Earlier this year, before the current conflict with Iran began, someone from our congregation reached out to me. This person was raised in our church. They are someone we have loved, supported, and prayed for over the years. They are also currently serving in the military, one of the names we lift in prayer week after week. They reached out because they were wrestling with moral and spiritual questions.
Questions like: What does God want from me? What does faithfulness look like in military service? What happens if I am asked to take a life, directly or indirectly, in the course of my duties?
These are not small or abstract questions. They are not questions most of us would want to carry.
This young adult entered military service with a good head on their shoulders and a tender conscience. They understood that killing is wrong. They also understood that Christian tradition has long wrestled with the possibility of “just war.” Scripture itself contains complicated witness around war, conquest, nationhood, and violence, especially in parts of the Old Testament. But they also knew the witness of Jesus.
They knew Jesus’ call to love our enemies. They knew his refusal to answer violence with violence. They knew the hope of the prophets, that one day swords would be beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. They knew the vision we have painted above the doors of our own sanctuary, that the lion will lie down with the lamb, and that God’s dream is not endless war, but peace.
What concerned them most was that they were beginning to hear a different kind of theology around them. Not the God they had met in Sunday school or had heard proclaimed in worship. And certainly not the God revealed in Jesus. Instead, they were hearing language about strength and might. About wiping out the enemy. About God being on our side in a way that seemed to leave little room for humility, conscience, or compassion.
I did my best to counsel and console them in that conversation. Mostly, I listened. I reminded them that a tender conscience is not a weakness. It may be one of the clearest signs that the Spirit is still speaking and I prayed — and I am still praying.
I pray for those serving in the military all the time. Of course I pray for their safety and their families and the burdens they carry. I also pray that nations will learn to war no more. For leaders to seek wisdom before violence. I pray that military personnel will be protected from needless harm and impossible moral injury. I pray that enemies will become neighbors. I pray that peace will come before more lives are lost.
I recognize that in the context of war, that may sound like weakness and yet in the context of the New Testament, it sounds like faithfulness.
Since the conflict with Iran began, my stomach has been unsettled and my heart has been tender. I have thought often about those who serve, including those connected to our congregation, who may be forced to wrestle with questions most of us only discuss from a distance.
Is what I am doing right? Is this what God wants? Am I serving justice, or simply following orders? Am I being faithful to God, or only useful to my nation?
To be clear I do not ask such questions with judgment. I ask them with deep empathy. I would not want to stand in their shoes. I would not want to carry the weight of those choices.
And maybe this is one of the spiritual dangers of Christian nationalism. It teaches us to stop asking hard questions. It assumes that what is good for our nation must be what God wants. But the witness of scripture is larger than that. God’s love is not limited to one nation, one flag, one people, or one border. God desires abundant life for all humankind.
All of this does not mean Memorial Day is unimportant. In fact, I think it means the opposite. Memorial Day should matter deeply.
The other night at our dinner table, we were talking about how Memorial Day seems to have shifted over time. For many, it has become the unofficial start of summer. A weekend for barbecues, lake houses, furniture sales, mattress deals, and extra time off. And listen, I enjoy a long weekend, too.
But Memorial Day began as something much more solemn. It was a day to remember those who died in service to this country. It was a day when families visited graves, placed flowers, and named their grief. In earlier generations, far more people personally knew someone who had died in war. They knew the name. They knew the face. They knew the chair that stayed empty.
But time passes. Wars change. Military service becomes more distant from many of our daily lives. The grief becomes less immediate for some of us. And into that space, consumerism creeps in, quietly turning remembrance into recreation. So this Memorial Day weekend, I invite us to remember.
At UMCG, we will have plenty happening. We will welcome our District Superintendent, Rev. Wendy Hardin Herrman, as she preaches about seasons of transition. We will celebrate an important moment in the life of our church as construction begins. And, of course, we will host our annual Pancake Breakfast, where so many of our people sacrifice part of their holiday weekend to serve our neighbors and raise funds for mission. I believe God honors that sacrifice. But I also hope we will hold the deeper meaning of this weekend close.
I hope we will remember those who died in service. I hope we will pray for those who still serve. I hope we will pray for families who carry grief, fear, pride, and worry all at once. I hope we will pray for those whose consciences are tender, whose duties are heavy, and whose faith is being tested in ways most of us will never fully understand.
And I hope we will pray, not only for safety, but for peace. Not only for our people, but for all people. Not only for our nation, but for all nations.
This Memorial Day weekend, I invite you to pray by name for the military personnel connected to our congregation, including the names listed below. These are the same names we lift week after week in worship. Let us hold them close, not as symbols or slogans, but as beloved children of God.
Evan Heckman-Trathen Jeffrey Jungknecht Adam Dahlberg
Reed Arrott III William Lyon Matthew & Alison Isely
And let us pray for the day when nations learn war no more.
Blessings to you this Memorial Day weekend.
