It Might as Well Be in a Church
It was a strange church service. The little Belgian village was in ruins after being fought over only a few days before. Battle-weary veterans came back from the front lines to join in. Replacements coming up also took part. It was an unusual mixture of dirty and clean uniforms, expressionless stares and boisterous enthusiasm. The men from the front lines had seen too much, the replacements too little. Tanks and jeeps were pulled up all around the little church where an American chaplain and a Belgian priest were conducting an ongoing service for anyone who could stop. One soldier described the scene as the chaplain recited the Lord’s Prayer:
As he neared the end, German 88s started to drop nearby. No one moved. Just as he finished, a shell landed quite near the church. Normally, men would have been making a mad dash for cover, but for some strange reason, nobody moved we just stood there. Then behind me on the opposite side of the church, a man with a deep voice started reciting the 23rd Psalm, and soon everyone joined in. The shelling continued, but it seemed that the voices of the men became stronger. I guess the thought was, if we are going to die, it might as well be in a church.446
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.