The Courage of Your Convictions (Wounded Warriors)
Veteran's Day, November 12, 2000
© 2000 Matthew S. Cockrum
I was twenty years old and a sophomore in college when Operation "Desert Shield" became "Desert Storm" and was officially declared a war. I can clearly remember hearing the news when someone came to play practice that night, telling us that it had been made official. Later that same evening, I sat on my couch in my dorm room, smoking a cigarette and staring out at the night sky…listening to the television in the background reporting as events unfolded. I was hearing about how units of the National Guard were going to be called into service. I was thinking about who I knew that would be going.
But most of all, there was one thought that was slamming repeatedly into my conscience -
"You should go, Matt."
Simple as that.
"You should go."
I was scared to death. What should I do? The year before I had toyed with the idea of joining the Marines but had backed out of a scheduled meeting with the recruiter. Was this my "second chance"?
All of my life I knew the military. My father had ascended to the rank of Major in the Air Force before being passed over and forced into retirement. He was in Vietnam when I was born, a pilot flying reconnaissance missions. Intercepting enemy messages and attempting to determine their whereabouts.
His father is an Air Force veteran of Korea and World War II. Two of his three siblings served in the Navy. My dad offered both my sister and me to use part of our college funds to buy us new cars if we joined the military immediately after high school and then went to college.
We both refused. My own decision based largely upon a distaste for the military that I perceived had spoiled my family, my father and, for that matter, the world. Me? In the military? Armed service? Never!
So why was I sitting there, two years later, feeling like I ought to go into the service? That duty called me to go fight in a foreign land for causes I did not understand?
Confused, concerned, and - frankly - a little bit cranky that I was being forced to consider these issues at all, I walked across campus the next day only to discover another surprise.
While I had been sitting in my room, pondering and puzzling, a group of students had organized a candlelight peace rally on the campus green. Their picture took up half of the front page of the school paper. And right smack dab in the middle of that picture was one of my closest friends. I don't remember exactly what the caption read but I imagine it said something about concerned students gathering to protest the newly declared war in the Middle East.
I can't remember ever having felt so proud
So ashamed
So enraged
And so confused all at once.
Here I was, worrying about having to go off to war. In the meantime, a friend of mine attended a peace rally and stood out in front of cameras to demonstrate that she didn't support what was going on.
It wasn't that I wished I had been at that rally. And it wasn't that I wished I could have been in the gulf already…although that might have been closer to the truth at that time. What the problem was, was that I didn't feel like I fully belonged in either place. I couldn't see myself at the rally, singing and chanting for peace. But I also couldn't fully see myself marching off to battle in a war I didn't believe in.
I felt caught
Stuck In-between
Without place
I imagine that's what Veteran's Day does for some folks in our churches. I imagine that my own sense of disorientation and, honestly, fear of judgement might be felt by other folks. It's not always easy - even within our churches which claim to affirm the use of conscience - to express an opinion that is perceived to be unpopular or not in line with the majority…or something that might run contrary to the views or experiences of another. Having stalwart pacifists and staunch military veterans in the same gathering of any type - UU or otherwise - is bound to create tension. Add in there the event of Veteran's Day and you're just asking for trouble.
So…what do we do?
Well, we could just ignore it. Maybe it would go away if we pretend it's not there. Some of us have tried that with Easter and Christmas and it doesn't seem to be working. Troublesome issues do not disappear when we avoid them. Determining their meanings in our lives and our times, however, is another thing entirely.
I think another solution is in order. I think we need to engage Veteran's Day. I believe that a critical examination and a careful honoring of Veteran's Day will benefit all involved in the long run.
Here's why:
First of all, Veteran's Day, in our time, and perhaps far into the future is and will be about military service. I believe that there is something honorable about that. That there is something worthwhile to be celebrated, named and explored. And that is the first part of my goal today.
Secondly, I believe that we can accept this as a challenge to look at our lives and the ways in which we struggle for the courage to be the heroes that our convictions call us to be.
There are tensions here, to be sure. But these differing viewpoints are not irreconcilable. As a matter of fact, they might be complementary. If we are patient, understanding and serious about listening to one another, I believe that it is within this tension that we can find the creative energy to be harnessed for transformation, healing and wholeness. This is a project worthy of the attention of religious community.
In pursuit of my first goal, the honoring of veterans as those with military experience, I think it is essential to look at what we think we know about someone when we hear that he or she is a veteran. As with any other general category of people, there are many stereo-types about veterans of the armed forces…some positive and some negative. Patriotic, strong, war-mongers, aged, courageous, brave, violent and authoritarian are just a few. I think that within our congregations, where a paradigm of pacifism seems to reign, the negative stereotypes are often those most immediately heard and sensed. If I were a veteran, I imagine that I wouldn't want to even acknowledge that part of myself when I entered the doors of my UU church. It would be like walking into a room and feeling like I had to hide the fact that I was gay, or a republican, or a Christian, or taking medication to treat mental illness. Being a veteran is not the complete and total defining attribute of a person. But it does certainly tell us some things about them.
