“Only God Can Judge Me”: Faith,Trauma,and Combat

What Combat Trauma Is

In this essay, the Sent are represented by United States Marine infantry serving in Afghanistan. These marines and sailors  ² are the proverbial tip of the spear; they are not cooks, truck drivers, or mechanics. They are riflemen, ³ whose job it is to “locate, close with, and destroy the enemy.” ⁴ In short, their job is to fight. As fighters, they employ a unique set of skills and experience unique forms of trauma. During my last deployment, one of the first Marines to die in combat was shot in the chest by a Taliban machine gun. The killing bullet cut through the fabric cover on the top of his armored vest; one-sixteenth of an inch lower, and the bullet would have been stopped by his body armor. Combat, despite the United States’ overwhelming superiority in weapons, technology, and tactics, is a chaotic and random affair.

Civilians often find it difficult to understand that most Marines actually look forward to combat. Despite the chaos and danger, they do not dread combat but view it as the pinnacle of professional achievement. Vietnam veteran and author Karl Marlantes, in What It Is Like To Go To War, explains this counter-intuitive impulse to do battle: “There is a deep savage joy in destruction, a joy beyond ego enhancement. Maybe it is the loss of ego. I’m told it’s the same for religious ecstasy….Part of us loves to destroy. Nietzsche says, ‘I am by nature warlike. To attack is among my instincts.’” ⁵ As unsavory as it may seem to acknowledge this aggressive impulse, all humans have it to some degree. The human species evolved with hard wiring that allowed the species to survive. That is, violence and the urge to it are a deeply integral part of human nature. The Marines cultivate this ability, train to gain mastery of it, and release it in measured doses. ⁶ The task that they are sent to perform is ultimately a deeply human one.

Combat trauma could be called voluntary trauma. This distinguishes it from other traumatizing experiences in important ways. In the civilian world, most people (with the exception of emergency response professionals) do not begin their days expecting chaos and trauma; but it is different in the profession of arms. Violent and chaotic conditions characterize the daily task at hand. Because the Sent seek out the chaotic and the violent, it should come as no surprise that trauma means different things in combat than almost anywhere else. Combat adds new vulnerabilities for the concept of trauma in terms of loyalty, regret, and competence.

The most obvious difference regards physical trauma to one’s own self. In most professions, people avoid self-injury at all costs. Injury to self is, of course, a danger in combat, and the Sent realize the possibility, but few of them dwell on it. While the Sent recognize that the risk of physical trauma is part of the job and a necessary condition of being allowed to participate in this line of work, fear of physical harm plays a vanishingly small part in the trauma of the battlefield.

That being said, there is a particular sort of injury to self that is greatly feared and talked about among male combatants: emasculation. Among the infantry, which is drawn from a population of young men, combatants fear losing sexual function far more than losing limbs. The dread of emasculation also includes the fear of being found to be “less than a man” in combat. The fear of physical emasculation mirrors the fear of social emasculation through failure to perform in the fight. It should be noted that this fear of failure to perform is not the same thing as a fear of cowardice. The Sent typically do not speak of cowardice; they speak of being able to do one’s job when it is most needed. No one wants to die, but death is often considered preferable to failure to perform.

In civilian life, fear of failure to perform can manifest itself positively in a commitment to justice, and this is why many veterans are drawn to law-enforcement careers. It would be a mistake to suggest (as many people tend to do), that familiarity with firearms is the major draw to this field. Veterans who have chosen careers in law enforcement after separation from military service do so because they believe that individuals have a duty to the community in which they live and also must be held accountable for their actions. In the eyes of veterans, churches that consistently teach an ethic of forgiveness while soft-pedaling or ignoring the consequences of personal actions appear to lack a standard of justice and decency. Veterans can find “cheap grace” ⁷ distasteful if it is seen in the church’s tendency to rush to forgiveness and reconciliation. It is not that we (for I continue to experience this personally) reject forgiveness but that it must come after being held to account for our failures. The church that does not recognize failure will continue to have trouble drawing and connecting with veterans.

