“Uncommon Valor”

First Congregational United Church of Christ

November 14, 2010 (Veterans’ Sunday)

The Rev. Sharyl B. Peterson

Scripture Readings:  Psa. 27:14; Prov. 20: 6-7; Deut. 31: 6;

John 15: 12-13; Jer. 29:11

Those of us who do much air-travel these days know that it’s not nearly as relaxing or as much fun as it used to be.  You have to pack very carefully, so you don’t inadvertently put too big a tube of toothpaste in your carry-on, and there are always long lines waiting to go through security check-points, and to get through them, you have to take off most of the clothes you’re wearing.  Maybe it’s not surprising that an awful lot of travelers these days are pretty cranky, the whole time they’re travelling. 

            About a year ago, I was on my way to Cleveland, and after long delays going through lines at the Denver airport, I finally made it to the breezeway to actually get on the plane.  The line of passengers seemed to be moving incredibly slowly, and I could hear people all around me starting to complain about “what’s the hold-up?” and “why can’t these people keep on moving and find their seats?” 

            As we finally made our way into the plane and down the aisle, we discovered what the hold-up was.  About two-thirds of the way back, there was a young Marine sitting in a seat, wearing his fatigues and his name-tag.  And most of the passengers who were boarding, on their way to their seats, were stopping to shake his hand, and to thank him for serving our country. 

            I have to tell you, every time I see something like that happen (and I do see it often on my travels), I am deeply touched. 

I am touched partly by their youth.  To my eyes, these young men and women don’t look much older than our youth here – our Bobbie, our Katie, our Rosie – not much older than my own great-nephews and –nieces, who still love to color, and ride their bikes, and play football and soccer.  They all look much too young to have seen the things they have already seen, to have lost the things so many of them have already lost, and much too young to be risking death day after day. 

            I am touched when I hear them talking with others about their commitment to their military service, and I hear how hopeful and how confident they are that they can make a real difference in the world through the service that they are offering.  And I’m touched when I feel the energy of their integrity and bravery – their uncommon valor – that lets them walk into situations of war, despite their very real and well-founded fears, that lets them put the needs of others ahead of their own needs.

            Today, in our Veterans’ Service here, we may be thinking about some of those young men and women who are our children … or our grandchildren … or their spouses or partners.  We may be remembering other young men and women we’ve known … some who were our brothers, or our sisters; some who were our husbands, or our wives; some who were beloved friends or comrades.  Some of whom are sitting here with us today.  Some of whom are lying in a military hospital, or are buried under a military headstone.  And some of whom never returned home at all.

            We may remember their youth.  We may remember their hopefulness and confidence (“Mom, this war’s going to be over in no time, and I’ll be home safe; don’t you worry”).  We may remember their integrity and their bravery, their selflessness and uncommon valor. 

And so today, as a community, we celebrate their lives – and all those qualities of spirit that we admire in them.  And we thank our God both for gifting them with those qualities of spirit, and for empowering them with the strength and the courage to do what they had to do.  For helping bring peace and safety to troubled nations, or to the world.  For the greater freedoms they helped make realities for us, and for people we and they never knew. 

And we celebrate and honor them in a worship-setting – in a faith-setting – because these veterans, past and present, whether consciously or unconsciously, whether they shared our Christian tradition or not, nonetheless embody (embodied) and live(d) out some of the most important qualities of character and living that our Christ calls every one of us to develop in ourselves, and to live out in our lives.  Values like bravery … integrity … valor.  And peace-bringing.  And freedom-expanding.  And love … yes, love of country, but just as important, love of neighbor. 

            Now, for some people, all those values and goals seem completely antithetical to the idea of military service, and particularly military service that involves fighting in a war.  For people with these struggles, they do want to honor our veterans, and at the same time, they wonder if our faith doesn’t call us to a different stance.  As I was thinking about this while I was writing this sermon, I came across a reflection by Frederick Buehner, in his book Wishful Thinking – A Seeker’s ABC, that I believe offers a particularly helpful reflection about the meaning of “peace.” 

            Buechner notes that for most of us, “peace” has come to mean a time in which there are no wars (or at least, no major wars) being waged across the world.   And yet Jesus, the One known to us as the Prince of Peace, offers a different kind of definition. 

            In fact, in some ways, what Jesus has to say about peace seems radically contradictory.  On the one hand, he reassures his followers, just before he leaves them, “peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you” (John 14:27).  That sounds like the kind of peace most of us think about, and long for.  Peace … safety … lack of war or conflict … reassurance.  But on the other hand, on another occasion he tells his followers, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matt. 10:34).  Buechner says, “the contradiction is resolved when you realize that for Jesus peace seems to have meant not the absence of struggle, but the presence of love[1].”

            And if that still seems a little confusing – how does one “make love present” on the battlefield? – you have only to listen to – or to read – the stories so many of our veterans can share. 

