Religion: Airmen’s Tribute

From London last week came a sympathetic tribute to U.S. Army Air Forces chaplains, written by a U.S. citizen well qualified to report with authority. A Presbyterian preacher’s son who flew in both French and U.S. Armies in World War I, Gill Robb Wilson entered the ministry himself, gave it up because of a throat affliction resulting from war injuries, has since been New Jersey State Director of Aviation, president of the National Aeronautic Association. He is now in England as aviation editor of the New York Herald Tribune. After interviewing members of the Eighth Air Force, he reported:

“A good chaplain, they claimed, is worth his weight in gold, and a poor one is worse than none at all.

“Sermonizing was judged to be comparatively useless. No orator on earth can impress a group of men on tension. [But] a quick prayer with the crews before they climbed aboard for a mission to Berlin was better than a shot of brandy. The boys feel that a prayer is a good chaser for tough briefing, since briefing is often quite a soul-searching business. . . .

“Knowing the chaplain will be there waiting if they come back wounded is a real comfort. Knowing he is back there praying while they are sweating through a mission is a first-class bracer. . . .

“A chaplain who is not naturally at home with the men or who must stand on his sanctity is under a great handicap. . . . One outfit told me of teaching their chaplain to shoot craps and of how one night he had a phenomenal streak of luck. . . . Practically all the loose change in the squadron was on the Lord’s side. With great glee they described the chaplain’s embarrassment and his frantic attempts to get the filthy lucre back in their hands by reckless play. None of it worked. The game broke up with the padre rolling in clover and blushes, and the boys wouldn’t take 1,000 shillings each for the fun they had that night. They never let on about extra cigarets and things they find lying around the mess for their comfort. It would spoil the chaplain’s fun if he knew they knew he was distributing his winnings for the peace of his soul. And they love the guy too much for that.

“A second outfit bragged to me that their chaplain was the best egg and the poorest poker player on earth. ‘We can’t teach him not to draw to a bobtailed flush or try to fill in the middle.’ This appeared incomprehensible since the guy was apparently so smart when it came to anyone’s troubles but his own.

“No one could tell me what effect the war in the air was having on the spiritual life of the men. All were certain that the average member of a fighting crew took constant refuge in prayer. No one had ever heard an airman scoff at religion. What the boys would do about going to church after the war depended upon what the church would do about taking an aggressive part in a realistic world order. Keep churches open 24 hours a day, seven days in a week ‘so a fellow can go in any old time and brief himself for a tough spot’ was the suggestion of one lad. There’s a suggestion for the preachers. Stop preaching and start briefing.”