A Tale of Two Vets: Why Rest Will Change the World
Why are we having such a difficult time being patient with one another?
My three grandfathers were soldiers in World War II. My step-father's father, Tex, was drafted by the Chicago Bulls to play basketball just before the war began. After Pearl Harbor, he was given the chance to either play basketball, or, go and fight in the war. He opted to give up his basketball career to fight the Third Reich. My grandfather Rudy was a Sea-Bee. He built little strips on the islands of the Pacific so that planes could land. My last grandfather, Frank, was an airplane pilot. Our family believes that he was the one who flew Himmler to the Nuremberg trials after Germany had been defeated.
I am told that when the war ended, the sense of elation was incomparable. We had won. Evil had been defeated. There were balloons. There were parties. There were parades.
This stands in stark contrast to the Vietnam War. I know many Vietnam vets who remember vividly the sad state of affairs. There were no parades, or parties, or balloons. Many Vietnam vets remember being spit on as they returned from their ordeal. Unlike WWII, the country seemed to be embarrassed of them.
The toll on the vets was astoundingly different. When WWII ended, men came home with joy, drug addiction and spousal abuse were very low, and the men were in good spirits. When Vietnam ended, however, the men were destroyed, heroin addiction sky-rocketed, spousal abuse was rampant, and PTSD rates were high.
What was different?
I met an admiral who spent thirty years in the Navy. He once explained to me a theory. When you compare the two wars, there are certainly many differences, but one in particular stands out. When the Vietnam war ended, the men got on planes and flew home. In many cases, men left the battlefield and were back in their living rooms in two days.
This did not happen after WWII. There were not enough planes to bring those men home. In most cases, following the end of the war, the men got on boats and sailed home. Some took upwards of a month to make it home.
Why does this matter?
What happens when you sit on a boat with your brothers after a war? You tell stories. You weep, laugh, wail, grieve, confess. In short, you process. The Vietnam vets weren't afforded that opportunity. They had no time to process.
This is a metaphor for our generation. We have had no chance to stop, pray, process, cry, lament, think, reflect, or confess. In my recent book, Subversive Sabbath, I argue that one explanation for why we are having such a challenging time loving each other, being compassionate, staying humble, and being good listeners, is that our lives are without margin. We have no time to process. And the result? Everyone else pays the price.
Want to learn to love others better? Start by taking a day of rest every week.
A.J. Swoboda is the pastor of Theophilus Church in Portland, Oregon. This article is adapted from his book Subversive Sabbath: The Surprising Power of Rest in a Nonstop World (Brazos).
