“…the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

Bravery is facing danger with confidence and determination, according to the Encarta Encyclopedia. While most combat Veterans will admit to fear, most would not describe themselves as brave. In fact, most could not conceive of the level of danger, of horror, they would be facing. It is described in a poem by Bruce Weigl, titled, “Elegy”

Into the sunlight they marched,
Into dog day, into no saints day,
And were cut down.
They marched without knowing
How the air would be sucked from their lungs,
How their lungs would collapse,
How the world would twist itself, would
Bend into the cruel angles.

Into the black understanding they marched
Until the angels came
Calling their names,
Until they rose, one by one from the blood.
The light blasted down on them.
The bullets sliced through the razor grass
So there was not even time to speak.
The words would not let themselves be spoken.

Some of them died.
Some of them were not allowed to.

Serving in a combat zone changes you forever. There are memories that cannot be erased. Memory of fear, of horror, of broken bodies, and screaming men. Most combat veterans won’t speak much of those memories, not even to each other. Most, in fact, hope they won’t remember. Hope for it to fade away forever, which it never does completely. “Some of them died, some of them were not allowed to.”

A couple of weeks ago I met with Don to prepare this service. Early in the conversation, his face got dead serious, and he said, “You mean I have to think about Korea again?” The conversation continued, and we talked about the music, and readings, the general themes we wanted to convey. The tone of that meeting was upbeat and positive. Toward the end, he again turned to me, and with a very serious look about him, said again, “I’ve got to think about Korea again.” “Some of them died, some of them were not allowed to.”

I know what Don means. I was in Korea 25 years after he was. When people find out I am in the Veterans of Foreign Wars, they often asked where I served. When I say, “Korea,” they often remark, “You’re too young to have been in Korea.” But, they have forgotten that the Korean War never ended. There is an armistice – a temporary truce that divides North and South Korea. A truce that is not only temporary, but very fragile. Since the end of the “hot war” there, there have been over 40,000 reported “incidents” on the Demilitarized Zone, or DMZ. That averages out to over 15 “incidents” a week, more than 2 per day. These “incidents,” as the military command likes to call them, involve hostile actions on either side. In fact, since the end of the “hot war”, an average of 2-3 servicemen are Killed or Missing in Action each week along that border, with an average of 5-6 each week wounded. Almost 100 US service personnel have been taken prisoner. That border remains the most heavily defended border in the world. And not all “incidents” are reported. Nor do you hear about them in our media. The Korean border is one of the world’s hot spots, with nuclear weapons on each side. The capital of Seoul is within artillery range of North Korea, who has WMD stocks available. The threat of escalation of hostilities is immanent, and so media coverage is essentially non-existent. If the general public knew about it, they would be outraged.

When I arrived in Korea, it was January 1979, and bitterly cold. I was taken to a base to which I would be attached for the next year. Along the route northwest from the capital Seoul, I noticed that every bridge was guarded by a machine-gun nest, and was also wired with explosives – so they could be quickly destroyed if the northern army invaded. I quickly learned that hostile actions were common, and patrolling the DMZ – which I did – was very dangerous work indeed.

In the Army I was a Cavalry Scout, specializing in reconnaissance. My job was to find out where the enemy was, what their numbers and weaponry was, and report that information back to headquarters. It often involved stealth operations deep inside the DMZ, navigating around minefields and other barriers. Most of my work was therefore classified, and I was required to have a Top Secret security clearance. I consider myself fortunate. Most of what I don’t want to remember or talk about, I cannot because of that. I can tell you that I was involved in a few of those “incidents,” and not all of them were instigated from the other side of the wire.

Yes, I have some very unpleasant memories. I have a nightmare that comes to me at least once or twice a month. It doesn’t involve any particular experience, but the gist of it is that I am in Korea and they won’t let me come home. Despite my pleading and begging, they won’t let me come home, and I am again sent north to the DMZ. And, to this day, once I am awakened, the only way I can get back to sleep, despite being out of Korea for 25 years now, is for me to close my eyes, and imagine myself with an M-16 in my hand.

Combat changes you in many ways. You grow up too quickly, and the memories never completely go away. And, not all the nightmares are about the past. I found out some years later that the fields I crawled through night after night had been saturated with Agent Orange constantly from 1971 – 1976. I still don’t know if, or when, or how, that will effect me.

“Some of them died. Some of them were not allowed to.”

Being a Veteran has changed me in many ways, actually mostly for the good, in my eyes. Although nobody in my family can figure out why all my shirts are hung in the closet facing the same way with hangers neatly lined up in a row. Or why I get teary on Memorial Day, or 4th of July. Or why I was so irritable this week thinking about this service. Sometimes you just can’t control the memories.

I went into the service as a young rebel. I was trouble. I had long hair and sideburns and a bad attitude. My Drill Sergeant… had short hair and a bigger attitude.

