One of our companies had been without religious services for several days, and they were in sporadic contact with a North Vietnamese unit. The operations officer at the Tactical Operations Center (TOC) emphasized that if I visited the company I must not be seen or heard or I would draw fire.

          I caught a ride on a slick and was dropped off behind a slight hill. I crawled over the hill and into the company area. The commander was a friend of mine. We whispered to each other. When I told the commander that I had come to conduct a worship service he told me the same thing that the operations officer had told me. He pointed toward the enemy soldiers and told me that they were about 100 meters away, just across that small stream.

          He emphasized that his concern for my welfare, and that of his men, required him to forbid my having a service. “If I can have a service without making a sound or being seen will you allow it?” He agreed, reluctantly. He then whispered into his radio that “19-er,” (the chaplain’s call sign) would be at a certain spot within the company’s perimeter and that those who could get away, and wanted to, should crawl over to my location.

          He reminded them of the need for silence and not being seen.

          What a sight, about 12-15 men crawling toward me! We crawled our heads into a tight circle and I began the service.

          Hi fellows. We are going to have a worship service but we will have to whisper it. Don’t forget and speak out. We don’t anyone to get killed because we are worshipping the Lord.

          I whispered a call to worship. The men whispered their prayer requests. I whispered a pastoral prayer, and we whispered the Lord’s prayer. I whispered a brief homily, then the Words of Institution for the Lord’s Supper: This is my body which is broken for you. This is my blood which is shed for you. This do in remembrance of Me. I passed the communion wafers around the circle. The wine was poured into a C ration can and passed around for intinction. We received the Sacrament.

          Since worship through giving is essential to a balanced Christian life, even for soldiers in contact with an enemy, I passed around my steel pot for their donations.

          Remembering that I carried mimeographed hymns for the worship services I reached into my rucksack and pulled out the song for that week. We whispered: Blessed Assurance Jesus is mine. Oh what a foretaste of Glory divine. Heir of salvation, purchase of God. Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood. This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Savior, all the day long; This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Savior, all the day long.

          I whispered a benediction and we parted. I crawled back over the hill to the chopper and the soldiers crawled back to the war.

          Since then I have preached to dozens and thousands, in a beautiful Cathedral and in grand churches. But that whispered service remains in my memory as the most powerful worship experience I ever had.