Team Infidel
Forum Spin Doctor
Newsweek
May 7, 2007
By Eve Conant
Army Chaplain Roger Benimoff heard the IED blast and saw the smoke rising. From his vantage point at a forward-aid station on the morning of June 7, 2005, he peered through a fog of dust as .50-caliber machine-gun fire erupted in the distance. Then the guns went silent. Benimoff helped medics get stretchers ready for the wounded. But when the soldiers of Fox Troop returned to station near Tall Afar, all they had was the bloodied corpse of one of their men. Benimoff began a familiar death ritual. The heat was closing in on 100 degrees; a smell of diesel fumes filled the air. Benimoff gathered the medics around the corpse of their comrade in the shade of an armored personnel carrier. Ignoring the din of rumbling engines and radio chatter, he began to pray in a strong and reassuring voice, quoting Psalm 121: I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He prayed for the soldier's family. He prayed for the medics who had wanted so much to help. He prayed that God would look down upon their small circle and surround them with his love.
Yet at times in the Iraq War zone—and after coming home—Benimoff began to question that love. His experience, detailed in a daily journal and voluminous e-mails from Iraq shared with NEWSWEEK, is a tale of a devout young man who begins his time in Iraq brimming with faith and a sense of devotion that carries him into a second tour. "My heart is filled with prayer and God is giving me a discerning spirit," he writes at the start of that later deployment. "The spiritual battle I am engaged in is a minute-by-minute war." He is "on fire for God." But the start of a full-blown crisis of faith—one he grapples with as a chaplain at Walter Reed Army Medical Center today—is seen in his journal entry from that night near Tall Afar: "Can keep doing this? Is the pain & the heartache worth it? ... God, please let me look to you and no other."
Benimoff's journal is written in a scribble of printed letters on 126 unlined pages. It's a tale of helicopter crashes, suicides, improvised explosive device blasts—and the professional, spiritual and marital troubles of soldiers seeking comfort. A mixture of adrenaline and devotion keeps Benimoff focused in the theater of war. Yet over time, his spiritual foundation is shaken by the carnage. The demons surface in full once he finds more time for reflection. After joining Walter Reed last June, Benimoff was plagued by questions. "I am not sleeping well and I am still scared," he wrote. "I was reading my Bible and I found myself getting violently mad at God." For a brief period early this year, he came to "hate" God, and wanted nothing to do with religion.
God can be found or lost in a foxhole, but rarely does war leave someone's faith untouched. In some ways, Benimoff's story is common to people of all walks of life and all beliefs. It is the story of spiritual struggle—and of trying to accept a world of both good and evil, where pain and loss seem unconnected to faith and justice. Such tensions are magnified on the battlefield. Countless soldiers—not just chaplains—have struggled with how to reconcile a God of love with a God who allows the terror of conflict. For centuries theologians and philosophers have grappled with ideas of "just war": thou shalt not kill, but under certain conditions—to prevent wider bloodshed and suffering—slaughter by armies is acceptable.
Many American soldiers in Iraq wear crosses; some carry a pocket-size, camouflage New Testament with an index that lists topics such as Fear, Loneliness and Duty. U.S. troops have conducted baptisms in the Tigris. They often huddle in prayer before they go on patrol. Not everyone is comfortable with this. About 80 percent of soldiers polled in a 2006 Military Times survey said they felt free to practice their religion within the military. But the same poll found that 36 percent of troops found themselves at official gatherings at least once a month that were supposed to be secular but started with a prayer.
The survey didn't ask soldiers whether they suffered doubt or loss of faith. National Guard Specialist George Schmidt, 30, who was raised as a Methodist in Titusville, Pa., and became a Wiccan before deploying to Iraq in June 2006, says he saw fellow soldiers driven in different directions. "Either you're running to God, grasping to hold on to the guy you were before you came to Iraq, or you're running right away from him because of what you're seeing," he says. Schmidt is now being treated for posttraumatic stress disorder and anxiety at Walter Reed. Army Specialist Joe Schaffel, 24, who is also being treated for PTSD, went to Roman Catholic school in Sleepy Hollow, Ill. "I had faith until I got to Iraq," says Schaffel, who returned from his second deployment last September. "I haven't gotten it back since. Once you get there, you wonder how God could allow anyone to go through that."