The supreme value placed on performance under fire for the sake of one’s peers reveals that injury to self is less traumatic than physical injury or loss of comrades. Combat has the power to both engender and endanger attachments that are among the closest of human bonds, frequently surpassing kinship and even spousal bonds. However, because this bond does not have recognized social status, the combat veteran is often at a loss to communicate his or her grief or to be readily understood by those who have not experienced the type of friendships formed in combat. ⁸ The greatest trauma that can happen on the battlefield is the death or injury of a close friend. The sight of a friend’s disfigured body or the last moments of life, the discontinuity between a friend’s presence one moment and absence the next, and the empty space formerly occupied by a comrade are among the most traumatic of battlefield experiences. The effects are magnified if the injured or dead person was a skilled leader. The church is woefully deficient in appropriate responses to combat loss. Many veterans feel an awkward silence resulting from the church’s ignorance of how to treat such loss. The church is missing an opportunity to treat as sacred the most significant trauma of the profession of arms.

Inevitably, the chaos of war causes trauma to people not involved directly in fighting. Violence to civilian non-combatants can be traumatic to those who unintentionally cause or witness it. In the wars of the last decade many of the Sent felt that they had come to protect civilians. When the “others” could not be protected or were caught up in the chaos, the effects on the Sent can be serious. Actions involving injured, traumatized, and dead children recovered and cared for by the Sent are always emotionally charged events. Further, children may be induced to take up arms against the Sent. It takes little training to recognize that the psychological price of having to kill or wound a child is extraordinarily intense and long lasting. As with combat loss, finding ways of recognizing the chaotic nature of combat experience and honoring those who did their best when there were no conventionally moral choices left is imperative for incorporating combat veterans into the church. For example, a congregation might create a liturgy for Veterans Day based on the Slaughter of the Innocents (Matt 2:13–18). This pericope deals with chaos, ambiguity, and moral outrage. Significantly, it identifies Rachel as an archetype for combat trauma. Just as Rachel weeps and refuses to be comforted, so too the veteran of combat trauma recognizes that some events cannot be “made better,” and there is a strange comfort in the psychological scar tissue arising from the chaos of combat. The church has the potential to honor this scar tissue when it incorporates texts like Matt 2:13–18 in its worship.

What It Means

In the aftermath of combat trauma, whether it affects oneself or others, the first consequence for the Sent is usually separation, which compounds the sense of trauma. Either the combatant himself is evacuated and isolated from his community, or the combatant’s comrade is evacuated. As indicated above, the bonds formed between the Sent in combat are exceptionally strong and long lasting. When these bonds are severed as a result of combat trauma, the result often includes anger, disorientation, and depression.

Whether he or she was evacuated as wounded or remained behind in the aftermath of a traumatic event, the combatant may begin to question what he or she might have done differently to avoid or mitigate the situation. This is particularly true if the soldier has lost comrades in the event. Questions of loyalty and competency arise, and the combatant may feel as if he or she has let comrades down, even though there may have been nothing that could have caused the situation to turn out any differently than it did. After combat, back at home, this can cause the veteran to question his or her competency in multiple ways: as a spouse, parent, or child, in addition to the professional role. The church may be anxious to help the veteran move on from the trauma. However, this may be counterproductive. In the eyes of the veteran, moving on too soon can dishonor the dead and wounded. It would be much better for the church to incorporate a remembrance of trauma, small though it may be, in the great feast days of the church. Christmas could be paired with the Slaughter of the Innocents, Easter perhaps with the death of Judas. As in the Passover Seder, deliverance should never be remembered without shedding tears for what was lost.

