"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.”
— Matthew 5:9

AUGUSTA, GA. - This is the story of how one man, until recently an Army analyst stationed at Fort Gordon, left the military through the soul-searching process of declaring himself a CO. This is not easy. The military doesn’t just let its soldiers walk away. Conscientious objectors must prove, through personal testimony and conduct, that their aversion to war is moral, serious and honest.

Michael Thames proved it. “I joined the military service willfully and as long as I remain under oath, I will continue to follow all lawful orders,” he wrote in his CO application.

 

“However, for me to be a member of the military and to be a Christian are two mutually exclusive lifestyles.”

Ultimately, Thames was granted non-combatant status in lieu of discharge. We asked him to print an edited version of his CO application. It is powerful, not just as a narrative of one man’s struggle to reconcile his principles with his actions, but as a moral statement.

“Throughout the gospels, Jesus continually commands me to love my enemies. And, while I can be sympathetic to those who engage in war because they wish to protect the innocent, I cannot justify personally using lethal force in a premeditated way, as it permanently prevents the accomplishment of my primary goal as a Christian — to love and make disciples of all nations,” Thames wrote. Taking this command literally is a radical act  — and a courageous one, because it runs against the current of our times.

— Intro by Corey Pein

 

I was raised in a strong Christian home with parents who took their faith very seriously. My dad, a former president of the Baptist Student Union in Colorado Springs, did his best to lead my mother, siblings and I in godliness and love. Even as a toddler, I can remember my Dad tucking me into bed, telling me how much God loved me. 
 

To me, God was a rock that never moved, even though, as a military family, our lives were in constant flux.

 

I was born in a military hospital in Germany, where my father was stationed as an infantry officer. Both he and my uncle were West Point graduates. Both of my grandfathers also served honorably in the U.S. Army, one in the Korean War, and my great-uncle died in the invasion of Normandy. One of my cousins has also served in the military.

 

As a child, I always looked forward to the holidays. I loved nothing more than to hear my family’s tales of courage and weakness, discipline and levity. The patriotism in these stories, married with elements of pride and valor, was irresistible.

 

In my understanding, the military’s primary reason for existence was to fight the nation’s wars and protect the innocent. This gave the military an almost romantic appeal.

 

I wanted to grow up to be a hero. I often daydreamed of being a brave young soldier walking triumphantly through the streets after liberating some small town, with the girls wildly throwing flowers in the street, and I would be battle-weary but still holding my head up proud.

 

During the first Iraq war, however, something changed. One night, a newscaster reported that several American soldiers had been killed in action. I remember seeing the soldiers’ pictures on the screen and realizing that some kids my own age were now without a parent. I told my mother that I did not want anyone else to die. She calmly replied that sometimes people must die in order to protect others.

 

For the first time, I pondered some of the military’s harsher realities. Although far from a faith-shattering experience, that night’s newscast planted a seed in me that would be watered in subsequent years by a variety of military experiences, eventually growing into this application.

 

As the years progressed, I put my “brave soldier” daydreams aside and, like a typical teenager, turned my attention toward having fun. Unfortunately, I sacrificed valuable years of education and maturation. I barely squeaked through high school, only to enroll in a community college where I demonstrated only marginal disciplinary improvement.

 

I was put on academic probation. Ashamed, I attempted to improve my discipline — first by applying myself to a full-time job in a coffee shop and later by moving away to attend another community college with friends. I returned home to my parents’ house just three months later, with little to show for my efforts.

 

My childhood image of God as a rock had been replaced by the image of God as a lighthouse, clouded by a massive storm. This spiritual symbol of God as a beacon of safety and light remains the way I view God today.

 

Feeling dejected as I pulled into my parents’ driveway, I vowed to “make something of myself.” As the clouds of uncertainty and self-doubt swirled around me, I revisited my idyllic childhood memories of the military, which I associated with a more stable and prosperous time.

 

To me, the military life still represented success, discipline, new experiences and, above all, accomplishment. I did not yet heavily associate it with the taking of lives.

 

Impulsively, I enlisted in the U.S. Army’s delayed entry program. I had only been home for three weeks. As I triumphantly returned from the recruiter’s office to share the “good” news with my parents, I fully expected them to explode with pride. Instead, I was met with half-hearted congratulations, weak smiles and concerned looks.

 

Their apprehension, I later learned, stemmed not from a fear that I might become one of the statistics that dampened my military enthusiasm years ago, but rather from a deep concern that I did not know what I was getting myself into. In hindsight, I see that their trepidation, and my own anxiety, was not misplaced.

