The Unpardonable Sin: Conversation with a Vietnam Vet

Twice now I have met Vietnam veterans while doing my spiritual care rounds. Both gentlemen were in their middle to late seventies and both were diagnosed with cancer. The diagnosis of cancer late in life is not unusual but the spiritual needs expressed by these men centered around their self-identity as men who were unfit for “heaven.” This is part 1.

“I’m responsible for at least 200 deaths,” states Mr. Smith bluntly. This was his answer to my inquiries as to the state of his spirit, a standard opening line for me as I introduce myself as a member of the spiritual care department of a suburban hospital. It is his new diagnosis of cancer that has him reflecting on his own mortality and on death in general.

Mr. Smith explained further that he was in the air force during the Vietnam War and flew the planes that strafed enemy (for lack of a better word) entrenchments. It was at the first and only veterans’ reunion where Mr. Smith was jolted into re-thinking his state-sanctioned actions. As he met other service men, they would discuss what part they played in the nine-year undeclared war, and where they served.

In one of these exchanges, Mr. Smith met a fellow soldier who recounted a recollection of a time when he was under enemy fire. Because of the location and date as reported by his brother in arms, Mr. Smith realized that he and his crew were the ones to respond to this plea for help. While he appreciated his part in saving the platoon further casualties, he recoiled in horror as this service continued recounting his experience with the “rescue” strafing.

It turns out that some of the bullets from the plane were ricocheting off the stone walls of nearby buildings where this group of soldiers had taken cover. While this fellow was grateful that his life was spared, others in his platoon suffered “friendly fire” wounds including this gentleman.

Mr. Smith reports, “I never went to another reunion.” This was a turning point for Mr. Smith. All the repressed memories returned with a vengeance. He found himself taking on the responsibility for causing the death of one of “his own” people. “I am basically a murderer,” he states matter-of-factly. With this backdrop, Mr. Smith tells me that his life-limiting medical diagnosis is a justified punishment. “I am not fighting this thing. Perhaps this is God’s way to teach me what it is like to suffer.”

In reflecting on how to help Mr. Smith re-frame his thoughts about his perceived moral failing, I inquired what would it look like if he could forgive himself? He flatly stated, “What I did is unforgivable. I often think what kind of person kills hundreds of people. That kind of person deserves what he gets.”

Certainly, the language of error (sin) and forgiveness is a keystone concept in the Christian faith. Most of us are familiar with the Lord’s Prayer where it states, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Restoration of relationship is an outcome of forgiveness. We enjoy inner peace as we contemplate the wonderous mercy of God. This peace is not whole unless we reciprocate with forgiveness towards the rest of humanity.

But how does forgiveness function when we have “sinned” against ourselves? Mr. Smith is articulating a violation to his moral code. While we may debate whether there is a legitimate time to kill others in terms of a just war, most of us would likely agree that to kill a friend, a brother-in-arms, is a horrible act. Even in accidental death, the person responsible is likely to suffer deep shame and self-recrimination.

Friendly fire, spraying agent orange, warfare by attrition and its resultant high civilian casualties, depersonalization of the opposing forces by referring to them as body counts and not deaths, are examples of ways in which an American soldier may face an existential crisis—a wounding of the spirit.

It is reported that the rate of suicide by Vietnam Vets is on the rise. The median age of these people is approximately 68 years. This is a sobering commentary on society’s ignorance on the mental and spiritual anguish of our vets. It begs the question, what is our responsibility to these troops seeing that the younger generations have minimal appreciation for what these vets endured in combat and ill treatment they endured upon returning home.

My time with Mr. Smith was short. As a cancer patient he was occupied with medical activities. At best I offered him a moment of respite as he was able to confess his perceived personal failing. The ministry of presence and offering a judgement free space is the core of my work.

As I reflect on this interaction, I wonder what other spiritual interventions would be useful in this situation? Lament is a Christian tradition for times of great sorrow. Reading from the Psalms where the authors entreat God for relief of suffering may be helpful. Rituals of forgiveness like letter writing to victims may open a pathway to some kind of inner peace. Communal confession like that found in Christian liturgy may be useful in cross-generational acknowledgment of harm and asking for forgiveness as a society, not just as an individual.

I wish Mr. Smith peace. I want him to know that in speaking out loud what he considers to be unpardonable acts, I share his burden. I want him to know that he is a beloved child of God—one whose trespasses are forgiven.

To err is human, to forgive divine

Alexander Pope