Justice and Mercy

                The young Specialist stood in front of my, eyes downcast. He was a competent electronic maintenance specialist. He handled his assigned weapon well, always qualifying, normally at an expert level. Notwithstanding his stocky build, he always passed both the PT test and the associated height-weight measurement. Despite these good traits, he now stood in front of me awaiting my judgement under Article 15 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). He was an inveterate liar. He frequently missed formations and then lied about his whereabouts. He promised to meet critical deadlines and then attempted to shift the blame, lying about circumstances. His NCOs and Platoon Leader had applied a variety of corrective measures all to no avail. He’d stood in front of me before and I’d extended mercy, resorting to verbal reprimand and then extra duty. His continued inclination toward prevarication required sterner measure.

                “Specialist, in view of your continued fabrications, I am reducing you in rank to the grade of Private First Class (PFC), effective immediately.” It was then that I had noticed he’d showed up to these proceedings with sew on rank. Inside my heart, an ember of anger, fanned by his behavior, grew into a roaring fire. He’d counted on my continued display of mercy, and that incensed me. Usually, if you showed up for proceedings which might end in your reduction, you wore pin-on rank, easily removed and replaced.

                “I have s-s-sew-on rank, Sir,” he stammered.

                “Here,” I barked handing him a knife that my grandfather had carried in WW II and I would eventually carry to Iraq, “Cut it off with this. And be careful. A real soldier used that knife so it’s sharp!” He set about removing his rank as silence filled my office. Soon tears trickled down his cheeks and nose dripping off onto the highly polished floor. Another soldier working off some minor infraction had worked hard with a buffer, producing a glossy shine. Eventually, rank hacked off, he faced me. I tossed him a set of PFC insignia, “Put these on and get out of my area!” He saluted, I returned the salute, and he turned on his heel and left my office. My work as the keeper of good order and discipline was done.

                The military world thrives on “good order and discipline.” In fact, units without good order and discipline cannot complete their assigned mission effectively. My role as the commander required an intense focus on good order and discipline. My commander expected me to train the ignorant, reward the excellent, retrain the recalcitrant, and finally, as a last resort, punish the malefactors. In Romans 13: 1-7, Paul lays out this principal for Christians. In the opening sentences he reminds us, “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore, whoever resist the authorities resist what God has appointed and those who resist will incur judgment.” PFC Swift had resisted the appointed authority and that authority had responded appropriately. Later in the Romans passage Paul reminds the reader that appointed authority, “…does not bear the sword in vain.” For the good of the entire unit, I had to take appropriate action, despite the cost to PFC Swift and myself (inflicting punishment is rarely easy). Justice required action. Those soldiers under my command who regularly completed their appointed duties deserved their reward. And justice would not let a shirker slip by without their reward. My actions, despite their just results, weighed on me. “Bearing the sword” is a burden for the sword-bearer. But events sometimes provide unique opportunities.

                A few days later, my first sergeant (ISG) brought me my morning stack of paperwork. He lingered after pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Sir,” he began, “You were really hard on PFC Swift (not his true name…I’ve long forgotten).”

                “How so, Top?” he’d been in front of me several times before. And besides, you and I talked about this and we were in agreement over the punishment.”

                “Yes, but, look at the paperwork on top of your stack.”

                I picked up the first item and saw that it was the start of discharge procedures for, now, PFC Swift. When I’d reduced him, I’d put him past his retention control point (RCP). In those days, the Army required promotion to the next rank for retention. It was an “up-or-out” policy; one that very few were pleased with as it often forced excellent soldiers out due to slow promotion rates. I sighed as I thought of the implications. PFC Swift was married and had a child. My reducing him, while a just action, would put his wife and child in dire straits. Though a PFC did not make much, she worked, and their combined salaries allowed them to make ends meet. He’d hoped to make the Army a career. In fact, his father was a career officer and had reached the exalted rank of full colonel, O-6. In fact, his father had called me once and pressured me to show leniency toward his son; which did not help matters.

                “Look at the next item,” intoned my 1SG.

