By Patrick J. McDonald
The work of a chaplain in a growing fire department brings with it an assortment of challenges and blessings. I am privileged to serve with a fellow chaplain; we share a creativity that flows naturally from differing backgrounds and mutual respect.
I’m a Roman Catholic priest by training; he’s a Southern Baptist minister. I rounded out my theological education with mental health training and certification. Terry Wlikinson, my co-worker, pastors a local parish and works daily as a hospital chaplain. He is credentialed for this work through the clinical pastoral education network.
(1) People in front of the ladder truck for “The Blessing Event.” [Photos courtesy of the Clive (IA) Fire Department.]
We were invited late last spring to do what has become a tradition among fire departments across the globe: to bless a new fire truck. The invitation came to us after weeks of work by our firefighters and supportive technicians to buy, equip, and make a new ladder truck ready for frontline duty.
Firefighters are a tradition-bound family, so we were challenged to come up with a blessing that would speak to a diverse group, formed by religious and nonreligious backgrounds. For some of our younger firefighters, the notion of a blessing is a foreign concept, although they all acknowledge that it’s good to ask for all the help they can get as they face dangerous situations.
A search of old and new collections of blessings yielded little of value for us. Some of the traditional blessings were so out of touch with our needs that they seemed comedic; we no longer need to call down God’s blessing on the horses that pull the fire wagons.
We decided to become creative and draw from a treasury of traditions: Jewish; Christian; Islamic; and contemporary, nonaffiliated approaches to spirituality. I invite my readers to do the same and to use our blessing as is or to draw from elements of it to fit the needs of their own departments.
(2) Chaplain McDonald listens while Chaplain Wilkinson reads the Word.
The Setting
Imagine a cool spring evening, a couple of hours before sundown. The new fire truck is parked majestically outside the firehouse, outfitted, polished, and looking ready for service to the community. About 100 firefighters, family members, and friends organize themselves in a comfortable fashion, eventually facing the driver’s side of the new truck in a crescent configuration.
Feelings are already running high, and everyone present applauds the half-dozen new firefighters sworn in and awarded their service badges. Our assistant chief of training now invites the chaplains to do a blessing. I stand under the driver’s station and address our firefighter family.
(3) Chaplain McDonald traces the Maltese Cross.
The Blessing Event
“As we meet this evening,” I begin in a simple invitational style, “we bring together some great traditions. We will do what firefighters have done for years: stand in pride before a new piece of equipment, lovingly cared for by those who brought it to its current state of readiness. We can now see and touch the product of their efforts and know that it brings with it a great blessing for us just to be here.”
“When we talk of blessing something, we are also brought into the company of those whom we cannot immediately see: the firefighters who preceded us, who called for divine help as they met the challenges of firefighting during their time in history.”
I pause momentarily to allow the group to remember the injured, the fallen, the deceased whom they knew. Then, I continue:
“A blessing begins with a view that we live with many unknowns, so we call upon God to guide and protect us under all circumstances. Thus, as Terry and I lead us through a blessing, we will use three traditional elements to invite our deeper spiritual selves to enter into sacred space: the Word of God, Water, and Oil.”
(4) Water is taken from the old pump tank and reverently poured into the new ladder 325.
Listening to the Word of God
“Let’s begin,” I continue, “listening to an ancient prayer for protection, given to us through the Hebrew tradition—Psalm 121.”
It is now Terry’s turn, and he begins reading aloud. As he reads, the group moves toward a deeper reverence.
“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 will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel will not slumber or sleep.
The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from harm—
he will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming and your going, both now and forevermore.”
(5) Pushing the truck into the fire bay.
The Place of Water
After a pause to allow the sacred word to engage the group in a variety of unspoken ways, I continue, “From the Christian, Islamic, and Jewish traditions, we take water, especially marked for blessings, and use it to make other items sacred.”
I note that I draw from my own Catholic tradition and hold up a simple plastic holy water dispenser, available at any religious supply house. I use a traditional overhand throwing action and sprinkle a generous amount of holy water on the pump and say:
“With this water, I bless the heart of our new family member. May the water that is pressurized and dispensed from this pump during times of disasters, bring relief, healing, and consolation to all those who are suffering.”
