Make the Pilgrimage
A spiritual case for service in a broken world
The last few weeks have been stressful, to put it mildly. After our brief campaign in Iran, and our long history of unsuccessful interventionism, I’ve heard many voices debate whether joining the US military is worthwhile in 2025 and beyond.
One such voice is that of former Navy SEAL Shawn Ryan, who said he was ‘torn’ on the question during this conversation. On one hand, we need a strong military, he says, and we need capable men and women who are willing to fight for our country. On the other, questions about your morality, the reasons we invade, the reasons we stay in country, are all worth knowing beforehand.
The consideration of military service is heavily tied to purpose and identity. What kind of person do I want to be? What do I want to learn, and what do I want to be able to teach? I can talk about the identity aspect ad nauseam, not to mention the ambiguities of its morality. Nonetheless, despite the arguments I make today against the reasons we’ve gone to war, I would argue that many people, particularly young men in modern-day America, need an “Abraham experience,” an opportunity to answer the call of adversity. I can’t say that the military is the only way to answer such a call, but it may have been mine.
This post by Anthony B. Bradley explained a phenomenon among young men in America today, who prioritize safety, predictability, and comfort over facing and overcoming adversity as they transition into adulthood. The decision to chase predictability essentially allows young men to remain “boys” for… forever. Bradley writes that part of the allure of going away to college for young men used to be diving headfirst into the unknown. Now, it appears most kids are going to college where they already have friends and familiar faces.
As I read through his post, I realized that for many of the younger students I meet, predictable job outcomes and salary projections dictate most of their decisions. Clubs and extracurriculars were merely tools to maximize the strength of college applications. Instead of seeking out meaningful experiences that induce growth, students curate their lives for admissions committees, living with the résumé always in mind. The art of undertaking adventure is lost upon us.
Even during the pre-enlistment period for young Americans considering enlistment, parents advise their sons to carefully choose a specialty that will increase their employment prospects in the civilian world. Any MOS that doesn’t have a directly relevant civilian counterpart is often seen as a red flag.
None of these “logical” choices are bad, but logic tends to steer us away from connection to the soul. Logic blocks the “call” that pulls us into our development as humans. The call is apolitical, or at least it was for me. It pulled me into the unknown; the more dangerous, the better, I thought. It was adventure that I sought, not nationalism, not patriotism. I thought not about the reasons for war, only that it was happening, and I wanted to be warrior.
The solution to the logical, safe, predictable paths we are allowing ourselves to fall into, says Bradley, is facing real adversity, pursuing challenge, embracing rejection. He even credits the Mormon church for their practice of sending young men on missions into foreign countries to live in unfamiliar environments, often where they don’t speak the native language, to take rejections head-on, and to build lasting relationships. Maybe religion isn’t your cup of tea, but the lesson goes far beyond the surface of biblical stories; the goal is get young adults (particularly young men) to lean into real adversity to mature into adulthood.
My understanding of the analogy to Abraham is as follows: God calls Abraham to leave his home, his father, and his people for new land in return for a lasting legacy for himself and his descendants. Abraham’s willingness to follow God’s calling, even when it seems illogical, is central to his maturity. On his way to new land, Abraham faces massive adversity, uncertainty, and he depends on God for guidance. In return for answering the call, Abraham is blessed with prosperity for generations to follow.
Although my desire to enlist never felt explicitly like a calling to serve God, I do believe it parallels Abraham’s story in a way I’ve always had trouble explaining. The reasons for America’s war in the Middle East were never as important to me as the principles of parting ways with the familiar and venturing into the unknown. Perhaps I always knew that the transition into adulthood cannot be completed without facing and overcoming discomfort, and developing a story through chaos.
Truth be told, I don’t know that I ever “completed” that transition, but I certainly have sought it out. I don’t know that I have become a man through this experience, but I know there has been growth that otherwise would not have occurred. The “transition” into manhood we yearn for may not be a one-time occurrence.
But the call can’t be that unique, even if young men today are failing to respond to it in the same way we once did. I long recognized the obligation to answer the call when it arrives, because I have been subtly reminded of it since childhood. In an almost fairytale-like fashion, on more than one occasion, I’ve been passed down the following lore:
A small group of young men, barely out of high school, with little to their names besides a few dollars and a backpack, captured the open road on motorcycles, departing from the northeastern coast of America, traveling south. They rode through heavy rain, heat, and despite reckless drivers who sought to throw the bikers off the highway. After a few days of riding, they traveled west, stopping only for short rests in a roadside desert under the stars. Between maintaining their bikes and kicking motorists’ mirrors off their cars, the riders endured all the elements of the road. Occasionally, on their journey to the West Coast, the riders met other strange men who offered their company, drugs, and a good spot to watch the sunset. I don’t know what happened once they reached California; it hardly matters to the story. Any time I’ve been told this story, it ends with, “it was just wild.”
One of those riders was my father, a wild man of old. No matter how much I may like to think that I’ve done what I can to respond to the Abraham-like call, I’ve never once done anything nearly as spontaneously dangerous and adventurous as that particular story. In a way, I am sure I’ve spent the last 14 years of my life pursuing such a wild ride. Undoubtedly it resulted in growth; whether we can call it manhood is not for me to decide today.
A close friend of mine once told me, “life is just about collecting stories.” Maybe that is an oversimplification to you. Maybe you’re like me, and you believe each story represents growth, a step closer to a goal, or something to pass down. That is wealth.