When a Marine dies in combat, they say he's bought the farm. Ramos did not buy the farm, just a ride home. But when he was in the field hospital in Baghdad, Ramos said, he knew he had to return to the field. He had work to do. He is the man who administers Communion to Roman Catholic Marines on the front, and his job was not done yet.It's been said there are no atheists in foxholes. I've had more than one veteran of combat tell me, many more in fact, that not only are there no atheists, but there are no denominations. A Baptist will welcome the ministrations of a Catholic chaplain, and vice versa. Cpl. Ramos is, in a sense, bringing God to the battlefield. Whether it is the literal body and blood of Christ, as (some) Catholics believe, or merely a remembrance of Jesus' last supper with his disciples, I can't think of a more important job.
"This is my calling, the reason why I am here," said Ramos, a slight man with an impish grin. He was bundled up for the cold, his green, Marine-issued scarf pulled tight over his head to cover his ears. He also wore a black stocking cap, like those worn by the rest of his platoon buddies in 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit.
He keeps surviving, Ramos said. He has been in mortar attacks, mine explosions, the roadside bomb attack that cut his neck. In any other place, he might feel invisible, but Ramos knows that danger does not start and stop. He has not yet made it out.
"God is always with me," Ramos said. "He's always there watching."
The Post story notes that after his tour in the Corps, Cpl. Ramos intends to continue his seminary studies at Abiquiu, New Mexico, a Benedictine monastary (The Monastery of Christ in the Desert). This man's faith is humbling. He walks with God, and, though he's been injured and almost killed, knows he will be protected. How many of us have this kind of faith?
Thank God that June Ramos does. Vas con el Señor, Corporal.
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