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Christchurch Cathedral

One of my duties as the Support Force Antarctica Chaplain (sounds impressive, doesn't it?) is to care for the Erebus Chalice. This ornate silver chalice was given to the Antarctic program in 1987 by a descendent of Admiral Richard Byrd and is housed at the Cathedral in Christchurch during the austral winter months. In October as the Antarctic seasons gets underway, the first chaplain of the season goes to the Cathedral for a special worship service, accepts the chalice, and carries it to McMurdo Station for the summer. A friend of mine, Ch Mark Smith, got to do that last fall.

The end of the season is less fancy. They don't always make a show of returning the chalice to the cathedral at the end of the season, some years we just bring it by the office before we fly home. This year, however, we managed to do a brief ceremony at the beginning of worship. Just a few hours ago, I addressed the congregation and thanked them for their role in sending the good news even to the end of the Earth (I took the chalice to the South Pole and celebrated the Lord's Supper there with it).

I don't have much for pictures of the event. In case you missed the entry a few weeks ago, here I am with the Chalice at the Pole, just after we celebrated the Eucharist there.

And here is today, returning it to Dean Peter Beck at the Cathedral (I'm the shadow on the right). Unless a better picture appears (PLEASE SILENCE YOUR CELLPHONES AND REFRAIN FROM FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY), this is my only record of this morning.


The cathedral is gorgeous and was a wonderful place to worship. It reminds me of something out a Patrick O'Brian novel. Dean Peter Beck was a gracious host and I especially enjoyed his invitation to the season of Lent. It was a tough sell for him to extoll the virtue of simplicity in such an elaborate location and service, but his sincerity was authentic.

Boys and girls, does anyone remember this color?

Leaving the Ice

Bag Drag

Our ride off the ice


Happy Camper


Loading cargo


On the ground in Christchurch!

A brief McMurdo dictionary

Bag drag: the art of bringing everything you own to a building at the top of a very tall hill so it can be weighed and checked in before flying off the Antarctic continent. Planes going to and from Christchurch land on an ice sheet runway and don’t shut off the engines to ensure they can take off again in less than an hour, the time needed to unload and load passengers, baggage and cargo. A “bag drag” time is assigned to departing passengers about 18 hours before take off to allow time to palletize all cargo for quick loading. "Can I get a shuttle to pick me up for my bag drag? There's no earthly way I can carry this all. Why did I think I needed this much stuff?"

Recyling: There is no "trash" in Antarctica. Because everything is shipped off the continent, it is sorted and recycled. Most dorms and offices have 8 to 10 different recyling categories and locations within the dorm. Categories include wine bottles (glass), beer cans (aluminum), condoms (biohazard), anything flat (mixed paper), anything that can be crushed (paper towels), coffee grounds (food waste), and others. "How do I recycle my deodorant?"

Skua:
1. a bird related to the seagull that spends some of the austral summer on the edge of the Antarctic continent. A scavenger for food in this barren land, known to attacks humans who hold visible food.
2.a. An item, or collection of items one person gives up so another can scavenge: “Crap, I have a lot to pack. Some of this is going to be skua.” 2b. Can be a verb: “I’m going to skua my extra shampoo and soap. The winter-overs might want to bathe.” 2.c. Also an adjective: “I’m drinking a skua-ed Coke as I type this.”

Cheech: colloquial for Christchurch, New Zealand, derived from the airport code CHC. “The weather in Cheech today is 70 and sunny.”

Off-deck: refers to a plane that has departed and is on its way to a destination: “The C-17 is off deck Cheech and on time!”

Transport time: the assigned time to arrive at the same building at the top of a hill to board a large all-terrain vehicle for the 45 minute ride to the airstrip. “Transport for flight ACH058 is 1300 hours. If you miss this ride, you’ll spend the winter in Antarctica.”

Pegasus: the white ice runway about 13k from McMurdo Station. “See the wings of that crashed plane over there sticking out of the ice? That was a Pegasus. We don’t fly those anymore.”

Have a good winter! A common farewell when someone leaving Antarctica after the austral summer season speaks with someone staying for the winter. Sometimes spoken in earnest. Usually followed by rolling the eyes upward and/or muttering unintelligible prayers of gratitude to an unknown God.

You coming back next year?: A common farewell phrase used among those leaving Antarctica after the austral summer. After living together in extreme conditions, people avoid saying “goodbye” and so use this, or similar phrases, to substitute. Generally spoken with derision or in a mocking tone.

