Hastings: Father’s Day thoughts
“There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit.” — Romans 8:1 King James Version
It’s D-Day as I write — with a view to Father’s Day. It has been over three years since my dad’s passing, and memories come to mind especially on these days. Each year brings more insight and perspective.
When Dad was nine, he lost his father to cancer. When he was 18, his big brother drowned at a family Fourth of July picnic. When Dad became the sole support of his widowed mother on the family farm, he was drafted to serve in the Army during WWII. His request for deferment was denied. Before he left, he moved his mother into the village and sold the family farm — including his pet horse, Queen.
In the Army, Dad drove a 6-by-6 truck for the 297th Engineering Combat Battalion, a bridge-building unit known as the “Jackrabbits.” When he drove his truck off a barge onto Utah Beach on D-Day, he saw “bodies piled three and four deep.” The Jackrabbits went on to play a key role in the Allied Forces’ conquest at the Remegen Bridge, a turning point in the war. And the 297th participated in the liberation of the death camp at Nordhausen. Of what he saw and experienced, Dad wrote, “War is hell.”
When he returned to the States, Dad literally kissed the ground. Within a year of his return, he married his fiancee, bought a farm, attended Agricultural School on the GI bill — and became a father.
During my growing-up years, the war was not spoken of in our home. There were times I realized that something was troubling Dad, and I hoped it wasn’t me. I also remember walking to the “back forty” with Dad on Sunday afternoons. Noting the corn’s growth each week, Dad would say, “It amazes me to plant seeds and see how God makes the crops grow.” I can recall only one time he mused softly with quivering voice, “I don’t know why so many people died all around me — and I lived.”
It would be years before I learned about the after-effects of war on those who were in kill-or-be-killed situations, called to go against their moral training to serve their country. The most difficult part of these moral injuries, it has been said, is “survivor guilt” — a deep spiritual and emotional pain which some seek to resolve with substance use or suicide.
After Dad’s passing, I paged through the pocket-sized New Testament and Psalter his mother had given him before he left for the Army. The little book looked like it had been through a war but was still readable. I knew Dad was not one to write in any book, let alone a Bible, but when I got to Romans 8, I noticed a light pencil bracket around the first verse of “no condemnation” (above) and the last two in which “(nothing) shall be able to separate us from the love of God.”
As I reflected upon my walks with Dad and my discovery in his pocket Bible, I realized how Dad had healed from the after-effects of war by putting his faith and trust in God’s unshakable love which sets one free from condemnation — and by working hand in hand with God in nature.
Today there is good news for those who may need healing from the moral wounds of war and other life crises. Those who have “been there” have created a network of compassionate listeners who can be accessed by dialing 988, a Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. The 988 Lifeline is free and confidential. Callers will hear an automated message, select from options and be routed to a caring professional. For example, veterans may press 1.
Please share this good news — because substance use may delay healing, and suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. The 988 Lifeline has people who care. And as Dad discovered, the unshakable love of God and Mother Nature’s healing wisdom are ever present and available to all.
The Rev. Celia M. Hastings has a master's degree in religious education from Western Theological Seminary in Holland. She is author of “The Wisdom Series” and “The Undertaker’s Wife.”
This article originally appeared on The Petoskey News-Review: Hastings: Father’s Day thoughts
