The Chaplain Changed His Mind

It was wartime. We said farewell to our loved ones, and walked up the loading ramp onto the Sea Ray, a merchant marine ship docked at San Francisco, California. It would take forty-five days to reach our destination.

Of the 2,500 men who crowded on the ship, at least three of us were Latter-day Saints. More than anything, we wanted to meet together in our own sacrament meeting.

We asked the ship’s chaplain if we could use the ship’s chapel for our meetings. We were surprised when he said he didn’t have the time to conduct a special meeting for so few. We would have to attend one of he meetings held for other faiths.

We explained that we would conduct our own meetings, and that we only needed the chapel at a time when it wasn’t in use. He insisted that there were not enough of us to make it worthwhile to occupy the chapel. We responded that it would be worthwhile to the three of us.

We continued to ask. He continued to say no. Finally he left, emphatic that we would have to attend one of the services already scheduled.

So we began looking for a secluded spot on that crowded ship. Every available space on deck was occupied by soldiers who preferred the fresh ocean air to the crowded, stuffy quarters below the deck. After searching the ship from end to end, we decided the only way we could meet was to sit cross-legged on the cramped area near the ship’s smokestacks and study the scriptures together. We wouldn’t be able to enjoy the privacy and freedom that would allow us to partake of the sacrament and to sing and pray, but at least we could be together.

While we were discussing our plans, a voice over the ship’s loudspeaker blared, “There will be a church service held at six o’clock in room 45 for all Latter-day Saints.” We were amazed, yet pleased that we had been granted a place to meet, and we wondered what had changed the chaplain’s mind.

It was almost six o’clock, so we hurried to the stairs and climbed down into what had been a food-storage area. The large room was cluttered with long, thick shipping planks and small wooden barrels. There was no furniture anywhere. But we were excited to have a place where we could partake of the sacrament, sing, and pray.

We began to make benches of the planks and barrels. Before long, young men dressed in combat clothing began to come down the stairs, asking if this was the place for the Latter-day Saint meeting. They helped us, and soon the room looked organized and ready for services. When we counted, there were thirty of us for our first meeting in what was to become our special room below decks.

Using the songs and sacrament prayers in our servicemen’s edition of Principles of the Gospel, we made all the arrangements for a special sacrament meeting. We felt the Spirit of the Lord rest upon us as we listened to impromptu talks and instructions. Our hearts were touched as we were drawn together in our feelings of love for our Heavenly Father and his Beloved Son. Memories of our families and homes became vivid and warm.

We lingered after the meeting, not wanting our time together to end. It was the nearest thing to home we would experience while at sea. All week, we looked forward to the next service. These gatherings became bright spots that carried us through some discouraging days.

Our services continued Sunday after Sunday. Unknown to us, the meetings had attracted the attention and curiosity of the chaplain. When we gathered on fast Sunday in January 1945, we were astonished to see our ship’s chaplain descend the stairs into our room. He asked if he might attend our services, and we made him welcome.

Men dressed for combat bowed in reverent prayer, sang hymns, blessed the sacrament, and partook of those emblems with humility and sincerity. After the sacrament, one by one, the men stood and bore testimonies that were filled with gratitude for the teachings of good parents, for homes where love and fun and happiness were a part of growing up, for the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ to the earth, and for living prophets.

After the meeting, the chaplain approached and asked if he could speak to us during our next service. We granted his request without hesitation.

Sunday came, and we turned the time over to the chaplain after administering the sacrament. He stood before us as we sat upon our plank and barrel benches. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but whoever you are and whatever your mission, please continue,” he said. “In all the years I studied to become a minister, in all the services I have conducted, in all the church councils I have attended—I have never been lifted spiritually as I was in your meeting last Sunday. Please continue to set the example for others that you have set here.”

We were impressed by the obvious change that had taken place in his heart and mind concerning Latter-day Saints.

We continued to meet in our sacred room each Sunday until we reached our destination and we were scattered by our various assignments. Since then I have often wondered about the chaplain and where he is today. I am thankful to him for providing us with a place to meet. And I am grateful for those special meetings that we held in a room “below decks.”