Memoirs Of A Chaplain

By Charles Wesley Pike Chaplain LTC (RET) U.S. Army

This book was written as a result of many friends asking if I would share my experiences as a chaplain in writing. This book will give you an idea of the many problems a chaplain faces as he ministers to the soldiers and their families. As you read this book, you will feel the intense pressure that a chaplain experiences as he walks through difficult situations with hurting people. This book does not cover all the aspects of a chaplain's responsibilities. As well as helping hurting soldiers and their families through difficult problems, he spent many hours waling alongside the soldiers as they carried out their mission in protecting America. He had the opportunity to conduct worship service for the soldiers and their families. He had the opportunity to baptize new converts as they committed their lives to the Lord and then to lead them in spiritual growth. I hope this book gives you encouragement, if you have a family member in the Armed Forces, that there are chaplains present to walk alongside and support them in whatever their journey brings them. As you read this book, I hope that you will feel the joy that comes to a chaplain when he experiences the positive outcome of helping hurting people. This book deals with one chaplain's experience, but let it be known that he does not accomplish it alone. The chaplains are one family and they come alongside of each other to support the ministry to soldiers and their families.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644162774

Book preview

Life Before the Armed Forces

I, Charles Wesley Pike, was born on March 1, 1940, in the small commu­nity of Emma, North Carolina, just across the French Broad River from Asheville, North Carolina. I am the second child of Charles Baxter and Mary Lorena (Clark) Pike. Shortly after my birth in 1940, my father was drafted into the Army during WWII. I remember that as a young child I rode the train from Marshall, North Carolina, to Fort Riley, Kansas, to visit my father. (Thirty years later, I began my military career as a chaplain at Fort Riley, Kansas.)

After the war, my grandfather, Edgar Francis Clark, gave my father an acre of land on which to build a house; that’s where I grew up, living the life of a farm boy—outhouse and all in the mountains of western North Carolina. I remember those days very well. When my dad came out of the army, he began working for the state highway department. After a few years with the state, he decided to build a chicken house in order to raise and sell chickens. After selling each batch of chickens, he would build another chicken house, adding to the first one. He did well selling chickens. We had about 13,000 chickens at one time. My dad built a house for my grandfather and grandmother Clark that housed 6,000 chickens. Between their chickens and ours, we had a total of 20,000 chickens in the area.

My parents were not Christians when I was a young boy. Church was not a part of our life. When I was about eight years of age, my daddy became a Christian and then the church became a part of our family. When I was nine years old, I accepted the Lord as my Savior. In June of 1949, in a Sunday morning worship service at Oak Ridge Baptist Church, I went to the altar and gave my life to Christ. I’m sure I have failed in many ways, but since then I have tried to live a Christian life.

My father came from an alcoholic family. He did his share of drinking along with other family members. As well as drinking, my father bootlegged liquor from Tennessee. On my dad’s side of the family it was a dysfunctional family, many family feuds and fighting even to the point of trying to kill each other. Many times I have been pushed down to the floorboard of the car out of fear of being shot. Children are curious and want to see what is going on. I can remember standing behind my dad as he stood behind the house, with a gun ready to shoot an uncle by marriage. Thankfully, no one was ever killed by a family member, but some did sustain shotgun wounds. One of my uncles was killed by the sheriff’s department in a gun battle. When the sheriff’s department was called to his residence because of a domestic problem, he shot at the sheriff, and as they returned fire, he was killed. This happened many years after I was grown and had entered the ministry. As a matter of fact I was asked to do my uncle’s funeral, which I did. As you can see, the family feud continued for many years. As I write this, I am seventy-eight years old and am so thankful that I am able to say the generation today has not carried on the traditions of yesteryear.

When I was eight years old, this began to change. My father became a Christian and then the church became a part of our family, although it took many years for family members to bury the tradition of alcohol that caused so much trouble.

As I said earlier, my dad went into the chicken business in a big way and as a young boy; I had to help with the chickens. Daddy began to haul chickens. We had to catch chickens all over Buncombe and Madison counties. I still have scars on my hands where chickens scratched me. We had to catch the chickens at night which began around nine o’clock and catch chickens until two or three in the morning. I would come home, get a few hours of sleep and then help do the milking, feed the mules or the horses, and then go to school. That was not a good job to me.

I went to Red Oak School from the first through the ninth grade. The county built a new school in Weaverville, NC and combined Red Oak, Flat Creek, French Broad, Barnardsville, and Weaverville, which became known as North Buncombe High School. I went to North Buncombe High School from Red Oak School. It was during these school days, especially in high school, that I began disliking the farmwork and having to rise and catch chickens.

In school I wanted to play football. I never was coordinated enough to play basketball. I had a younger brother, Roy Kenneth Pike, who got to play football and excelled in it. But that was not for me. I was the oldest boy and was expected to do certain chores on the farm. I would come in from school and, as needed, plow, hoe the corn and tobacco, gather eggs, and take care of the cows—we would milk the cows by hand, strain the milk, and make our own butter from it. During the summer months, we were kept busy with the farmwork, especially in the tobacco and the corn fields. That is what was required of me. It seems as if the work was never done. So, I became very dissatisfied with my life at that time. I just felt like it was too much work. Being dissatisfied, I don’t mind telling you, I was tired of it. I had a desire to join the military. At the time, all I wanted to do was to leave and get away from all that work. But let me say, it didn’t hurt me. I think that today I have a good work ethic. In fact, many people say that I am a workaholic. As I have grown older and reflect back on those days, I am proud that my parents taught me good work ethics.

On the day I turned seventeen, I was in the military recruiter’s office in Asheville, North Carolina, even though I had not finished high school. My dad and my grandparents were against my going into the military. The only person who supported me was my mother. She went with me to the recruiter’s office and signed for me to enlist in the