                I picked up the next in my ever-replenished stack. It was a set of orders for PFC Swift, taking him to Germany. It was a good assignment; one which would afford him excellent opportunities for advancement and travel with his family. I sighed again. His RCP paperwork would make all of this null and void. His punishment, though fully just and required for the good order and discipline of my unit, carried severe repercussions, far beyond my desires. As I stared at the two pieces of paperwork on my desk, an idea started to form in my mind.

“Shut the door, Top. I think I have an idea to run past you.” With a perplexed look, he shut the door and commiseration began.

God does not deal with us solely according to justice. In fact, He shows great kindness and leniency toward us. In Psalm 103, the psalmist reminds us of God’s great graciousness and compassion toward us. He filled this passage with rich imagery designed to illustrate the depth of God’s love and longsuffering. Phrases such as, “...as high as the heavens are above the earth…,” or, “…as far as the east is from the west…,” and, “…the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting…,” drip with God’s desire toward us. He knows and remember that we are indeed frail and fraught with failure. He indeed lets mercy triumph over justice. And those of us who bear the sword in an official capacity ought to do the same whenever possible.

“PFC Swift, I have some paperwork to show you,” I said, sliding the RCP paperwork across my desk to him. He picked up and read through it quickly. He was not surprised. Evidently, he’d expected this. Most career soldiers kept up with such things.

“Now, look at this,” I continued, handing him a copy of the orders taking him to Germany. This he did not expect, and his face fell. He understood the opportunity that had slipped from his grasp.

“CPT Robinson did not bring you in here to gloat,” my 1SG quickly interjected.

“PFC Swift, I have a plan,” I said, “I am willing to put your RCP paperwork at the bottom of my stack and give you your orders for Germany today. If you can clear post and get to Germany before I get to your RCP paperwork, you may be able to recover. A soldier of your skills will quickly get your rank back and if you stop lying and do the right thing, you can continue with your career and make something of yourself.”

“Would you do that,” queried PFC Swift, hope filling his face?

“Yes, I would. Here are your orders for Germany. Get out of my company!” The last sentence I said to PFC Swift’s backside as he dashed from my office to start clearing post. I and my 1SG smiled. PFC Swift managed to clear post and transfer to Germany before I got to his RCP paperwork. In those days, the wheels of the Army personnel section ground ever so slowly and ever so fine.

                James 2:13, “…Mercy triumphs over judgement,” succinctly sums up our relationship with God…or the one He desires. We claim to love justice, until it applies to us, then we love mercy. In our clamor for justice, we often forget our own deep and abiding need for mercy. We want to see the other guy held responsible for his actions. We gladly apply the appellation perpetrator to others, forgetting that we too are perps. All too often, we take on the role of the unforgiving servant in Matthew 18:21-35, forgetting our own great debt. Perhaps, things might be different were we to keep this in mind.

                We churlishly withhold aid and succor to those in need, thinking it unfair for them to take advantage of us. We do not stop to consider how much we have received from God…and in truth our own society. None of us enjoy all our blessings based solely on our own efforts. All along the way, we’ve enjoyed grace, mercy, and assistance in a wide variety of forms. None of us are truly “self-made.” All of us enjoy blessings, spiritual and physical, we do not deserve. We, like PFC Swift, stand deserving punishment. When PFC Swift hustled out of my office at FT Hood, he left my life. I’ve never seen him again. But, I know something of the rest of his story.

                Years later as a senior Major, soon to be promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, the phone on my desk rang. I answered, and a strange voice said, “This is Chief Swift.”

                So much time had passed, I did not recognize the name, “Yes.”

                “You don’t remember me,” he queried?

                “No, Chief, I’m afraid not.”

                “I’m not surprised. The last time you saw me I was a PFC you’d just busted. I left your unit and went to Germany.” The rest of the story tumbled out. PFC Swift had gone to Germany. He’d discarded his bad habits. He’d gained back his SPC rank and then gone on to become a Warrant Officers and a very successful career in the Army. You see, a little mercy had gone a long way in his life. Perhaps, if we were more merciful as a nation, even to those we do not think deserve it, we’d enjoy more success stories. We’d also do better in reflecting God’s love into an often-dark world and maybe, just maybe, move closer to being a “Christian Nation.”