Following Christ, In the Army
Some years it’s a patriotic theme for church. Other years other congregations it’s Sunday as usual, just with some typical people missing from the pews for the long weekend.
That’s the way it should be I think. Sunday as usual. Even if it’s not for me.
Veterans Day doesn’t result in this reflection. Only Memorial Day. Probably cause of the dead. All those in the line duty, combat, training, rescue. And then those who lost the fight after they’ve made it home.
So many. The list grows. But that’s not what’s carrying my thoughts today. It’s comparing the gospel I love to the decision I made to enlist. There’s an incongruence that’s hard to ignore about being a follower of Christ and being trained and ready to do violence.
Now I loved my service. I continue to work with veterans for a reason. But I can’t ignore a bit of unease.
When it comes to military service and action there is scriptural precedent. Historical precedent. The Old Testament, the Book of Mormon come to mind. Warriors of old, Samson, David, Moroni, Teancum. Let alone the stalwart and faithful who I’ve learned from and served with.
That said it is incongruent with most of the teachings of Christ and his actions. He wasn’t the warrior king. He was the bringer of peace.
Many will point to the cleansing of the Temple. As justification. But he also told his followers to turn the other cheek and bear the pack an extra mile. And that was of an occupying Army. Let alone his admonitions to love one another.
I can’t ignore those thoughts. Those feelings. The testimony and conviction I have regarding Christ. They even impacted what MOS I took in the Army. I became a medic. I buried myself into my knowledge of medicine. But I still could perform and qualify with every weapon in my unit. It’s an odd juxtaposition.
I find myself wondering if the Chaplains were the only ones who got it right. Unarmed. Supporting the effort in ways no one else can. Weaponless. Medics used to be that way. Should I have been as well?
I don’t know. And that question sticks with me. I question my motivations, what I was willing to do. And now I don’t know if I could have made the same decision to enlist. At the very least in regards to branch and MOS.
At this stage in my life. I don’t want conflict anymore. Yet I volunteered to serve in a time of war. Who I am and who I was. They aren’t the same. And that’s probably a good thing.
The irony is. It was simpler to pray when I was serving. I needed the solace more then. The stress. The tempo. It made it easier in a way. There was a clarity. I miss it now.
Life has gotten more complex. I’m healing of injuries of the past. And treating others that will never heal. That’s just the physical. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually the same process is happening. It’s a work in progress.
One thing I’ve found. Is in faith, not many of the younger generation understand my experience. The congregations have less and less veterans. The majority of the greatest generation and their experience is gone. I miss it. I didn’t understand the looks, the hedging against praise. Until I lived it. Now I do. And it’s difficult to find a place with those that get me.
That’s ok though. Because I think we need to be rare. I hope my experience becomes more rare. I see the faith of my children. My family. It bolsters me. And it makes me wonder more and more about the best path for them, and if it is different than my own.
I’m happy to be a bridge. To be a unique difference in the faith. With an experience that simultaneously took me closer and farther away from Christ. It’s the burden I get to bear.
That’s the musing I’ve had today. How to be a warrior and a peacemaker. Follow Christ and serve as a soldier. And to live in the aftermath.
It’s the thoughts every last weekend in May.
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