When our son, Patrick Bowman Gordy-Stith, was a midshipman [1982-86] at the U.S. Naval Academy my wife, Donna, and I went to Annapolis, Maryland, a number of times to see him and Midshipman Vicki Lynn Gordy, his girlfriend then, his wife now.
On Sundays we usually worshiped at the Naval Academy Chapel. Beautiful place, but it never seemed like church to me.
One problem was the sermons preached by Navy chaplains. The kindest word that comes to mind is “bland.” But it was more than that, a lot more.
For one thing, there is a crypt beneath the chapel in which the body of John Paul Jones, a Revolution War hero who is regarded as the Father of the U.S. Navy, is interred. Isn’t that a little creepy, or is it just me?
For another, in that 2,500-seat chapel all souls were not equal. High ranking officers came in last, marched down the aisle to their reserved seats, and left first while everyone else waited.
There’s more. I didn’t like seeing midshipmen parading the American flag in and out of the chapel. I love the American flag and served it at sea, but it doesn’t belong in a church.
And the stain glass windows are, how shall I say — different.
One depicts Sir Galahad, a knight of the Roundtable, in other words, a fictional character sort of like, well, Donald Duck. Another depicts a recently graduated midshipman based on the likeness, I’ve read, of Tom Hamilton, a Navy football hero, an All America halfback on Navy’s undefeated 1926 team. But the stained glass window that really got to me showed the Archangel Michael guiding Admiral David G. Farragut’s ships through a mine field at the Battle of Mobile Bay in 1864, helping him kill Southerners.
I sort of doubt that.
Am I anti-Navy or anti-military?
No.
I served in the Navy and my three brothers, too. My father was in the Army. Two brothers-in-law served in the Air Force. Bo and Vicki graduated from the Naval Academy and served five year hitches.
I just don’t believe rank matters inside a church, at least it ought not matter. I also believe the government ought not try to run a church, and a church ought not try to run the government.
Coming Monday: A Lesson Learned
Early that Friday morning some of my neighbors were already out in the street, chain sawing, when I joined them and cranked up my Husqvarna. They had smaller saws, or dull chains, or both. My “Husky” was easily the king of the road.