Pastor Josh Holler says his US Marine Corps regiment had a saying: Suffer in silence.
Holler, who deployed twice to Iraq, served with men who had the phrase tattooed into their skin. It was a useful aphorism in battle, where soldiers stake their lives on each other’s strength and perseverance.
But suffering in silence once they return home can be disastrous.
“If you take that idea with you when you leave the military … It’s not too long to plot out a time period where that person’s going to take their life,” Holler said.
The US veteran community has suffered a suicide epidemic for decades, and it’s getting worse. According to the US Department of Veterans Affairs, 6,392 veterans took their lives in 2021 (the most recent year that data is available)—which comes to about 17 veteran suicides every day. The veteran suicide rate is about twice that of the non-veteran US adult population.
Of the roughly 2,100 members of the 7th Marine Regiment—Holler’s unit—11 have died by suicide since his return from Iraq in 2013.
For Christian civilians, including pastors, the prospect of ministering to military vets can seem daunting. Leaders who’ve never experienced war may feel ill-equipped to tackle veterans’ unique pain and challenges. Asking about their experience in the service could seem invasive or accusatory; not asking could seem neglectful or ungrateful.
Expressing public support for the US military has also become politically loaded. Holler says a friend and fellow vet was frustrated when his Colorado Springs church moved into a new building and chose to take down the American flag inside the sanctuary, which Holler’s friend took as a personal slight.
A recent Pew Research poll found that while 60 percent of all US adults have a positive view of the military, a majority of those between ages 18 and 29 believe the military “has a negative effect” on the country.
But as the suicide crisis among US veterans worsens, particularly among younger men, some Christians are calling for more support—and not just for veterans suffering from clinical PTSD after war.
In fact, the connection between combat-induced PTSD and veteran suicide may not be as strong as previously believed. A 2014 study found that the veteran suicide rate is actually higher among those who were never deployed; and veteran suicides have continued to rise even as US involvement in foreign wars has diminished.
Holler says his regiment witnessed some harrowing violence in Iraq but “comparatively little” to veterans’ experiences in Vietnam or World War II. He was grieved and confused when so many men he’d served alongside died by suicide after returning home.
A few years ago, he started interviewing their family members and conducting his own research, which he turned into a book in 2020. He writes that veteran suicide “is not primarily a problem born out of exposure to combat and PTSD but out of a broken relationship between people and God.”
The US Department of Veterans Affairs has long dedicated the vast majority of its mental health resources toward treating PTSD, according to The Heritage Foundation. But the overall veteran suicide rate has steadily increased since 2001 and exponentially in the last ten years among veterans aged 18–34.
Holler attended seminary after leaving the military and pastors a Baptist church in St. Louis. He says faith is a necessary component of veterans’ healing after war. Damon Friedman, a Christian and special operations combat veteran, agrees.
Friedman survived multiple violent deployments with the Marine Corps and then the US Air Force and struggled with suicidal thoughts when he returned home. He spent a full year receiving treatment from medical doctors (for his mild traumatic brain injury), from psychologists (for his PTSD), and, ultimately, from pastors.
Friedman says it was this spiritual component, along with the physical and psychological treatment he received, that saved him. “My mind, it was so dark and so black,” he says, “and God radically changed and transformed me.”
That’s why in 2011 he started Shield of Faith (SOF) Missions to offer a “one-stop shop” of comprehensive care—including a strong emphasis on the gospel—to veterans struggling with their mental health.
The Florida-based SOF Missions invites veterans from around the country to weeklong Be Resilient Clinics, where they have access to 20–30 health care practitioners, including psychologists, medical doctors, physical therapists, acupuncturists, massage therapists, nutritionists, sleep specialists, and mental health counselors.
The practitioners spend the week getting to know the vets individually and developing each one’s treatment plan for the next year.
It’s all done at a Florida resort—“That’s our hospital,” Friedman says—at SOF Missions’ expense. Ten vets are invited to each clinic, after which they receive free follow-up care for a full year.
The vets also meet with pastors and study the Bible at the clinics. “We spend just as much time on the spiritual component as we do on the physical pillar, the social pillar, and the psychological pillar,” Friedman says. “I would say eight out of ten that come through our program will walk away literally confessing Jesus as Lord and Savior of their life.”
The organization’s name, Shield of Faith, is a reference to Paul’s exhortation to Ephesians 6 to “put on the whole armor of God” (Eph. 6:11).
“Many people associate the shield as a defensive measure,” Friedman said. “It’s true, but it’s also used offensively. When the enemy would get close, a thrust, a blow would literally shatter the ankles and the wrist … it is also a symbol that God is your shield.”
Like Holler, Friedman is convinced that what plagues suicidal veterans is more than the psychological residue of wartime violence.
He says most of the veterans who seek help from SOF Missions are also suffering from what he calls “moral injury.” He’s seen vets struggling with the knowledge that they’ve killed others. Some struggle to find meaning and purpose back at home after spending a year or more performing high-stakes jobs amid life-or-death circumstances.
At SOF Missions’ female-only Be Resilient Clinics, Friedman says almost every woman who signs up is dealing with another kind of moral injury: sexual assault by fellow service members.
For these vets, treating just their psychological and physical symptoms won’t be enough. “Moral injuries are spiritual in nature,” Friedman says.
Holler says he found the same connection between veterans’ spiritual and mental health as he researched the deaths of his fellow servicemen.
“The military is such an honor/shame culture,” Holler says, but with inverted virtues—many habits that are “shamed” back home are “honored” on deployment, such as excessive drinking and porn use.
He found that men he knew who’d died by suicide after deployment had often struggled to kick one or more of those habits upon returning home, thereby alienating friends and family, sinking deeper into isolation, and losing a broader sense of purpose.
But there’s an even deeper kind of moral injury. Along with the entreaty to “suffer in silence,” Holler says his fellow Marines were taught another saying: “Have a plan to kill everyone you meet.”
“It was drilled into you,” Holler said. “It’s not meant to look at people in a demeaning way. … There was restraint there. But it was an essential part of the combat mindset, meant in both a defensive and offensive sense.”
It’s a dark paradox of active duty: The military needs men to think like machines when they’re overseas but return home as people. Holler says mentally preparing to kill others in combat can bring soldiers across a threshold into dangerous ideation.
“If you have considered killing another person as part of your job … I firmly believe that lowers the threshold to then translate to killing yourself,” he said.
Holler and Friedman have different ideas about how the church can best serve veterans more broadly. Friedman says he wishes more churches included specific ministries and support groups for vets, while Holler says what the vets really need is deep, durable relationships with fellow believers.
Serving vets can get awkward. Holler has a sore spot for half-hearted shows of support, like “free meals for vets” or a Memorial Day sale at a mattress company. For his part, Friedman can’t stand when someone approaches him just to share that they “almost served in the military.”
Nevertheless, Friedman and Holler agree the worst way to minister to veterans—even those struggling with clinical PTSD, who may need more intervention besides friendship and community—is to ignore them.
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