When Jenkins steps on a landmine and dies on his first assignment in Vietnam, platoon leader Lieutenant Carroll gathers the rest of his stunned squad and leads them in a prayer for his soul and the souls of all “angel warriors.” Soon afterwards, he confesses that his experiences in Vietnam have given him too many doubts about his faith to follow his one-time dream of going to seminary. Yet, despite his doubts, he still finds comfort in prayer. Carroll doesn’t offer prayer—or religious belief more generally—as a cure-all for the trauma of war. But he suggests that prayer and faith nevertheless have power, if only to provide comfort by bringing the soldiers together in a shared act.
Perry, who prays a lot more in Vietnam than he has since his earliest childhood, remains painfully aware that his pleas to God arise from fear, not necessarily an abiding faith like Brewster’s. And he knows that saying a prayer won’t necessarily save him from death; after all, he assumes, the Vietcong soldiers pray just as fervently to Buddha as he does to the Christian God. But the shared experience of prayer offers him and everyone else a chance to regroup and reinforce common bonds. For instance, when Carroll dies, Monaco recites Carroll’s “angel warrior” prayer. Perry finds comfort in attending services with Walowick and Peewee (who otherwise often squabble with each other), and Perry calms his racing thoughts with the words of the Lord’s Prayer on patrol and huddled in foxholes. These and other episodes suggest that prayer has a unique ability to bring people together, which can in turn provide a person comfort and hope in the darkest of situations.
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Faith and Hope Quotes in Fallen Angels
“Sometimes,” he said, “prayer can be very comforting. I wonder if any of you men would like to pray with me?”
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” I said.
“Try me,” he said.
“I just don’t want to pray,” I said.
“Figure you don’t want to make your peace if you’re not ready to die?”
I smiled. I had to smile. He was right and he knew it. “Something like that.”
“You ever go into combat?”
“Into combat? Yes. I’ve never fired a weapon at anyone, though.”
“You figure if you don’t shoot at anybody, God’s going to take care of you?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I sure as hell hope so.”
Thoughts came. What would Morningside Avenue look like now? It would be day and the park would be filled with kids, their screaming and laughter would slide along the light beams into the helter skelter world of monkey bars and swings. On the courts there would be a tough game. Black bodies sweating and grunting to get the points that would let them sweat and grunt in the sun for another game. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. The only thing that was real was me and Peewee, sitting in this spider’s grave, waiting for death.
[…]
Pray.
God….What to pray? What to tell God? That I’m scared? […] That I didn’t want to die? That I was like everybody else over here, trying to cling to a few more days of life?
Peewee moved, adjusted position.
“I got to shit,” he said.
