Man down!
I am not certain that Ken Hiltz was baptized at
old St. Agnes, Washington, D.C. . But I do know that St. Agnes is where his
father played the organ, where he and Anne met, where he learned to serve at the altar and where he learned to be a Confession-frequenting, rosary -praying, Blessed Sacrament-loving Catholic Christian, long
before he came to St. Francis. Wherever he was baptized, Ken was signed with
the sign of the cross, as the priest said
We receive
this Child into the congregation of Christ’s flock; and do sign him with the sign of the Cross, in
token that hereafter he shall
not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified, and manfully to fight
under his banner, against sin, the world, and the devil; and to continue
Christ’s faithful soldier and servant unto his life’s end. Amen.
If ever there was a soldier unto his life’s end, it was Ken Hiltz. Ken flew P-51 Mustangs and
P-47 Thunderbolts in WW II. He flew in Korea and was shot down by a surface to
air missile over the ocean near Hanoi during the Vietnam War and sustained a
permanent back injury because he was unable to properly detach from his
ejection seat. Later as a civilian Ken did some undercover work for various law enforcement agencies.
He would not talk about that even if it was declassified, because those were
his orders.
It has been my
experience, both as a priest and as the son of a priest, that members of
Armed Forces are, without exception, the very best parishioners,
committed, faithful and dependable. When I was in seminary, there was a scandal involving adultery in the senior class and only one senior declined to graduate from an institution which looked the other way at such behavior. What had he done before seminary, you guessed it: helicopter pilot in Vietnam. No wonder that the old rite of Holy
Baptism uses military images. No wonder the new rite does not.
It is some sort of commentary on our times that,
while it is almost unimaginable that a soldier or military figure would be
canonized, the tradition of the Church is much more robust: Saint George, Saint
Joan of Arc, Saint Martin of Tours, Saint Ignatius of Loyola, not to mention St.
James the Great, Santiago Matamoros, “the Moor slayer”, who appeared on
the battlefield, sword in hand, to lead the Spanish Christians to victory.
Yet like so many real heroes, although he was
never for a moment ashamed of his military record, he also felt the pain of
conscience that he was required to do what men must in service to their
country. And that was because before he was soldier and servant of his country
he was Christ’s faithful soldier and
servant. Contrary to what many think these days combat experience does not deaden
a man’s conscience but sharpens it.
What most of us experienced in Ken was not so
much his military valor but his baptismal courage: the courage to confess the faith of Christ crucified, and
manfully to fight under his banner, against sin, the world, and the devil.
I do not know that Ken’s life after his military
service was harder than any other man’s. Anne’s death, the death of his son, Steve, the
trials and tribulations of his family and friends and the endless round of
illness and surgeries which particularly marked the last phase of his life.
Still Ken always knew that he was marked with the sign of the cross. He had his
orders, the orders given at his baptism: to confess the faith of Christ crucified, and
manfully to fight under his banner, against sin, the world, and the devil.
However, we are not here to canonize Ken but to
pray for him, even if we might be tempted to think that such a man and such a
life hardly needs our prayers. Ken himself would set us straight on that. Neither Fr. Rogers, nor I, had to teach Ken about Purgatory.
Like all of us Ken had to manfully fight under Christ’s banner, against sin, the world, and the devil.
As his confessor I can tell you that he had to do that, and that is about
all I can tell you. But for all us poor banished children of Eve there is always
that battle.
Against sin or the flesh: that is, the battle
against ourselves, our relentless determination to win and to be successful, to
be in control, to avoid defeat or anything which lessens our standing in the
world. This is the first battle and often the last. Good Lord, deliver us.
Against the world: that is, the endless worry
about what others are thinking or saying about us: about our reputation, about
the way things look rather than how they really are, the desire to be something
other than what we are. Good Lord, deliver us.
Against the devil: that is, against all lies
about ourselves and others and the world and even about God himself, which we are
tempted to believe. Good Lord, deliver us.
These are our enemies and these are the rules of
engagement: manfully to fight. Like all of us, Ken sometimes won and sometimes lost in this
intensely personal, private and often hidden struggle. But make no mistake he
fought manfully. That is all that God asks of us. We have our orders, as General Lee told his troops: "Do your duty. You cannot do more. Never wish to do less."
So we pray and offer sacrifice for Ken not only
because the Church demands it but because he, ever a son of the Church, asks
us of our charity to do so.
Man down!
May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed
through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.
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