“It was a very difficult time for veterans. There were no parades or parties to welcome you home. There were no services to help you deal with what you saw, what you’d been through or to help you find out something to do next.”
Today, Chandler and I attended an event that is so appropriate to this holy week when we focus on the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus. We visited the moving wall — The Wall That Heals — a traveling replica of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington D.C.. (See the Catch for March 30.) I wanted to see it and I wanted Chandler to see it too. Not that he could understand it all, but I wanted him to experience it through me.
I’ve been drawn to this for a couple of weeks now, ever since I heard about it from my friend Tim Lickness who was an infantry platoon leader with the 101st Airborne Division, and when I heard about the wall, I knew I had to go. Not sure why at first; I just had to be there. But as we drove up and I saw the people and the display and the wall and heard the speeches, I finally knew why. I had to salve my own conscience. I had to make up for being a stupid, stuck-up college kid who didn’t have a clue — and mostly didn’t care — what was really going on fifty years ago.
The combat in this war was horrific — death was a constant — but perhaps the longer term pain was the fact these these soldiers did not receive the proper welcome home. One officer told a story about how he was hitch-hiking home in full uniform with his bags, and no one stopped to pick him up until a bunch of teenagers in a car passed him and then pulled over and stopped, waving at him to hurry up, which did, but as soon as he caught up with the car, they gunned it, spraying dirt, gravel and mud on his uniform and his bags, and drove off laughing. He said he could still hear their laughter.
But think about Jesus. They mocked Him too. They put a robe on Him and called Him names, and laughed at Him. And they soiled Him with His own blood. And just like this horrific war, death was all around Him too. And death even had Him for three days. Believe me, Jesus gets it. We’ve got to remember that the worst we go through is no match for Jesus. He’s been there too.
The overall theme of this event was a simple one: It’s never too late. Let’s honor these brave men and woman while we still can. Let’s treat them as the heroes that they are. And in fact, the final admonition to everyone in attendance was whenever they see a Vietnam war veteran, there are two important words that they need to tell them: “Welcome home.”
I tried it after the service. I found a few veterans. They weren’t hard to spot with their patches, hats, beards and American flags. And I told them simply, “Welcome home.” It was so predictable, but they almost cried. Try it. It doesn’t matter that it’s been fifty years. In some ways, it was just yesterday. Welcome home.
John Fischer The Catch 
I’m a veteran too of Vietnam. I celebrated my 21st birthday in Vietnam 1968
I was a medical corpsman then now I’m a retired RN of critical care after going to school on the GI Bill
Some years ago, the taveling wall came to our town and my wife and I went to see it. I’m not a weepy, emotional person but after a few minutes of being in the presence of this monumental replica, I broke and sobbed like a baby. Tears gushed out and I couldn’t control it. It wasn’t so much for the individual sacrifices as much as it was experiencing so great a loss and for what? Wrong-headed national leadership policy that sent these precious lives to their deaths! And then I wept for a country that wouldn’t welcome them home from a failed attempt that was NOT their fault. At that moment in front of the wall, I didn’t feel like reciting the Pledge of Alegience or singing the National Anthem. All I felt was sorrow and compassion for the millions of families that were touched by this horendous mistake.
Thanks JD. I feel much the same way. When the wall came to our city, in sorrowful remembrance, I found Steve Austin’s name. I was the fullback and Steve was our halfback – until he injured his knee so badly that he was out for the season. Regardless, the Army took him. Steve never came home. “The Fog of War,” a 90 minute interview with Robert McNamara was quite enlightening.
I never knew my Uncle Bobby. He was the tail gunner on a B-24 bomber that went down in June of ’44. My dad was torn up over that loss for the next 64 years. The pain was eased a bit since we could understand US involvement in WWII.
Jesus says to each and every one of us welcome home and when we follow him we are home. Its the best when millions finally do that for our vets and especially this campaign and say welcome home. They did their duty, sacrificed, and walked with pride. So true never too late and thankfully many Vietnam Vets keeping the memories alive so future generations understand more about this. Take care, God Bless, and have a great Easter weekend.
John, please don’t beat yourself up over choices made a half century past. A different choice would have led to a different direction, and the ministry God has developed in you over the years might never have happened. You might never have met your soulmate Marti. All that music and writings…who knows?
In 1968, fresh out of high school, Bobby received his draft notice. Having no desire to die on a foreign field, he immediately joined the US Navy, and shortly after boot camp, he qualified for the Naval Submarine Service. Not necessarily a safer alternative to being in the Army…but what do you know when you’re 19?
So, on the USS Dogfish, he spent the next 4 years playing hide and seek with the Russian navy.
It just so happened, that God placed an ensign, Tom Elliot, on the Dogfish. The guys, including Bobby, were drawn to him. In a quiet, calm, respectful way, he shared his relationship with Jesus. As time passed, many of those young men, and their wives, including Bobby and I, invited Jesus into our lives.
So, a decision made out of self-preservation led to a marriage of 53 years, a music ministry and a biker ministry.
So your decision, made selfishly so many years ago, has widened the scope of your ministry now as you quietly and respectfully express your gratitude to these veterans. You bless their hearts more than any parade could.
Thank you for your honest sharing.
Thank you, Sandie. You’re so right about how God works through our mistakes. I’m not beating myself up as much as I am glad I am finally getting it.
There is an episode from the television series M*A*S*H called “Dreams” where each of the principal characters have a peculiar dream during fitful sleeps.
An exhausted Father Mulcahy drifts into slumber while listening to a wounded soldier give his confession from a hospital bed.
Mulcahy dreams he is the Pope surrounded and cheered on by the teeming and adoring faithful (all wearing military fatigues).
As he stands at the podium, you see right next to him the nailed feet of Jesus on a life-sized crucifix.
Father Mulcahy opens a Bible to the Gospel of Saint John and, suddenly, a couple droplets of blood fall onto the pages.
He looks out toward his congregation and sees the sanctuary has become a busy operating room and his adoring crowd transformed into surgeons, nurses, orderlies and others urgently working on injured and dying soldiers.
Father Mulcahy then turns his eyes back toward the crucifix and, instead of Jesus’ feet, he sees the muddy blood-smeared legs and boots of a soldier.
Startled, he wakes up…
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