COME OUT OF THE BAG

    A reservist friend of mine served in the Regular Army during the Vietnam Conflict. He was and is a wonderful man. He emulates his own motto in every respect; “Know your stuff, (well that’s not exactly the word he used), Take care of your people, Be a Man.”

    Staff Sergeant "Robert Minton" served in a very singular and very gruesome position. He was assigned as an intake supervisor with the Army Casualties Team. Bob performed the initial processing that ultimately, led to a military body being transferred back to the States.

     He routinely unzipped bag after bag, orange deodorant spray in one hand, and a club in the other hand.

     Oft times, military casualties lay on the field of their labor for days at a time. “Vermin” would often hitch a ride in the body bags, having been scooped up with the unfortunate soldier, (thus the need for the club.)

     As the months rolled by, one day was like another, and Sergeant Bob became almost immune to the sights and smells of his gruesome profession. And so it was until that one particular day…

    The hardened soldier bent to unzip another bag, of the literally hundreds that covered the hanger floor. He noticed a slight movement, and steadied his club. Zip went the bag, and it was at that instant that something happened which had never occurred in all his months at the Army Mortuary Service.

    “Whew. It’s hot in here”!

     Well, Sergeant Minton almost “lost it.”

    “We have a live one. We have a live one!!!” he called out. From somewhere in the distance medics were summoned, and the “living corpse” was rushed to a nearby operating room.

     Well, my readers, that young soldier was spared, and lives today. Granted, he lost an arm, and a leg, but he will tell you how fortunate he is to be alive. A footnote to this story, that doesn’t particularly serve my moral, occurred several years later. Sergeant Minton was released from active duty, and began attending a local community college. It was the first day of the semester, and he reported to a particular classroom, and sat down.

     Bob heard someone come in behind him, and turned to look. To his amazement he saw a very familiar face… a man with one arm and one leg. Somehow he managed to wheel himself up to our hero, and the reunion was nothing short of Outstanding.

     I tell this true story often. It has had an impact on countless people over the years. Of course, it’s not enough to merely tell the story. My particular interpretation of the story is all that really matters here.

    Our poor “corpse” was shut off in that dark, airless bag. How long he lay there is still a mystery. Somehow this one pitiful soul existed in a coma-like state, devoid of human contact. But then, he found himself being resurrected, so much like Lazarus of old! Our hero might have said, (had he thought about it) “Come out of the bag!”

    Some of my clients, certainly not all, are among whom some have called "the dregs of humanity," those who suffer from addictions to alcohol and substances, as well as clients who exhibit various psychological maladies; those who are figuratively closed up in a body bag, deprived of human affection, and comatose from the effects of virtual airlessness.

“Come out of the bag!”

You don’t belong there. There are those among us who will help you out! But you must cooperate. You must be willing. Only rottenness resides therein. The bag wasn’t made for you. Rise to newness of life!

     Jesus is bending over you. The great warrior King unzips your bag. His voice ripples with a thousand reverberations, deep and commanding,

“Come out of that bag!!!” 

(The New Testament. Romans 7:24-25)


(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 19. By William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending.

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