THE PRIEST ON THE BATTLEFIELD

New Zealand Tablet, 27 May 1915, Page 45

THE PRIEST ON THE BATTLEFIELD

| ; THE APOSTOLATE OF THE CATHOLIC ;---.'. CHURCH. : ; -^ / -■ • * '.-.- '-. . (Continued.) Mass at the Front. 1.- Who can read unmoved the following account of a Battle-Mass . • .^ ■'...''■'■ We came one night to the little village of Vassincourt. ... As soon as we had finished eating, the orderly came and told me that a man wanted to speak to me. It was one of our stretcher-bearers, a brave lad, who had always previously kept in the background. - '"Monsieur le Medecin-en-Chef," he said to me, "to-morrow is Sunday. I ask permission to go to Mass at the church here." ' "You are, then -?" I sard. - . ' '. ' "Vicar in my own village," was the reply. : ' "Granted." - ' "Many thanks, M..le Medecin-en-Chef." ■ ; As soon as he had gone, it was suggested that all the mess should go in a body to the Mass of• the stretcher-bearer, and this proposition was carried by acclamation. The other two ambulance corps were advised, and they, too, jumped at the idea. ' Sunday morning came. As I was the senior officer, the place of honor was given to me, facing the choir. My brother officers sat on each side of me, and behind us were the nurses and stretcher-bearers, who came because we had come. The officiating soldierpriest, entered, and what struck me at first were the red trousers below the chasuble and the alb. But we were in-the presence of the enemy, and it was not the time for taking off your uniform. I had not been to a Mass that I know of since my First Communion, except occasionally at marriages and funerals, but" these did not count. And at the commencement I was very uneasy, for I could not remember when to rise, when to sit down, when to bow. But our soldier-priest made a sign to me with his hands what to do, and the others all followed my example. ' Then, suddenly, our soldier-priest began to speak to us. He told us that there were only soldiers in the church; that all who took part in the Mass were for their country ; that many might have stayed comfortably at home, considering their age. And then he suggested that there were many among us who neglected a little the good God and His Church, but who were, at the same time, serving Him by our work. And he added that it was better not to invoke unceasingly the Spirit of the Lord ; not to proclaim that He is with us on the buckles of our belts and on the plates of our helmets, but to respect His teachings. more, the first of which was to be good to others and not to cut our brothers' throats. After that he started talking about our families, about our womenfolk at home, consumed with anxiety about us, and about our little ones, whom, perhaps, we should never see again; about the example which those of our corps had left us who had died in doing their duty. ' Then I began to feel something damp running down to the end of my nose. I looked to my right, and there I saw our dispenser—you know, the old pillroller, who believes in nothing, not even medicine making the most horrible grimaces in order to hide his emotion while on my left the other Medecin-en-Chef was busy scrubbing his moustache with his handkerchief as hard as he could. I drew out. my handkerchief, and this seemed to act as a signal. Soon other handkerchiefs were fluttering all over the little church. Then someone sobbed noisily; it was Sidi, an old soldier from Africa, who in civil life is the keeper of a stall in some part of Montmartre. And then, just at that moment, as if to enable us to hide our snufflings, the whole building began to vibrate ,and we heard music of a kind which certainly did not come from the organ;, it' was cannon on; all sides of us. We ran to the doors, and the last thing I saw was our soldier-priest giving us a hasty blessing, and then running to the sacristy to'put