I mean no disrespect toward the flag or military tradition, but I wanted to tell this story.

Yesterday afternoon, we sounded “Retreat” here at McMurdo Station. The last of the LC-130 ski-equipped aircraft left the continent for the long flights home (the usual route is Christchurch to Pago Pago to Hawaii to California to New York). There are about a dozen of us military folk left here to wrap up the season and so it fell upon us to maintain the tradition of officially lowering the flag and bringing to an official end the military mission for the season.

And so the word came out that at 1300 hours we were to meet at the flag pole. One of the visions many people have of the military is how we wear our uniforms and all look… well… uniform. But there are a couple factors in the Air Force right now that complicate that: first, we are getting rid of the uniform with the green camouflage pattern in favor of a pattern with more grey and blue. Both uniforms, as well as three different colors of boots, are allowed now since we are still in the transition phase. The second issue is that because it is so cold here, and individuals need to regulate our own warmth, we are allowed a bit more flexibility in hats and gloves and coats. The sun has started to get lower and lower in the sky, brushing against the mountain ranges here and making it colder and colder each day. Yesterday was not only cold, but windy, and with all our different uniform combinations, I felt like I was in an episode of MASH or a scene in Catch-22.

I have the old style military issue coat (think: Hoth Han Solo). Most guys have a newer, darker, warmer version of this coat. Some have the grey camouflage pattern coat. I have a green stocking cap, other guys have grey or black hats and some wear a ball cap type (but that makes for very cold ears).

Again, I mean no disrespect, I just have a need to tell my own experiences yesterday. At 1pm (that’s 1300) I was in my uniform and at the flag pole. Because I’m chaplain to everyone on station, and since most people are civilian, I don’t wear my uniform often so I’d had to cut lunch short to get dressed. In other places, a similar ceremony might be held with dozens or more people lined up in perfectly boxed ranks. Well, Jeff and Ed have formal roles to play in the ceremony. Ken and Pedro are in charge of lowering and folding the flag, and Chris is our picture and sound guy. That left were six of us “in the ranks.” We lined up roughly tallest to shortest and waited. We were called to attention and I stepped forward to offer a prayer. I removed a glove so I could open my notebook and look at some notes I’d scribbled (I didn’t know I’d be praying at this ceremony until about 10 minutes before it started when I offered to say something). In my prayer, I thanked God for a safe season, asked blessings on our travels, and guidance for us when we return next season when the sun rises again.

When I was done, everyone else is at attention, so I get back to my place in line to join them quickly and try to pull on my glove. By now, my fingers are cold and the glove liners I have (which are not military issue, but are a possum and wool blend I got from some Kiwis because they are really warm) get caught in my outer gloves. So, I stand at attention with one hand only partway inside my glove – it looks like my right arm is few inches longer than my left. Then we play the bugle music. No one plays the bugle so we have a recording of a bugle. The order was given for the music, and from the corner of my eye, I could see Chris open the door to the pick-up cab, reach in, and then the music started. I’m not sure if he had a boom box in there or if it was played on the truck stereo. As we stand for the song, tears start falling down my face – and other guys as well, I learned later that night over a beer – not because we are emotional but because it was so windy. When the song is done, we salute the flag as it lowers. Remember the part about my right hand being longer than my left because of the gloves? I whack myself in the face with my glove and have to adjust my arm to stand while Pedro and Ken slowly lower the flag in heavy winds. I think I can hear someone groan when the wind messes up the lines at one point and they have to lower it more slowly. I can also hear a civilian behind whisper, “What are they doing now?” as if we’re the day’s entertainment.

At that moment, I realized that despite the mismatched uniforms, the sound system from a redneck backyard party, and the bewildered crowd we were drawing, at that moment, I felt a link to line of explorers and adventurers. People haven’t been walking on this continent for much more than a century. The military has had a presence here because as an agent of our government, we don’t exist only to kill people and break things, but also to assist our exploration of our world and our universe. And as that flag came down, and my thoughts turned to my final reports and packing up my room, I realized what an honor it has been to be here. Brave and very smart men and women work here to learn about our planet and our universe and endure harsh weather. It’s humbling to be one of the links in that chain.

Morning Prayer

It’s 8:45am. For the first time since I arrived here no one else has shown up for morning prayer. There were a few days last week, after Jim left to go home, that only Fr John and I gathered for prayer. But today, it’s just me and God.

