The Anxiety of (about) War and Soldiering

Lately I have been confronted once again by issues of war and soldiering as a vocation.  As a pastor, I have been in churches from a pacifist tradition as well as those with flags from every branch of the armed forces proudly displayed in their sanctuaries.  I have heard the arguments from all sides, and found myself in one context or the other swaying various directions as necessary to try to give myself the theological support I needed to minister effectively where I was. 

But absolute clarity has always eluded me.  Clearly the “law of love” that characterizes the new covenant in which we live “militates” against the destruction and violence characterized by war.  Surely no-one could find it a simple task to reconcile that kingdom perspective with the chief objective of armies in a time of conflict; that being to  “break things and kill people”, as Colin Powell so eloquently explained during the first gulf war.  Loving your enemies, as Jesus exhorts us in the sermon on the mount, is of course a personal ethic. But how does one accomplish that as a warrior whose job is, at times, to kill them?

On the other hand, there is the “power of the sword” given by Paul to the governing authorities in Romans 13.  Many will cite the issue of Cornelius the centurion, a “righteous and God fearing man” saved in Acts 10, with no hint of an expectation that he abandon his position.  John the baptist in Luke 3 simply exhorts soldiers to not cheat people and be content with their pay.  Jesus himself seems to be silent on the issue of soldiering, although he does commend the faith of the centurion in Matthew 8, never critiquing his vocation. I find it intriguing at least that he will tell a rich young man to give away all his wealth, but never tells soldiers to put up their swords.  If the issue was as black and white and as momentous as some would have us believe, surely something to that effect would show up in his teaching somewhere?  So we are left to attempt to craft an argument from silence, or at best implication over imperative.

These debates can go on and on and there has been and will continue to be reams of material penned by godly, scholarly, and thoughtful authors on both sides of the issue. 

One thing to keep in mind from my own perspective is that the coming of the kingdom of God is one that is designed to be effective both on the physical plane and as a spiritual reality.  It is both “within and among” us, as it were.  All of Scripture confirms this, especially Jesus in the gospels, but here let me suggest the consideration of a statement from his brother James:   

What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

I wonder if there is a principle here to apply.  Suppose we saw a brother or a sister being attacked in order to rob, enslave or kill them?  If we say to him or her, “Go, I wish you well—be safe and secure” but do nothing about their situation, what good is it?  The problem, of course, is that the “action” required here would, at least in some cases, be a violent one.  Perhaps even a deadly one.  And therein lies our anxiety.  We’re not feeding and clothing needy people here, we are protecting helpless ones. And nowhere in Scripture is there a clear example of this as a Christian imperative, at least not if it requires the use of force.  But there is no clear prohibition either.  One could manufacture either with creative enough bible work, but intellectual honesty would require the concession of at least a percentage of uncertainty in the conclusion.  So we are left  to wrestle with how and whether to apply the principle of faith worked out in deeds.    

It occurs to me that here in America, at least, we are stuck with inconsistencies and internal spiritual anxiety no matter where we land on this issue.  Committing ourselves to service and sacrifice for a greater good, but which could require doing violence to fellow human beings, comes with the obvious issues to wrestle with.  On the other hand, if we are to embrace and enjoy all the benefits and opportunities of liberty while at the same time standing in judgment of the deeds done which created and maintain those, that comes with its own inconsistencies and moral dilemmas; as would standing idly by as we watch innocents suffer from aggression or the homeland over-run by enemies. 

I have struggled with these things.  Wrestling with them like Jacob with the angel, except without the blessing.  How am I as a Christian to stand alongside those who face these seemingly intractable questions?  They aren’t going to just go away anytime between now and the eschaton. No matter which way I turn, I find confusion and uncertainty.  Then it struck me:  will that not always be the inevitable result in regards to this struggle with issues of war and soldiering?  Surely the very existence of war is the ultimate expression of a world marred by sin.  And what is sin?  Chaos.  The confusion and uncertainty spoken of as a world “formless and void” before God put order to it and created it good.  Then evil crept back in to confuse and disintegrate that good and orderly world, sometimes to the point of descending into the chaos of war.  So maybe if I ever get to the point where I no longer have any confusion or anxiety about it, I will have missed the point entirely.  Tying it up with precise theological ribbons and putting it away someplace from whence I can bring out some platitudes as needed to simplify and, God willing, truncate a conversation, may not be the answer at all.  I may have to live my whole life without neat and tidy answers to a question that does not lend itself to them by its very nature. 

We make our choices, we accept our consequences.  Those Christians who choose to be soldiers will have their dilemmas to face.  But so will those who choose to stand in judgment of them.  My own choice is to eschew the path of judgment: I cannot divine a clear platform from which to do so.  To those who have chosen the way of the warrior, my choice is to stand alongside them.  To neither affirm nor deny any ultimate moral clarity, but to validate their willingness to serve and to sacrifice. And should the severity of those sacrifices become realized in ways that give me the opportunity, to be there for them in whatever capacity I am able.  That is my choice in the matter.  I accept whatever consequences may result.