What does it tell us? The title of veteran, by definition, tells us that someone has experience. In this context, we know that the convictions of these persons have led them to enter the military service of our country. Ideally, I think, this service is about protection, peace, justice and democracy…values expressly stated in our own UU principles and purposes.
At times, the title of veteran indicates that someone has served in the military service overseas and even in a time of armed conflict or war. What does this tell us?
I believe that this tells us that these persons felt so strongly that they were willing to risk their lives in the service of, not only their country, but their convictions and ideals. I believe that this is the prevalent motivator leading folks into the service of their country in the military. I believe that it is this ideal that we can claim, name and honour on Veteran's Day. We do the same for civil rights activists, peace activists, and other agents of social change. I believe it is honorable, admirable and worthy of praise.
Nonetheless, I do not fully understand it. I cannot completely embrace it. I have yet to replicate or embody it in my own life. But I know that it is buried within me somewhere and it surfaces at times like that night in my dorm room in 1991.
Neither, however, could I fully understand or embrace the actions of my passionate pacifist friend on that same evening. Granted, she was not directly in the line of fire that night at the candlelight vigil. She was not obviously putting her life in jeopardy. She was however, strengthened by courage to act on her convictions. And this is where the second part of my proposition comes into play.
How, in our own lives, are we veterans? How are we warriors in the battles of our lives? Am I the only one here who sometimes falls short of my ideals? I want so desperately to have the courage and strength to live out firey convictions. But I seldom feel as though I am coming through. I often don't even know where to start.
I think our readings today have something to say about this. And they bring me to not only an explanation of this question but also to the ground whereupon this discussion becomes religious.
First, let us look to the words of the writer of Ephesians. The recipients of this letter are encouraged to "put on the armor of God" in order to contend with wickedness and principalities of destruction. What is this armor? Truth. Righteousness. Faith. Salvation. Spirit. And…peace.
Ironically, we are told to don the garment of peace in order to do battle. Where does this peace reside? The author says, "…having shod your feet with the equipment of the gospel of peace." Hence, we are to walk in peace. Somehow, we are to make peace while being ready for battle. And our defenses are those of truth and faith, righteousness, salvation and spirit.
We are talking about struggle. The religious life is one of struggle. The language of struggle is often one of battle or warfare. Some who may be ardent advocates for peace would rally behind the "war" on drugs or the "war" on poverty and the "battle" for civil rights. Struggle exists. It is a struggle for peace. It is a religious issue. And in any struggle there are those engaged in the battle. There are those whose convictions, fed by courage, have led them to take action. I believe that Veteran's Day honors that.
Our second reading today calls us to take a step back and look at the wounds of war in another way, by bringing to our consciousness another wounded one… the veteran.
The words of poet, James Dickey, call our attention to how his experience impacts the way he plays the guitar and watches his children swim and climb. It's impact, like shattered glass, "small, but with world-fury". The jagged pieces have spread throughout his life…shimmering, glinting in moonlight when he least expects them…burning like poison… "coming over me year after year," he says, "I lie with it well under cover, the war of the millions"
Well under cover.
Is this the way we want those, both inside and out, of our congregations to feel about choices that they made, in the service of what they thought was right…what they may still think is right? Do we want them to feel the need to hide this aspect of themselves when they walk through the doors of our churches, societies and fellowships? Would we ask the same of someone who wanted the church to be a sanctuary for refugees? Or to perform gay and lesbian weddings? Or to sponsor a politically sensitive, anti-oppression training?
My answer is no.
And further, I think this can provide us with an opportunity to do exactly what it is that I believe religion and religious community is about…healing. We bring ourselves to this place each and every week to make sense of our lives…to struggle and search for meaning. We come, sometimes joyous and dancing and sometimes limping, barely able to squeak out "good morning". And what we bring…
…is ourselves…
We are all searching…together…for peace…healing …and wholeness...individually and collectively…at a local, national and global level. At least that's what my understanding of the religious quest is about. And asking someone to leave a part of their experience at the door is asking them to leave part of themselves outside of the quest for wholeness. It is an impossible task. It defeats the very purpose of our common religious quest.
I welcome you, veterans of life and of military service who have enough courage to bravely act for what they believe is right, even at great personal risk and harm. I admire you, I celebrate you, and I thank you. Not only for the changes you make in the world, but also for the encouragement you are to me…to do the same.
