At last he finished, and his head moved a little from side to side, very slowly, as he said: “Father, I’ve led an awful life!”
“Yes,” I said, “and now if you will come with me into the confessional and ask God’s pardon from the bottom of your heart for all those sins, I will give you holy absolution.”
It was late that evening when the old man stepped out from the confessional, but before he did he said to me: “Father, if ever you wish to make known all that has gone on this night, either by writing or word, you have my permission to do so, for it might help some other poor soul.”
All through his confession I had been praying for grace to know what to do next. I wished to give him holy communion, for one never knew when a missile of death might drop—just about that time a giant enemy shell had crashed into the village so unexpectedly that I saw a red-faced officer of the line turn a sickly white. And yet the old soldier had been such a long time away from the sacraments. But before he left the confessional I had decided what to do. “Now,” I said, “you will just go up to the sanctuary rail and pray a little and then I will give you Holy Communion.”
A few moments later I tip-toed softly out of the church and left the old man happy with Jesus of Nazareth, the Saviour of the world.
Frequently, since I have come home, when I relate some of the wonderful ways of the Master with these soldier lads people say to me: “Ah, Father, they came back to the sacraments because they were afraid.”
To me, who have witnessed these miracles of God’s grace, such words always sound harsh, and I then try to explain to the people what these men really went through. I describe the long vigil in the muddy front line trench during the cold, silent hours of the night, when there was much time to think. Perhaps for the first time in years some men began to do a little serious thinking. Under ordinary circumstances, when the voice of conscience speaks, one has a thousand ways of deafening the ears. In the trenches there was no means of silencing the still, small voice. All things conspired to make one think seriously of death and the fragility of human life. It was these thoughts mostly that brought so many men back to God. He spoke to them and they heard.
I remember once having explained this state of things to an old woman who had said to me that the men came through fear. I had done my best to convince her that the reason the men came was that they had grown serious under hardship. She looked at me calmly and knowingly, and said: “That’s it, Father! They were afraid!”
Chapter LII
A Vague Unrest
The spring was drawing near, and a certain vague feeling of unrest was over the troops. Word was being passed about that old Fritz was preparing for something. On our side there were no visible preparations for a spring offensive.