History reminds us that war leaves its mark far beyond the battlefield. In Remaking the World: How 1776 Created the Post-Christian West, Andrew Wilson observes that the modern world was shaped as much by the musket as by the printing press. Wars are not abstract; they reconfigure nations, families, and souls. And while today’s service members may not storm the beaches as they did in World War II, they still step willingly into global conflicts—prepared to take life in the pursuit of freedom and justice, and sometimes to give their own. Such choices leave permanent marks.
As both a Reserve Chaplain in the Air Force and a church planter in Charleston—a city home to nearly 90,000 service members, veterans, contractors, and their families—I have seen the cost of that sacrifice firsthand. One-third of our small church plant comes from this community. For us, caring well for service members and their families isn’t a niche ministry; it is central to the mission.
And here’s the truth: deployment often feels like a funeral. You grieve what’s about to be lost—time, presence, birthdays, anniversaries, and peace of mind. As a pastor, it’s important to name those emotions out loud: fear, sadness, anger, numbness, pride, and guilt. And if pre-deployment feels like a funeral, post-deployment often feels like chaos. Service members transition from 6-12 months of 24/7 focus, routine, and mission clarity—surrounded by comrades willing to die for one another—to being suddenly thrown back into family life overnight, where bills, kids, work, and leisure all compete for their attention. They miss their family so much it hurts, yet being back together can also feel overwhelming and disorienting.
That’s why the church has a vital role to play. The gospel itself is our model: Jesus stepped out of heaven and “deployed” into our broken world to rescue the lost. He entered the chaos, bore the cost, and returned victorious. The church is called to mirror that same posture—stepping into the disorienting realities of deployment seasons with presence, patience, and hope.
A Practical Checklist for Caring for Military Families
Preach like they’re already in the room.
Even if you don’t have military members yet, speak to deployment, war, and separation from the pulpit. It signals to service members that they belong and helps educate the rest of your church.
Name the emotions.
Don’t shy away from saying the obvious—deployment feels like grief. Normalize tears, fears, anger, and sadness in prayer and conversation.
Disciple with a theology of war.
Service members need a robust framework for why nations wage war, what justice looks like, and how their faith intersects with the reality of being highly trained to “take out bad guys.” Don’t avoid these questions; lean into them.
Be a break, not a burden.
Not every service member wants a military-themed church experience. Some need respite from high-operations tempo. Let the church be family, not just another briefing room.
Lower the barrier to entry.
Military families who PCS (Permanent Change of Station) into your city don’t have 15 Sundays to “church shop.” Let them serve quickly. Make on-ramps easy and flexible.
See deployment as an opportunity.
TDYs (Temporary Duty Assignment), deployments, and extended leave aren’t obstacles—they’re opportunities to practice long-distance discipleship. As I like to say, distance doesn’t erase discipleship. Military members already feel guilty for not being around; don’t let your church add to that guilt—help ease it.
Partner with chaplains.
Every service member has a chaplain assigned to them. Learn who that chaplain is. Ask how your church can support them. And if that chaplain isn’t a strong resource, be one anyway.
Care for the spouse like a hero.
When a service member deploys, the spouse carries the weight of two parents, two schedules, and two sets of responsibilities. Say from the pulpit that their sacrifice matters. Celebrate them publicly. And privately, ask, “How are you really doing?”
Give children permission.
Kids don’t choose deployments. They didn’t raise their hand to serve. Let them be sad or angry without guilt. Tell them, from the pastor’s voice, that their mom or dad is a hero, and that their feelings matter too.
Live like family.
Family answers the phone. Family shows up unannounced. Family makes space for tears, mess, and laughter. Build a culture in your church that treats military families as family—not projects.
Closing Word
When my wife, Rachael, was deployed for seven months as a nurse practitioner in the Air Force, our kids and I learned this firsthand. Explaining to a three-year-old what “seven months” means is more complicated than you might think. Our kids struggled to put words to their anger and sadness. Sometimes it came out in silence. FaceTime became a lifeline. And our church family’s care became a refuge for us—mind you, this is the church I pastor.
Churches that choose to walk into that space of sacrifice and suffering become living reminders of the gospel. They proclaim through their actions: You are not alone. We will carry this with you.
Because here’s the reality—military families don’t just fight wars overseas. They fight them at the dinner table, in long nights of absence, in the chaos of re-entry, and in the questions that linger. The church has an opportunity to step into that battle, armed not with weapons of war, but with the love of Christ and the power of the gospel.
Published January 23, 2026