Good morning.

Three flights leave to Christchurch today. God, keep them safe and may weather and mechanics conspire to bring their passengers home safely and quickly. A lot of folk on these planes are tired and ready to be home: may their travels be swift. Some must leave to go home, but don't have much to anticipate: may they find meaningful work and fulfilling relationships. Others will wander home, traveling the world: keep them safe and bring to them a deeper respect for humanity and the cultures we have created.

There are probably 300-400 of us here now who will leave by week’s end. God may we stay focused on the work we have yet to accomplish. May our anticipation of the future not prevent us from living in each moment.

Our wintering crews are still arriving. May these men and women be safe and well during the coming long, dark night. Be with Gabe, John and Shayne who will watch over the chapel and the worshipping community here. Bless Alf, Scott and all the other Peer Counselors who will over a listening ear to their friends and colleagues. Grant endurance and vision to those in leadership this winter: Jeanne, Don, Allison, Bill, Rich and others.

Thank you for Shady Grove Baptist and the many other churches and faithful back the States who remember this chapel and ministry in their thoughts, prayers and gifts.

Be with me in my final days. I have reports to complete, book shelves to organize, a room to vacuum and pack. But there are also people here who would benefit from a listening ear and prayerful guidance. Help me balance between the needs of others and the tasks at hand. Christ be in the heart of each to whom I speak and in the mouth of each who speaks unto me.

As I look out this window, over the Ross Sea and through the clouds to the Royal Society Mountains, as I watch the sun spinning around the horizon falling closer today to the ground, as I hear the wind whistling through the steeple now shuttered for the winter, as I remember humbly those I’ve met who have such an eager desire to learn and explain more about your world, as I sit here in this Holy place that even in my two months has hosted many people of various or no faith who nonetheless sense something peaceful and meaningful within these walls, I am humbled. Who am I that you think of me, that you care for me?

The season of Epiphany ends today. I have indeed discovered you here. Even at the ends of the earth I could not escape your presence and grace. Your spirit indeed covers the whole earth. Grant me, even today, an opportunity to discover you anew.

Amen.

At breakfast this morning I heard someone say, "this is NOT a flight I'm going to miss" about their flight off the ice tomorrow. We have stopped flying to the South Pole now and have daily trips back to Christchurch (which is where we stage for the operation down here). I leave this Friday; there's one more flight on Saturday and that's it for a few weeks. There's one more scheduled flight in early March for last minute supplies and people, but after that, nothing more scheduled until an August resupply flight. Most of the winter-over crew will be here at least until October.

The American Tern

The American Tern is our annual supply vessel at McMurdo. She pulled in on Monday morning and started off-loading by early afternoon. Empty by Wednesday, they loaded her back up and finished at 4:24pm today. Why do I know the exact time? Because the captain, pictured below, invited Fr John and I to join him for dinner and a tour before they pull out tomorrow morning. Here I am with him on the bridge, sporting the cap he gave me.



One of the reasons the vessel departure is such a big deal on station is that during the complicated and very busy dance to offload and back-load the vessel, McMurdo is dry. No alcohol sales in the store or the bars. Because the vessel is pulling out of port tomorrow, the station manager this afternoon decided to let the store sell beer and wine tonight. And so for the single hour it was opened, the store looked like this:


The First Sergeant and I are wondering what this will do to church attendance tomorrow morning...

Point of View

Much in our life changes meaning or takes on new meaning if we adjust our point of view. One of the goals of my spiritual life is to adjust my view in order to accomodate not only my own life and desires, but those of my neighbor and my God. As a chaplain or pastor, I'm often seeking ways to illustrate this shift in perspective; yesterday I met a comrade whose art seeks to do the same thing.

The National Science Foundation offers grants to scientists to come down here for research. Additionally, NSF sponsors an Antarctic Artists and Writers Program in which artists working in different mediums get a trip here for their own research. There are at least two sets on station now: a married couple developing a marionette musical about Sir Ernest Shackleton, an early Antarctic explorer and Elise Engler, a visual artist. (For more about Elise, click here and for specifics about her Antarctica work and journey, check out this blog.)

