By R. I. Morgan
Dear Dr. Wreford,
From the commencement of the War I have made it my practice, when travelling by rail, if possible, to get into a compartment where there were soldiers or sailors. On a recent journey I found myself in a compartment with two handsome young bluejackets returning to their ships in the North Sea, who, though they did not look more than twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, had four “overseas” chevrons on their sleeves. In addition, there were two soldiers, one discharged soldier, and two men above middle age. As soon as the train had started, and they were about to light up their cigarettes, I said: “I take a great interest in you soldiers and sailors, as I have three sons in the Army, or rather I had three, but one was killed whilst leading his men in a night attack.” The cigarettes were dropped, and each man gave me a sympathetic look. After a moment or two I turned round to the “bluejacket” sitting next to me, and said very quietly “If you had been instantaneously killed, as my son was, where would you have gone?”
The sailor lowered his head and said, “Don’t know, sir.” Someone in the compartment said, “He’d have gone West.” I knew that was the way they had in the Army and Navy of saying that a man had been killed, or had died, but I slowly repeated the words, “Gone West”; and then asked, “Where is that?” There was no response, but almost immediately the oldest man in the compartment, in a pleasant manner, said, “I believe if we are thankful, and do our best, all will be right in the end. We have our consciences to tell us what is right or wrong.”
“You are on the right track, my friend,” I replied, “but you have not got far enough. Our consciences alone will never get us to heaven trod has given us a surer and an infallible guide, and that is His holy Word, the Bible. If our consciences are in line with that Word, and we obey it, then all will be well in the end.”
Immediately the discharged soldier who sat in the further corner, in a somewhat aggressive manner, said: “I don’t believe the Bible; what’s the good of that? I’m a Freethinker. Do you believe that our lives are all mapped out for us?” “Certainly,” I replied. “Then what is the good of believing anything or doing the things you say we ought to do?” Thinking he might have been on the Western battle front, I said: “Have you ever seen a piece of tapestry made?” “Yes, in France,” was his reply. “Well, then, that tapestry was not made by one impression or by one stroke, as you might cut out a piece from a sheet of metal, or as you might have seen gold and silver coins struck out of bars at the Royal Mint; but there was an outline and a design for that piece of tapestry, and the design had to be filled in. So it is with your life and mine: God has a plan for each one of us, but we must fill up the design ourselves. He is not going to compel you or me to do it as He wishes, but He has given us full instructions in His holy Word, the Bible, which you despise. We are all sinners, and God says, ‘The soul that sinneth shall die,’ but He does not want you to die, because He has provided a Substitute for you in His Son our Saviour Jesus Christ, who gave His life on Calvary’s cross. Now God says, ‘Whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.’”
The Freethinker then said, “Do you believe it was ordained that yet should be in this compartment this morning?” “Certainly,” I replied: “and shall I tell you why? That when you stand before the judgment seat to receive the things done in your body, whether good or bad, you will not be able to say you were never shown the way of salvation.”
All eyes were now turned towards the corner where the Freethinker sat, as if anticipating a rejoinder, but he sank back in his seat and was silent. Being in an express train, I was able to speak for a considerable time without interruption, and then turned round and said to the Freethinker, “Do you see it now?” “Not quite; when I do I’ll think about it,” was his reply. “You may never have another opportunity. God says, ‘Now is the accepted time.’ You may be killed in a railway-accident this very day. Now is the day of salvation.”
As I drew towards my journey’s end, I related some wonderful answers to prayer which I had experienced, and as I did so the “bluejackets” eyes filled with tears; while on reaching my destination, the first man to jump up with a smile on his face to hand me my portmanteau from the rack was the discharged freethinking soldier. I shook hands with them all, expressing the hope that we should all meet “when the roll is called up yonder.” I am sure the Holy Spirit worked in that compartment that day.