Delivered in St. Jude’s Hall, Glasgow, on Monday evening,
6th March, 1916.
* The Address was taken down by a shorthand writer.
We might look, first, for a few moments, as the Lord may enable us, to the 18th verse of the Psalm we have just now read, the 66th Psalm: “If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me: but verily God hath heard me; he hath attended to the voice of my prayer.”
We find here, friends and fellow-sinners, a man of God, David, of whom the Most High declared that he had found a man “after his own heart” who would do all His pleasure, putting himself to the test, and as he tests himself, there is an acknowledgment in the test. And the acknowledgment is this—that he feels iniquity in his heart. But at the same time that he acknowledges that he feels iniquity in his heart, there is a caveat, as we may say, that although he feels it, he does not love it, which he expresses in this way: “If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.” This is the way in which he puts himself to the test. He does not murmur at all against God for not hearing him, if he regarded iniquity in his heart. Now, there is an acknowledgment that sin is there, and whether you or I acknowledge it or not, sin is in our hearts. You were born in sin, and so was I, and shapen in iniquity; and in our very constitution, in every fibre of our being, sin is there. But although sin is in every fibre of our being, blessed be God there were those in the world, and there are those in the world, who have been made to realise that sin is there, and as they have been made to realise that sin is in their hearts, they are made to hate the sin that is in their hearts. And this was the case with the Psalmist of Israel. But is it the case with us to-night? If not, my friends, it would be better for us that we were never born than to go to eternity without knowing that sin is in our hearts.
Now, I am not going to take up time going over all that is in the heart, but one of the greatest sins that we have in our hearts—and I think the youngest child here might know it—is greed, greed, greed. And there is no satisfying of that greed. We speak about the expanse of the Atlantic, but I will tell you something that is more extensive and more expansive than even the Atlantic; it is the greed that is in the human heart. Have you ever met a man whose greed was satisfied? Never. When you see greed in the heart, it assumes many forms. There is the greed for gold, and there is the greed for power, and there is the greed for authority, and I may say that this has been the cause of the awful War in which we are engaged at the present moment, greed in the heart. Many volumes may be written on the War and its causes, but the radical cause of this War is greed in the heart of man. You may with every scholastic attainment that you may possess put volumes together, but one phrase will describe it all—greed in man’s heart. This greed is no doubt in the hearts of the British as well as others, because all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. But in the present terrible struggle, although greed is in our hearts as well as in the hearts of the German Emperor and his subjects, I do hope that we did not enter upon this War with greed for more power and more land. Although I cannot claim to be free from greed in my heart, I hope I may claim this, that I did not go to France with a desire to get an acre of land or any silver or gold whatsoever. And I believe that the British nation were free from that greed when they entered upon this War. But it seems perfectly plain that it was greed for more land and more power that has made the Kaiser engage in it.
Now, I suppose most of you will be anxious to hear some of the things I have met with. I left Glasgow on the 27th of November, 1915, for England, and on the 30th day of November at London I was warned that I had to leave Folkestone in the morning. I may tell you that, but I am not at liberty to tell you any of the places I visited when I come to speak about France. I do not want, as a chaplain or as a soldier, to betray my countrymen, or to tell where they are. I would like them to be secure for time and for eternity.
When I reached the Victoria Station in London I got the first smell, I may say, of what it was to be a soldier. I came in contact with hundreds of soldiers who were going to the seat of war, as I was. Then when we arrived at Folkestone we got the next smell of it. We were told there that there was no boat crossing till such a time. The authorities take great precautions in sending over the troops to our foreign field, and it is really marvellous the number of soldiers that are sent across, nothing happening to their bodies. But there is one thing that I may point out. To be a soldier is not an enviable thing altogether, although a soldier’s life has its bright side as well as its dark. We arrived at Folkestone, then, and when the boat came along, there were four or five transports going across the same day. When we went on board the first thing we got was a life-jacket, covered all over with cork. The Celts are said to be an imaginative people, and I must blame myself for having a strong imaginative faculty. Sometimes it is not a pleasant thing to have too strong an imaginative faculty. When I put on the life-jacket I felt myself wondering what was to be next. Then the boats were thrown out on the davits. They were ready to be lowered into the sea, and we had the life-jackets on. But we made our seaport in France, without a greedy German touching us, and without a submarine boring a hole in our steamer.
