"THE CHURCH CAME OUT TO US"

Home again after a second tour of the world's battlefronts, Dr. Daniel A. Poling, president of the World's Christian Endeavor Union and editor of the Christian Herald, wrote for TIME the following report on the state of religion as he found it among the armed forces:

War is not a prayer meeting, and global war gives men little time to sing hymns in front of an altar. But the praying pilot; the nurse who lifted the cup of cold water to my burning lips; the mail truck driver with a chest cough that sounded to me like pneumonia, who nevertheless drove twelve miles out of his way to get a lost kid from Georgia back to his outfit; the girl from Oregon who was hanging curtains at a dust-smothered "basha" to make it look a bit like home to homesick boys; and the wounded from the landing beaches of Italy who, after the general had decorated 22 of their comrades, sang God Bless America, will stand forever on my list of the most religious men and women I have met.

The Real Peacemakers. If religious leaders on the home front are to make out of this war a new occasion for the Christian Church, they must be able to hear these deeper tones and to feel the pulse of character that beats beneath the surface. War is to American youths an unnatural, dirty, desperate business. The glory that artists once painted, and of which the poets once sang, is departed. War does things to the finer sensibilities. Let it be damned forever. But make no mistake: these men have the sense of mission and will return to help make a decent peace. They believe themselves to be right now the real peacemakers, as I believe they are. They fight to keep America free, and they know it--and to keep war forever away from their children. They want no part in any imperialism. But they are not isolationists. They are realists. They believe that since we could not stay out of the war we are fools if we try to stay out of another peace. And they also believe that, to keep freedom and peace for ourselves, we must help make freedom and peace available to others. Yes, there is no glory in war any more, but there is a deathless glory in lives poured into causes as holy as these. Here is religion, the religion that I find at the front.

What of the Church? But what does the serviceman think about the church at home, and about me, the churchman--that is the real question.

A young officer from New England looked at me ironically and asked: "What kind of a world do you preachers live in? Not this world," and he swung his hand toward the beds of an army hospital ward. "You talk about peace. Fine. Keep on talking, but why not talk a little about this war that a good many of us are fighting so that you can keep on talking? Not a line from the churches have I read yet about the necessity of winning the war--first. You churchmen talk and stew so far away from where we live that we can't hear you. . . ."

What of the Pacifists? He was having an emotional field day--at my expense: "What is [and he named a distinguished American religious leader] saying now? Believe it or not, when I was in my freshman year at college, I signed his pacifist pledge. I was as honest as I was misguided. Those men, who persuaded thousands of earnest, immature young people to do what I did, were sincere, I grant you that. But there was no excuse for what they did. They were experienced; they were intelligent ; they were trained. We trusted them. They sinned against our youth. Look at us now. Nearly all of us have renounced that pledge, but many of us have not recovered and never will from the moral debacle of the experience. What is he saying now? . . ." And then came the hard thing he was there to say: "Sir, I'll respect him if he has done what I had to do and I'll respect him if he still believes it and had the guts to go to a camp for C.O.s [conscientious objectors]. But he is a quitter and worthy of no man's respect if he is saying and doing nothing about this war."

That young officer was terribly in earnest, and I know he speaks for a vast number. I had some answers, and I hope I changed him a little, but I had no rebuttal.

What Then Must We Do? On all the fronts where I have gone since August 1941, from England to North Africa, from South America to Egypt, India and China, and in the camps at home, two things more than all others have troubled me, two things not good for America. First, positive bitterness against organized labor (perhaps I should write: against leaders of organized labor). Second, overwhelming indifference to organized religion. Of these two I believe that the latter is more dangerous to the future of our country. The challenge of a positive will be met constructively at last, but indifference is dry rot from within. In America, religion, the organized Christian religion, and democracy, the American way of life, have risen side by side. To know what the church has meant and means to American freedom, a man need only look at what other religions have meant and still mean to some Eastern lands where now our armies fight. When these millions now in uniform return to peace they will control the nation's political, economic and social life for the next 50 years. What are we churchmen going to do about that?

I think I have the answer. I met the Archbishop of York in Cairo. Just returning from his mission to Moscow, he was en route to England. He told me of the amazing welcome meeting and of a Mass for victory in the Cathedral on the Red Square--10,000 worshipers within and thousands without. He told me of the beginnings of a new freedom for religion in Russia and he paid generous tribute to Russian war leadership and to the heroic Russian people. Then I asked him my question: "Is Russia really an open door to religion?" With a face that lighted he replied: "Yes! Just that! An open door."

Later, when for perhaps the first time in history all the ancient orthodox churches of the East were represented at a reception honoring the Archbishop, other questions were asked, such as: "Is Stalin sincere? Can he be trusted?" "Is this perhaps just another checkerboard move in Stalin's astute war strategy?" "Is Stalin making a foil for the Roman Catholic Church, of which many believe he is more suspicious than of any other power?"

The tall, calm Archbishop replied in effect as follows: "No, I may not judge motives, and I do not forget the past. But I do know that, steadily, the Stalin Government has moved toward religious freedom. I accept these steps in good faith--Stalin has kept faith. Above all, I believe that Russia is an open door."

There is the answer to indifference to the Christian Church, indifference in the armed forces, in America and everywhere. The church, and that means churchmen, must see "open doors," know what open doors are made for, and act accordingly. The church must "talk and stew" about things that are closer to men, women and little children than Councils on Faith and Order: ecumenical conclaves; the organic union of churches, and theological difference. These in their places, certainly, but not in place of spiritual bread for life; not in place of the good news that made the "common people," the indifferent of His time, hear Jesus "gladly." It is not enough for the church to be an open door; she must go out through open doors, with a complete ministry for all the people, where they are and as they are.

The Answer. Let the Army speak again. Joseph Englehardt Jr., a graduate of Girard College, Philadelphia, was in the battalion that, when Rommel crashed through our lines in his Tunisian offensive, fought its way eight miles across enemy territory to rejoin its division. Writing from North Africa, he said: "Our chaplain stayed on the mountain with the wounded--our own and the wounded German prisoners. It was hard to leave him there; he meant a great deal to us and now he is a prisoner of war. On that last Sunday, during a downpour of icy rain, when we were in foxholes and being strafed constantly by enemy dive-bombers, we couldn't go to church, but the chaplain carried, or sent, Testaments to the foxholes. He said: 'Read the verses I have marked and then pass the Testaments on to the next foxhole.' " Joseph Englehardt concluded his letter with this sentence: "And so when we couldn't go to church, the church came out to us."

And there again is the answer--"the church came out to us." Neither positive bitterness nor complete indifference can stand against that.

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