It is up to military chaplains to help relieve battlefield stress, even as they may be suffering themselves. According to a 2006 military study, 27 percent of chaplains and their assistants in the field reported burnout levels that were "high" or "very high." Some of the potential effects of what the Army calls "provider fatigue" are acutely troubling for chaplains: hopelessness and doubts about spirituality.
No polls show how many chaplains have difficulty reconciling a good and loving God with the carnage of war. And it's clear that battle can both strain and strengthen faith. "I still have dreams where I'm throwing up little flag-draped caskets," says Chaplain (Maj.) Victor Chatham, who served with the National Guard in Kuwait in 2004, conducting funeral "ramp ceremonies" and debriefing traumatized soldiers. "It wasn't so bad blessing one or two caskets, but when there were 13 at once, it's a different kind of duty." He retired from the guard shortly after that deployment and sought therapy. He's still a believer, but he says "there is no way that questions of faith don't come up in an atmosphere like that."
Many chaplains think that war strengthens their belief and the spirituality of the troops they serve. "It is the trials of life that ultimately help us to grow in our faith," says Air Force Chaplain (Capt.) Trent Davis, who was deployed to Iraq in 2005. He recalls one soldier who wasn't much of a believer at home but decided to read a Psalm each day while deployed. The day the soldier started in his vehicle across the Iraqi sands was the day he read from Psalm 23: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. "After that his faith grew much deeper," says Davis.
Military chaplains are further stressed because there aren't enough of them. About 2,700 chaplains minister to an active-duty force of 1.4 million, meaning there's one chaplain for every 518 service members. In peacetime, the ratio is deemed adequate. But with the military fighting two wars, service members often need daily counseling to cope with emotional trauma. Many soldiers suffer spiritual doubts in war, but the stresses can be especially acute for chaplains. By ministering to men and women who are struggling to keep faith, many are forced to confront their own doubt again and again.
Chaplains are unarmed, but they go where the troops go. They help in any way they can. "When there were 17 or 18 bodies, it was more than mortuary services could handle," says Army Chaplain (Lt. Col.) Dick Olmstead, now retired, speaking of his deployment to Kuwait and Iraq in 2004. "Maybe it's not the brightest move to have chaplains opening body bags to place 40-pound bags of ice on dead soldiers, but you have to go where your hands and heart are needed." Still, after 20 or 30 ramp ceremonies, he says, "you can't help but wonder if God is really listening to you."
Benimoff didn't ever expect to enter into such a close relationship with God. Born in New York in 1972 to parents with Jewish ancestry, he was raised in a Baptist household by his mother and stepfather, who moved to Austin, Texas, when Roger was 7. The family went to church on Sundays, but Benimoff wasn't particularly devout. When he graduated from Smithville High School in 1991, he enlisted in the Army and was sent to Fort Riley, Kans. Later he joined the National Guard while studying for a criminal-justice degree at Texas State University-San Marcos. It was around this time, he says, when he needed "God's presence."
Benimoff didn't just want a job; he wanted a meaningful life. At a Baptist student-group meeting, he met his future wife, Rebekah McIntyre. "It was the first time I saw people practicing what they preached, and it amazed me," he recalls. "And I recognized her as having the kind of relationship I wanted with God—she was truly in love with the Lord." She was also very pretty and had a great sense of humor. He had found his family and his calling.
They married in 1996. Their first son, Tyler, was born just after Benimoff began divinity school at the Southwest Baptist Theological Seminary in Ft. Worth, Texas. Their second son, Blaine, was born during his chaplain residency at a Texas hospital. But Benimoff knew where he was destined to serve. He had already taken the summer of 2000 to complete the Army chaplains' officer program at Fort Jackson, S.C. "I had always been a soldier," Benimoff says. "What better way to serve God than to help soldiers spiritually and emotionally?" He went back to regular duty in the Army on July 16, 2003, as a chaplain and a captain. Three weeks later he was in Al Anbar province, in charge of the spiritual welfare of 1,100 troops.
