next words David writes is how the Lord “leads me” beside still waters.  Why does David use these particular imageries to convey the message of peace and tranquility?  Perhaps because we are drawn to such scenes.  

I know when I personally need to think peaceful thoughts, I close my eyes, and in my mind, I see Julie Andrews running around with seven kids with weird names, dressed in clothes made from window curtains, singing “doe, a deer, a female deer”….I really don’t, but that makes an interesting thought.  But seriously, who doesn’t love clothes made from household draperies?  And those hills, which, by the way, are alive (at least that is what Maria sings), are probably not even a pasture, but whatever.  I’m the one telling the story, so it’s a pasture.

Alright, the whole point of Psalm 23:2 is to remind us that we are not superhuman, no matter how much we try to convince ourselves.  We are designed to need rest, a break, a breather, a moment of calm.  If you want to be a leader, you better schedule some down time for those who call you boss, supervisor, or whatever title you hold.  And while you are at it, you better schedule down time for yourself…for two reasons.  First, you need it.  David realized that.  It’s why he wrote about relaxing in the pastures.  Second, you need to lead by example.  That’s what a genuine leader does…he or she leads from the front and by example.  

Washington also realized those two key leadership points.  It’s why he stayed with his men as they traversed the brutally cold, icy waters of the Delaware River, and the harsh, snowy fields of Valley Forge.  Leading by example, and from the front, whether it is alongside still or stormy waters, or in green or snowy pastures, is the only way to go.

The Lord is my shepherd. Five words.  That’s it.  No more.  There is so much in those five simple words, but we can only scratch the surface in the time we have here.

 THE LORD.  To Adam he was Elohim…the Lord God.  To Abraham he was El Shaddai…God Almighty.  To Moses he was I AM.  To David in Psalm 23, he was Yahweh…the Lord.  Throughout history, God has been described by himself and others in a variety of ways.  He is the provider, the healer, the defender, the protector, the refuge, the rock, and many others.  The point is that the Lord responds in the manner and timing that is perfect.  We may not believe it in that moment, but we can be assured that it is indeed perfect.  

The Lord IS.  Not was, will be, might be, could be, should be, or any other phrase that the “conjuction junction, what’s your function” guy might come up with.  No, the Lord IS my shepherd.  That is an important distinction.  We can become so encumbered by our past, and wishful for our future, that we fail to experience the here and now of our lives.  The Lord wants to remind us that He IS, right here, right now.  When we need help in our struggles, the Lord IS.  When we celebrate successes, the Lord IS.  When we doubt, the Lord IS.  And when we step out in faith, the Lord IS.  There is never a point when the Lord is not. 

The Lord is MY…  It is critical to understand that David is the one writing these words.  This is the same David who was the boy shepherd that felled the obnoxious, arrogant giant.  This is the same David who became a giant obnoxious and arrogant individual himself.  This is the same David who could not take his eyes off the rooftop sunbather and as a result of his actions, had her husband killed in war.  But it is also the same David who the Bible describes as running after God’s heart.  In his ups and downs, David needed the Lord to be a personal, involved, and leading influence in his life.  Just as David was the shepherd to his family’s sheep flock, God was his shepherd…and is our shepherd, guiding, directing, and as we will see in the next few weeks, leading us to the best places. 

SHEPHERD.  Now, this might come as a surprise…it sure was to me.  But sheep are pretty smart creatures.  All of those statements you have heard about how sheep are stupid?  Well, they were wrong.  The experts say (I have said this before, but I always chuckle when I read “experts say”…who are these experts, because they are often wrong) that sheep can recognize 50 individuals’ voices and faces.  I can meet two people, have a 20-minute conversation, walk away, and in five minutes beat my head against the wall because I can’t remember one of their names.  Not a problem with sheep though.  Also, they take care of each other, especially tending to the sick.  When we get sick, we go to the store and look at a hundred varieties of medicine, never really knowing what to buy (unless of course, you are a mother).  Do we get a decongestant?  What about an expectorant?  Do we even know what an expectorant is?  I cannot even begin to count how many times I have bought the wrong medicine.  But not sheep.  When they become sick, they know what plants and specific grasses will make them feel better.  No sheep are not stupid.  But here is the thing, they are dependent.  And that is where the shepherd comes in.  We know the responsibility of the one who watches over the sheep.  The shepherd protects the flock 24/7.  There is not a time when sheep are aimlessly wandering around without supervision.  The shepherds are always there.  No, sheep are not stupid.  They just need help…and doesn’t that sound like someone you might know? 

