To go all in… Pete Hegseth and the US Naval Academy

I left the oil fields of North Texas to attend the United States Naval Academy in the summer of 1996. Bill Clinton was President. 9/11 and our lengthy entanglements in the Middle East had yet to kick off in earnest. I was an 18-year-old still deeply affected by an immature mythology of the persistent righteousness of America and her military. I went to Annapolis because I loved football, I loved America, and I thought this was the best way to pursue honor and glory as a young American. I went to the hallowed grounds of the Naval Academy because I believed that this was the most honorable and pure vocation one could pursue. 

One's first year in Annapolis is called "plebe year," wherein a bunch of promising and relatively accomplished 18-year-olds are reduced to plebeians - the lowest class in Roman society. Plebe summer kicks off with a raucous 8-week "boot camp" known as plebe summer. On Induction day, mostly naive young men and women walk into Alumni Hall (the Basketball and Event Center at USNA) and are corralled through a series of rooms where their life is quickly altered. They are led by "Detailers" who will serve as their torturers for the summer, but who seem relatively kind and mostly patient during this day. Your clothing is taken from you. Your hair is taken from you. Your first name is taken from you. You are handed an enormous number of uniforms. You are taught some basic military etiquette - how to salute, how to respond to questions and orders from a superior, and some basic "plebe" rules for how to navigate Bancroft Hall (plebes must "chop" in the center of all hallways, square all corners and yell the hallowed "Go Navy!" or "Beat Army!" throughout). You must "keep your eyes in the boat" (look straight ahead), give forthright answers to all addresses (definitely don't mumble anything), and we learned the basics of marching and how to wear the Plebe pajamas (uniforms worn almost exclusively during Plebe summer that look like, well, pajamas). 

At the end of I-Day, the whole class, 1200 strong, is marched out onto Tecumseh Court and given a nice speech, after which they take an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. We were then given 15 minutes to say our goodbyes to any family and friends who'd come to see us off and then return to our "decks" in Bancroft. My mother had been unable to afford the trip out to Annapolis. A wonderful family who'd we'd connected with via Baptist Student Ministries had picked me up at the airport, dropped me off, and was there to see me off. I went and thanked them for their support of this relative stranger and then set out to arrive early to my deck and begin this thing called "Plebe Summer." 

As I approached the door to the enormous Bancroft, I heard AC/DC playing rather loudly from the windows of a room over my head. I thought this was odd and out of character for my experiences the rest of the day. As I got even nearer, I heard a cacophony of voices, all deafening and some extremely stressed. When I entered the door, what I found was what appeared to be absolute chaos. Plebes standing, running, doing pushups, people crying. Detailers, in a line, took each plebe as they entered the doors, yelling, asking unanswerable (at that point) questions, ordering pushups, and questioning how such specimens as ourselves could be allowed in their Navy. It was terrific, and I, in between pushups and "No Excuse, Sir!", began to laugh (which immediately drew the ire of a particularly angry upperclassman). We were supposed to be overwhelmed and scared, but here was madness and the entry into a whole new life. I was simultaneously excited, confused, amused, and terrified at what lay ahead. The rest of Plebe summer consisted of all the things one would expect of boot camp. Early morning PT. Lots of yelling. Lots of marching, running, and pushups. There was also an enormous amount of humor, which it was necessary to keep bottled up inside. It was 8 weeks designed to strip 18-year-olds of any pretension and begin the long process of making them Military officers. 

A week into Plebe summer, I was feeling very confused and like a complete failure. Much of the summer is designed to teach 18-year-olds who haven't failed at anything to fail and keep going. Impossible tasks are given, and penalties are applied. My roommate at the time, who I had barely spoken to as one has absolutely zero time to socialize with classmates, whispered one night, "Remember, the whole thing is a game. They were us two years ago." The next day, we began a game of trying to get each other in trouble by making the other laugh at inopportune times. I remember being surrounded by detailers one hot afternoon in the hallway as we all stood at attention with our concrete-filled rifles at "Present Arms!" (arms extended, holding our rifles vertically). The state of my uniform and the angle of my arms were being critiqued by three detailers as I attempted to stand perfectly still. My roommate, standing across the hall from me in the same position, stepped out of line and aimed his rifle at one of the detailers without being noticed. I burst out laughing, and that pretty much ruined my afternoon. 

About midway through Plebe summer, tragedy struck. A girl in my platoon died in the middle of the night. No cause of death was found, and we were informed the next morning. Her roommate was moved to a room with two other women in our company, and a few nights later, we were awakened and informed that she had been taken into custody after confessing to those same roommates that she and her boyfriend (then a plebe at the Air Force Academy) had murdered a girl in their hometown shortly before beginning Plebe Summer. It was a bit surreal. Here were two women I had sat next to while getting yelled at during meals who were suddenly gone. One had died, the other was arrested for an unrelated murder. This wasn't enough to crack the mythology I'd come to Annapolis with, but they were certainly noticeable smashes against the door. 

A few things began to bother me, though. A few times during plebe summer, and then throughout the year, we had to take physical tests—pushups, situps, running, etc. Even though we were all aiming for the same jobs, women had different standards. On the one hand, I had grown up in conservative Texas, where men and women are different and should have different physical standards. On the other hand, we're talking about an institution built to train officers in the United States Military, with a shared purpose and goal - namely to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States by being a lethal fighting force, and some were held to different standards than others, even though their jobs were the same. There was also a sense that something was being held back. I noticed it in classes first, but later began to see it everywhere. There was an incipient political correctness, a fear of offending the wrong sensibilities that was driven by principle or mission, but by a larger narrative that had begun to shape our culture. It was most noticeable in religious contexts, such as chapels, etc. But it appeared in any discourse discussing sexuality or gender as well.

