Theology in the Trenches

Rev. Richard “Eric” Malmstrom ‘95 served two tours of duty in combat zones as a chaplain with the U.S. Marines. Today, his experience battling post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) helps veterans recover and re-enter normal life at a residential program in a “tiny home village” in Virginia.

“Veterans are America’s untapped resource,” Malmstrom says. “We take them into almost a monastic setting, take them through trauma recovery and send them back into American society healthier.”

The National Center for Healthy Veterans recently broke ground on a second tiny home village which will offer 18 more homes. For Malmstrom, it is the culmination of a career spent ministering the grace of God in some of the world’s most dangerous environments which scarred his own soul.

“Being a military chaplain is satisfying and exhausting.” says Malstron from his home in Virginia. “The danger side is exhilarating, and the bond you make with the Marines - there’s nothing like it. You’re sharing harrowing experiences that you don’t find anywhere else. You’re living with them, sleeping in the same quarters, eating the same chow. Everything is 24-7 with these guys. It’s a ministry unlike anything else.”

A native of San Jose, Malmstrom attended Concordia University Irvine (then called Christ College Irvine) in two stages, from 1985 to 1995. Between the two, he served in the U.S. Navy on a nuclear submarine during tense times in the Cold War- but always felt oan impulse to become a pastor.

After finishing his degree at Concordia, he enrolled at Concordia Theological Seminary in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and there a professor kept prodding him to attend Chaplain’s school, which Malmstrom did. Later serving as a local pastor in Southern California and Indiana caused him to believe there was another path for him, so he returned to active duty, this time as a chaplain with the Third Battalion, 25th Marines. 

“That blossomed,” he says. “I found my people and what I really wanted to do in ministry: take care of military folks.”

His circumstances radically changed in 2005 when his battalion of nearly 1,000 Marines deployed to Iraq and into a “very kinetic” situation. They lost 48 Marines in seven months, making it the hardest-hit reserve battalion at the time. Most died from improvised explosive devices (IEDs), and some from suicide bombers and small arms fire. Malmstrom performed around 75 funerals, because separate funerals were sometimes held for the same person in different locations. On top of that, he counseled Marines who survived.

“It was pretty intense,” he says.

Hope and forgiveness topped the list of the Marines’ spiritual needs.

“You’re talking to the guy that just took out a vehicle that was a threat, and it turned out to be a chicken farmer,” Malmstrom says. “He needs to hear about forgiveness and that he’s talking to guys that take out bad guys. They literally walked out with blood on their hands- the enemy’s and their own- and they need to know that Christ loves them. The need to have somebody to listen in a non judgemental way was huge.”

On one occasion, Malmstrom was with a unit in a remote location where “you could still smell the gunpowder in the air and the guys were coming in from a literal gunfight,” he remembers. A Lutheran man asked to be served Communion. 

“I had my stuff with me, and I set up an altar on some ammo cans and had a Communion service for him right on the spot,” Malmstrom says. “He needed to know that Christ was with him there, even in a small arms battle. The incarnational ministry was incredible. As soon as they saw me, they knew that Christ was with them. It’s pretty profound.”

Malmstrom also said blessings over the dead and wounded as they came into the battalion aid station as well. The tour was tough on his wife and kids, as he was often out of contact with them. 

“It felt like a lifetime of ministry in those seven months, yet something I was called to do,” he says.

Upon returning home, symptoms of PTSD began showing up six months later. He had trouble concentrating, felt constantly on guard, was always wondering if a pothole of a bag of trash on the side of the road was an IED, and insisted on facing the door when at a restaurant or other public place. He also noticed he flew off the handle at small things. 

“You’re on high alert and can’t really talk yourself out of it,” he says. “Part of the recovery is reminding yourself you’re in a safe place, but at first it doesn’t do any good. I thought, I’m a pastor, a man of God. I shouldn’t have PTSD after all this.”

Carrying out the functions of ministry at Zion Lutheran Church in Fort Wayne, where he was serving, became more difficult. Mental health treatments at the Veterans Administration helped, but more than anything he wanted to return to active duty to face his fears and help others.

“You’d think I would want to get away from it, but instead I was drawn back and wanted to confront it and put those experiences to good use,” he says. “I thought, I’m already broken so I might as well spare somebody else from being broken.”

He re-enlisted in the Navy, which provides chaplains for the Marines and Coast Guard services, and after serving three years as a base chaplain, he deployed with the Marine Airwing in Cherry Point, North Carolina, to Afghanistan. This time, he was stationed at an air base far from combat zones.  

“The anxiety level was probably a hundred times lower,” he says. “You’re used to being shot at and things exploding around you, and at an air base that’s not a concern at all.”

He focused on ministering to wounded Marines and “guys coming through the hospital missing arms and legs from iEDs,” plus the staff who treated them. A Lutheran understanding of the world “really helps because it is a solid foundation that helps you see God working in different ways through suffering and through difficult times,” he says.

The final stages of his military career took him to Walter Reed Medical Center, where he served as a hospital chaplain, then the Coast Guard where he worked among Guardsmen “who are traumatized because they are doing recovery work after an accident: a plane crash, a boating incident, all sorts of things,” Malmstrom says. “You see these same trauma reactions, and I was there to help them and there to walk with them through that recovery.”

After retiring from the military in 2022, Malmstrom discovered the National Center for Healthy Veterans, located just minutes from his home near Lynchburg, Virginia. Veterans live there free of charge for nine months while receiving trauma recovery, resilience training, and job training. In addition to serving the staff and residents, Malmstrom is an associate pastor at a local Lutheran church where he preaches, teaches, and performs some counseling. He and his wife also support Lutheran students at a large nearby university, hosting Bible studies, offering encouragement, and giving students rides to the grocery store.

A year and a half ago, Malmstrom was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer and is proceeding through treatments.

“If the Lord can bring me through [combat zone experiences], he’s going to bring me through this, too,” he says. “It gives you a real sense of peace. After literally having people try to blow you up, this is easy to deal with. Radiation? Fine. This is a piece of cake.”

Suffering, he believes, connects people to Christ in a way nothing else can.

“Through all these things, we don’t always understand, but Christ suffered so much for me and he didn’t deserve any of it,” Malmstrom says. “If anybody understands suffering, it’s him. It fills me with peace that surpasses all human understanding.”