Many of you know that I recently went through a time of liminality and
discernment about the path toward practicing my ministry, sparked by the military choosing to offer me Reserve Military Chaplaincy instead of Active Duty. There have been many interesting and amazing aspects of that time of liminality and discernment, and I will reflect on them from time to time here at Celestial Lands. When I moved out of that liminal-space, I chose to accept the U.S. Army’s offer to become a Reserve Military Chaplain, and I will be serving as an Interim Minister for a UU Congregation in northern Michigan in the coming year. I am very close to having accepted an assignment as a Battalion Chaplain for an Army Reserve unit in Michigan as well, one with a very active deployment cycle.
One of the many things that has struck me about this time of transition and discernment is how many people, ministerial colleagues, friends, and lay members of our congregations became hopeful in this time that I would not become an Army Chaplain. Some sought to hide that hope from me, others expressed it quite openly. When I made the decision to accept the Army’s offer of a Reserve commission, more than a few came to me to express that their hope for me had been dashed (not in those words, of course). Many expressed that they had hoped that the door of military chaplaincy would close, so that I could “bring (my) gifts to a church, where they would be most valued”.
Still others expressed concern for my spiritual wellbeing. These friends had been worried that I would be one of very few liberal ministers in the military, and that this dynamic would force me to become defensive and jaded. Their hope had been that I would now be able to stay, grow, develop, and share in a community of liberal faith, without the need to constantly defend my faith, my right to serve, and my theological stances.
Still others were concerned for my physical safety. Let’s face it, no matter what role you might play, a deployment to Iraq or Afghanistan is dangerous, and these friends knew that I would never be satisfied with remaining behind while my soldiers deployed into harm’s way. They had thought that if the Army told me no, that if for some reason the door closed, then I would know that I had done all I could to be with those soldiers, and would accept that I could stay home and safe. They would not need to worry about me being injured or killed in a combat zone.
Still others were concerned for how I would manage the inherent social justice issues in serving as a military chaplain. These friends shared their hope that I would turn my energy to speaking-out about those concerns from outside the military, since I could not do so inside. Outside the military, I would not be tempted to compromise my ethics, values, and principles and become a hypocrite. A few of these friends seemed positively gleeful at the idea that the door of military chaplaincy had closed for me.
Some of my friends and colleagues managed to combine some or all of these at once. These encounters ranged from being deeply touching to more than slightly disempowering. A few seemed to me to express that they were glad when it looked like I was not going to become a military chaplain, and disappointed in me when I did take my oath at the UUA General Assembly. (This was a nice off-set for all those who want to place a halo-of-sainthood on the heads of UU Military Chaplains, more on that another time).
Now, I know in each of these cases, the person’s reaction came from a space of love. I know that the one friend and colleague who met me in the hallway with tears in her eyes was deeply concerned for me because of that love. I know that the friend who told me that her prayer was that I would “survive” long enough to get to be a “full minister” meant well. One of my colleagues and dear friends who stopped me in the hallway at the UUA’s General Assembly shared with me her concerns, and gave me one of the most profound compliments I have ever received in the process. I will always cherish that conversation and the intent behind it…
And…
And it brings me to realize that there are two aspects of call and ministry that I hold in a different way to many of these friends and colleagues. I get that I may be the one who is out-of-step, not they. While I will name the belief about call, (that you don’t choose a call, you follow it where it leads), it is the belief about ministry I want to share.
And that is this. Ministry is supposed to be dangerous. Ministry is supposed to put at risk one’s safety, be it spiritual, emotional, and/or physical. One of the primary purposes of seminary is to learn to manage, mitigate, and operate within that risk. We use words like “boundaries” and “self-care” to describe how we manage and mitigate the risk of ministry, because we understand that ministry, all ministry, is inherently dangerous, both to yourself (the minister) and to others (the congregation and the world).
I’ve had the privilege to spend this last year as a hospice Chaplain resident. I have moved into places of deep emotional pain and loss with patients and families. I have navigated the unexploded land-mines that rest in the history of any family, and even done some controlled detonations of a few of them in working to clear a path for some of these patients and families. I have stood amidst the cross-fire of family and staff conflicts, I have even, on rare occasion, intentionally made myself the target so that the family would, for the brief moment necessary, shoot at someone besides each other.
I have gone home at the end of the day and cried. I have gone home angry. I have sat with my wife and worked through what I am feeling, and we have struggled to find a place between us for my own grief, anguish, and loss to rest. I have processed emotions with my Chaplain Resident colleagues, and planned ways to do that work without them. I have found a way to hold it together long enough so that, at the end of a funeral for one of my patients, I could manage to say the words “It is my honor and duty as an officer of these United States to present this flag to you, on behalf of a grateful nation” in something remotely like the voice of a military officer.
I have even gone into areas of Chicago where my presence, as a Caucasian appearing male, was not exactly safe in order to be with some of these families. I have stood as a presence amid the grief turned anger of some who just want to hit someone until they felt as bad as they do. I have been the projection screen for decades old family conflicts and violence, so that the families could see that violence and conflict reflected back to them.
Ministry, by the very nature of being ministry, is dangerous. If military chaplaincy is different, it is simply because some of that danger, the physical danger, is very apparent. However, I believe it is not the danger we see as ministers that should most concern us… the dangers we see we can prepare for. No, it is the dangers we don’t see, or don’t believe are as profound as they are… these are the dangers that can claim both the minister and the ministry.
Yours in faith,
Rev. David
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