Though he didn't know anything about substance abuse, addiction or therapy, what Pascoe did know is that simply showing up a few hours a week and asking how he could help the veterans spiritually didn't seem to cut it — especially at Christmas time, when Christians often ask themselves more deeply, "What would Jesus do?"

So he packed a sparse bag, left the music, parties and celebrating behind for a week, and walked into detox amid some suspicion that he was a "spy" for program administrators. But genuine conversation, personal Bible study and Pascoe's determination to open himself to people he didn't initially know or trust came back to him as a surprise when he found "how ordinary these people are."

"The line between a person who is addicted to drugs or alcohol and the rest of us who aren't is so thin. It's a coping mechanism for the bad things that happen to them in their lives. We all have bad things, and we all have coping mechanisms. I don't know exactly how I expected people (in the program) to be, but I found them to be intelligent, friendly, caring people all struggling with this addiction in their lives and trying to find better tools to cope than they had on the outside."

Most are looking to restore what they've lost, he said, whether it be family relationships, possessions, homes or money. As he learned their stories, he found humility rising inside his own soul as he shared personal challenges.

He told them, "I'm not an alcoholic or drug addict, but I've messed up in many ways. I'm a sinner, and as far as I'm concerned, that's the price of admission here."

Feeling a common bond of humanity with those in the program, he heard stories about wounds that don't heal — many of them the emotional scars of war that can't be known or understood except through personal experience.

Pascoe said he didn't find stereotypical veterans — if those even exist. Instead, he found 15 unique individuals, "each with their own story." As they talked about how their war experiences played into their addiction, one person pulled him aside with a challenge.

"I don't know how you can say there is a God when things happen like the things I've done — the fact that I've killed people," the vet said. "Why does God allow that, and if he does, doesn't that mean I'll be punished in the next life for what I've done?"

They're big questions, and sometimes humans don't have big answers.

What Pascoe learned is that he found fellow travelers on a spiritual journey, many of whom have had experiences that civilians can't comprehend and who suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder as a result.