A Jesuit Writes from Gallipoli, 1915On the southern end of the Peninsula of Gallipoli, for some weeks now, Mass has been said nearly every day by the small band of Catholic Chaplains. The altars are constructed variously— of ammunition boxes, a board on trestles, a packing case, a shelf cut in the wall of a cliff. The place is sometimes picturesque, more often merely inconvenient, the men being huddled together behind some screen, so that the existence of a shell-worthy group may not be revealed to the enemy. Men march or ride, or motorcycle past, and glance with wonder— if they are without the fold— at the bright green vestment and outstretched hands of the priest; with regret— if they are children of the household— that they cannot join the kneeling throng, and take part in the great mystery wherein Jesus Christ again offers up His dear life to the Father for the sake of men in dusty khaki breeches and torn shirts, whose own lives of body and of soul are hourly in jeopardy.And week from week, by the altars, the Bread of Life is distributed “to a great multitude” on whom Jesus has had compassion. It is of that multitude that I would speak, for it is a mixed company, where Knights of our Lady, who have ever kept their shields stainless, kneel side by side with many a forgiven traitor, who in days gone by, denied his Lord and sold for less than thirty pieces of silver the Master at whose feet he kneels now, pure as on the morning of his First Communion.
So where are these percentages coming from? Are they from an exhaustive set, scientific poll or investigation of the whole church......or are those off the top of someone’s head, a good guess-timate?