Moral Injury

September 11^th 2013

Christian Hawley

Genesis 8:12-17, 20-22

Ps 51:1-17

Luke 23:32-43

I went to workshop yesterday dealing with moral injuries in veterans.

I told myself I was going because I needed to know what resources were available for veterans in the Knoxville area.

I told myself I was going because it was a wise thing for deacon to do.

And I told myself I was going because this training would help me offer better care in my ministry.

Once I got there, however, I realized I went to find help for myself. I thought I had healed pretty well from my experiences in the Middle East, and then this past April, all of those moral wounds opened up again on an idle Tuesday evening. Sometime that afternoon a Facebook newsfeed announced that an Air Force MC12 had crashed and at least four soldiers had died. I was saddened by the news, but I carried on through the day. That night the story popped up yet again and Capt Reid Nishizuka was identified as the pilot killed in the crash. The name sounded familiar and as I prepared dinner I finally made the connection.

An uncontrollable wave of horror and sadness washed over me and I began to openly weep into my spaghetti sauce. Finding it hard to stand I sat down on the floor and just kept crying. I didn’t know Capt Nishizuka, but once upon a time I knew a cadet fourth class Reid Nishizuka, a Hawaiian kid of 18 who struggled with marching formations, but who always put a smile on his fellow cadets’ faces. I was his flight commander in ROTC, and as I sat there in my kitchen all I could see was some kid in ROTC sweat pants laying the wreckage of a plane in Afghanistan. I knew Reid made his own decisions, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that I was at least partially responsible for his death. I trained him and I helped put him in harm’s way. All those feelings of guilt, anger, shame, and pain came roaring back that evening. Moral injuries are like any other wound, they can be reopened, and when they are, we need to find ways of healing anew.

Yesterday’s workshop helped me find new ways to heal old wounds. As I sat down to write today’s sermon I knew that those methods intended for veterans could speak equally well to all of us here. Today is Sept 11^th, and I suspect for many of us, the wound we sustained a dozen years ago, is a little more tender today, and perhaps that injury is even torn asunder as our country contemplates military action in Syria. Wartime events and tragedies aside, I think we all suffer from moral injuries of one kind or another, so I hope the following five points I picked up yesterday will help us all to heal old and new wounds alike.

1. Point number one of moral repair is find a safe environment and connect with others. The government chaplains and social workers actually reached out to us church folks on this one. One in four veterans goes to a religious friend or leader to begin healing, and they do so because of our commitment to unconditional love, and at least for the clergy, our respect for confidentiality. Humans were not meant to suffer alone, and healing happens best when God and others share our pain. We must seek out sanctuary.
2. Point number two: we gotta go all the way through the tragedy, we can’t take the bypass. Lots of moral injuries reopen because only part of the wound was addressed. The whole event needs to be acknowledged and all the emotions need to be felt. I think Reid’s death hit me so hard, because lots of my prior healing focused on dealing with anger and guilt. By asking grief to take a backseat in the past, I just sewed up a wound that had never been properly cleaned...and so it festered.
3. Point three (and I found this one really powerful): we need a reminder that goodness exists in both ourselves and in the world. Lots of energy is spent in healing and reconciliation talking about sin and brokenness, but the folks yesterday pointed out that we also need to remember that goodness is the substance of our creation and a saint dwells alongside with the sinner within us. Every human is made in the image of God, and we do well to acknowledge our inner light as we wrestle with our darkness. We need to hear that the flood ends, the dove finds a place to nest, and a rainbow promises us hope.
4. Point four: we need a process for forgiveness and amendment of life. Again the government agencies looked to us spiritual communities for help with this one. Sometimes forgiveness is outside the power of human control. How do I forgive a murderer who was never caught? Or how do I ask for the forgiveness of a blip on a targeting display? Sometimes, the ability to forgive others or to forgive ourselves can only come from a Savior who died for all transgressions. As an innocent victim Christ forgave his attackers, just like he granted mercy to the criminal next to him – through Christ we receive the grace to forgive and be forgiven. That’s why we in the Episcopal church hold on to the sacraments of reconciliation and healing. We have rites that let us confess our pain, anger, guilt, or shame. We have mechanisms to help us let go, to hear absolution, and to know that we are not alone. We have sacraments that allows us to declare a change of heart and guide us in amending our lives. I may not be able to undo the war I waged or witnessed ten years ago, but I can amend my life to work for peace in the Kingdom of God.
5. And the fifth point is planning for the long haul. As devastating as Reid’s death was this year. I got through it a lot better than I have with other deaths in the past. This instance was better because after the last time things fell apart I realized healing was a process and not a singular event. I’ll carry my war wounds, or at least the scars, with me for the rest of my earthly pilgrimage. There will be other deaths or tragedies that reopen or irritate those wounds, but the secret to long term healing is having a support structure in place. In the last five years, I’ve shared my wounds with a spiritual director, a couple of fellow veterans, a writing group, and selected family, friends, and clergy. When Reid died, I had people to call, who had a frame of reference of my suffering, and whose shoulders I could literally cry on.

I am lucky to stand here today and add you folks to that support group. Thank you for being a safe place for me to be vulnerable, and may we continue to offer one another support, love, and healing for many more Sept 11ths to come.