May 7, 2007
By Eve Conant
Army Chaplain Roger Benimoff heard the IED blast and saw the smoke rising. From his vantage point at a forward-aid station on the morning of June 7, 2005, he peered through a fog of dust as .50-caliber machine-gun fire erupted in the distance. Then the guns went silent. Benimoff helped medics get stretchers ready for the wounded. But when the soldiers of Fox Troop returned to station near Tall Afar, all they had was the bloodied corpse of one of their men. Benimoff began a familiar death ritual. The heat was closing in on 100 degrees; a smell of diesel fumes filled the air. Benimoff gathered the medics around the corpse of their comrade in the shade of an armored personnel carrier. Ignoring the din of rumbling engines and radio chatter, he began to pray in a strong and reassuring voice, quoting Psalm 121: I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He prayed for the soldier's family. He prayed for the medics who had wanted so much to help. He prayed that God would look down upon their small circle and surround them with his love.
Yet at times in the Iraq War zone—and after coming home—Benimoff began to question that love. His experience, detailed in a daily journal and voluminous e-mails from Iraq shared with NEWSWEEK, is a tale of a devout young man who begins his time in Iraq brimming with faith and a sense of devotion that carries him into a second tour. "My heart is filled with prayer and God is giving me a discerning spirit," he writes at the start of that later deployment. "The spiritual battle I am engaged in is a minute-by-minute war." He is "on fire for God." But the start of a full-blown crisis of faith—one he grapples with as a chaplain at Walter Reed Army Medical Center today—is seen in his journal entry from that night near Tall Afar: "Can keep doing this? Is the pain & the heartache worth it? ... God, please let me look to you and no other."
Benimoff's journal is written in a scribble of printed letters on 126 unlined pages. It's a tale of helicopter crashes, suicides, improvised explosive device blasts—and the professional, spiritual and marital troubles of soldiers seeking comfort. A mixture of adrenaline and devotion keeps Benimoff focused in the theater of war. Yet over time, his spiritual foundation is shaken by the carnage. The demons surface in full once he finds more time for reflection. After joining Walter Reed last June, Benimoff was plagued by questions. "I am not sleeping well and I am still scared," he wrote. "I was reading my Bible and I found myself getting violently mad at God." For a brief period early this year, he came to "hate" God, and wanted nothing to do with religion.
God can be found or lost in a foxhole, but rarely does war leave someone's faith untouched. In some ways, Benimoff's story is common to people of all walks of life and all beliefs. It is the story of spiritual struggle—and of trying to accept a world of both good and evil, where pain and loss seem unconnected to faith and justice. Such tensions are magnified on the battlefield. Countless soldiers—not just chaplains—have struggled with how to reconcile a God of love with a God who allows the terror of conflict. For centuries theologians and philosophers have grappled with ideas of "just war": thou shalt not kill, but under certain conditions—to prevent wider bloodshed and suffering—slaughter by armies is acceptable.
Many American soldiers in Iraq wear crosses; some carry a pocket-size, camouflage New Testament with an index that lists topics such as Fear, Loneliness and Duty. U.S. troops have conducted baptisms in the Tigris. They often huddle in prayer before they go on patrol. Not everyone is comfortable with this. About 80 percent of soldiers polled in a 2006 Military Times survey said they felt free to practice their religion within the military. But the same poll found that 36 percent of troops found themselves at official gatherings at least once a month that were supposed to be secular but started with a prayer.
The survey didn't ask soldiers whether they suffered doubt or loss of faith. National Guard Specialist George Schmidt, 30, who was raised as a Methodist in Titusville, Pa., and became a Wiccan before deploying to Iraq in June 2006, says he saw fellow soldiers driven in different directions. "Either you're running to God, grasping to hold on to the guy you were before you came to Iraq, or you're running right away from him because of what you're seeing," he says. Schmidt is now being treated for posttraumatic stress disorder and anxiety at Walter Reed. Army Specialist Joe Schaffel, 24, who is also being treated for PTSD, went to Roman Catholic school in Sleepy Hollow, Ill. "I had faith until I got to Iraq," says Schaffel, who returned from his second deployment last September. "I haven't gotten it back since. Once you get there, you wonder how God could allow anyone to go through that."
