Grace and Truth: A word from pastors

For a little over a year, I have co-facilitated a spirituality group for veterans. My partner is a chaplain from the VA hospital. The group meets monthly at the First Unitarian Society of Madison, Wis.

Our intention is to provide a safe space for veterans to explore their spirituality. We define spirituality broadly, to include any connection to the world that provides solace security, and a sense of being at home.

For many veterans, military experience damages their most important relationships, including their relationship with God. That damage can leave some veterans feeling disoriented and alone. Our primary agenda is to think together about what it might look like to repair whatever connection is broken.

I often wonder what I am doing in that circle. I worry that I have nothing to contribute. My chaplain partner assures me that I belong there with her. I still wonder, but I go. I eat snacks and listen. And I learn, and not only about veterans. I learn about myself.

As a good Mennonite, I am comfortable remaining behind the walls that separate me from those participating in the military. And frankly, it’s easier that way, neatly dividing the world into us and them. On my side of the wall are pacifists and the innocent victims of military violence. On the other side are those who contribute to that violence, soldiers included.

Now here I am, sitting in a circle of veterans. They say things that affirm every negative feeling I have about the military. They say things that challenge those feelings. And I am surprised as one stereotype after another is broken open, allowing me to see past my carefully tended walls to the humanity we share. I hear a longing for love, for safety, for communion, for salvation.

It’s safe to say that the Pharisees considered Jesus to be a royal pain. They worked hard to maintain the law and the tradition. They believed the future of their people depended upon it.

Then along came this upstart rabbi who blithely crossed every traditional and legal boundary. Jesus ate with anybody. He touched everybody. He turned no one away.

And when his disciples tried to draw some boundaries of their own, Jesus took a child on his lap and revealed something about the kingdom of God. It is, as Jesus described it, a very untidy place. The disciples were constantly surprised by who they met there.

It’s amazing what you discover when you follow Jesus over the borderline. It turns out that people are people. We share the same needs and desires and hopes. Trite but true. It turns out that God loves all people. We knew that, right? It turns out that Jesus calls us to love all people. Now the argument starts.

What do we mean by “love”? By “all people”? Don’t people have to change their ways before entering into God’s reign? Look at how they live and what they’ve done.

And off we go. Brick by brick, building another wall. Protecting ourselves or the tradition or the community by naming someone as beyond the call to love.

I am still a convinced Mennonite pacifist. I remain opposed to violence, whether committed by individuals or blessed by the state. I still believe that war is sin. My convictions are intact.

But none of that excuses me from loving others, including military veterans. Neither the strength of my convictions nor the rightness of my theology can overcome the call to love everyone Jesus loves. Weird as it may be, I now hear Jesus calling me to step over the line and love veterans.

When you look over the borderline, who do you see? Only you can say. But I can tell you this. Jesus is right there with them. And he’s calling you to come on across.

Ron Adams is pastor of Madison (Wis.) Mennonite Church.