“The biggest thing that [the veterans] told me was that they’re carrying around this horrible idea that they are bad people because they’ve done something bad and they can’t ever tell anybody about it—or they don’t dare tell anybody about it—and may not even be able to admit it to themselves.”
—David Wood, Journalist
I wasn’t raised to be particularly patriotic. In fact, I used to be against military funding and intervention. Today, however, I spend my days as a mental health chaplain ministering to veterans who live with the aftermath of trauma: post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), addiction, and moral injury.
Serving veterans has shifted my relationship with people who have served in our military—including my late father, who was drafted into the Army but never wanted to talk about his time in Korea. He was wounded there; he also contracted malaria. I remember once seeing him in a malarial fever, having nightmarish flashbacks of being under enemy fire.
I work with veterans who, like my father, live with trauma. What’s different is how they seek help to process experiences that have impacted their relationship with themselves, their loved ones, and sometimes their faith. My ministry is centered on creating sacred space where they can feel safe enough to tell their stories without judgement. I enter into what Sr. Helen Prejean calls a “dreadful intimacy” with veterans who tell me the worst thing they ever saw or did, and were unable to stop because of their duty to protect the citizens of the United States.
Sometimes the veterans ask me, “How could God allow what I’ve seen? There can’t be a God who would allow that,” or, “Chap, I’ve done some really bad things. Will God forgive me?” These questions reveal the loss of a veteran’s relationship with God—their Holy ideal—or their trust in the goodness of humanity.
My Universalist theology guides me to remind our veterans that they are not defined by their worst moment or action. Indeed, many of the veterans I minister to would re-enlist if they could because the military provided a deep sense of purpose, shared mission, and camaraderie they haven’t found in the civilian world. For some, their moral injury is compounded by the loneliness and grief of discharge.
No one is outside of our circle of compassion and love. No one is outside of responsibility or accountability, either. There may be a necessary journey of making amends, and I try to help them craft a path forward—a journey that involves grieving for others as well as the loss of one’s ideal self. Whatever their faith belief is, we start there and slowly try to work toward a perspective that includes acceptance, compassion…and maybe forgiveness.
Prayer
Mysterious Source of All Being, Spirit of Life and Spirit of Love, allow us to be truth tellers to ourselves and the world around us. Fortify our courage to lament; to call out in despair and rage against senseless inhumanity. May our community offer hope and healing and loosen the bonds of shame and isolation which burden so many. Amen.