 

As I boarded my flight to basic training, my uneasiness grew. You’re just nervous, I told myself. It’s normal, everyone probably feels this way. So I swallowed my angst, fastened my seat belt and committed my heart to surviving the next nine weeks at Fort Leonard Wood.

 

Over those nine weeks, I not only survived — I matured. I gained discipline, self-motivation and an attention to detail I had never before known — not to mention that I was in the best shape of my life. Physically, I felt great. My emotional and spiritual well-being, however, was a completely different story.

 

Each activity at basic, it seemed, presented new challenges to my ethics and Christian upbringing. On my first day in the chow line, for instance, I was instructed by my drill sergeant to jog in place and chant “Ooh, ah, I wanna kill somebody!”

 

The sentiment hit me like a hammer. I certainly did not want to kill anyone. Then, why did you join the Army? I asked myself. Good question.

 

Since it was too late to back out, I bargained with my conscience: While the rest of my platoon engaged in this apparent celebration of violence, I quietly chanted “Ooh, ah, I’m gonna get somebody!” Nice compromise, I thought. At least it was more palpable than wanting to kill someone, though I still did not know who, exactly, I was “getting,” and for what purpose.

 

Resolved to be a “good soldier,” I shoved this nagging question to the side and focused instead upon the plate of food in front of me. As my soldierization continued, however, I made more and more of these silent compromises, all the while stuffing my squeamish conscience back inside my ruck so I could faithfully carry out orders.

 

At the range, our drill sergeants demonstrated the effects of an M-16 round on a human body by shooting a pumpkin. As I stared in awe at the carnage dangling from the back of the pumpkin, I looked down at my own stomach and allowed that devastating visual image to cement itself in my brain. How could I ever bring myself to wreak this kind of havoc on a fellow human being?

 

Embarrassed — a “good soldier” is never queasy — I channeled my energy instead into the task at hand, which eventually earned me the ironic distinction of Top Gun.

 

Next came bayonet training, where we screamed “Blood, Blood, Blood makes the grass grow!” and other grotesque phrases. After that it was pugel stick training where we mimicked stabbing an adversary in the neck after having fought him to the ground. I had to get more and more creative in the ways I justified my actions to myself.

 

And yet it was still easier to stuff the voice that screamed that I was doing something wrong deeper down inside than it was for me to confront it.

 

At Leonard Wood, I graduated with distinction — my first time receiving any such honor — and traveled to the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, Calif., where I began language training in September of 2002.

 

At DLI, I excelled in my studies, and continued to grow in self-confidence, thanks to my instructors. Although physically and morally challenging, the military taught me to trust in my abilities, and also that I have a great love for languages and foreign cultures. I graduated with honors and the highest language score a non-native Persian-Farsi speaker can receive.

 

I changed in other ways, thanks to a church family in Monterey. For the first time, I truly identified with the teachings of Christ. My outlook changed. My relationships with friends improved dramatically. Worship at church turned into a communal experience, and was no longer simply “sing-along time.” I even began treating others in a more loving manner.

 

Thanks to my new church family, grace became a necessary part of my daily spiritual life. Grace went from being a religious buzzword to something that I received, though I had done nothing to warrant. As Paul writes: “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, being justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.”

Since it was all who had fallen short of perfection, it was all who needed and qualified for the dispensation of grace, restoration, redemption and reconciliation that Jesus provides — a radical thought.

 

The druggies on the street, the homeless men whom everyone says just take your money to buy beer and drugs, the womanizers, and even the fanatical Muslims I had mistakenly grown to hate — I now saw them as individuals on whom God desired to lavish His grace and forgiveness. Studying Jesus’ life and His teachings, I observed over and over how He spent His time around those whom society had rejected, but who were in the greatest need of God’s grace.

 

How did my life measure up? Was I living to bring redemption to those whom Christ said were in the greatest need, or was I contributing to their permanent separation from the Giver of Grace, my God who wanted to be theirs?

 

I left Monterey in the fall of 2003 with these questions weighing on my mind. Lacking answers, I resolved to commit myself fully to the service. And, given that I had spent the bulk of my military life thus far in a beautiful coastal resort town, safe behind a school desk, I did not envision this commitment to be all too challenging.

 

After arriving at my next posting in Texas, I suddenly found myself back in training, marching to chow, working under scrutinizing drill sergeants, conducting weapons and field training exercises, and performing many other duties that had been wholly absent from my life since basic training. Although I discovered in myself a natural talent for analysis, my unanswered moral questions would not stay silent.