If you have ever read any of my blogs, you know what’s coming next.  A little history tie-in.  For this season of blogs, I am going to be including anecdotes and tales from one of my favorite individuals in history…our first President, George Washington.  Though our nation’s history is replete with examples of individuals who were “shepherds” during the most demanding times, Washington’s life provides us with an extraordinary canvass of stories. 

He was a shepherd to a rebellious people for a righteous cause, a shepherd to a fledgling nation, and a shepherd to a disgruntled bunch of former soldiers, who remained unpaid for their service to the country.  It was March 15, 1783, and Washington stood in front of a group of officers he had commanded in battle, who had gathered in the Temple of Virtue in Newburgh, New York.  While the soldiers debated their next move, Washington entered in unnoticed.  The angered group were making preparations for marching on Congress and demanding pay for their service.  Though Washington agreed with the men that they deserved the pay they were promised and entitled to, he cautioned those gathered that to approach Congress in this manner, and to leave their families and farms in such a vulnerable time would be ill-advised, and that they could tarnish their battlefield reputations. 

After giving his speech, Washington then pulled out a letter written by Virginia Congressman Joseph Jones.  The content of the letter is irrelevant, but it is worth noting that Jones agreed with the soldiers’ arguments.  The important element of this interaction is what Washington did next.  Attempting to read the letter, he found the writing too small, so he pulled out a new pair of eyeglasses.  Washington then spoke, “Gentlemen, you must pardon me.  I have grown gray in your service and now find myself growing blind.”  For whatever reason, this action moved the soldiers to tears.  After all, he was a beloved leader and had endured the same hardships as those gathered in the room.  The soldiers then voted to cease any plans of discontent, and as an endnote, Congress did pay the soldiers for their five years of service. 

Washington was a shepherd, just not to sheep.  And as well will see in the next episode, he led men through pastures, and alongside and through waters.

He was a hero.  Of that, there can be no doubt.  His life and legacy lives on through everyone that attends the Air Force Academy.  Every Cadet learns the remarkable story of Lance Sijan…and what a remarkable story it is.  On 9 November, 1967, Sijan was the back seater in an F-4C Phantom II, call sign AWOL 1, piloted by Lieutenant Colonel John Armstrong.  Sijan hoped to graduate to the front seat in the coming weeks, but on this night, he would fly back seat with his squadron commander.  Following their preflight checklist, AWOL 1 and AWOL 2 taxied down the runway at Da Nang Air Base and quickly gained speed, lifting off into the night sky.  Lance settled in behind his commander, preparing his mind for the mission ahead.

As they flew the approach into their target, the Ban Loboy Ford, a river crossing the Ho Chi Minh Trail, an explosion rocked the F-4C.  There would only be a few seconds to save themselves by ejecting from the burning aircraft now plummeting toward the earth.  Lance acted quickly, but would it be fast enough?  Other aircraft in the area reported seeing no chutes following the explosion.  Had anyone survived?  Major Fitzgerald, the pilot of AWOL 2 turned on his IFF transducer, an electronic beacon for other friendly aircraft in the region to track.  The hope was that either Armstrong or Sijan would activate their beeper or try to use their radio to make contact, but there was only silence and darkness below.  In less than 30 minutes following their takeoff from Da Nang, AWOL 1 had gone down and was now missing.

It turned out that Lance was the only survivor from the explosion.  Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong did not make it out, and even though Lance survived the initial explosion, he was in bad shape.  The parachute had helped him, but he landed hard on a densely forested karst.  It was dark, and Lance was in bad shape.

As the sun came up over the dense forest, another mission to bomb the rail yards north of Hanoi was in motion when suddenly the back seater on one of the Phantoms picked up a signal from a survival radio beeper.  They had been briefed that a Phantom had gone down the night before, so naturally they thought this could be one of the crew from that plane.  The formation, call signs Drill 1 and Drill 2, radioed the Airborne Command Center who pinpointed the location of the beeper.  They asked Lance to identify himself, which he did.  They listened intently to his voice, knowing that the North Vietnamese had some who spoke good enough English to pass for an American.  After identifying himself further with his serial number, the Command Center was convinced it was indeed Lance Sijan.  

