Stories of Faith and Courage From World War II (26 page)

On February 28, 1942, the
Houston
was fatally wounded during the Battle of the Java Sea and had to be abandoned. In the darkness of night Chaplain Rentz entered the water with his life jacket and hundreds of other survivors. He found a spot of relative safety with others on an overcrowded floatplane pontoon, and seeing that there wasn’t room for everyone, he said to the men around him, “ You men are young, I have lived the major part of my life and I am willing to go.”
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He let go the pontoon and tried to drift away, but the men brought him back several times. Finally, he said a prayer, took off his life jacket, placed it near a sailor without one, and silently slipped below the surface. For this extraordinary act of heroism, George Rentz was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross the only Navy chaplain to be so honored during World War II.

He had followed the law of the Apostles’ Creed,
His life the price of a noble deed.
He went to his Lord with no regret
Our Fighting Chaplain we’ll never forget.
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The wicked man flees though no one pursues, but the righteous are as bold as a lion.

—Proverbs 28:1

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AY 4

Boot Camp

William Manchester (1922–2004) was the best-selling author of eighteen books and deemed by the
Washington Post
as one of the greatest popular historians of the twentieth century.
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His books focused on the lives of military and political leaders such as Douglas MacArthur, Winston Churchill, and John Kennedy.

Not quite so well known is the fact that Manchester was also a Marine during World War II. He joined the Corps in 1942 while still in college. His first experience was boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina, where his head was shaved and he was given a number. He met a new god-like figure, the Drill Instructor, and learned the three ways of doing things: the right way, the wrong way, and the Marine Corps way. Discipline was harsh and corporal punishment was common. In spite of the shock, Manchester somehow concluded that he adored Parris Island.

How could I enjoy this? Parts of it, of course, I loathed. But the basic concept fascinated me. I wanted to surrender my individuality, curbing my neck beneath the yoke of petty tyranny. Since my father’s death I had yearned for stern discipline, and Parris Island, where he himself had learned discipline a quarter-century earlier, gave it to me in spades. Physically I was delicate, even fragile, but I had limitless reservoirs of energy, and I could feel myself toughening almost hourly. Everything I saw seemed exquisitely defined—every leaf, every pebble looked as sharp as a drawing in a book. I knew I was merely becoming a tiny cog in the vast machine which would confront fascism, but that was precisely why I had volunteered.
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William Manchester brought a great writer’s discernment to a brutal process. He saw through his own personal agony to the higher purpose of this experience. To win a war, many good men had to subject themselves to the severest discipline. There are times in our lives when God’s discipline can also be difficult to endure and to understand. God disciplines us mainly through our hardships and setbacks, and, when we allow these experiences to bring us closer to him, we grow that much “tougher” for our service in his kingdom.

Know then in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, so the L
ORD
your God disciplines you.

—Deuteronomy 8:5

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AY 5

The Code

Abraham Felber landed at Red Beach on Guadalcanal with the first wave of Marines on August 7, 1942. He was a thirty-six-year-old sergeant and grizzled veteran of the old Corps. As 1
^st

Sergeant of Headquarters Battery, 11
^th
Marines, it was up to him to pass on the time-honored traditions of the Corps to the younger men. Some of those traditions were contained in an unwritten code that distinguished the Old Breed. According to Felber, the “Code” required certain things of every Marine:

You don’t hold a grudge against your fellow Marine, and you don’t let anyone hold a grudge against you. You settle matters here and now. If words don’t work, then with fists.

You take the responsibility, and you take the blame, even if it’s not yours.

When war comes, you fight, because that’s what you owe your country.

In war, you depend for your life on your fellow Marine, and he depends for his life on you.

You respect your own sailors and airmen doing battle for you. They are fighting and dying in the skies and on the seas to protect you. That’s a service you can’t return to them.

You respect your enemy. They are husbands, fathers, and sons who fight and die just as bravely as you do.

And when the warrior’s day is done, and your nation seems quick to forget your sacrifice and your honor, you remain ever faithful, ever loyal.
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The “Code” was an unusual blend of toughness and compassion that probably had its roots centuries ago among the knights of England. It was harsh and unyielding in war and chivalrous in peace, calling each man to a higher level of personal responsibility for his actions. In the end, it reflects the motto of the Marine Corps:
Semper Fidelis
. This is a standard that we should all attain to: being always faithful to the cause, even when our efforts are not understood or appreciated. We know that our cause in service to God and his kingdom is ultimately important and worthy of this dedication. We also know that no matter what God is faithful to us.

His master replied, ”Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”

—Matthew 25:23

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AY 6

White Linen

As the 1
^st
Marine
Division hit the beaches on Guadalcanal, two battalions made simultaneous landings less than twenty miles away on the little island of Tulagi. Here the Marines got a taste of the fanatical resistance they would face for the rest of the war. It took three days of bitter fighting to secure the little island.