A Casualty Clearing Station.
When I arrived in France I had to report myself, and whenever I reported myself I was then a soldier out-and-out. It does not matter whether you are a captain, a sergeant, or a corporal—when you are a soldier you are a soldier—and the only answer you get is, “Active service, sir; active service, sir.” As soon as I went ashore, then, I reported myself, and I was told to go immediately on board the train. I said in reply: “The train does not leave till such an hour in the morning”; and the answer I got was, “It does not matter, sir; better for you to turn into the train just now than to turn out of your bed at four o’clock in the morning.” So off I went to the train, as directed, and if I did not sleep, I lay in the train the whole night and morning, until it started away for some place up the line. I arrived at a certain place about eight o’clock in the morning, and then went to a quarter where I was to get my instructions. As I have said, soldiers are soldiers. We were there huddled together—Roman Catholics and all kinds. You might say that, to a certain extent, the lion and the lamb had to be together. I do not claim to be a lamb, but whether I am a lion or a lamb, a Roman Catholic and a Free Presbyterian were under the necessity of being together. Whenever I got to the quarter mentioned I got instructions to depart for another part of the line, and when I arrived at this part I found out that it was a Casualty Clearing Station.
Now, I shall try, briefly, to describe a Casualty Clearing Station to you. The station that I was connected with was an old convent. You know, of course, that convents are places where nuns are counting their beads, and attending to similar forms. Like most of the convents in France, this convent had been taken by the French Government from the Roman Catholic Church ten years ago. It is a large building, with about fifteen wards in it. It will hold from two hundred to three hundred patients. The wards begin on the floor ; then there is the second flat, and lastly there is the third or top flat. The wards are all numbered in the usual way. As my bedroom I occupied a cell where a nun used to sleep in. When I arrived at the place I was asked if I needed food, and I said “No ; I had my breakfast about an hour or two ago.” So I entered upon my duties. I was a soldier. Would to God that we were soldiers of the Lord Jesus Christ ! A soldier must be a clean person in his body, and it is the desire of the British Government that their soldiers should be clean in their minds. Ah, friends, no filthy man can be a proper soldier ; if he be filthy in his mind or in his habits, he cannot make a good soldier. We have to rise earlier than some of you do in Scotland. Whether it is cold or warm, snowing or raining, we have to turn out at half-past six in the morning. They call the ministers Padrè (Padrays), and, of course, Padrè Macqueen had to be out at half-past six as well as the rest. Then, when we turned out in the morning, the first thing was to wash our bodies, and to dress us for the duties of the day. And, friends, whenever we had this done, the man who had a mind for an hour in private with the Most High, that was the time he got for it. Once you had dressed yourself you had an hour to plead with your Maker to defend you during the day. And I am glad to be able to say that our Commanding Officer was a man who valued that hour, and I must admit that I was fortunate in falling in with such a Commanding Officer. He would say to me now and again : ” Padrè Macqueen, the best time in the morning is the hour we have to plead with our Maker, and the best time at night is the hour we have to plead with our Maker before we go to bed.” Now, that is one good thing to meet in the British Army, a commander who fears the Lord. Of course, the Roman Catholic Padrè went off to his chapel for Mass, but we had private worship in our rooms. We came down to breakfast about eight o’clock. At breakfast every man had to ask a blessing for himself, every man who would do it. I do not say all had a mind to ask God’s blessing, but some had, and the first to bow his head was the Commanding Officer, acknowledging God’s goodness. Then, as soon as breakfast was over, we got all the patients’ letters for the purpose of ” censoring ” them. That was part of the duty that fell to the Padrè. Some of them were writing to their sweethearts, some to their mothers, and others to their fathers. As soon as that was over, we went through the wards. The doctors went first. There were eight doctors, and seven nurses, or sisters as they are called. The doctors went first through the wards and looked at everybody, and I must say that the British doctors are good to the patients. In every letter almost that a soldier writes he has a word of praise for the doctors and the sisters. As soon as the doctors were out, we went in. I specially searched out the Scottish men. I would ask if there were any Scottish there, and some of the doctors would cry out, ” Padrè Macqueen, here is one of your flock—a Scottish Presbyterian.” But, of course, I had to look after not only the Scottish Presbyterians but all the Nonconformists of England as well. There were a Church of England clergyman and a Roman Catholic clergyman besides myself, who attended to their own people. Some of the men were having their legs amputated, and others their hands cut in many places. But, as a rule, when I went in and spoke to them, they were bright. Sometimes when I would speak to them about eternal things, I would get a good hearing. Very few would laugh, but I have seen a few so light and vain that they would laugh when I would speak to them about eternal realities. My dear friends, I am sorry to say it, but it is the case; I fear that one of the reasons why the Most High is chastising us is that we have neglected the Word of God. I came across some soldiers very ignorant of their Bibles, but I found that most of them gave me a good hearing.