Plans were then set in motion to rescue Lieutenant Sijan and get him back to safety.  Air support, including two HH-3 Jolly Green Giant helicopters, were on the way to Lance’s position.  It took some time, but the low flying, low speed, A-1E Sandys found the downed aviator’s location. But as they did, they started taking groundfire.  At first it was smaller caliber guns, but that quickly changed as 23mm rounds started tracking the lead Sandy.  Multiple enemy rounds found their target.  Sandy was hit and would not stay airborne for long, so Major Griffith limped his aircraft out of the danger zone as far as he could before ejecting over a clearing.  Now there were two men in need of rescue.  One of the HH-60 Jolly Green Giants had followed Griffith as he bailed out and watched the location where he landed.  In a few minutes, the helicopter had picked up the downed Sandy pilot.  Now they could turn their attention back to getting Lance.

No matter what they tried, Lance’s rescuers just could not get to him on this first try.  Vietnamese soldiers on the ground kept firing into the air, endangering the aircraft.  Nor would they get to him the next day.  Unfortunately, the rescue would never happen.  It is rather incredible to contemplate what unfolded next.  Lance dragged his badly injured body around the jungle for weeks.  His injuries included a compound fracture of his left leg, badly fractured skull, a damaged right hand, and countless deep cuts from sharp rocks and thorns.  So far, he had been successful at evading the Vietnamese who were busy hunting him down, but after 46 days of slow movements, Lance’s luck ran out.  The Vietnamese found him.  Lance was first taken to a camp where he was given rice, water, and medicine for several days.  As he slowly regained some strength, Lance plotted how he would get out of there.  On one night, a different guard had showed up and was ordered to watch the prisoner through the night.  Lance thought that this might be his best chance.  He called the Vietnamese soldier over, asking for water.  When the soldier was near him, Lance knocked him unconscious.

Lance, in excruciating pain, now dragged his body up a trail in the monsoonal rains.  He had not gotten far when guards discovered he was missing.  Lance had gotten less than 50 yards when he was discovered and recaptured.  Lance’s fractured leg was put in crudely made cast, and then he was then taken to another location where he would eventually be imprisoned with two other Americans, Bob Craner, the pilot of a downed F-100, and his back seater, Guy Gruters.  Under interrogation, Craner and Gruters made up elaborate stories, telling their captors various lies.  But Lance would not say a thing no matter how bad the Vietnamese beat him.  Craner and Gruters begged Lance to just make up a story…anything, to get the brutal beatings to stop.  They both believed Lance could not survive much longer if the beatings continued.  By now, Lance was so emaciated that he was barely recognizable.  Still, day after day, beating after beating, Lance would not give in to his interrogator’s demands for information.  His only thought was of escape and he let Gruters and Craner know that he would do his part in any plan that led to freedom.  At night, Lance would muster just enough strength to start digging a hole in the dirt.  The guards would find the hole in the morning, and beat him.  His will to fight never left him.

The three prisoners were moved to the infamous Hoa Lo Prison in January 1968. Lance just lay in a state of delirium.  But escape was still embedded in his mind.  At night, Lance would expel every bit of energy to rolling off the pallet that had been his bed.  But that is as far as he could get before being discovered, and then the guards would beat him.  This occurred numerous times.  Craner and Gruters were then put in the same cell as Lance and they took turns sitting by his side ensuring that he did not roll off the pallet for fear of another beating.  One afternoon, Craner suggested him and Gruters start a fitness regime in their cell, so that they could build muscle to help them during long sessions of torture.  Lance insisted on joining in.  The two could not believe it, but Lance, propped up against the wall, began flexing his nearly non-existent arm muscles.  They could tell that Lance was in excruciating pain, but they could not stop his determination.

However, nothing Craner and Gruters did could stop the inevitable.  Lance was in his last days.  After weeks of begging the guards to get a doctor to look after Lance, one finally showed up.  After the examination, the guards loaded him on a truck and took him away, presumably to a hospital.  It would be the last time Craner and Gruters would see Lance.  It was January 22, 1968. Several days later a guard told them that Lance had died.  Through it all, Lance never once gave up the fight for freedom.  Bob Craner committed Lance’s story to memory, and began the journey to have him recognized for his courage and heroism.