What It Costs

Because the strong bonds generated amongst the Sent cannot be replicated in civilian life, the Sent will occasionally withdraw from even well meaning attempts at interaction from people who did not share the experience, even if those others are fellow veterans from a different unit or another war. This behavior is not necessarily an indication that something is deeply amiss, but rather a natural response to the attachment generated during combat. ⁹

Lingering self-doubt, strained relationships with non-combatants, thoughts of suicide, thrill seeking behavior (that attempts to replicate the excitement of combat), and a deadening to the suffering of others are well-documented negative responses. Still, for the great majority of the Sent, the trauma of combat can be a growth experience. That combat and its traumas can cause growth is virtually incomprehensible to those who have not experienced it. The combat veteran becomes more resilient and able to put minor hardships in proper perspective. The veteran frequently develops a better understanding of his or her own limitations and sensitivity to the limits of others.

With respect to the institution of the military and the Sending society at large, the relationship may be more complex. The combat veteran is often very suspicious of the motives and intentions of people outside his or her own trusted group. The institution may be suspect because it is perceived as not having the long-term interests of the Sent at heart or has actively endangered people for no discernable reason to the combatant, which gives rise to cynical remarks such as “I’m from headquarters and I am here to help.” This distrust of one large institution can be mapped onto other institutions that the combat veteran encounters in civilian life, whether that be the Veterans Administration, a large civilian employer, or a congregation that does not take the time to develop a nuanced approach to the intersection of prophetic witness and pastoral care. Many veterans are extremely adept at recognizing when “the troops” are being used to further a political end, whether that be in worship or a political rally.

The Sent may also become distrustful of the Sending society in general. A common sentiment is that civilians have little interest in or understanding of the combat experience, and that they are incapable of comprehending that the Sent would choose military service. Civilians often do not understand that the Sent might miss the thrill of combat. Many veterans also believe that media representations have been unfair. Remembering negative experiences with the media from previous wars may encourage veterans to disconnect from society at large. Society becomes untrustworthy and might be regarded with suspicion or contempt. Some of the Sent become indignant towards the non-military society and its expressions of “support” for the troops. Even the expression “Thank you for your service” increasingly becomes a cliché that the Sending society deploys to avoid actually dealing with the responsibility of being the Sender. ¹⁰ For the church to accept its responsibility as part of the Sending society requires careful navigation. On the one side is the mistake of assuming that combat is always a matter of simple choices and clear objectives, while on the other side, unquestioning condemnation of war that assumes nothing is worth the loss of life. The middle course should embrace the complexities inherent in the actions of the state and the decision to engage in conflict. While there are no truly just wars, noble actions in them are common. It is also important for the church to affirm that the people the state employs as instruments of policy are responsible for making complex decisions with consequences that often cannot be foreseen.

Living With It

In the aftermath of combat, whether the Sent are still on the battlefield or many years after they have returned from war, remembrance remains the chief duty of the Sent. Society cannot be trusted to remember, and even the institution of the military is unlikely to do the job appropriately. ¹¹ Remembering the hardship, struggle, wounds, and deaths is a sacred duty that only the Sent can perform adequately for one another. Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae’s poem of World War I, In Flanders Fields, is the most succinct expression of this sacred duty:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place, and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

To forget a dead comrade is to deny the dead not only their proper respect, but even their proper rest. In a certain sense, moving on from the death of a comrade can be an act of disloyalty, and therefore the living often carry certain totems, such as a photograph, bracelet, or some other tangible item that keeps the dead always before the Sent into post-combat life. The church can provide a space to honor this by preserving the distinction between Memorial Day and Veterans Day. All Saints Day commemorations are also possible venues to allow veterans to honor the dead.

The vast majority of the Sent are able to process their combat trauma experience and lead relatively normal lives. This majority resents the societal assumption that their exposure to the trauma of combat has left them broken and a danger to society. Even the veterans who have had difficulty with the effects of combat trauma often resent the assumption that they are victims, and many of them express pride in what they did, and what it cost them. Far from being victims, many affirm that they would do it again, if given the chance.

