Why It’s Hard for Me to Hang Up the Uniform| National Catholic Register

I’ll miss the camaraderie, the mission, and even the routines — but I’m grateful I’ll still be wearing the ‘uniform’ of a priest. I have no plans to hang that one up.

We’ve all heard the expression, “Hanging up the uniform.” We probably use that phrase more than we realize. Even if someone worked in an industry where uniforms were not required, the expression is regularly used when someone retires from their place of employment.  

Looking back over my years of employment, I was struck by how many jobs or professions required me to wear a uniform. (I’m sure that speaks volumes about my personality type.) 

One summer when I was in college, I worked on the New Jersey Turnpike. That job required me to wear a uniform. My pastoral internships during seminary required me to wear modified clerical garb as a uniform. And once ordained, I donned the distinctive uniform of a Catholic priest.  

Additionally, in my early days as a parish priest, I also became the city’s police and fire department chaplain, two other jobs that required me to wear specialized uniforms.  

And for the past 25 years I have served as a chaplain in the U.S. Air Force, and once again, was required to wear the equally distinctive uniform of the U.S. military. But now I am in the final weeks of my time on active duty before I retire and “hang up the uniform.”  

For many people, retirement is a time of liberation, rest, pride in one’s accomplishments, and eager anticipation of the “next phase” of their lives. It’s a chance to finally get to do all of those things that jobs and family and budgets didn’t allow for decades earlier. I can relate to all of those things, and I look forward to them myself. 

But what I wasn’t prepared for was the loss that I feel and the sense of disorientation. For the last quarter of a century, the military has been my “tribe.” We have our own ethos and speak in a kind of dialect, also known as military jargon. We work out together, we train together, we’re on the move every couple of years, and we love to complain about the administrivia of military life. But we also take an identical oath, wear a common uniform and go into harm’s way together — as “brothers in arms.”   

When we’re in a war zone, everyone’s job is dangerous. It’s just that some people’s jobs are more dangerous than others. It feels weird — and even slightly masochistic — to miss the tension and fear of living and working in a war zone, but I do. And at the same time, I hope I never have to go back again.  

Even if you weren’t in a highly cohesive profession, like the military, police, fire, or medical professions, “hanging up the uniform” portends a loss of personal identity.  

For starters, you will have to relinquish so many of your work friends. You may even relocate to a different part of the state or country. Plus, you and I will find ourselves saying to people we meet, “I used to be a ________.” Which, for many still-working people, makes us exponentially less interesting. And we know it. 

The other day, I said to the Catholic community at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam in Hawaii, “I’m ready to retire, but I don’t want to go.” Several people came up to me after Mass and said, “Father, I know exactly what you mean.”  

I’m ready to give up the annoying and superfluous parts of military life, but I’m finding it hard to walk away from the mission, the people, the camaraderie, and yes, even the security of military life and routines, to include not having to decide what to wear every day. These are all life lessons that you cannot know as a young person. 

I will be taking some time for a sabbatical between my retirement from the military and my return to full-time civilian ministry. It will be a time of prayer, study, rest and retreat. But I will also use the time to grieve, to take stock of my time in the service — both the good and the bad, the hilarious and the horrific — and to forge a new chapter of my life that does not include the rigors of military life.  

I’m honestly surprised at how mixed my emotions are as I approach this significant milestone in my life. When I hang up my Air Force uniform for the last time, it will be poignant. While I won’t wear it again, I shall cherish the memories that it represents and the friendships that were forged in adversity. I am also grateful that before my military service, as well as after it, I will still be wearing the ‘uniform’ of a priest. I have no plans to hang that one up. 

Father James A. Hamel is a priest of the Archdiocese of Newark, New Jersey, and an active duty chaplain as a colonel in the United States Air Force.