Christian Living

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The Saga Of Gopher Harjo, USMC
© 2010

by

Stephen A. Peterson


When one thinks of a United States Marine, thoughts of a warrior, toughness and a person who defends the cause of freedom often come to mind. Very few would think of a Marine as gentle, caring, and being a prayerful person. No one except those who came to know and respect Private Guy “Gopher” Harjo. Private Harjo, during his boot camp days, proved to a tough, survival oriented, potentially mean person that every drill instructor, peer and officer voted as one of the best Marines—EVER seen! However, Private Harjo was given the name “Gopher” because of his willingness to go on his knees to God (going for broke) for anyone who asked.

Private Gopher was born and raised in the little town of Sasakwa, Oklahoma. Born to a father of mixed Choctaw—Native American, African-American, Euro-American ancestry and a mother of Seminole—Native American ancestry, daily prayed for his family, friends, the Christian religious community around the world, the United States, American politicians/states-men/women and especially for his brother and sister Marines. It didn’t matter where he was or whether he was on his knees, back, chest or side, he’d pray. Since Marine basic and following, Private Gopher never coerced anyone to accept his Roman Catholicism, never acted as though he was holier than anyone nor did he ever sought to attract attention to himself. Yet his most quiet demeanor attracted criticism from some as threatening and unbecoming of a Marine. Some behind his back called him: “Papoose Preacher,” “Holy Roller,” “The Reverend Mr. Red,” “The Holy Marine”.

Private Harjo was a good, thoughtful Marine and any equally good friend to many who did not seem to have a friend in the world. Private Bernard O’Toole, whom everyone named “Private Atheist” because he could not accept a notion of God” asked: “Why do you pray at every meal?” And when you pray for people, why do you pray when other can see you? Why don’t you say your prayers when lights are out? Don’t you know that some people are offended when you pray?”

Private Harjo looked at his fellow Marine then said: “You wouldn’t salute an officer when
lights are out, would you? When I pray and wherever I pray, I do so as a sign of respect to the
Lord for all that He did for me and all that he has given me. As long as I do not force anyone to
see God as I do, then I believe I’m being an example of Christ and, therefore, a model
Christian. I’m also not really concerned about the criticism I receive. For me, it means I
I’m doing the right thing.”

Private O’Toole felt a since of anger. “How can this Christian be allowed to spread this evil in the corps? Isn’t there a separation of Church and State??

“Hey, Bernie!” Private Harjo said with a smile. “That’s the way my parents, aunts and uncle taught me. They taught me that my happiness begins with me and my devotion to Good. In my eyes, they were devout Catholics. They prayed daily, read their Bibles at least 30 minutes every day, and taught my brothers and sisters the meaning and importance of key Christian holy days. You know—like Christmas, Lent, Easter and so forth. I was also taught not to be afraid of challenges and to stand up for my faith. As long as I am respectful towards everyone whether they agree with me or not, I have really nothing to be ashamed of or apologize for. I stand up for my faith every day with happiness and joy.”

After listening to Private Harjo, Private O’Toole found it very difficult to argue with anything he had said. He just wished he’d keep the God thing to himself. After all, God really doesn’t exist, in his view.

“Bernie, I know that some of the guys are bothered by me and my devotion to Christ. I know this and, believe it or not, I expect it. But I’m not afraid because I know he is with me to protect me from whatever they throw at me.”

Six months after their talk, the Battalion received orders to deploy to Afghanistan. Everyone knew they had 30 days to ready themselves for duty away from family, friends and the comforts of home to a land few of them knew much about. But true to his personality, Private Harjo cheered up member of his unit positive ways and Godly behavior. Some members of the Battalion still thought of him as crazy, a psycho and a danger to the unit. Private O’Toole had enough Private Harjo telling him to shut his mouth and cut the joy crud and God.

All of this changed when after fourteen months, the Marine camp came under attack by a large, coordinated Taliban attack. Marines quickly deployed in the direction where the battle was greatest. Insurgents were everywhere. During the action, Private O’Toole was injured seriously.

“Please! Somebody help me!” Private O’Toole screamed loudly. No one, it seemed, heard his pleas. As he lay bleeding and losing conscientiousness, he cried: “Oh, God, help me, please!” With what appeared to be his final plea, Private O’Toole closed his eyes seemingly to enter into a world of dreams filled with warmth and clouds where no one seemed to be.

