Religious Responses to Combat
(Reprinted with permission from the 1st Marine Division
Association's The Old Breed News December 1996)
It is a distinct honor to speak with fellow Marines, especially because
in this group there is a breadth of experience in the Corps which spans
the sweep of contemporary Marine Corps history. Here in this room are men
and women whose service exemplifies the globe- spanning image of our Corps,
much of our experience coming deployed under arms and in harms way. It
is because of this breadth of actual combat experience, I intend to speak
with you - rather than to you - about the religious nature of our experiences.
Because we speak as fellow Marines and combat veterans, I will try to
avoid the technical language of professional preachers. Rather, my hope
is to provide all of us with helpful patterns to organize our responses
to combat within a religious framework
This is, indeed, the first word that needs to be said clearly. All of you
who have been in combat are already living out a religious response. Because
combat, by definition, places us in a setting where we face our own possible
death, our response to our survival of necessity involves religious themes.
Combat, viewed religiously, is a "transcendent experience. " This means that
combat is one experience where we exceed our normal physical, mental,
spiritual and moral boundaries. Our survival, especially if it involves
our being awarded some medal for heroism typically forces us to rethink
who we are and what our purpose on earth is. In religious terms, this is
a conversion. As Col. Sitter has noted often here, living with the Medal
has been a greater challenge than conducting the action for which it was
awarded. This challenge remains true for every combat veteran, regardless
of the degree of personal valor or whether that valor was officially
recognized.
Because combat challenges all of our deeply held values, training and life
experiences, our psyche and soul struggle to create new meaning out of
the carnage we both witnessed and conducted. The question here is not
"whether" we succeed in creating new meaning but "how and what" is the
meaning that we create out of the chaos of battle. Theologians can wax
rhapsodic about the Spirit of the Lord creating meaning out of chaos.
But for those who have actually faced chaos and conducted the struggle
for meaning we can assure the theologians that there is no rhapsody to
it...only cold, hard, life-long struggle.
The most primary response to the chaos of combat is to decide that one's
life has no higher meaning. All of us begin here, with the shock of battle
ringing in our ears and the blood of our buddies staining our utililies.
Some of us never get beyond this level of despair although we may continue
living a long time and may even bear the outer appearance of adjusting
well to future military and civilian life. Alcohol, work, garnering
advanced degrees or climbing the ladder of military advancement may mask
this despair. But in the dark hours of the night some of us never leave
behind this shattering of our life's purpose.
Fortunately, many people, and I would venture this includes a solid majority
of Marines in this room, make a far different response. My first response
beyond the initial shock of combat was that of gratitude. In the moment,
this was expressed as nearly uncontrollable laughter. For others, tears,
war whoops, numb silence and what we call "the shakes" also express our
fundamental relief and wonder at our survival. In conversations with
numerous Marines and other combat vets has convinced me that this step
of gratitude is the first step toward hope. The full expression of such
gratitude is never realized as long as we are in harm's way - that comes
only upon return to the relative safety of this country and civilian life.
If our survival came as the result of another's sacrifice or valor, we
have a visceral focus for our gratitude.
Gratitude often becomes focused upon significant objects which endured the
event with us. These become talismans of our having cheated death or of God's
graciousness. When in our saner moments we would deny that these objects have
any magical quality, they nonetheless assume what theologians call "numinosity."
That is, these particular objects have the unique capacity to evoke the
memories and feelings of those fire baptized moments for us....and for
no one else. These objects can be literacy anything, from the weapons
we confiscated from the dead, Bibles which stopped bullets, St. Christopher
medallions, shreds of our uniform, etc. For example, in my office I still
have the New Testament which I carried in Vietnam and my field jacket
still hangs in my closet resisting nearly all attempts by someone else
to wash it. We can laugh about these things in public, but in the privacy
of our hearts, these items evoke our initial sense of wonder and gratitude
at God's utter mercy.
