Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
John 15:13
I am a veteran. So, I am glad the nation observes Veteran’s Day. I am. It is good for us as a nation to measure the cost of our many wars. Veteran’s Day helps us do that. Moreover, I believe it curtails the tides of entitlement sweeping over us to remember those who have paid a heavy burden on behalf of the nation.
But, for me, I can’t find a way to love November 11th. It is a day filled with too many paradoxical emotions and feelings. Here are just a few.
For the veteran, Veterans Day is often about pain and not patriotism. I don’t need a day of the year to remember the names of the soldiers whose blood we left on the foreign lands. Every day is that day. I return to specific days of war like an addict returns to his next fix. I don’t want to live with it, but I can’t find a way to live without it. My soul cannot or will not release the names of those who died, the days they died, where I was when I first heard the announcement of their death and how I felt. That steel trap has set its teeth. So, Veteran’s Day – I cannot find a way to love it.
For the veteran, Veterans Day is often about faces and not flags. So let me introduce you to Kyle Miller. A red-haired Irish kid who always looked like he had just pulled a practical joke on you. One night he knocked on the door of my quarters and said, “Hey, Chaplain, were you awake?” I said, “Absolutely!” I will never forget the conversation I had with Kyle. He told me that he was part of a mission to Camp Balad that would leave on Monday and asked me to be there when they departed to pray with them. Then he asked me, “Chaplain, do you believe in dreams?” I told him, “I don’t know. What are we talking about?”
He went on to say that every night for a week, he had a dream about the mission, and in his dream, HUMVEE rolled over a roadside bomb and ended his life. He said that every night in his dream, he watched himself die. We talked for a long time that night. I offered to have him pulled off that mission. He refused, saying, “Chaplain, if I don’t go on that mission and somebody else dies.....I couldn’t live with myself.” We concluded that night with prayer
Kyle died just as he dreamed he would be. On June 29th, a Thursday, at 0230, leaving Camp Balad, his HUMVEE rolled over a roadside bomb. Kyle died moments later. We did his memorial service the following week. So, for most of Veterans Day, I will be thinking about Kyle and all the others who sacrificed so much. So, Veteran’s Day – I cannot find a way to love it.
For the veteran, Veterans Day is often about loss and not liberty. I think about what George and those like him lost. George loved America enough to join the National Guard during wartime. He told his dad, “I have to do my part, or how could I live with myself.” And with that thought in mind, he followed the family legacy of military service and joined at age seventeen. Friends described George as the type who would give the shirt off his back.
George stood five feet three. But his convictions were mile high and canyon-deep. He was the type of man who could tune a guitar and also tune up a Honda Civic. He liked country music and played in a garage band. Still, when he needed to relax, he would listen to classical music, often Chopin. We have a word for young men like George. He was an all-American.
A roadside bomb killed George Cauley, the only son of Richard and Gloria Cauley, in Afghanistan. Two weeks later, I stood with his family as we laid his body to rest at Camp Ripley, Minnesota.
On Veteran’s Day, I will not be thinking about liberty won. Instead, I will be thinking about George and his mom and dad and the depth of their loss. So, Veteran’s Day, I cannot find a way to love it.
On Veterans Day, I will do what my calling demands. I will brush off my dress blues, shine my shoes and do my duty. I will lead God’s people in worship and prayer as we remember these sacrifices. We will sing the patriotic hymns that tug at our souls. We will not forget because that is what good people do – that is what God’s people do. But, I don’t have to like it.