Now, it’s Terry’s turn. He gives a gentle, Southern Baptist twist to his throwing actions, generously sprinkling the main cab of the truck. He says:
“With this water, I bless the now unknown crews who will work from this truck. I ask that God keep our firefighters alert and focused during their difficult hours—that they stay refreshed, and that they realize that their presence here is soothing water to those who are suffering from unexpected tragedies.”
The Place of Oil and the Maltese Cross
It is my turn to do a little teaching again, and I address the group.
“From the Jewish, Islamic, as well as the Christian traditions, oil has a special place. Long before the days of scientific medicine, the medicinal qualities of natural oils were known. For centuries, olive oil soothed and healed those injured by fire. For tonight, oil becomes a symbol of healing.”
“The Maltese Cross,” I continue, “also becomes a symbol of healing. Check your uniform armpatch. Look at the Clive Fire Department Logo; it defines itself around a Maltese Cross. I dare say that every firefighting group in the country uses the Maltese Cross as a central part of their department emblems.”
I sense that the group is listening intently, as they explore a renewed awareness of their own traditions. This excites me to continue speaking with fresh energy.
“The Maltese Cross was created by the Knights of Malta, a medieval order dedicated more to bringing healing to the battlefield than the sword. When distilled mineral spirits paved the way for fire to become the terrorist weapon of its day, the Knights of Malta wrapped the burned battle casualties in their own cloaks, brought them to a safe haven, and treated the burn victims with oil and healing herbs. Over centuries, the Maltese Cross has evolved into a symbol of service and healing.”
I take oil on my thumb, trace the form of the Maltese Cross on the new firetruck’s cab door while I pray aloud:
“May all firefighters who are called to service in this cab be brought under your protection, God of compassion. Give them the confidence they need in difficult situations. Ground them in an awareness of their special calling and help them to leave behind petty differences and focus on teamwork, integrity, and concern for the suffering.”
Terry now signs a Maltese cross in oil at the base of the ladder assembly and prays:
“Grant safety in all operations, God of love. Be with those who climb the high ladder. Keep them safe. May their capacity to work confidently at great heights be blessed by you. May their courage and ingenuity enable them to rescue those who are paralyzed by fear.”
We both now move to the front end of the truck and sign again with the Maltese cross. I say:
“Only you, God, know what challenges the future will bring to our new firefighting equipment. I therefore place this entire truck under your special care and concern, asking that you exercise a constant watch over all aspects of its operation.”
Terry signs and picks up the theme, continuing:
“Only you, God, know who will be called to duty in this truck and what challenges that duty will present. Be with our firefighters as they meet every challenge. Be with them in a visible way.
Finalizing Solidarity
One final digest of everything we desired to say now becomes a joint prayer. We try to keep our voices coordinated, and we speak with a rising intensity.
“Guide, direct, and assist them always in their work; keep them from harm; and return them home safely to their families. AMEN.”
As I observe the reactions of the group, I see a few members in tears. I mostly feel a reverent silence from all present. The spirit of the blessing now becomes incorporated into a concretized tradition for the Clive family.
Water is taken from the old pump tank and reverently poured into the newly blessed Ladder 325.
Chief Rick Roe initiates the radio call to Westcom, alerting the regional dispatch center that Ladder 325 is now in service. The crackling acknowledgement from Westcom goes viral, and we all applaud.
“Now, every man, woman, and child put their hearts and backs into a final ritual of homecoming. We push [with the help of a healthy new turbo-diesel engine] Ladder 325 into and out of the firehouse bay three times: once for God, once for country, once for Clive.
We all walk away from the entire experience with renewed spirits.
Later on, over coffee and a free social exchange, I listen to random remarks about how our efforts were received. A few of them shed some light on what took shape during the last hour:
“I was never much for blessings. I now appreciate what they mean.”
“Thanks for caring about us.”
“I was moved by the whole experience.”
“I feel much better about trusting God to keep us safe.”
“I feel a sense of continuity with some great traditions.”
“I have to keep the truck clean, so I wondered all the way through the Maltese Cross business, how I’d ever clean that oil off the side of the truck.”
“Lemon juice,” I say with a smile. “It’s tradition.”
Patrick J. McDonald is a fire chaplain for the Clive (IA) Fire Department. McDonald served the Diocese of Des Moines, Iowa, as a priest for 10 years. He works each day as a mental heath practitioner, licensed as an independent social worker, and as a marital and family therapist. His background, certification, and experience, offer a foundation for on scene chaplaincy work and assisting firefighters and EMS staff with their lives.