It is up to military chaplains to help relieve battlefield stress, even as they may be suffering themselves. According to a 2006 military study, 27 percent of chaplains and their assistants in the field reported burnout levels that were "high" or "very high." Some of the potential effects of what the Army calls "provider fatigue" are acutely troubling for chaplains: hopelessness and doubts about spirituality.
No polls show how many chaplains have difficulty reconciling a good and loving God with the carnage of war. And it's clear that battle can both strain and strengthen faith. "I still have dreams where I'm throwing up little flag-draped caskets," says Chaplain (Maj.) Victor Chatham, who served with the National Guard in Kuwait in 2004, conducting funeral "ramp ceremonies" and debriefing traumatized soldiers. "It wasn't so bad blessing one or two caskets, but when there were 13 at once, it's a different kind of duty." He retired from the guard shortly after that deployment and sought therapy. He's still a believer, but he says "there is no way that questions of faith don't come up in an atmosphere like that."
Many chaplains think that war strengthens their belief and the spirituality of the troops they serve. "It is the trials of life that ultimately help us to grow in our faith," says Air Force Chaplain (Capt.) Trent Davis, who was deployed to Iraq in 2005. He recalls one soldier who wasn't much of a believer at home but decided to read a Psalm each day while deployed. The day the soldier started in his vehicle across the Iraqi sands was the day he read from Psalm 23: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. "After that his faith grew much deeper," says Davis.
Military chaplains are further stressed because there aren't enough of them. About 2,700 chaplains minister to an active-duty force of 1.4 million, meaning there's one chaplain for every 518 service members. In peacetime, the ratio is deemed adequate. But with the military fighting two wars, service members often need daily counseling to cope with emotional trauma. Many soldiers suffer spiritual doubts in war, but the stresses can be especially acute for chaplains. By ministering to men and women who are struggling to keep faith, many are forced to confront their own doubt again and again.
Chaplains are unarmed, but they go where the troops go. They help in any way they can. "When there were 17 or 18 bodies, it was more than mortuary services could handle," says Army Chaplain (Lt. Col.) Dick Olmstead, now retired, speaking of his deployment to Kuwait and Iraq in 2004. "Maybe it's not the brightest move to have chaplains opening body bags to place 40-pound bags of ice on dead soldiers, but you have to go where your hands and heart are needed." Still, after 20 or 30 ramp ceremonies, he says, "you can't help but wonder if God is really listening to you."
Benimoff didn't ever expect to enter into such a close relationship with God. Born in New York in 1972 to parents with Jewish ancestry, he was raised in a Baptist household by his mother and stepfather, who moved to Austin, Texas, when Roger was 7. The family went to church on Sundays, but Benimoff wasn't particularly devout. When he graduated from Smithville High School in 1991, he enlisted in the Army and was sent to Fort Riley, Kans. Later he joined the National Guard while studying for a criminal-justice degree at Texas State University-San Marcos. It was around this time, he says, when he needed "God's presence."
Benimoff didn't just want a job; he wanted a meaningful life. At a Baptist student-group meeting, he met his future wife, Rebekah McIntyre. "It was the first time I saw people practicing what they preached, and it amazed me," he recalls. "And I recognized her as having the kind of relationship I wanted with God—she was truly in love with the Lord." She was also very pretty and had a great sense of humor. He had found his family and his calling.
They married in 1996. Their first son, Tyler, was born just after Benimoff began divinity school at the Southwest Baptist Theological Seminary in Ft. Worth, Texas. Their second son, Blaine, was born during his chaplain residency at a Texas hospital. But Benimoff knew where he was destined to serve. He had already taken the summer of 2000 to complete the Army chaplains' officer program at Fort Jackson, S.C. "I had always been a soldier," Benimoff says. "What better way to serve God than to help soldiers spiritually and emotionally?" He went back to regular duty in the Army on July 16, 2003, as a chaplain and a captain. Three weeks later he was in Al Anbar province, in charge of the spiritual welfare of 1,100 troops.