Elise's work is pretty fascinating, though I didn't quite get it at first. I went to a public lecture she gave last week and became intrigued. She created a series of colored pencil sketches of everything she owned and presented it as a "self-portrait" (isn't it intriguiing that in our society we put so much value in what we own?). A variation on that theme is a series of sketches of women's handbags, here's #28 in that series, linked from her website:

Her works about how our government spends money are quite thought-provoking (the contents of a tool shed in a public park, the equipment to fire weapons on a single sortie in Iraq). Watching the Rockettes in NYC during the war in Iraq produced a startling contrast she calls Life Goes On:


One of her projects that she's done over time is a collection of views outside of windows. (Talk about changing perspective: Should I sit comfortably at a window or step outdoors to see the world for myself?) Elise stopped in the chapel yesterday and looked out our windows and decided that her next sketch of McMurdo's windows would be from here. We have a few different windows that offer distinct views. The large window behind the altar has stained glass and a beautiful view of the mountain range across the Ross Sea. On a clear day lately, we can see whales, seals and skua off in the distance. My camera isn't that great, but this gives you an idea of it:

Other windows look out across waste pipes to the ice dock where the cranes on top of the cargo vessel are constantly moving. It's quite a different view.

Some views out of the chapel are of the glorious majesty of creation... other views are of the mundane work-a-day world. The chapel looks out on both. It's easier for me to we consider a God of majesty and power (and maybe judgement and anger). That's the Big Stained Glass Window version of God. It's more difficult for me sometimes to remember God in the mundane.

When Elise entered yesterday looking for a window, I noted the obvious: Sketching the big stained glass window, everyone will know it's from the chapel. I'm thrilled, however, that she chose to sketch the view of the mundane work-a-day window. A challenge of spirituality in our world is seeing God in the mundane, and I'm thrilled that her art will present this view from within this holy place.

Groundhog's Day

There's a running joke down here about Groundhog's Day. Before I came down I asked folk what it was like and several people said "Remember the Bill Murray movie when he wakes up and each day is exactly the same as the day before? Well, it's like that." Most folk work six days a week for 10-12 hours a shift so each day looks a lot like yesterday and tomorrow doesn't promise to bring much change.

So it's REALLY Groundhog's Day here and I've discovered it's really not too different from yesterday. Or tomorrow.

And so I made a joke at lunch today about it being Groundhog's Day and wasn't that cool because it was different than yesterday. The joke didn't really work, though. It was pretty lame, but the mechanics I sat with were patient with me and pretended to laugh.

Company Town

Some of you have asked questions about what it's like to live here. There's different aspects of life here: the science mission, the military flying, the amazing scenery and natural beauty of Antarctica. But there's also the day-to-day operations of McMurdo that can best be described as a Company Town.

The National Science Foundation oversees McMurdo (as well as two other US stations in Antarctica), but contracts with other companies or organizations to handle many of the daily operations: for example, the Air Force and a couple other operations provide airlift. Raytheon currently has the primary contract for support; these contracts run for about a decade and the current one is up for renewal in the next year.

Raytheon and other subcontractors hire people to fill in the support jobs: the heavy equipment operators to keep the runways clear and flat, cooks, the barber, computer geeks, custodians, waste managment and more. Some of these folk found the job listings on Criagslist, some by word of mouth (the barber answered an online ad to cut hair down here!). People settle on a salary before they arrive and once here, there is not much money that exchanges hands. The pay here isn't as good as most people make back in the states, but all expenses are covered and it's a pretty amazing place to work, so it's usually a wash in the end. (Also, pipefitters and carpenters and a lot of other folk can't find work back home so they need the job.)

You sign up for a haircut and don't pay anything. There's no gym fee, no library card, meals are all covered and the medical clinic staffs a couple docs, a dentist and even a physical therapist to watch over us. If your vehicle needs a part, you pull it off the shelf at supply or file a request to have someone make it for you. Most of our clothing is issued to us, so often you can tell if people are laborers, scientists, military or civilian based on our outer clothing layer. We have nametags that velcro on and off our jackets. There are town meetings for new safety procedures. There are maybe a dozen bikes that are parked all around town for people to borrow and use when needed.

It's a unique environment, at least for me, and really adds to the sense of us being on an outpost at the edge of the world. For the most part, there's a real sense of group identity and participation in the effort to survive and study here.

Jumping Jacks

Church went a little slow this weekend. The crowd that gathered seemed tired and not too interactive. That's not really my style, so for the second time in my career - though I've threatened it countless times - I had the congregation stand up and do jumping jacks.

By mid-afternoon I was hearing from people on station how they were sorry they missed church. "The chaplain made us to jumping jacks!"

I hope someone remembered something else about worship.