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Meet the Padre

By Fr. Joseph L. Di Gregorio

It is 4:23 a.m.

I awake to the plaintive chanting of the Mullahs calling the faithful to fajr, the first prayer of the day for all Muslims.

“Sing praise to Allah and to his prophet Mohammed.”

I try to get a few more minutes of sleep but his chanting keeps me awake.

I look at my watch again. It’s 4:51. I touch the sensor switch, and the temperature appears. It’s 89 degrees and not yet 5:00 a.m. It will be another 100-degree day. How many have there been? I close my eyes and think back 11 years. I was here then during the Gulf War and I remember the heat, the sand, the chanting and most of all I remember why I was here. I am a Catholic priest and an Army chaplain. I’m here, in a country where Christianity is not permitted. To say Mass is a crime. Yet, before today is over, I will say Mass at least six times.

It’s time to get up. I pour some water into my canteen-cup, heat it on a little camp stove I brought with me, and make a small cup of instant coffee. The rest I pour into a little plastic bowl. I shave and wash and begin the day.

It’s 5:30 and a few soldiers have gathered outside my tent. A few are smoking. I see more approaching from different locations. “Good morning, Father,” they say, almost in unison. “Mass at 5:30?” “Yep,” I respond.

My chaplain assistant has already set up my little altar. Two MRE boxes serve as the legs and another lying across serves as a table. My chaplain’s kit is opened next to the altar. The chalice, cruets, linens are all arranged. I put a white stole around my neck; today is the feast of St. Charles Borromeo. I begin, “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit…”

Standing here in the sands of the Arabian Desert, one feels almost lost in time. In every direction the view is the same. Is this what the Israelites had to deal with when they left Egypt? Is this the place where John the Baptist, Isaiah, Job, Ezekiel and Mohammed fled to? Is this the place where Jesus escaped to, where he was tempted, where He went to pray?

Prayer seems to come easy in the desert. I believe it’s because you feel part of the environment. You become one within this vastness of sand. Like the ocean that appears limitless, the sand seems endless.

It was in the desert that the prophets found the courage and strength to carry on with their mission.

It is in the desert where we come to deal with our own mortality. The soldiers come to communion. They stretch out their hands, rough and callused with work. “The Body of Christ,” I say to each, and they respond, “Amen.”

After Mass, a few remain to tell me about the latest news of home. We talk about sports, the ever-changing situation we’re involved in and what the future has in store for us.
“Where are you headed now Father?” they ask. I tell them, and they remind me to be careful.

I leave and ask myself, “Do the people at home truly understand why these kids are here? What they are giving up?

These kids barely out of their teens, these American soldiers with their M-16s hanging on their shoulders, 5,000 miles from home living in tents, with no showers, eating MREs, no television, radio or entertainment, ready to give up their lives for their country if need be?

God, I say to myself, there is no other place in the world that I would rather be than right here, doing what I am doing. Why am I here? Because I am needed. No, not me personally, but rather because of what I am, a Catholic priest. I know it was said a long time ago by a great ball player, but like him – today – I feel like I’m the luckiest person in the world.

A chaplain with the rank of Major in the Army, Fr. Joseph L. Di Gregorio is a priest of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia serving in Saudi Arabia in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. He asks that readers keep the U.S. forces there in their prayers since “no one wants war, certainly no soldier, since we are the ones who will fight it.” He prays that the deployment will end quickly.
Article reprinted with permission from Fr. Di Gregorio and AMSNews, www.milarch.org.

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