What It Means

This false “economy of blood” created by medical advances is reinforced by the societal costs of having an all-volunteer force. The United States has not relied on the draft since 1973 and recruits forces on a completely volunteer basis. Because the United States prefers to fight technology-heavy and personnel-light, the percentage of the overall population needed to field the all-volunteer force has remained at or below one percent during recent wars. By contrast, during World War II, twelve percent of the population participated in the military. During the Vietnam War, seventy percent of those elected to Congress had military experience; today the number of veterans in Congress is less than twenty percent and declining rapidly. ¹⁵ The vanishingly low percentage of the population who have borne the burden of combat and who remember comrades who “gave the last full measure of devotion,” ¹⁶ coupled with the great strides of medical science, have given rise to a toxic fiction of a war without costs.

What It Costs

The fiction of a war without costs may induce the Senders to undertake wars lightly, and strategies are unduly influenced by politics. For example, the Sent sometimes suspect that weapons systems may be procured based on jobs in congressional districts rather than battlefield needs, and that the Senders use the Sent as pawns in partisan fights.

When disconnected from the Sending population, the Sent are susceptible to being misrepresented and misunderstood by the Senders. Witness today’s general impression of veterans of the wars of the last decade. Senders tend to view these veterans as people who battle inner demons constantly, who may become violent at work, may sexually assault co-workers, or are at risk of committing suicide. As mentioned above, these problems are certainly present among veterans, but not everyone who serves is damaged. Transformed, certainly, but not necessarily damaged.

The military has evolved in its response to combat trauma since September 11, 2001. While the timely diagnosis and appropriate treatment for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) remains a very high priority, the recognition that the experience of traumatic stress does not always, or even most of the time, lead to PTSD has been an important development. Clinically diagnosed cases of PTSD are relatively few, despite a high incidence of traumatic stress. This is critically important for the church to understand: most combat veterans are not at risk for PTSD. They are changed by the experience, certainly, but are not victims of a disorder.

What It Means

The traumas of absence and powerlessness can have debilitating effects on the chaplain. Job performance can suffer as the chaplain obsesses over where to be present and chases his or her tail in a vain attempt to be everywhere at once. Ministry may become shallow and disconnected as the chaplain trades depth for speed. The reverse is also possible; a chaplain may feel despair in the face of chaos. Sensing the futility in attempting to be everywhere at once, the chaplain withdraws from providing a ministry of presence (the cornerstone of military chaplaincy). He or she becomes a passive minister, waiting to be sought out by penitents, and might therefore miss opportunities to minister to those in need in the aftermath of traumatic events.

Ultimately the chaplain makes decisions about who will receive care on any particular day. Loss and damage to both the Liminal and Sent can occur when the liminal minister is not there when needed. The first symbol of military chaplaincy was the shepherd’s crook, and the idea of the chaplain as shepherd is still powerfully present in the chaplaincy today. When one of the flock dies or is grievously injured, the chaplain’s feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt can cascade. Instead of being the Good Shepherd (John 10:1–21) who left the ninety-nine to rescue the one (Matt 18:12–14; Luke 15:3–7), the chaos of combat can leave the liminal minister feeling like a cowardly shepherd who stayed with the flock while the one suffered and died. For the chaplain in the face of chronic chaos, who cannot predict where he or she will be needed, the universe can seem to be coming undone. What once seemed reliable in terms of counseling technique and theological underpinning in less stressful times will be burned away by trauma. The liminal minister must become resilient or risk becoming irrelevant. And yet, like Moses in the wilderness, the liminal minister becomes exhausted by the task and wishes for someone else to help carry the burden. ¹⁹

What It Costs

Left alone in the aftermath of traumatic events, the liminal minister may fall into self-doubt and even self-loathing. Self-loathing can occur in response to deeds left undone, despite one’s best intentions, or what might have been done better or more completely. Existential doubt can manifest in wondering what difference, if indeed any, the chaplain’s ministry made during the unmaking time of the trauma. Sense of call can suffer as a result. Perceived ineffectiveness can lead to questions about one’s suitability for ministry.

