U. S. Army Colonel Edward Lesko served in the Vietnam War as a newly commissioned second lieutenant chaplain, fresh out of seminary. He held young men like himself in his arms, their entrails exposed, comforting them, administering Last Rights, as the last drop of life drained from their beautiful, youthful bodies. I know this, because the colonel oftentimes shared his painful memories with me during the time we spent together. Some, he repeated, but I would listen like it was the first sharing. They were gruesome tales that continued to haunt him over his military career, indelible images locked in his memory, experiences from a snapshot of his life that muddied his personal relationship with his God and shook his role as shepherd to its core.
I had the bittersweet pleasure of meeting Colonel Lesko while serving on a one-year tour of duty in the Republic of South Korea, as part of the beefed-up security forces supporting the 1988 Summer Olympics in Seoul. Father Lesko was the head chaplain for the 8th U.S. Army military community headquartered in the Yongsan, a district of Seoul. He was an imbittered, hardened, and relentlessly gruff old man, who was difficult to approach any time of day or night, let alone engage in any conversation, short or long. I decided early on that I would not let him bully me, nor would I give up on him, even though I was convinced well into our relationship that he truly didn’t like me. Honestly, I feared the man.
My fear of him diminished over time. Our paths, on and off duty, crossed on numerous occasions, affording each of us ample opportunity to either grow in disdain for one another, faux or genuine, or simply unconditionally surrender to mutual tolerance and peaceful coexistence. Increasingly, it began to surface that we both had chosen the latter, though it was clearly a task that proved much easier, and quicker, over time for me to embrace. I came to deeply respect Colonel Ed Lesko and truly love Father Ed Lesko. Thanks to his companionship, mentorship, and friendship, I grew as a person in ways I’m still coming to realize almost four decades later.
There is a story here yet to be written. It encompasses the entire real estate of the Republic of South Korea – mountain tops to valleys, rice paddies and rivers to the sea, months of soldiering in thick mud and torrential monsoons. It’s about an old military priest coming to terms with his past, his time in the military, his faith, and his personal relationship with God. It’s about an unlikely friendship between a senior army officer and a much younger warrant officer. It’s about a young warrant officer entrusted with a tactical communion kit and commissioned by the old man to go forth and feed the hunger of those in spiritual need throughout the rugged, mountainous, tactical theater. It’s about holding church with intimate clusters of soldiers in the most beautiful, breath-taking locations under the most trying of conditions, and bringing God’s love (and cookies!) to exhausted, filthy, sweaty, young soldiers. It’s about commonality, the realization of being members of one human family, regardless of differences in rank and assigned levels of responsibility.
Yes, I may very well write that story one day. And when I do, I’ll write it for you, Colonel Edward Lesko, my senior military mentor, and for you, Father Edward Lesko, my priest and counselor, and of course, for you, too, Ed, my very dear friend, and brother in the Lord.
[A sharp salute, followed by a heartfelt Amen.]