The Private O’Toole heard one then three voices. One voice said: “Hey, he’s coming to!”

“Yep, I think he’s gonna be fine!”

“Great! Great! Welcome back, Marine!”

Stunned Private O’Toole’s first words were: “What’s going on? Where am I?”

“You’re on a ship headed back to the States. We thought we lost you. You were injured badly. We had to perform emergency surgery to save your life. You lost a lot of blood. We have to inform you that we had to remove your badly injured left forearm.”

Rage and anger began to overtake Private O’Toole. But before he could utter curses heavenward, he was further informed he came to survive the attack.

“The Marine Private “Gopher” Harjo pulled you to safety reported the nurse.

“Private Harjo? You mean the idiotic, nut saved my life?”

“Yes, he did,” responded the nurse.

“Well, I guess I owe him my life. When I get better I’ll have to thank the nut.”

“Well, Private, that’s gonna be impossible,” replied the nurse. “We learned that in the process of getting you out of harm’s way, he took a bullet to the head. We believe it killed him instantly and probably never suffered.”

Private O’Toole was in shock. So much so that he began to weep uncontrollably for the man he cruelly mocked and berated all the time he knew him. He wept for his forearm but even more for the man who surrendered his life that his may continue. When volunteers were sought to attend Private Harjo’s funeral, Private O’Toole petitioned and was granted the privilege of representing the unit.

Having never been to Sasakwa, Oklahoma, Private O’Toole came to recognize the Harjo family whom Private “Gopher” Harjo called “devout”. Private O’Toole, though thoroughly skeptical and even hating God more, had a chance to see for himself what Private Harjo meant about his family. It was though God was a member of this family. They began and ended their day with prayer. They said grace at each and every meal. They offered up their good works to God, no matter how great or small.

The funeral procession took the mourners down an unpaved road to the little family cemetery on a rolling hill with seven generations. The Stars and Stripes, flowers of many kinds, cowboy boots, miniature military vehicles and drums decorated each grave. The funeral was a curious mixture tears and pride, of loss and victory.

“Private Harjo,” the priest said. “Loved his God, His country, his family, his friends, his life, his opponents and his presence in the Marine Corps. Rather than permit fallen Marine to die, Private Harjo, USMC gave his life that another may live. That was a hero’s decision.”

“Amen!” responded everyone in attendance.

As the folded American flag passed from one honor guardian to another and finally to Private O’Toole, he took it his handless left, grasped it with his right then held it close to his chest as he wepted. Turning left, he slowly walked toward Private Harjo’s mother who accepted the flag as though it was a gift—a gift celebrating not an ending but a beginning.

The Harjo family invited Private O’Toole to stay the night, and for much of the time they shared their son’s and brother’s life. They recounted many things they remembered about him—his first day of kindergarten when he cried for hours because he wanted to go home; the time he took all of the money out of his savings bank to purchase children’s clothes for another child who lost everything in a Christmas Day fire; or when he rescued an elderly woman from a burning house as a teenager.

That night Private O’Toole stayed in Private Harjo’s bedroom. As he stood up to look out the window, he could see the cemetery where Private Harjo lay. For a moment, he thought he saw “Ole Gopher” standing with a smile on his face and talking to another man who looked a great like Jesus Christ.

“No! It can’t be,” thought Private O’Toole as he fell back on the bed. As he slowly rose to look out of the window, the “gopher” and God were gone. For whatever reason, Private O’Toole’s eyes remained fixed on the grave as Mrs. Harjo entered the room.

“You may not be able to see him,” said his mother, “but I’ll bet he’s right here watching us. He’s happier than any of us because he’s got God by his side. I know he’s prayin’ that we be where he is now.”

Stunned by what Private Harjo’s mother was saying. “How can you say that Mrs. Harjo, with all due respect? Your son is dead! I’d be madder than I could be. In fact, I’m so angry right now because Gopher is dead and may arm is gone! How can you believe in God who allows so much grief, pain and suffering in the world? That’s mostly why I can’t believe there’s any God! He does nothing if there is one!”

