Dan Hallock served in Navy ROTC and did
active duty training on an amphibious assault ship and a nuclear submarine. He
later worked as an aeromechanics software engineer for Sikorsky Aircraft, maker
of the Black Hawk and CH-53 helicopters deployed in the Gulf. The author of
three books, he now lives at a Bruderhof community.
Yesterday I got the real scoop on the war
with
But yesterday my friend began to talk about war as a continuous stream, from
Cain and Abel to the world-shattering conflicts of the last century. He talked
about the horrors of World War I, and played a Clancy Brothers song for me
about young Willie McBride, killed at age 19, for whom they “played the drums
slowly while they lowered him down” in the soil of France. He talked about the
atomic horrors of World War II, and about
And then he began to share his own memories of early morning hours 35 years ago, when North Vietnamese and Viet Cong soldiers overran his firebase, sneaking in under the wire, cutting the throats of sleeping engineers in the bunker next to him, blowing up helicopters, rocketing fuel depots, and engaging his men in hand-to-hand combat. He talked about being on the “sweep” afterwards, walking the battleground to kill any enemy soldiers still moving. He talked about burying bodies, lots of them, and still thinking of them today—their families, their sweethearts, their dreams for the future.
My friend helped me to cut through the constant crackle in the news to the real essence of war, to the enormous spiritual and emotional cost to all involved. But what he said next went deeper still, and had never occurred to me so plainly. “War is division,” he said. “War divides people from one another; it’s a tool in the hands of powers and principalities that want to destroy life and relationships.”
At this moment, I don’t know of anyone who
doesn’t feel overwhelmed by news of the war in
What is it that divides us from one another? Where there are impure relationships and degradation of souls, isn’t that war? Where there are grudges and unforgiveness, isn’t that war? Where there are arrogance and pride, isn’t that war?
But more widespread and destructive than any other division in our society is that between parents and their children. It seems to be the bane of most young people to set their own course, despise their parents, yet still claim to be seeking God. But honoring one’s father and mother is one of the Ten Commandments. It was so important in Old Testament times that Israelites could be put to death for not doing it. Who can say that they honor God and want peace in the world when they do not honor their parents? And who is not guilty of this? Is this not also war?
There is hardly an area of life that encompasses more need and anguish. Here
in
Perhaps the truest, most realistic example of the relationship between parent and child as God intended it is Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son. The prodigal son was no different from you or me; he ran into the world to squander his father’s wealth. He thought it belonged to him, that he had a right to it. He lost everything and ate the food of swine. And then he thought of his father, the father who was waiting daily for his child. And when the father saw the son coming, he ran to meet him. The son could only say, “Forgive me. I have sinned against you and God, and am no longer worthy to be called your son.” But the father embraced him, and killed the fatted calf for sheer joy.
This picture of a true parent-child relationship should give us all hope. What was lost has been found. What was hopelessly wounded and soiled and wasted has been redeemed.
These words found their mark in my own heart, for like countless others, I’m in the middle of this war of division. I haven’t seen my own father in 25 years. I don’t know if I’d recognize him, or he me. In letters I’ve told him that I love him and forgive him for leaving, that I can understand the moments of torment he must have gone through over the years because, although I never married and had children like him, I also fell prey to the very same sins that crippled Dad’s life and hindered what is of God in him. And though through my own lust and selfishness I nearly destroyed myself, I also hurt – no, murdered – the souls of other people.
Like my Dad, I look back on a life with only sins and failures to show for it. And yet there is God, who is so much greater than our sins. A God so merciful and forgiving that we don’t need to be afraid to stand before him, together, as sinful people in need of his mercy and forgiveness. And because of this, I’ve told my Dad that I love him and forgive him.
But I did one thing the other day that I should have done long ago: ask his forgiveness. It suddenly struck me that in my years growing up, at times when it really might have mattered and perhaps changed both him and me, I never really turned to my Dad for help. So many things I did behind his back, ungratefully rebelling against him and Mom. I was arrogant and thoroughly self-centered, which I know caused him a lot of pain. He saw me heading down a path of self-destruction and couldn’t get through. And it hit me that the distance I caused between him and myself might have been a factor in his leaving. I had to say, “Forgive me.” I had to tell him that I wasted much that can’t be regained now, except to say, “I’m sorry.” I just wanted him to know that, in this time when it seems that the whole world is going to hell in a hand basket, I love him, and that there is nothing stronger than the power of love in this world. It cannot die or ever be destroyed. No war of tanks, planes and bombs can touch it.
“Forgive me.” These two simple words are the most powerful weapon we have in another kind of war, the fight to overcome all these divisions among us. Only one changed heart, one act of forgiveness, can bring an avalanche of repentance. In this way you, too, can serve your country. Yes, you personally can help end wars and bring peace, but only by taking up this fight in the battleground of the human heart.