St. Francis’ message for veterans who feel alone

When you serve in the military, you learn to depend on the people beside you. You eat, work and play together, complain together, and sometimes face death together. You come to know who can make you laugh, who will listen, and who will come when you need some help.

Then you come home, and those people have gone away.

Some have families and jobs far away. Some are struggling themselves. Others have died. The people you once saw every day become names in your contacts and faces in phone or photographs.

Feelings of abandonment often set in.

There may be people around you, perhaps people who love you deeply. Yet you miss the comrades who understood without needing an explanation. You wonder where you fit now. You may even wonder whether you matter as much as you did when someone depended on you.

St. Francis’ “Canticle of the Creatures” has something to say to that loneliness. Its message begins with a simple truth . . . You are still part of a family!

Francis calls the Sun his Brother. The Moon and Water are his Sisters. The Earth is his Sister and Mother. Everywhere he turns, he recognizes a relationship. The world is God’s creation, and Francis knows that he belongs within it.

For a veteran who feels cut off from others, that can be a place to begin.

St. Francis knew suffering, too

It is easy to picture a happy-go-lucky Francis, singing blissfully in a field of flowers. But the Canticle came near the end of his life, when he was seriously ill and suffering. His song came from within a difficult life.

That matters because people who have experienced trauma do not need someone telling them to “cheer up” or “count your blessings.” They need someone willing to listen and hear what happened and understand why life has become so hard.

Francis’ song makes room for suffering. It includes people who suffer illness and hardship. It even has a place for death. You don’t have to leave your grief behind before entering this prayer. It can accompany you too!

You can pray it when you miss your friends. You can pray it when you are angry. You can sit quietly while someone else reads it when you have no words yourself.

The invitation is gentle . . . You can be here just as you are!

You still have a place

The words “Brother” and “Sister” mean something to veterans. They describe bonds formed through shared service and responsibility. Losing daily contact with those people can feel like losing a family. Francis invites us to look around and discover that belonging is still possible.

The sunlight coming through the window, the water you drink, the earth beneath your feet – all are gifts from the same God who gave you life. You share a home with other living things. Your place in that home remains, even when you feel alone.

Of course, sunshine cannot replace a friend. A tree cannot understand your memories or call you on your birthday. All of us need human companionship.

But noticing the world around you may offer a small beginning. Something outside your loneliness can catch your attention. . . something as simple as a bird returning to the same branch, or a plant that needs watering, or the evening sky changing color. Moments like that matter.

Your worth is more than what you can do

During military service, your work mattered. People counted on you. You had responsibilities and a place in the group.

Later, especially with age, illness, or disability, you might ask, “What good am I now?” The Canticle offers another way to understand your worth or value.

The sun shines on you before you accomplish anything. Water refreshes you without asking what you have achieved. The earth supports you when you are too tired to stand.

Your value doesn’t depend on being useful every hour of every day. You remain someone worthy of friendship, attention, and care. You are worth it!

That can be difficult for a person who has spent a lifetime helping others. The helper may find it hard to ask for help. The dependable one may feel ashamed for needing someone himself or herself.

But you, too, are a creature of God. You have needs. You grow tired. You deserve companionship. You’re allowed to let someone stand beside you.

Begin right where you are

When trust has been wounded, reaching out can feel like hard work. You may want company and dread conversation at the same time. You may be tired of explaining yourself. The words are just not there in the moment.

Begin where you can. . . right where you are at this moment will work!

Sit beside a window. Watch a bird. Care for a plant. Listen to the rain. Notice one thing that gives you a little ease.

You might say:

“Thank you, God, for this small part of your world. Help me find my place in it today.”

There is no need to force a feeling. Some days you might feel grateful. Other days you might feel nothing. The prayer can still be honest.

In time, that small attention may open toward another person . . . someone who also enjoys the garden, a neighbor with a dog, a fellow veteran who would welcome coffee.

Friendship often begins with an ordinary moment repeated.

Remembering the people you miss

Some comrades can’t return. Their absence deserves more than a quick word of comfort. You remember their voices. You remember things they said. Perhaps you remember a promise or a moment you wish had ended differently. The Canticle can become a prayer where you remember them before God.

While watching the sunrise, you might speak a friend’s name. While watering a plant, you might recall something that made you both laugh. You might simply say, “Lord, I miss him or Please hold her close.”

Remembering gives love somewhere to go. You can carry that love into the life you still have. You can tell their stories, welcome someone who is lonely, or offer the kindness they once offered you. New friendships can grow alongside old loyalties. There is room in your heart for both.

Keep showing up

The Canticle also speaks to those who care about veterans. Calling someone a Brother or Sister carries responsibility. We need to make room at the table, remember names, make the call, and keep showing up.

A parish or retirement community can offer a regular gathering where veterans can simply be together. No one has to tell a war story. They might share a meal, play music, play a game of Uno, help with a project, or just talk about everyday life.

The important thing is steady companionship. The first invitation may be turned down but a second invitation might be welcomed. Trust takes time.

For the veteran who feels forgotten, the Canticle’s promise is quiet but firm. Your comrades may be far away, and some losses will always hurt. Yet there is still a place for you among the living. There are people who can come to get to know you. There is care you can receive and love you can give.

Br. Edward McKenzie, OFM, is a Vietnam veteran who served with the U.S. Air Force's 38th Air Rescue and Recovery Squadron in Vietnam. His military service and his priesthood share a common purpose: “That Others May Live.”

Today, his work with veterans continues that calling in a different way. Through retreats, prayer, writing, and listening, he seeks to make room for the stories veterans carry—and for the hope that healing and a renewed sense of purpose are possible. For more information about Fr. Ed's ministry, visit Father Ed McKenzie | That Others May Live.