28 May 2018

A Beautiful Story

It is extremely sad that this story would be very, very unlikely to happen today, since the Celebrant and the Altar Boy would not speak the same language!

I rediscovered this story whilst searching for something entirely different on Fisheaters Forum. I was searching for posts in which I had used the word 'altar'. I didn't find what I was looking for, but since 'altar' occurs in this post, I found it instead.

I posted this on FE several years ago and the link from which I retrieved it is dead now, so I have no idea where it's from or who Richard H. Kiley is, but the story is so moving I wanted to share it.

The Altar Boy, By Richard H. Kiley 

We had made a rapid advance across Northern France from the Normandy beachhead. (Historians say it was the fastest opposed advance in the history of modern warfare.) Now, our 105-millimeter howitzer battalion was bivouacked in an abandoned castle on the outskirts of a small Belgian town. 

The exact locations of occupied and unoccupied territory were not well known, and due to an error in map reading, we learned at daybreak that we were close to a German infantry unit. Watching our artillery battalion attempting to act as infantry was laughable, but we had no choice. Using our pieces at close range with time bursts, we caused the enemy to retreat. 

Later that morning, I ventured away from the castle and observed the local townspeople walking to the center of the village to the sound of church bells. I realized that it was Sunday and people were on their way to a Catholic mass. I followed them. 

Inside the church, when the priest appeared from the sacristy, I saw 
that he was without an altar boy. I was only nineteen years old, not too far away from my own altar boy days in Philadelphia. So almost by rote, I went into the sanctuary, knelt down next to the priest and, still in my uniform, started to perform the normal functions of an acolyte: 

"... Ad deum qui laetificat juventutem meam ..." [To God, the joy of my 

"... Quia tu es Deus fortitudo mea ..." [For Thou, O God, art my 

"Confiteor Deo omnipotenti ..." [I confess to Almighty God]. 

The priest and I went through the whole mass as if we had done it together many times before: water and wine; lavabo (the ritual of washing hands after the offertory); changing the book; suscipiat (a prayer of acceptance); and the final blessing. 

As prescribed, I preceded the priest into the sacristy and, as is the 
custom, stood apart from him with my hands in the prayer position while he divested. He removed the chasuble, then the cincture. When his arms lifted the alb, I saw that he was wearing a German uniform. My heart stopped: The priest was a German officer! 

The man was a German chaplain and though he had realized immediately that he had an American sergeant as an altar boy, during the entire twenty minutes of the mass, he had given no outward sign of recognition. 

My German was rather rudimentary, and the only thing I could put together was, "Gut Morgen, Vater" ("Good morning, Father"). Evidently, his English was nonexistent, for somewhat flustered, he only smiled at me. Then, we shook hands, and I left. 

I walked back to the castle strangely exhilarated. Two strangers, 
enemies at war, had met by chance and for twenty minutes, without any direct communication, had found complete unanimity in an age-old ritual of Christian worship. 

The memory of this incident has remained with me for over fifty years. It still brings the same elation, for I know firsthand that, even in war, our common humanity - under the same God - can triumph over hatred and division.


  1. Replies
    1. Not that unusual, due to the high attrition rates of NCOs. If he had enlisted at 17, or lied about his age and enlisted earlier, he could have had at least two years time in.

  2. What an account that is. Amazing. If only we continued to use the Latin everywhere. That alone would have helped Catholicism continue, and we would probably not be seeing it eclipsed, as it is now. We attend the Latin Rite, and there is no going back for us. Using a dead language is a blessing in the days when language is manipulated into modern meanings and interpretations. Latin prevents that.


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