That journey culminated on March 4, 1976, in a ceremony in the East Room of the White House, where President Gerald Ford presented Sylvester and Jane Sijan, Lance’s parents, with the posthumously awarded Medal of Honor.  The President then told Lance’s parents that their son was a man of “uncommon courage who gave the country a cherished memory and a clear vision a better world.”  Lance Sijan was a hero.  Of that, there can be no doubt.

I have played countless rounds of golf in tournaments and intramural sports while I was in the Air Force.  While I won quite a few matches in squadron competition, I never won a tournament either as a single player or with a team.  I’ve come close, but it was never in the cards for me.  If I would have stayed with the game anticipating an eventual victory, I would have been disappointed.  But I kept playing, not for the tournament wins, but for the love of the game.  And in that love for the game, I relearned a lesson from my childhood.

When I was 13 years old, I did something not very many people have done.  If you remember from a few weeks ago, I shared that I grew up playing baseball.  I was a good ball player.  I was selected to all-star teams every year I played (here is me trying not to boast).  When I was 13, I was again selected for a city all-star team, and we traveled around the metro area where I live.  On this particular day I was the starting pitcher.  The first few innings flew by as I was in a groove.  By the fifth inning I was still going strong.  It seemed with every inning I just gained momentum.  When the last out of the game was made, I had done something I never imagined doing…I had pitched a no-hitter.  I had walked three batters, so it would not go down in the books as a perfect game, but I was ecstatic anyway.

Now, if only every game I ever pitched went like that.  But it didn’t.  I’ve also been rocked by the opposing team’s bats, leaving the coach no choice but to take me out.  On those days, I didn’t feel so ecstatic.  The no-hitters are exciting and really cool to experience for sure.  But the times when the other team thrashes you is when character is built.  It is easy to celebrate the win and be thrust into the spotlight, but losing…not so much.

They call it losing with grace, but anyone who has lost a game in any sport will tell you that grace is one of the last things you feel…unless of course you are a saint…and a saint was, and is, the farthest thing from what I am.  But my dad was there – for the wins, and the losses.  Recently I heard a radio advertisement for high school sports and scholastics.  In it, a son had just finished a game and his dad was railing against him on all the things he did wrong.  Thankfully, my dad was not like that.  When I did have a bad game, my dad didn’t detail to me all of the things I did wrong.  In fact, he talked about the positive outcomes, choosing to put those less-than-optimal highlights in the trash can of memories.

Losing is just part of life.  No one wins every game.  Tiger Woods has won way less tournaments than he has entered.  The best hitters in baseball only get a hit about once every three at bats.  Babe Ruth had 2,873 hits.  Quite remarkable.  Babe Ruth also struck out 1,330 times.  Also quite remarkable…just not in the same way.  Nolan Ryan, who holds the stellar record for no-hitters (7), most strikeouts (5,714), and a whole host of other stats.  But he also had a career record of 324 wins and 292 losses…not that stellar.  Ryan also never received a Cy Young award, given to best pitchers in each league.  One of the greatest pitchers understood that losses come with wins…and in his case, a lot of losses.

What you do with those losses is what matters.  Of course the wins matter, and it’s those that will get you the ESPN highlights.  But it’s the losses that will define who you are, and as I said earlier, what will build your character.

I guess my dad understood that.  His way of helping me build resilience in those early years helped me immensely later in life.  During numerous military deployments I had that resilience tested on many occasions.  On my last one to Iraq, I had the honor of speaking to countless men and women from all branches of the military on how to build personal resilience through life’s experiences.  Many of those had lost all hope and felt there was nowhere to turn, in essence, they were thinking of taking their life.  Nothing shakes you to the core faster than someone sitting across from you and sharing those thoughts.  As I said, I was honored to have those conversations…and thankful that God used me as a vessel to be able to inject meaning and purpose back into their lives.  And it was that instilled resilience through life experiences that allowed me to stand in front of 850 basic trainees and talk about how important resilience would be for them in the coming weeks of training, and how important resilience would be for each of them throughout their lives.

One last thought to wrap this up…on the day of that no-hitter, the coach presented me the game ball with everyone’s signatures.  I still have that ball.  Occasionally, it gets pulled out of the drawer where it’s stored, and I get to remember that day again.  And in remembering that day of victory, I remember not all days are victories…and in remembering that, I remember how critical resilience is in our lives…and in remembering the importance of resilience, I remember it all started with a guy I called dad who showed me how to win AND lose graciously.