I take this opportunity of thanking all who have been so kind in sending money and other things with a view to provide comforts for the soldiers. As they lay there on stretchers, whatever pain they had—unless they had sickness—they all liked “a smoke,” and those who were much wounded, “longed,” as they said themselves, “for a cigarette.” If you went in with a bundle of “Wills’s Wild Woodbine,” you would get a smile on everyone’s face. I also went round them with writing paper which friends in Scotland and England sent, and also sent money for.
As soon as the soldiers were able to travel in any comfort from the Clearing Station, we were not supposed to keep them. Those who were able to be put in a “Red Cross” train and could stand the shaking, were put there, but those who were too unwell to travel thus, were sent to barges on the canals. You know, friends, that France is very level, and there are canals here and there throughout France which come in exceedingly useful for carrying the wounded from all parts down to the base.
So you see my work was not limited. Some friends were not satisfied that I was not writing home more news from the seat of war. Well, of two evils choose the less, as the word goes. We got a warning from the Government that we were not to be writing home to Magazines, and that we were not to tell anything that would help the foe, and I can assure you that I for one did not wish to help William the Kaiser.
Work with the Flying Corps and Signal Companies.
Sometimes I would go to speak to what are called the Flying Corps, which were all around us. I suppose some of you have seen an aeroplane. It is quite like a bird when it begins to go up in the air. First of all you hear a sound like a gun going off, and then birr, birr, and at last it begins to go up in the air. Then it begins to hover round, and as it goes round and round it goes higher and higher in the air. Not a day would pass when those men could fly but that they were here, there, and everywhere. You would see them flying over your head everywhere. Sometimes when I would be on horseback, some of the horses did not like their noise, but I got so accustomed to them that I did not care so long as they were not the Kaiser’s birds. Now, sometimes they would send for me, and I would go to them on the Sabbath. Perhaps at half-past eight in the morning a motor ambulance would come for me to conduct a service up at the aerodrome. Sometimes there would be a good few men present, but then at other times they were out flying and I would get very few. Once I turned away without getting any. If there was much pride in a chaplain, he would get it brought down. He has to be satisfied sometimes with a congregation as small as the glorious Head had at Jacob’s Well, speaking to the woman of Samaria, one, or perhaps half-a-dozen. Besides going to the Flying Corps I also went to places where the Signal Companies are. As a rule, you would notice them with a kind of blue band on their arms. They were sometimes about fifteen kilometres, that is, about ten Scottish or English miles, away. When I went to those places I left very early in the morning, and when I would arrive there a good many men from the city of Glasgow would meet me—the H.L.I.’s, the Glasgow Highlanders. Although the H.L.I.’s are not specially connected with the Signal Companies, I came across a good many of them. After speaking to the Signal Company I would then motor back as fast as the motor would go, to the town where I lived, and I would begin to speak there at eleven o’clock in the forenoon. This shows you that I was not idle entirely the time I was in France. My only complaint is this—how little I saw of the fruits of the Word of God. But we must leave it all to the God whose word it is. He has promised—and His promise will not fail—that His word will not return unto Him void.
At other times I would go out in search of the Highlanders—for although I love the Lowlanders, I must say I have a warm place in my heart for the poor Highlanders—when I would come in sight of “the kilties” and hear their old musical instrument, the bagpipes, I used to feel: “I am coming near those that I love most. I am coming near the Highlanders.” Sometimes I would not have very long time, and I would ask them in Gaelic, “If I would come and give a kind of sermon to you, would you come to hear me?” and they would say, “It is we that would be pleased to see you and hear you, Sir.”
