Chapter 23
It is Monday morning again. Coffee, inbox, plans, prayers for peace. The luxury of order. And then the question: How was your weekend? Did you rest? Recharge? Did you get back to being your optimized, regulated self?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We talk about return as if it’s just a comeback tour. As if it means slipping back into the old routines like last season\u2019s jeans. But what if return isn\u2019t a motion \u2013 but a moral moment?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In Rivne, Ukraine, they held a training. \u201cDefender at Home.\u201d<\/em> It sounded practical, like a safety course or a community project. But it was neither. It was a wake-up call. A soft place to land, wrapped around a hard truth: the war doesn\u2019t end when the soldier returns. It shapeshifts. Moves into our churches. Settles into pews. Sleeps in guest rooms where no one asks too many questions. Veterans don\u2019t just return from a place \u2013 they return from a reality most of us have never entered. They carry it. Like a second skin. Like an accent you can\u2019t shake. And then they\u2019re told: adapt. Translate. Smile more. Fit in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We hand them our \u201cpeace-time theology\u201d<\/em> like a welcome mat. We mean well, of course. But our comfort often comes with fine print:<\/p>\n\n\n\n This is what the training revealed: not the brokenness of the veterans, but the fragility of our frameworks<\/strong>. Of our communities. Of our \u201cpastoral readiness.\u201d<\/em> We say we believe in resurrection \u2013 in bodies that return from death. But we fumble when those bodies sit beside us in church with eyes that have seen more than Sunday sermons. They practiced listening \u2013 not the kind where you nod until it\u2019s your turn to talk. Real listening. Non-violent communication. Therapeutic silence. Accompaniment without agenda. Radical presence. Just being there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sounds simple, right? It\u2019s not. It\u2019s the hardest thing to do in a culture addicted to fixing. We like solutions. Closure. Victory stories. Not ambiguity. Not contradictions. Not wounds that refuse to be packaged neatly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But veterans aren\u2019t problems to be solved. They\u2019re human beings who have lived through extremes. And maybe, just maybe, they come bearing more truth than our theology has room for. We drape them in thank-you banners. We label them heroes. We write songs. Sermons. Speeches. But what if our praise becomes another form of control? What if \u201cthank you for your service\u201d is our way of saying \u201cplease don\u2019t make us uncomfortable\u201d?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Comfort, after all, is a tricky thing. It can heal or it can silence. It can be a gift or a demand. And often, it\u2019s both at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We say: \u201cYou\u2019re safe now.\u201d There are two fronts: the battlefield and the body of Christ. One is marked by smoke and fire. The other by politeness and powerlessness. But both can wound. Both can kill slowly \u2013 with expectation, with silence, with theological slogans and casserole-based empathy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So here\u2019s the question: Are we ready to be transformed? Not just to host a veteran. But to be undone by their presence. To become a community that stops asking \u201cHow do we help them?\u201d and starts asking \u201cWhat must we become to receive them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That requires surrender. Not of values, but of narratives. Of the idea that we are the givers, and they the receivers. That we are the healed, and they the broken. That we are the body, and they are the trauma. It comes with wounds. Holes in hands. Ghosts in rooms. Mistaken identities. \u201cWere not our hearts burning?\u201d Yes. And still, we didn\u2019t recognize him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The veterans are walking among us. Not as symbols. Not as stories. As people. With names. With contradictions. With holy confusion in their eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They don\u2019t need pity. They don\u2019t need applause. They need presence<\/strong>. And they need a church that doesn\u2019t flinch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So maybe, just maybe, return<\/em> isn\u2019t their task. Happy Monday. Welcome back. Chapter 23 It is Monday morning again. Coffee, inbox, plans, prayers for peace. The luxury of order. And then the question: How was your weekend? Did you rest? Recharge? Did you get back to being your optimized, regulated self? We talk about return as if it’s just a comeback tour. As if it means slipping … <\/p>\n
Return is not a location<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
Presence is not a strategy<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We want gratitude. They need space.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But we mean: \u201cPlease act like it.\u201d
We say: \u201cYou\u2019re home.\u201d
But we forget: home is something you build with<\/em>, not something you deliver to<\/em>.
The church as a front<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Resurrection isn\u2019t tidy<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe return is our test<\/strong>.
To be not just welcoming, but witness.
Not just loving, but listening.
Not just peaceful, but present.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And this time, let\u2019s mean it.
Your Church, under reconstruction.<\/em>
Adapted from a message by Taras Dyatlik, written on the 1,215th day of the ongoing full-scale Russian war against Ukraine<\/strong>.
Peace be with you, and keep your children away from war. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"