I went in with no self-discipline and pretty lousy self-esteem. I learned discipline, self-respect, and honor. I learned a few other things that I believe serve me well to this day, and, actually, they may serve us all pretty well…

Sacrifice

I learned that sometimes you gotta put your own needs, thoughts, and preferences aside for the larger good. That may mean stepping aside in the chow line when a patrol comes in that hasn’t had anything hot to eat for a few days. That may mean offering to carry the 60-pound machine gun instead of your 5-pound M-16, ‘cause you know you can handle it better than that little guy. It may mean that you, or your buddy, or quite a few more of you may not come home, ‘cause if that’s what it takes to keep your family and friends safe and your country strong – then it’s worth it. For each one of us, it meant leaving loved ones behind, not knowing if you’d see them again. Because, unlike the children’s story we heard today, not everybody comes home. Pete Ahlefs, didn’t come home. Sgt. Dave Kuntze didn’t come home. Dan Duffy, who I went through Basic Training with, the clown of our platoon, and a friend of mine, didn’t come home.

Sacrifice may mean giving up some time, money, or energy to a church that you believe in and that you want to see grow stronger. It may mean going to committee meetings, or helping in the kitchen, or taking the offering, or greeting at the door, or reaching out to greet somebody with a yellow coffee cup. <pause> Sacrifice is putting your own needs aside for the greater good.

Commitment

Myself, Don, and every other veteran in this room and across this land has said these words:

I, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.

To myself and the vast majority of veterans, that is a sacred vow. It is a commitment that I will to the best of my ability, do whatever I am asked for the sake of this country.

Beside this commitment to the country as a whole, though, there was an individual commitment to the guys in your squadron, your troop, your squad, and your patrol. You covered each other, even if it meant putting yourself in jeopardy, and you expected the same from them. It meant that no matter what, you would be there for them. And, if it came to that, you wouldn’t leave them behind. Most units I was with had an unwritten rule: you never leave your fallen comrades behind.

On October 17th, 1967, two understaffed companies of the Black Lions, an infantry regiment of the First Infantry Division struck out from the village of Lai Key in South Vietnam on a search and destroy mission. Their mission was a simple one – to take out a small Viet Cong base about 8 miles south in the Long Ngen Secret Zone. About 5 miles out they were ambushed by an entire regiment of VC regulars. They were outnumbered by over 10:1. There were snipers, claymore mines, machine-gun nests, grenades, and rifle fire that poured down on the US soldiers. Within minutes Alpha company went from 127 soldiers to less than 30. Several of them, however, kept going in and retrieving their wounded, broken, and dead comrades. <pause > Commitment.

What is being asked of you by this community? Is it really such a big thing. Think about the Black Lions, and then ask yourself, “Is this really that big a commitment?”

Tolerance:

My roommate back at base in Korea was a short, not-so-bright guy named Gibson. He was from somewhere in the South. Honestly, I don’t remember too many details about him. But, I knew for 100% certain that he had my back. We had nothing in common at all. But I still remember sitting in our room back at base laughing ourselves silly. Probably over some poker game. Probably with more than just a little too much alcohol in our systems. But I can tell you this. <pause> When we went out together, I could, and did, put my life in his hands and I trusted him completely.

The military has this strange way of putting you together with a whole lot of people who are nothing like you. And your lives depend on getting along together as a unit. I remember Archie Red-Owl from South Dakota, a full-blooded Native American. Ken Sweeney, a mechanic from Massachusetts. Brian Szorek from Pittsburg. These guys and others were black, white, conservative, liberal, coming from all walks of life. We not only tolerated each other, but we enjoyed our differences and comparing and contrasting our lives before the military. Not that there weren’t a few fights. Not that we all loved each other unconditionally. But when we had to do our job, it didn’t matter your race, income bracket, political inclination, social background, religious beliefs, sexual preference, or size.

Can we be that tolerant? Can we welcome anybody into our congregation? Can we be accepting and tolerant of others, regardless of their backgrounds, their race, creed, and political preference? Let me just say that we can do better. And we need to.

Gratitude:

It goes without saying. When you come back from patrol… alive… you are grateful. But there are times when I feel grateful for little things too. There were times in the military when we went without food for 2 or 3 days at a time. We often went without sleep. In fact, I think it’s more accurate to say that we couldn’t sleep – the adrenaline rush from the intense fear made it impossible. There’s just some things we take for granted, that after the military you really appreciate: a hot meal, a warm bed, dry socks. You learn to appreciate the little things, and are satisfied with them.

You also learn to appreciate others’ strengths. In the military, everybody is a specialist. Each person is trained to do a particular job. There are clerks, mechanics, cooks, radiomen, mortar specialists, machine gunners, drivers, medics, sharpshooters, reconnaissance specialists, <pause> and an occasional Drill Sergeant with short hair and a bad attitude. <pause> Each person has a job to do, and you learn to appreciate and rely on each one of them.

Each one of us has strengths and weaknesses. Some are organizers. Some prefer to stay in the background. Some are soft-spoken, others are more willing to speak up. But each person here has a valuable place in this congregation. If we remember that, value that, and are grateful for that, we’ll all move this congregation forward with dignity and respect for all.

Conclusion

Veteran’s Day is the one day we set aside for showing appreciation for those who were willing to pay the ultimate price, suffer the greatest sacrifice, for us all. But, in addition, we can gain something from their example.

We can show gratitude for each other, and other’s strengths, and for the caring community of this congregation. We can show tolerance of others views and backgrounds. We can show commitment to this community by offering our time and energy, as it is needed as we move forward. And, we can sacrifice a little of our time, and sometimes our ego’s, to the greater good of this congregation.