The Community Problem

I had a wonderful conversations with a Christian friend from down the street today--at Chick-fil-A, of course.

Perhaps it was due to his extroverted conversational demeanor, or his background from a more relational culture (he's Filipino), but it was more substantive conversations I've had on the deployment since I've returned. He wasn't as interested in stories as much as effects, which I appreciate.

Much of soldiering is not about stories. It's not a highlight reel to be collected on film, or to be used as a basis of an inspirational pep talk. When people ask for stories, here's what I feel like they want:

"The murky sky carried bad omens for the day ahead, seemingly filled with violence, awaiting the long-suppressed storm. Our convoy was but a few blocks from our post when a car burst into flames in front of us, blocking our path. Another vehicle, packed with crudely-made explosives slammed into the rear vehicle, turning it into a rolling ball of flame and preventing our escape. Bullets seemed to rain upon us from all directions, threatening to wipe us all out. Until Tex charged through the door and up the stairs and the machine gun nest fell silent. Oh, Tex. I wonder if he was thinking of his sweetheart back home..."

Our stories are not like that. And requesting them can make soldiers feel like a sideshow, exploited for others' entertainment. Or feel embarrassed for simply doing their duty and not having any captivating experiences. But effects--that's where the substantive conversations really lie.

Soldiers, myself included (though I consider myself as the least of soldiers), often come home cynical and embittered. They feel like Paul Baumer from All Quiet on the Western Front, who was disgusted by the politics of war and shallow patriotism often demonstrated by friends and colleagues. This feeling may not often be an accurate assessment of folks back home, but it comes with the cultural gap that exists between a soldier at war and a land at peace.

My friend expressed his own sorrow at how poorly the VA cares for veterans and the fact that many of our homeless are themselves war veterans. He wondered, with all the money our country has, why we couldn't do more for soldiers. I think his sentiment is dead on, but his solution is flawed. The VA hires people to give hugs, and the government itself cannot hug a veteran. Veterans often slip through the cracks of governmental care because it's the government, and layers of bureaucracy stifle support, not secure it.

I do not fault the VA for not doing what it cannot do. And while many vets could use more financial and medical support as a result of their service, what they need most of all is love. A warm hug, or a conversation accompanied by a smoldering cigar, is worth as much as a hot meal.

I imagine that when soldiers left for war a few generations ago, they were greatly missed. Yellow ribbons would sprout out through a soldiers' neighborhood. Friends might send letters. Neighbors would come over with meals. But not today (except in certain small town and rural areas).

As sociologists have well-documented (like Putnam's Bowling Alone), communities are quickly disintegrating in our country. Even if I know that a soldier down the street is deploying, I don't know that soldiers. Because we work eighty hours a week, lock the doors of our suburban enclaves as soon as we get home, and spend another twenty or thirty hours on electronic forms of escapist entertainment (see Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death), we don't get to know our neighbors.

When the soldier goes off to war, he goes alone and he comes back alone, and America doesn't go with him. And if he returns home in a casket, his mother's tears will never be heard by the person next door.

This isn't a problem specific to the military, but to our society. The way we can best care for our soldiers is to unlatch the door, invite our neighbors over dinner, and seek to form once more the rich webs of community that support the strong and catch the weak in their hour of need.

And this is also an unprecedented opportunity for the Church. She needs not compete with other communities, for She is practically the only one left standing. "Community," like "authenticity," is often employed as a self-righteous cliche by those who pretentiously stand over and above human relationships. But cliche is also a moral mandate of the Church. When all other bonds break down, we alone carry the torch of that biblical dictum--"Love thy neighbor." And that communal care, for both fellow believers and unbelievers, is often made into a cradle for the New Birth, by God's grace.

Love your neighbor and you will love the soldier. More important, if you love your neighbor, you are loving Christ. And this is but a small token of gratitude offered back to He who endured a lonely manger, a lonely life, and a lonely cross for the ones who despised Him.