off his sacerdotal vestments, and r become a soldier once more. This-was the" last -Mass for some of those who were Vassincourt on that beautiful autumn Sunday ' of 1914. It was also the last Mass at the poor little church in which we had mingled our tears. She also : died a soldier's death— was -burnt by the Prussians.' ■■■"■ ■ : -"..'•••.." A Call to Australia.t;;; . ; - Mass ! : Aye, such a Mass ranks with i the ■ Masses of the Roman Catacombs, or the Irish Caves. We have our churches hereJn Australia to-day, unshattered and unprofaned, thanks to the efforts of these very men. ; Let us in gratitude throng them, and when, at the call i of the priest, Christ comes-from. His throne in Heaven and stands among us as of old He stood in : Judean .streets, let us kneel at that gate of Heaven Communion railand pray for those who die that we may live. '■" :* -''-'." This shows that France has never ceased to be a Catholic nation. The folly of her Governments and the indifference of many of her children were surface blemishes, and did not touch her deep-rooted and abiding national life. Stirred to the depths, she rises, in splendid .greatness. Trampling these surface - weaknesses beneath her feet, she strikes for home and honor, standing firmly by her Catholic traditions. has the Light of the Sanctuary lit the land as- to-day, when often that Sanctuary is unroofed and desolate and in, ruins. Faith glows in all hearts, and keeps them in all times and dangers fixed steadfastly on God. 'I am a cavalryman,' cries one soldier. ' I am never without my Rosary; with that and my sword, what should I fear Another hero, mortally wounded, called for a priest, but could not get one. 'He steeped his finger in his wound, and wrote on the ground in his blood, "I believe in God," and died.' This is the spirit that filled the pit of the Colosseum in the early ages of the Church, and the sulphur pits of the Japanese mountains in later days. On sea or land, sailor or soldier, it matters not, this" spirit is everywhere. Heroism at Sea. When shall men cease to speak of the bravery of the sailors of the Formidable, one of the links in the mighty chain of steel and flame that guards the heart of England ? She took her place on the waters. Beneath the cold rush of icy seas, death, silent and unseen, crawled to them in the blackness of the sea depths, and smote heavily. On the sloping deck above the torn side those men stood, in their splendid manhood, towering above the world, and went to their God like heroes. -'" Here are the words of the chaplain, telling of his last visit to that vessel: ' The men returned one by one for confession. Some came from the stokehold dressed only in flannel trousers and undershirt, so black with coal-dust that it was quite impossible to recognise their features. Others came from the engine-room covered with oil and dirt, often without boots and socks, clutching in each hand a piece of oily cotton waste. They were brave men, and died brave deaths, and the fact that they had made their peace with. God surely contributed in no small degree to their bravery. May they rest in peace.' Another observer writes that—- ' It is all religion with all denominations, and the Catholics are simply grand. Of the Irish Fusiliers and Dublins here, I think, every one has absolution once a fortnight, often twice a week. Those who are not killed outright receive the ministrations of the priest very soon, or within a few hours ' - -. An Irish priest, writing of his boys,' says: ' The faith of the old Crusaders was not in it, and while you remained with these excellent Catholic men, nothing else was anything to them. God bless- them. It is true to say that the German Kaiser is fighting a community of —converted, if you will, but with scarcely, a mortal sin to be found among them.' . _; y ■ As we look at our armies, we see that -men march conscious of the presence of the mighty, towering Figure

of the Gospels, and strengthened by that knowledge, acquit themselves like Paladins. ?;:-; CHAPTER.III.—OUR PRIESTS. While this glorious fearlessness animates the heart of the simple Catholic, what words can tell of the heights of heroism attained by the Catholic priest! From Cardinal Mercier to the humblest curate, each is ready to lay down his life for his friends, and, by exhortation and example, has kindled the flame of passionate patriotism that now defends civilisation and national honor. ' The man behind the gun ' has ever been, through the ages, honored for his bravery, and decorated for his indomitable valor by an admiring country and rightly so. To-day the world, lost in admiration, recognises another hero, and salutes him as the bravest man on the face of God's earth—' The man behind the Cross.' Belgian Priests. Here are the words of an Irishman, speaking of the great priests of Belgium. And let us not forget, when we are listening to the world-wide chorus of praise of this gallant country, that her high standard of national honor, that she has sacrificed so much to defend, is the result of the practical observance of the teachings of our Holy Mother the Church: ' I never saw men like the Belgian priests. I could not imagine braver or better men. They were up to the firing line, and whether you were Protestant or Catholic did not matter. They never asked, but just set to work to save your life. I am an Irishman, and. was a Protestant until Mons ; but their religion is the religion for me, and I have put my name down to be a Catholic' Side by side they stand with those whom they guide to their Leader of Leaders, Jesus Christ, exhorting them, leading them, consoling and encouraging them. Laughing at death and torture, they press ever on, undaunted and indomitable The Last Absolution. By the middle of September, eighty-two priests and one hundred and twenty-seven religious had been proposed by their chiefs for the Cross of the Legion of Honor. Can we wonder at this when wo look at scenes such as the following: 'ln the hall of a great railway terminus at Paris, a number of wounded were laid out on the straw, waiting to be taken to a hospital. Eight of them were very badly hurt, and some of them were evidently not long for this world. One of them seemed to be very uneasy. A nurse went up to him and offered to rearrange his bandages. His reply was: "I want a confessor very badly." "Is there a priest here?" asked the nurse. Just then another wounded soldier lying mortally wounded plucked the nurse by the sleeve. " Madame," he said, "I am a priest. I can give him absolution. Carry me to him." The nurse hesitated; the soldierpriest was suffering from the effects of a horrible shellwound, and the least movement gave him excruciating pain. But again the feeble voice quietly said: "You are of the faith, and you know the price of a soul. What is one more hour compared with that?" And the soldier raised himself by a supreme effort to go to the side of his comrade. But the effort was in vain—he had to be carried. The confession did not take long, and the strength of the soldier-priest was ebbing away. When the time came to give the absolution, he made a sign to the nurse. "Help me to make the Sign of the Cross," he said. The nurse held up his arm while this was being done. Death quickly followed for the soldierpriest and his penitent: they died hand in hand, while the nurse and the ambulance men fell on their knees on each side of them.' Well might we, too, fall on our knees and pray for such champions. That priest, shattered by the shell, was dying in awful torture, yet even in his death agony his zeal for souls was as ardent as ever. Like his Master on the Cross, he turned, utterly heedless of himself, eagerly seized the opportunity of saving another soul for Christ, and brought it with him to Heaven. How those splendid words of the dying hero should