Now, I suppose it is time I was coming to an end of this rigmarole, as I may call it. As I was drawing near the time when I was to get leave—you see, a soldier is a soldier—the last fortnight before I got leave I felt longer than the two months and a-half previous to that, because I have a human heart, I hope, and my heart longed to see my dear family once more in the land of the living, and as my heart longed to see my dear family, my heart longed to speak once more to my own congregation. But the week before I got away, word came stopping all leave, and I can tell you I had to go on my knees to seek submission from God, if I should be kept back. For you know there is a rebellious heart inside, and when I had made up my mind to see my friends, the old rebellion was ready to come to life again. But at the very last moment word came round that I would get home on special leave. Immediately on getting word, I left the place where I was and came to the seaport that very night, and when I arrived at the French seaport I thought I was a few years younger. Then, there was the same thing over again. The boat was not to sail till half-past three the next afternoon. My heart sank a good bit that I was to be kept so long. Whenever we went on board, we required to have our life-jackets on again, and the boats ready. I am sorry to say that one of the P. and O. Company’s boats had been sunk a few days before then in the Channel, and we had to take extra precautions.
I may say, in concluding my remarks, that I believe the soldier in chief command of the Army in France, Sir Douglas Haig, is truly a sensible man, and I believe a reader of his Bible. I also believe that the officer next in command is a lover of the Word of the living God. Then as regards the commander I had, as I have said already, the Word of God was his companion, and prayer was his resort. As far as I came in contact with those in command, I found there were none of them lovers of evil or longing for the destruction even of their greatest enemy, but longing for this, that God would give repentance to Germans and to British. And, dear friends, if we only got repentance for our personal sins, I may say, before God, that it would be the strongest weapon that ever was found for conquering our enemies. Do not think for a moment that we are at the end of the War. I say that much to you; do not think for a moment that your friends will be home in three months. God can do that; but don’t you build your hopes upon that. At the same time, let the people of Glasgow pray, pray, pray for the spirit of repentance to themselves and for the spirit of repentance to our soldiers. When I asked some of them, “Do you pray in the trenches?” they replied, “We cannot do anything else but pray, for when you are there sometimes, you would think that the end of the world had come.” There are the machine guns going at the rate of over a hundred shots a minute, and not only machine guns, but other guns as well. Some days we would hear the sound of the guns going the whole day, and our Colonel would remark, “We are strafing each other to-day.”
I am glad to say this about the British soldiers that there is very little contagious trouble among them. There is one thing I omitted to tell you. We have to get a needle pressed into our breast every now and again. A man comes along with a long needle and asks you to open up your breast, and when you do so, he stabs the needle into your breast. It won’t do to say, “You must not put it there.” The stuff put in is rank poison, as people would say in Skye, but that rank poison is there to counteract or keep away enteric fever. France is not extra clean—the smell is not very nice at times—and this poison is put into your breast to prevent fever. I must say, however, that there is very little fever among the troops in France, and that by reason of the precautions that are taken. The preventative is called anti-typhoid inoculation, and although you take typhoid fever, if you have been inoculated twice, you take it very slightly, and it does not affect you much at all.
Now, my friends and fellow-sinners, this then is what we all ought to seek, that we do not regard iniquity in our hearts, that we do not seek in greed the land of others, and that we do not seek with malice the destruction of others. But we must defend ourselves, even according to the moral law, and use all lawful endeavours to preserve our own lives and the lives of others. May the Lord bless His Word, and may He prepare you and me for the day when we shall all have to meet Him, not in battle. We shall all have to meet Him at the hour of death, for “it is appointed unto men once to die,” and after death, the judgment. This much I may say at the close, that I once used to think that I would like to have my body laid along with those of my friends of my congregation in my own native land, but now I am come to this, that, although my mortal body would lie in France, and my remains be torn of dogs, if my immortal soul would be safe in the hands of the glorious Saviour, I know that He would raise my body at last to join my soul, to be for ever with Himself. May He bless His Word!