"Is it worthwhile for a minister to leave his sheep, few or many, in the wilderness while he goes to get a glimpse of the war?" I said to Mr. Berry at his house in Birmingham on his return from France.
"It is impossible for one man to speak for another, he answered. 'There "must be in an adventure of that sort a balancing-up of claims."
"Surely a church is very weak if it is absolutely dependent on the ministry of one man," he added. "Some churches are possibly pleased with the idea of rendering services to the soldiers in the field through their ministers. Be that as it may, evangelical help is needed out there. Somebody's got to go, and why shouldn't you or I?"
"To sell cigarettes and serve hot tea?" I interjected in a superior tone.
"The average Tommy regards a minister as a gentleman of a sort who never soils his hands. He sits in a study in the mornings and makes pleasant calls on select families in the afternoons. To see him at a refreshment buffet, actually doing something, amounts to a revelation! Such a man, Tommy thinks, might be worth listening to."
"A minister's name," Mr. Berry continued, "counts for less than nothing, out there. You are tested by a new standard of values. You are simply no good unless you are prepared to show on levels which appeal to a soldier on active service, some practical serviceableness, with a spice of sacrifice in it.
"What about the chaplains, then?''. "
They are splendid men; but, remember, all chaplains to Tommy are officers.
"I took part in several church parade services, but in other meetings at which attendance was voluntary the evangelistic opportunity appeared to me to be appreciably greater. A crowded gathering in an old school-house dimly lighted by candles stuck on a book-board, I shall never forget.
"A revival atmosphere?"
"No; I saw nothing approaching a religious revival. There is, I think, a difference in the temper of the men at the base depots and those who are, or have been, at the front — they are more serious, their natures have been stirred by stimulations which have wakened their souls."
"Religiously?"
"In many cases, yes. Get beneath the natural shyness and reserve and you will find an appetite, if not, indeed, an earnest quest, for spiritual reality."
"What topics did you choose?"
"Those relating to the soldier's particular temptations and trials out there, taking care to let every message have in it sustaining qualities and ringing with hope and cheer."
"But isn't Tommy cheerful enough in himself?" I suggested.
"Really, he is amazing; he provides materials for a new interpretation of British temperament. His prodigious mirthfulness, his irresistible humour — not always of the drawing-room type — often saves the situation. The Christian faith, however, offers wealthier resources even there. Under the soldier's gay and jaunty exterior there is often a gloomy seriousness, a certain sombre stoicism."
"He is a fatalist, you would say?"
"He watches death picking and choosing, taking one here and another there. What an opportunity to talk to him of a Divine Providence! He gets into the habit of thinking his individual life is of no importance whatever, that he is but an insignificant pawn in a gigantic, diabolical game. One cannot miss certain lessons, which ought to be of service at home."
"Such as - ?"
"Ah, it is difficult to define one's own hardest lessons, even if one were inclined to confess what they are. One thing is certain — to some of us the evangel holds new worth to meet the keenest trials and fiercest dangers human nature has ever been called to endure."
"Your impressions in the firing-line were thrilling?" I ventured.
"Thrilling? Very! One mud embankment behind another mud embankment, facing, I suppose, similar mud embankments a few hundred yards distant, held by Germans. There are no heroics at the front, I can tell you. Mud, the monotony, and danger!"
"The soldier is, perhaps, four or five days in the trenches, and then out for an equal period. He is billeted in villages, generally in barns or outbuildings, where he sleeps on straw."
"Imagine, if you can, the strain of waiting in the trenches day after day. True, they may lose perhaps half a dozen of their number along a certain length of line every day; but, for the most of them, it is a dirty, dull life of dreary monotony. Change and excitement, to the average soldier, are as far off as surprise or victory. Yet there he is, content, cheerful, confident — a splendid illustration of the supremacy of spirit over flesh."
Away back some miles behind the firing-line lectures and meetings take place. Mr. Berry himself gave a short course of talks on Apologetics, the Divinity of Christ, the meaning of the Church, and the like, with questions at the close.
"Under any circumstances," said Mr. Berry, 'the military authorities are quite sympathetic towards any endeavour which relieves the blankness of life and enables the men to forget, if only for a little while, the monotonies, to say nothing of the tragedies, of war."
Mr. Berry saw the soldiers under all conditions, except, perhaps, actual fighting.
On one occasion he was in the trenches three hours and witnessed an artillery duel. Overhead were the aeroplanes, one German machine to perhaps, four or five British. He visited the casualty clearing stations and certain hospitals. But his chief occupation during the latter part of his visit was in opening new Y.M.C.A.. huts, which are such a boon to the men.
"No, I do not think any sort of minister is of use out there," he said, in reply to my final questions. "But strong, capable men, who are prepared to rough it, who can turn their hand to the petty business side of operations, at the same time able to speak forcibly on live topics, are badly needed.
"One cannot say more; but some terrible facts possibly might be made known, in order to stimulate sympathy for the brave men who are fighting for us, among those to whom the war is even yet far away—too far away."