ring in our ears, and fill our hearts with a'full knowledge of what a magnificent thing it is to be a Catholic: You are of tho faith, and you know the price of "a soul.' • ' ' ; '•'■..■ 'I Can Never-Say Mass. Again.' *'■- I Whether in the quiet of the seminary and the sacristy, or the riot, and ruin of the battlefield, it matters not—heroes all, they ever press on, following the beckoning Hand of Christ. Nothing ruffles the infinite content of their hearts,' unless it be the fear of not being able to continue working for the much-beloved Master. This fear it was that caused the moan of sorrow to break from the brave heart of the priest whose story is told in the following touching words: ' The other day a wounded soldier was brought into hospital, and it was found necessary to amputate his right thumb. It was impossible to administer an anaesthetic, yet the wounded man bore the operation without uttering a groan. When all was over and the surgeon was about to pass on to the next case, the soldier burst out into sobs. "What said the surgeon, kindly, "you did not even wince under the knife, and now when it is .all over you are crying." "That is not the reason," said the patient. "I am a priest, and amputation means that I can never say Mass again." ' The Secret of the Strength of France. These are the men who, by their unrecognised valor, have, in spite of banishment and imprisonment, of punishment and poverty, held aloft the flag of Christ in France in the past. To-day, thanks to their teaching, France in her trouble is turning as a nation wholeheartedly to God and His Church. This is the secret of the strength of France. Even those alien to us in faith are now acknowledging this, as may be seen by these words from the pen of-a French Protestant:- ' The psychological historian who shall undertake the task of analysing the deep causes of the unexpected strength of the resistance offered by France to the invader of 1914 will find himself compelled to note, amongst other new factors of the first importance, a strong revival of religious feeling. And One of the elements of this re-awakening is the presence in such large numbers, and the example, so often heroic, of the priests with the colors. And this is without reckoning the deaths of priests as priests, shot in the fulfilment of their sacred duties, and falling as martyrs in their " blood-stained" cassocks.' . . We Catholics require no ' psychological historian ' •to find for us the cause of the serength of those lionhearted Catholic soldiers and priests--our brothers and fathers in Christ. We know that it is because they possess that perfection of.manhood promised by Christ to all who believe in Him and obey Him. Let us, as we pray for these brave fathers and brothers of ours, ask our Lord to fill our hearts with a share of the generous, enthusiastic, practical love of Him that raised them to a glorious immortality. The world realises this to-day, but we have always known it, for it shines forth from every page of the history of the Church. Caring nothing for any notice or reward but the ' Well done ' of Christ, they have ever been in the van of civilisation. On the Yukon, before the gold-seekers, for years they'labored in icy Alaska of the awful silence ; they were the pioneers of Canada and North America, the first whites to venture among the terrible Indians; we find them in the pathless forests of the Amazon, and on the rolling plains of South America, carrying their lives in their hands ; centuries before our modern explorers they penetrated the fastnesses of Africa; they crossed Asia from Syria to China, on to Japan, and down the Pacific isles. (To be continued.)