“You are angry about many things because you have no faith. Not blind faith in meaninglessness but faith that grants you possibilities makes healing possible and knowledge of what you do have. You breathe without difficulty; you see without aid or needing assistance; you can walk and hundreds of other things some would long to have. These and more are gifts from God. Although I am very sad because I miss my son, I also rejoice because I know he is in God’s hands. The absolute best place to be! You must be very tired. Enough talk! Get your rest. My family and I will pray for you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harjo but I wouldn’t waste my time praying for me. Even if there was a God, he wouldn’t do anything for me. I’ve cussed Him, cursed Him and disavowed His very existence. Besides I just don’t believe God exists, Mrs. Harjo. I just don’t have any evidence of the existence of God.”

“We’ll still pray for you. We’ll pray that God’s goodness and love for you will be revealed to you. Good night, Private O’Toole. Thank you for being here with us and our son.”

Within minutes after Mrs. Harjo left the room, Private O’Toole fell asleep. “Hi, Bernie!” a voice said. “Doin’ okay are you? Hey, man, this is Gopher…Gopher Harjo. How’s the bed? I slept in it for a few years. It’s really comfortable!

Hey Bernie, I’m here to talk with you. When I was with you in Afghanistan, we had a great time in spite of the war. You had trouble with God. But because He loves you, he sent me to tell you this. God also sent me to tell you that nothing you’ve done or can ever do could cause Him not to love you. You told me this is no God. Well-l-l-l-l, there is God! He is more real than you are. There is heaven, too! Bernie, heaven is really great! You’d love it! Right now though, you have a real serious problem. You haven’t accepted Jesus as Lord and God. You were fortunate when you were in Afghanistan. I saved your body but not your soul. Only you are able to do this. Bernie, it’s really easy. In fact, I’m taking you on a short trip around heaven. And I’ll let you look at what hell looks like...from a distance.”

“Gopher,” Private O’Toole queried. “I’m dreaming, right?”

“Yep!” replied Private Harjo.

“So-o-o-o, why should I believe any of this? After all, this is only a dream,” quipped Private O’Toole.

“Like I said, I’ll show you heaven and hell. Even though I’ll show these places, no one
will force you to do anything. When you wake up, you’ll see a pink lily on the night stand. So are you ready? Let’s go!”

Privates Harjo and O’Toole, in the blink of an eye stood before the gates of heaven. At the entrance to heaven stood St. Peter ready to challenge those seeking entry.

“Who goes there?” responded Peter in a loud voice.

“It’s me, Peter. Guy ‘Gopher Harjo.”

“And who is this with you?”

“This is Bernie O’Toole.”

“Hum-m-m-m. I see you are not in my book Bernie O’Toole.”

“He’s with me to get a small glimpse of heaven in the preview area.”

“Alright, you’re both cleared,” said Peter.

Both men walked a short distance then came upon an older looking man. “Bernie?”

“Grandpa?”

“Bernie! How are you doin’ boy? And how did you get here? When did you die?”

“I didn’t die yet grandpa. I’m here with Gopher Harjo to look around. I don’t believe in God and all of this other stuff. I’m still having problems with God, heaven, sin and all this stuff.”

“O-o-o-o-o!, I see,” the old man responded. “Look around you, Bernie! Isn’t this an
absolutely beautiful place?”

“Oh, yes!” Private O’Toole responded.

“Well, when that day comes when you have to meet Jesus, you won’t make it here.”

“Mr. O’Toole,” Gopher Harjo injected. “I’ve got to show Bernie the other place…hell.”

“Bernie, you really don’t want to see that place. It is horrible. But maybe it will help you
decide. I pray you make the right decision before it’s too late,” His grandfather said sadly.

When Private O’Toole turned his head he was at the gates of hell. At this point, he was
alone without his once earthly friend. He could see Private Harjo. It was though barrier was set
and there nothing either of them could do. He felt a burning sensation all over his body and
excruciating pain. Though he could not see them those condemned could be heard screaming,
cursing and pleading for mercy and relief. Before long, Private O’Toole’s pain was so intense
that he began to cry for compassion and mercy.

“God, help me! Please!”

Private O’Toole woke up sweating and breathing heavily as he fell out of the bed. He
then went over to the window to look out on the early morning light. He stood there for 5 or 10
minutes, keeping a lonely vigil before he turned and knelt beside the bed and folded his hands
as though fervently asking for forgiveness and mercy for his offenses. When he looked, there in
a single vase was a white lily.

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