 

Upon settling in at Goodfellow, I began attending a church for young adults. The pastor’s encouragement helped bring me to a new level of abandon in my worship. Ironically enough, this church’s name was “The Lighthouse.”

 

God continued to reveal His heart to me through the worship and teaching at The Lighthouse, and also through the friends I made there. I began to understand that although I was under the care of God Almighty, my life would never be without struggle. Specifically, I became aware of my own personal struggle for the approval of others. As I strove to break free of this approval addiction, a variety of issues surfaced, including pride, selfishness, lust and greed.

 

Though I am generally easygoing, I saw myself becoming bitter and angry at the smallest things. Because my time at Monterey was closer to a collegiate experience than a military one, I had grown to expect that the remainder of my military career would follow suit. Adjusting to life back in TRADOC (training and doctrine command) left me jaded and disillusioned.

 

This angst was compounded by my fast-approaching reassignment to a permanent station, where I would be required to make real decisions that would affect the lives of my fellow soldiers and our “enemies.”

 

All my achievements, awards and commendations suddenly were of no importance. By enlisting in the Army, I had foolishly traded my personal convictions, my Christian ethics and my freedom to follow Christ for the allure of an “exciting” life full of stories that I could use to win the approval of my family, friends and future children.

 

Overwhelmed with this realization, I went completely numb.

 

This numbness followed me to my permanent station at Fort Gordon in March 2004. Life seemed meaningless. As each day wore on, I felt weaker and weaker. I abandoned all efforts to make new friendships or connect with anyone at Fort Gordon, save my girlfriend, who had moved from Monterey to take a new job and to be closer to me. She alone made me feel safe and reminded me of my life before.

 

Over the next six months, I made for myself a cave and lived there in the darkness, loathe to let anyone else in.

 

One day, I was walking the streets of downtown Augusta when I came across a dilapidated city park. Instead of complaining, for a change, I decided to fix something. So I contacted those who were responsible for the upkeep of the park.

 

Fed up with how each person I spoke with seemed to pass the buck, I took matters into my own hands, and spent three weeks organizing volunteers and donations through my unit to help pick up trash, pressure-wash bird excrement and filth off the sidewalk, and repair and repaint the benches.

 

These efforts caught the attention of the community and marked the beginning of my withdrawal from the selfish anger that had consumed me for so long. With a refreshed attitude, I began to apply myself once again, and soon earned recognition from my chain of command.

 

My spiritual life likewise experienced renewal. I chose to be rebaptized in the Vineyard Community Church. I recommitted my heart and my life to serving God, only to begin questioning anew the morality of war and killing. Although I continually raised this moral quandary with my close friends and family, I was never able to discern a clear answer.

 

I would devise scenarios that attempted to justify the use of violence, such as defending myself or another from an assailant. But I just could not see myself as spiritually qualified to make a final judgment on the adversary. At most, I could envision myself forcibly restraining the attacker, but never could I excuse using lethal force. No matter how evil his practices, I could not sever all future opportunities for his redemption and reception of God’s grace. As the Bible clearly states, God alone has the right to judge: “Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written, ‘it is Mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”

 

Even with such heavy issues weighing on my heart, I continued to feel as though mine was an issue of personal comfort instead of a dogmatic opposition to violence.

 

What made my spiritual dilemma during this time even more difficult was the general military attitude — namely that if a soldier is unwilling to take life, that soldier is considered weak, worthless and a waste of oxygen.

 

I certainly did not want to be a waste of anything — the government’s time, money or energy. I did not want to let my comrades-in-arms down, or act in a manner that might cause them harm. I felt that because of my doubts, I was somehow letting everyone down — a bad position to be in if you are easily swayed by the approval of others.

 

For several months, I felt like something must be wrong with me, until God reunited me with a dear friend and fellow soldier from DLI named Joshua.

 

Earlier in the year, Joshua, a 97E (interrogator), left Fort Gordon for a six-month deployment at Abu Ghraib prison, where he was an interrogator. This confused me, because Joshua seemed to me a man of peace. And he was.

 

As we corresponded, he brought validity to my thoughts and feelings regarding nonviolence and loving those who hate me. I looked forward to his e-mails. They were full of the wisdom he was gaining through his experiences abroad and his growing discomfort with his job as interrogator. Joshua inspired me.

 

And so, over the next year, I read books by a variety of authors including Thomas Merton, Pope Benedict XVI, Tony Hendra, Donald Miller, as well as many commentaries on the life of Pope John Paul II. These treatises helped me to understand the true grit behind Jesus’s ministry. I finally felt like I could see His heart.