But what happens beyond graciousness? Some of us find that we must express
our gratitude in specifically religious ways. We become clergy or active
members of religious communities. Our communities never know the full
details of our motivation. But this is quite immaterial. I remember my
father, a Marine who served as a wireman on Iwo Jima. He sang in the
church choir and also worked with Boy Scouts during my youth. The only
hint of connection I ever had as a boy between the man who sang bass
and the Marine who was apparently exceptional with a knife was a rare
tear during the pastor's prayer. I saw the connection more clearly
when he took me on a night hike as a Scout, demonstrating effectively
that, as he put it, "the night can be your friend. " It wasn't until I
stepped off on my first nighttime patrol that I began to realize the
full scope of what he had given me.
Some of us do form a deep, abiding attachmeut to church Our attachment
may result from the ministry of a chaplain, another veteran or family
member. Or our coming to church after returning safely home may be the
dutiful living out of a promise made when things looked awful. There
isn't a "veterans church," some typical church that finds the "average
veteran" most likely to attend. I've found vets in every size church.
Most likely we join with churches that are able to use our vitality,
creativity and desire to serve. It is not size but spiritual depth that
we look for when we walk into a church.
I serve a church which has two D-Day veterans who attend. They are
regular supporters, active in all the programs we put on. Just recently
I mentioned in a sermon that our most effective prayers are uttered when
we can place ourselves in the place where we felt especially blessed by
God. After the service, one of the vets came forward and related that,
"while waiting in England for D- Day, I attended worship in a small
cathedral...in Salisbury. " Then he paused, tears streaming down his
face quietly. I waited until he could compose himself. Then he said,
"Reverend, it isn't the size of the cathedral. God touched me there and
on D-Day, I was very lucky." The man's understatement speaks volumes!
As it is with men in combat - the ones doing the most talking have seen
the least action - so it is with veterans and God.
But many veterans of combat find themselves very uncomfortable in overtly
religious settings. This is usually taken as a sign that veterans,
especially Marines, are a particularly irreligious lot. Let me say
clearly, nothing is further from the truth. Rather, it is because
combat is such an intense experience of God's mercy that little else
especially the traditional Saturday or Sunday Service - comes close.
The veteran who wishes to honor the Creator who plucked him from
the gateway of death may avoid religious services out of a sense of
respect for this utter mystery. Consequently many of us look for other
ways to express our gratitude. We volunteer in our communities at a rate
far exceeding the general population - hospitals, intramural leagues,
youth programs, community service bonds beneficiaries of our gratitude.
We often involve ourselves in programs which seek to give someone else
an enhanced quality of life. This involvement is always practical -
Marines particularly want to get past the verbal bull.... real quick
and into the thick of unloading truck, sweeping the floors, driving
the nails or whatever else needs to be done. This involvement is profoundly
spiritual although it may not be explicitly Christian. Creeds and
denominational squabbles are things the average veteran doesn't have
time for usually. This is because we know that this stuff isn't worth
dying over. We also know that when the chips are down what matters
most is the capacity to meet the challenge.
Let me say a bit more about living together when the chips are down.
Combat taught us how much we needed our buddies. When this is added to
the intense bond we feel toward each other as Marines, we wind up with
a bond that is truly unbreakable. This comradeship is a direct expression
of religious feeling - it is the heartfelt desire to fellowship with
persons of a kindred spirit This is why we're here on Wednesday. . . why
we show up for reunions and a host of other gatherings. It isn't
arrogance but rather the profound recognition that, finally, only
those who have tasted the cordite, felt the fire nearby and seen the
face of life after death with whom we feel comfortable.
I would hope that each of you is active in a local religious community.
God knows they can use your help. Thank you for your indulgence.
(Sgt Donald D. Denton Jr. served with H&S Company, 1st Radio
Battalion in Vietnam. These remarks were made recently at an informal
luncheon of Richmond-area Marines who meet once a month under the
leadership of Cols Joe Holicky and Carl Sitter MOH. Member Denton is
the Coordinator, Assessments and Publications of The Vrginia Institute
of Pastoral Care.)
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