            Stories like that of Pharmacist Mate 2 John Bradley, who served in World War II.  John Bradley – one of the soldiers who appears in one of the most famous battle photographs ever taken – the raising of the American flag on Mt. Surbachi in the battle for Iwo Jima.  John Bradley, who just before beginning the climb up Mt. Surbachi, under blistering fire, gave the last of his water to a dying Marine lying at the bottom of the slope.  And who, a few days later, still under heavy fire, crawled to the aid of two other Marines – crawled because he had been shot through both of his legs – and shielded them with his body while he tended to their wounds.  That, friends, is love made present on a battlefield.

            Or stories like that of Lori Piestewa – a soldier in the Iraq war whose surviving comrade, Jessica Lynch, has become a household word, while Lori has been nearly forgotten by everyone except her family.  Lori (known to her friends as “Pi”), was a member of the Hopi Nation; following in the footsteps of her grandfather, who served in WWI, and of her father, who served in Vietnam, Lori enlisted in the U.S. Army in 2001. 

            Two years later, just before Christmas, she was driving a Humvee towing a huge water-tank (called a “water buffalo”) as part of a convoy taking supplies to American troops fighting in the Iraqi desert.  As they drove near the town of Nasiriyah, they were ambushed in an attack so brutal it would become the U.S. Army’s bloodiest day of the ground war in Iraq. 

Piestewa did everything she could to protect her fellow troops, driving at high-speed to evade enemy fire, trying to get them to safety, until an RPG hit the front-left-wheel-well of her Humvee, and exploded, sending her vehicle crashing into another.  Three other soldiers in the Humvee died in the crash, but several still survived.  As Piestewa, Lynch, and another soldier attempted to defend their friends, they were all wounded, then taken prisoner.  “Pi,” shot in the head, died two days later.  As Lynch has repeatedly said in news interviews, Piestewa was the true hero of the ambush, risking (and losing) her life to save others.  And that, friends, is love made present on a battlefield.

            I know that most of you could tell other stories like those of John Bradley and Lori Piestewa – stories of your own experiences, or stories you have heard from some of the veterans you know.  Stories of women and men who serve – or who have served – so bravely, who truly understood the meaning of Jesus’ words that we heard a few minutes ago from John’s Gospel:  “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.  No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”  And so today we honor them, in this faith community, because of the way they live(d) out that call of our Christ.

            And I believe we must also honor and celebrate them today for another reason.  And that is that their need to display honor … selflessness … love for others over love of self … uncommon valor … didn’t end when the soldier walked off the battlefield for the last time; or when the pilot safely landed his plane for the last time; or when the seaman stepped off the gangplank onto dry land for the last time.  Those veterans have needed every ounce of every one of those qualities because they came home to face, and to fight, new battles. 

            Battles against physical and psychological injuries … battles against depression and despair and losses of so many kinds … battles against addictions.  Battles fought often with no, or with little, or with inadequate support, because the country that was so keen on spending billions to send these young people to war has always been far less eager to spend much smaller sums helping them to heal from the injuries they sustained there. 

            Battles to find meaningful work, and to care for their families, especially for veterans of more recent wars.  The old employment laws that used to protect the jobs of those who went to serve in the military so they would return home to a job have been almost entirely eliminated,  and many vets today arrive home to find themselves unemployed and unemployable.    

            Battles to find safe, decent places to live.  Experts on homelessness tell us that a huge number of veterans – with female vets twice as likely to become homeless as male vets – are sleeping in cars, shelters, or on the streets every night.  And as Tammy Duckworth, assistant secretary for public and intergovernmental affairs in the United States Department of Veterans Affairs puts it, "We (should) see the problem of homelessness among veterans as a national shame.”    "We are all dishonored anytime a veteran sleeps on the very same streets that he or she has defended[2]."

            And our vets are fighting other kinds of battles, too.  I know that you know vets who are fighting battles of aging and disease, not only in their own bodies, which is hard enough, but also as they so lovingly care for their spouses who have degenerative diseases like Alzheimer’s, or Parkinson’s Disease, or cancer.  I know that you know vets who are fighting battles of loneliness and abandonment, as they so lovingly visit other vets at the V.A. (Hospital), as they volunteer to take vets to their doctors’ visits, or out for rides, as they line up with rifles and salutes to offer a proper “thank you” from their nation as older veterans are laid to rest.

This day, may we remember those veterans – and may we honor them – with love and gratitude.  May we do whatever we can do to make their lives better, more comfortable, healthier.  May we thank God each day for each one of their lives.  And may we do our best to live out those same “best values” – of integrity … of bravery … of honor … of selflessness … of love … that we have seen personified in their lives. 

            And next time we see a man or woman in uniform, regardless of our particular politics, may we shake their hands, and tell them how very grateful we are.  Amen.