Lt. Paul Moore was a platoon commander in the Tulagi invasion force. Within just a year he had graduated from Yale, joined the Marine Corps, trained as an infantry officer, and sailed half way around the world to this remote spot. He now found himself in a place that he had never even heard of a few weeks before. It was a challenge just to exist in the jungle with almost constant rain and the sickening stench of decaying vegetation. He was shocked at his first sight of dead Japanese, and affected even more by the sight of wounded and dead fellow Marines. A few days after the island was secured he attended a religious service that left a lasting impression:

Sunday came several days after Tulagi had been secured. It may even have been the third day, when we were still very dirty and still terribly upset by our first experience with death. The whole outfit, those who were not on duty, came down to the cricket field, and the chaplain celebrated mass. The only clean thing on that entire island was the white linen, which he had salvaged to put over the makeshift altar, and perhaps his vestments. I remember having—it sounds sentimental—but a feeling, you know, about the world being broken, sinful, full of horror, terror, filth, but God being still pure. I had a real sense of reassurance.
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Every Episcopal church has an altar guild of church people who voluntarily serve to maintain the altar linens and priestly vestments in an immaculate condition. I will never again take this service lightly after hearing the testimony of this Marine lieutenant on Tulagi. What a glorious mission: to give a hint of God’s purity by this attention to detail in the physical elements of worship. These physical symbols of God’s holiness are just as meaningful in our Sunday church services today as they were on a jungle island in wartime.

Such a high priest meets our need one who is holy, blameless, pure, set apart from sinners, exalted above the heavens.

—Hebrews 7:26

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AY 7

Inbeat

The Marines were pinned down by an enemy machine gun and were taking casualties. Lt. Paul Moore raised himself up to throw a grenade and was struck in the chest by an enemy bullet. Looking down at the wound, his mind raced:

The air was going in and out of a hole in my lungs. That didn’t mean I was finished, but I thought I was dead, going to die right then, because I thought if that happened you were gone. I wasn’t breathing through my mouth but through this hole. It felt like a balloon going in and out, going pshhh. I was thinking to myself, Now I’m going to die.

While undergoing treatment for his wound, he later learned:

The bullet… came through my chest between two ribs, slightly shattering them, went past my heart, as the doctors later told me, when it must have been on an inbeat instead of an outbeat, and then missed my backbone as it went through the other side of my body about an inch. So it was a very close shave.
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What would life be like knowing that a bullet had missed your heart by less than an inch? Perhaps you would feel that it was no coincidence, and that God had spared your life for a purpose: your work on this earth was not yet complete.

The apostle Paul told the Corinthians all about his own “close shaves.” Five times he received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one (forty lashes were thought to be lethal, so they stopped short at thirty-nine). He was beaten with rods three times, stoned once, shipwrecked three times, and the list goes on (2 Corinthians 11:24–27). Instead of these brushes with death stopping him from his work, he carried on by God’s strength. God has numbered each of our days as well, from the moment we were born (Psalm 139:16). The Lord will call us home when the time is right, whether we die from a car accident, a heart attack, or an act of war. But in the meantime, he has work for us to do; we should not think our contributions to the kingdom of God are over as long as we are alive. (JG)

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

—Ephesians 2:10

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AY 8

Hearing the Call

The mission came from Col. “Chesty” Puller himself. Lt. Paul Moore was to assault a Japanese position on the other side of the Matanikau River with his platoon of Marines. Four other units had been repulsed in the same effort. It seemed like suicide, but he didn’t hesitate.

Expecting to wade across, he and his men found themselves swimming instead. As he neared the opposite bank, he described an incredible scene: “ mortars and hand grenades going over our heads and into the water as if it were raining, with bullets striking all around us.#8221; As casualties mounted the Marines could not continue to advance. Moore finally called for his platoon to fall back. As he was trying to help one of his men to safety across the open beach under fire, an amazing thought passed through his mind:

I remember when I was leaning over trying to bring one of my men to safety seeing bullet marks in the sand around my feet and thinking, you know, it I get out of this, maybe it means I should do something special. There was a feeling—I don’t know if it’s good theology, whether it’s superstition or what, but certainly I felt that I had been extremely fortunate, and that I was, in a sense, living on borrowed time, and that this was another good reason to give my life to the Lord, and it seemed that being a priest was the way.
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Paul Moore did become an Episcopal priest and bishop after the war. I doubt that many discern their call to the priesthood in such dramatic fashion, but in every case it is a powerful calling. We are blessed that good men and women have heard and responded to this call in the past and continue to do so today. The body of Christ is made up mostly of lay people trying to do his work. Our “commissioned officers” are our priests and ministers. We need them to teach and lead us spiritually. They need our support and loyalty in return.

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here I am. Send me!”

—Isaiah 6:8

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AY 9

Chesty

Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller arrived at Guadalcanal on September 18, 1942. He was forty-four years old and had already spent more than half his life as a Marine. Just promoted to lieutenant colonel, he commanded 1
^st
Battalion, 7
^th
Marines. When another famous Marine, Mike Edson, saw Puller land, he commented to someone nearby, “ There comes the greatest fighting man in the Marine Corps. ”
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