I could fill pages with stories of my two years in Annapolis. Stories for which I am grateful and entail some of the best glimpses of honor and humor I can muster from my 48 years. I met some of the best men and women in my life during this time. Playing football for the Navy was an honor and a privilege. There were countless late-night conversations that shaped much of whatever good I am today. But something began to haunt me towards the end of my Plebe year that would eventually lead to me leaving Annapolis and pursuing an entirely different route. It was the sense that one couldn't be "all in" on the mission and succeed. Commitment to conviction and the truth would actually restrict one's ability to be promoted and to lead well in the Navy. 

Near the end of one football season, we had been invited to play in a bowl game. In the week of preparation for that game, playing in Hawaii, an Admiral stationed nearby had played offensive line for Navy back in the day and invited the Offensive line to eat lunch after practice. He was a great man, clearly unhindered by the political games of the day and a bit of a troublemaker. Over the course of our time with him, he was frank and honest; his speech wasn't encumbered by the veneer that often accompanied high rank. We began to ask him about changes in the military and asked for advice. At one point in the conversation, he said, "I don't think an officer can call it how he sees it and make it to a high rank anymore. One has to be sensitive to the political mood now. Oh, they'll reward performance and honesty to a point, but they won't give you any real authority." 

It was about this time that news broke about Bill Clinton and his sexual liaisons with Monica Lewinsky. He spoke at graduation that year and was booed as he was introduced to the crowd. It was somewhere between that lunch at the Admiral's quarters and Bill Clinton's scandal that I began questioning the honor and virtue that had led me to Annapolis. The immature mythology that had led me to the Navy had broken, and I hadn't had time to find a way to honorably give my life to the military or the underlying values that had led me there in the first place. 

A year later, I would leave the Naval Academy to pursue a theological education in preparation for becoming a pastor. I have always been an aggressive Navy football fan (ask my neighbors about Army-Navy week). I love the ideals heralded by that institution. Since leaving the Academy, I now believe that one can serve nobly and pursue wholeheartedly a life dedicated to virtue even when an institution is compromised (since every institution is compromised). But at the time, the perfect and immature image of the United States and her military had collapsed under the weight of the compromise that I had assumed was not there and was creeping everywhere. I longed for a vocation that I could give myself to with every ounce of my being. I wanted something unencumbered by political correctness and the need to appease the Left, confusion over the roles of men and women, and unapologetic about its mission. I foolishly chose pastoral ministry within American Evangelicalism.  

On Saturday, my wife and I went to the Navy-Air Force game in Annapolis (Navy beat the Zoomies). Afterwards, we walked from the stadium down to "The Yard" and walked around. The campus of the United States Naval Academy is riddled with its noble history. It's hard to look anywhere without seeing some memento of the exploits of honorable men doing courageous things. The marvelous reality that honor matters, courage matters, and that men are capable of simple and great acts of heroism saturates the very aroma of the place. We live in a culture in which the basic premises of reality are insanely denied. We are no longer allowed to notice that men and women are fundamentally different and created for different things. Courage is labeled arrogance. Good and evil are confused and turned upside down. Sexual degeneracy is hailed as a virtue. The political correctness of the 90s has devolved into a haunting progressive gaze that keeps everyone in line as they deny the most fundamental truths that everyone, everywhere has always known. Confessing the Lordship of Jesus over all things, particularly our Nation, has become hate speech and, somehow, racist. 

This moral degeneracy has spread far beyond the propaganda of Hollywood and the media. They've profoundly influenced the church, national politics, and even the mission of the United States Military. Reversing these corruptions is something that seems almost impossible. It would require a kind of repentance of which it is hard to imagine. It is one thing for an individual to acknowledge his sins, seek forgiveness, and change course; it's something else entirely for massive institutions and their leadership to do so. 

Which is why, when Secretary of War Pete Hegseth gave a speech last week to all the top brass in the military, something astounding took place. When he came onto the field during the Navy-Air Force game on Saturday, there was an overwhelming roar of approval from the crowd, and from the Midshipmen, particularly. His speech, which was both courageous and clear (and upset all the right people), was a simple declaration of repentance. I don't mean the sort of repentance that grovels and keeps the same course. I mean the sort of biblical repentance that names the sin and turns the other direction entirely. Here is an institution that has been hampered in its mission by deep ideological corruption, and its current leader stood up, named that corruption, rightly called it "shit," and set a different course. It will, no doubt, take a great deal of work to uproot the progressive madness and denial of reality that has hindered the US Military from "being all that it can be", but here was an appropriate beginning. "We are done with this shit." 

What might happen if we imitate Secretary Hegseth's clarity, humility, and boldness? What if in our own lives, riddled with pride and fear and lusts, we were to stop, say "enough," and then to find mercy in Christ and a courage to do what is right? What if churches said "we're done" with the progressive gaze, confusion on the callings of men and women, and a lack of clarity in calling our neighbors to repent and be reconciled to God? What of our families? I can only commend to you the kind of freedom such a resolve brings. The military, right now, may be as free as she's ever been to pursue her mission unencumbered by the madness that has been a growing hindrance for the last 50 years. Pastors, casting off your fear of offending the wrong people and growing steel in your spine to preach the whole word of God faithfully is a kind of joy-filled freedom I pray you would long for - far more than the approval of man or growing numbers of unbelief and compromise in your church.  May we find, in the grace of God, and in whatever calling God has laid upon you, to pursue this freedom with all your might. It is the exact sort of freedom promised to accompany the life of the Spirit. May we find it where it can only be found: repentance and faith in Jesus, our Lord, and the subsequent obedience such faith produces.