Moral Injury

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.