 

The love that Jesus showed people — from high-society types to prostitutes and lepers — was amazing. I knew that I would have a seriously hard time loving those same individuals today, especially as a member of the armed forces.

 

I also studied the Church’s darker history: the Crusades, the Inquisitions and the justifying of “pagan” slaves in Central America. I was terribly ashamed. I was also sad for those who were responsible for such atrocities. What a terrible image of Christ their victims must have had!

 

The more I read, the more questions I asked. Throughout that next year, I sought more insights and continued to fight against my own selfishness in an effort to find a resolution to this issue that had, in one way or another, always been present in my life.

 

The last week in May 2005, I was a groomsman in a close friend’s wedding in Royston, Georgia. For his bachelor party, the other groomsmen and I took our friend kayaking. The moment I slid my boat into the river, a peaceful stillness washed over me.

 

That day I truly communed with God. I took joy in His creation. I relished in my opportunity to relax and roughhouse with my friends in the cool clear water of the river. For the first time since leaving Monterey, I felt alive and loved it.

 

As the weekend progressed, I felt God speaking to my heart. He was telling me that something was wrong and that I needed to pay attention to His Word. As I searched the Bible for what He might be trying to tell me, several areas where I was deviating from God’s will came into focus. One of the most prominent was my continual struggle with serving in the military while possessing a deep aversion to violence.

 

I sought counsel from trusted friends. One suggested that I may very well be a conscientious objector. Inwardly, I was already toying with the idea, but it meant something different to hear it said out loud by someone who had my utmost respect.

I returned from the wedding dragging my heels — I did not want to return to my job in the military. The night I returned to town, I phoned my supervisor and requested an extra day off. I felt I could not adequately perform my duties in my current mental state.

 

I wished that I could once again shy away from my qualms and simply return to the life I had been living. But deep inside I knew that I could not avoid the issue for much longer.

I was proven correct. July 13, 2005, was a day that turned my life upside down and proved once and for all that I could no longer avoid my religious, moral and ethical concerns.

 

While checking my e-mail that afternoon, I received a message informing me that I was to be involuntarily reclassified to a 97E MOS, the military occupational specialty called a “human intelligence collector,” effective March 2006. Up until that point, my job as an analyst contributed very little, if at all, to the death of others — I was merely a watchdog. It was easier to stomach than had I been on the front lines.

 

I could not say the same for my new orders to become an interrogator.

 

As I researched the duties of a 97E, I discovered that I did not only have issues with inflicting intentional physical violence, but I also was averse to carrying out a variety of emotional and spiritual abuses, all of which would not only cause harm to my adversary but would also compromise my integrity as a Christian.

 

In my research, I did my best to avoid “scandal” stories of interrogators in Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay, and focus instead on the firsthand experience of those who actually performed 97E duties. What I found was disheartening. The use of manipulation, deception and outright lying to extract information was prevalent.

 

What was more, the information that these interrogators collected through immoral means was then used to coordinate acts of physical violence, including raids and bombings, which quite often resulted in the deaths of others — most of whom did not yet know of God’s mercy.

 

Before receiving my orders, I had planned to finish out my oath of enlistment. I was nearing the end of my service and was currently a valuable member of a team. In the next several months my Command and NCO Support Channel, from my platoon sergeant all the way up to echelons I did not think possible, fought tooth and nail to keep me at my current position until my ETS date.

 

However, one by one, the doors swung shut. My command’s appeals failed, established retainability requirements were waived, and my hopes of skirting the objections that had plagued me since the day I arrived at basic training faded away. I began to pray hard, even fasting at times, begging God to tell me what to do.

 

For several months, God remained silent.

 

As decision time drew near, the pressure increased. In weighing the options, my primary concern was to make the “right” decision — one that would honor and please God. I was willing to follow God’s calling wherever it may lead. I continued studying war and Christian nonviolence. But still God remained silent, and still the time drew closer.

 

Then, remembering the kayaking trip that brought me so close to God eight months prior, my girlfriend, and my Christian brother and fellow service member, Miguel, took me to a remote island on the coast of South Carolina to spend a weekend in reflection.

 

There it came to me. As I opened my Bible, my eyes fell on 1 Thessalonians 5:15: “Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always try to be kind to each other and to everyone else. Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. Do not put out the Spirit’s fire; do not treat prophecies with contempt. Test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil.”