The liminal minister enters a state of liminality for himself or herself; how the minister and the church respond to this liminality is key. It is important that the church also recognize the chaplain as a veteran of combat who has had to shepherd the flock through utterly chaotic situations, with almost no control over the outcome. Like chaplains, combat medics, physicians, and nurses should also be recognized as veterans, but in all cases, special attention should be given to the role of chaos as it affected their duties. That is, the church can honor the work of the liminal community by recognizing that some situations were unredeemable, despite their best efforts, and by honoring the self-sacrifice and commitment they demonstrated, even in hopeless situations.

Living With It

The particular response to trauma that I still bear is a constant feeling of dread. For me, it is an ever-present, constantly flashing warning light in the back of my skull just above the base of my neck which I envision to be the glowing red eye of the HAL-9000 computer from Stanley Kubrick’s film “2001: A Space Odyssey,” something quiet, yet full of menace. The light is a warning to never, ever relax. To relax is to tempt fate, to tiptoe too close to the chaotic abyss.

This is my psychological scar tissue, and it both limits and enhances my life and liminal ministry at the same time. Like the scar tissue of a physical wound that limits a golf swing or a runner’s gait, there are some things I do not do as well as before my deployment as a chaplain. And yet, like the Sent, liminal chaplain veterans resent the implication that combat has broken them and left them dangerous or useless as ministers. In fact, the psychological scar tissue from combat trauma can provide several potential advantages for the liminal minister.

By virtue of my own experiences, I consider myself to be more resilient and more discriminating as a minister. I am much more adept at recognizing trauma in others. I am sensitive to the second and third order effects of trauma in a way I could never have imagined before. Because of the trauma, I am a better, more effective minister, recognizing my liminal role and special capabilities more fully than I ever could have done before. For most liminal veterans, similar responses are typical. Liminal ministry involves actively courting chaos. It means embracing uncertainty and running the risk of being irrevocably changed by the experience, for good or ill.

All is Not Lost

The trauma of combat changes everyone it touches: Sent, Sender, and Liminal. I have seen and counseled many veterans with PTSD. The range of symptoms and manifestations is truly staggering, indicating we do not yet have a holistic understanding of the disorder. Some veterans recover to the point that they live a mostly normal life, while some must remain in institutional settings. I also have counseled many veterans who experienced the very worst of combat but have found ways to manage the effects of trauma in their lives. In my experience there are no formulas for what the traumatic stress of combat will do to veterans.

Combat trauma does not necessarily ruin people or even always damage them, but it always changes them. Most veterans are fully functioning members of our society, with jobs, families, and social lives. They are, by and large, not dangerous cases to be treated gingerly, lest they explode. Contrary to societal stereotypes, most are unlikely to commit a sexual assault, shoot up a shopping mall, or commit suicide. Most are very proud of what they have done in service to their country and would do the same again. However, they are different than they were before they served. They harbor few illusions about the nature of violence, war, and the world at large. They reject platitudes, and they resonate with the dictum of Irving Greenberg, “But let us agree to one principle: no statement, theological or otherwise, should be made that would not be credible in the presence of the burning children.” ²¹

Expressions of faith that do not fully incorporate the experiences of the Sent will be rejected. As discussed above, the church must become comfortable with the uncomfortable. Incorporating and speaking frankly about texts such as the Slaughter of the Innocents in Matthew 2 and Psalm 137 are solid foundations on which to build a congregational response. Incorporating veterans into the church means that congregations must accept and honor grief, separation, and loss, but also express pride and celebration in the actions of the Sent. Recognizing that the veteran of combat trauma is not “other” but fully human will likely be a painful role for the church to embrace, but a tepid “Thank you for your service” or outright rejection are not realistic options if the church wishes to minister to the Sent and be a prophetic voice to the Sending society.

This church’s prophetic voice to the Sending society needs to have the tones and cadence of a veteran, a voice formed in conversation with veterans. This is the great challenge and opportunity for the church in a world of veterans of trauma of all stripes: to be a community that can hold the Senders and the Sent within sight of each other, and to insist that they wrestle together with the contradictions and the bloody mess, while not letting go of either.