 

In that one passage, my three-and-a-half year struggle was answered with absolute clarity. I could not, and should not, continue with my military service and allow for the possibility that I might be ordered to act in a way in which God’s word tells me, in no uncertain terms, that I am not to act. Each subsequent passage I looked up confirmed that as a Christian I was instructed — no, commanded — to live at peace with everyone, even when it becomes difficult and even when it may cost me my own life.

 

The command now was clear, and I now understood what I had to do. It was time to commit.

 

What I realized was this: Putting aside all politics, the intentional employment of lethal force is never justifiable. Furthermore, the systematic employment of intentional, premeditated lethal force to destroy one’s enemy (i.e. war) is, under all foreseeable circumstances, not only unjustifiable, but also demonstrates a complete lack of faith in God’s ability to redeem.

 

I do not believe that the use of force is altogether unjustifiable or unforgivable, as there are instances where one might be caught off-guard and forced to defend oneself or loved ones.

 

My qualm stems from the intentions behind the act. Planning in advance to systematically engage and defeat one’s adversary with lethal violence, before exhausting all other avenues of peaceful resolution, disallows for even the slightest chance of that adversary’s spiritual reconciliation and can therefore be considered hateful and wrong.

 

As a follower of Christ, my first and most important priority in life is to love God with all my heart, soul and mind. My second, corollary priority is to lead others — both friends and “enemies” — to the redeeming power of the Cross. Intentionally ending another’s life ultimately severs all future opportunities to accomplish this end — redemption — and are against Jesus’ teachings in every sense.

 

While I have never been deployed or fired a shot in anger or defense, my mere participation in an organization that pursues violence as a means to an end leaves as much blood on my hands as he who operates on the front line. I do not presume to judge those who have been deployed or who have taken life — I cannot hold another person to my personal moral convictions.

 

Over the last several years and especially during these past eight months, I have attempted to balance my Christian morality with my military duties.

 

I now see that my mistake was enlisting in the first place.

 

Though my current job does not put me behind the barrel of a gun, it still contributes to the overall system of violence. Regardless of how much I enjoy and excel at the technical aspects of my job, I can no longer in good conscience continue to perform these, or any other military duties and thus must seek separation from the military.

 

Over the last several months, I have confronted a variety of trusted individuals — both military and civilian — to discuss the prospect of obtaining conscientious objector status. I have heard the argument from both sides — from sympathizers and from those diametrically opposed to my position — and have done my best to remain open-hearted and open-minded, being ever-mindful of God’s will for my life. Since December 2005, I have spoken at great length with my chaplain regarding this matter.

 

My chain of command and NCO Support Channel bears witness to my misgivings and, furthermore, has commended my moral courage and commitment to my beliefs. I am very grateful for their support.

 

I have similarly expressed my growing concerns with my family, friends and church. Although a former infantry captain and patriot, my father strongly supports me. He, along with my mother, has instructed me to follow my heart and God’s leading above all else.

 

My parents, siblings and other close relatives have followed my progression closely, have prayed along with me, and fully support me in my final decision. Similarly, my friends and the members of my church, including my pastor, can testify to the changes in my heart.

At this point, my actions and behavior around each of these witnesses leave no room for ambiguity as to my position as a conscientious objector.

 

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore, take unto you the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.” (Ephesians 6:12-13)

 

As the Bible teaches, there is indeed evil in the world, and indeed a true enemy. Too often in the past, I identified those who carried out evil deeds with the root of evil himself.

 

I originally enlisted in the Army in order to protect my country from “evil men.” What I now realize is that these men (and women, in some cases) are not the real enemy, and painting them as such is contrary to God’s law.

 

I do have a duty to protect my neighbor. I also am commanded to follow Christ in His mission to “seek and save the lost” (Luke 19:9-11). I feel that I can best carry out these duties, however, apart from the military.

 

After finishing my education, I plan to enter the mission field in one of the countries whose language and culture I know so well (Iran, Afghanistan, etc.) or in one of the world’s large expatriate Persian or Afghani communities.

 

My goal now is to fight the true war, against the true enemy, by fulfilling the Great Commission — to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit and teaching them all that Jesus has commanded me.

 

I will fight this war, but I will fight it without bombs or rifles.

 

Instead, I will fight with the weapons, and defend myself with the provisions God grants me in His Word:

 

“Stand therefore, having your loins girded about with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness; and your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace. Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith you shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the enemy. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God: praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all the saints…” (Ephesians 6:14-18)

 

Since deciding to file for conscientious objector status, I have experienced an unbelievable amount of peace.

 

I feel that God gave me these strong convictions for a reason and my aim is to use what He has given me to bring Him glory and to lead those whom He created in His image to His redeeming power.