He gives Fredrik a friendly little box on the shoulder—just kidding. But at the same time, he thinks fleetingly of Post-Anton and it occurs to him that the customs on the Örlands may date back further than he can imagine and that if he violates them he will be defying not only the living but also people long since dead. “I’m glad I’ve got my organist,” he says. “He’s a wise man, very experienced, very diplomatic. He’d do very well wherever he was. It’s really a tremendous waste of talent that people as strikingly intelligent as many of the people are out here get no education beyond elementary school.”
A shadow passes across Fredrik’s profile. “Like the war,” he says. Lightly, but with feeling.
Petter draws a quick breath. Is it possible that Fredrik thinks the way he does? “I’m glad you brought it up!” he bursts out. “For years I’ve been thinking about all the ones who never got a chance. Full to bursting with talent and special knowledge. Full of hopes and expectations. Shot, maimed. Tragic on the personal level, a terrible waste for the nation economically.” He pauses, cautiously. “I suppose you were in it?”
“Yes. As a chaplain. I was ordained just in time for the outbreak of the Continuation War. I happen to know that you were a chaplain as well.”
“Only at the very end, when the war was already over, and even then only with the troops on Åland. A real sinecure, compared with what you fellows went through.” He feels compelled to add a few words about his illness as an explanation. “I had a medical exemption during the war. I had TB when I was in middle school and it was there in my papers. So I was in the Home Guard and the food supply commission and the fire brigade instead. I’m sure it saved my life. I managed to finish my studies, with delays, of course, and I was ordained in 1943. I often had a bad conscience because I thought Hebrew and exegesis were so boring, but of course a lot of men at the front would have given anything to be in my shoes.”
Fredrik looks at him with sympathy. He’s been feeling a slight superiority simply because Petter was never at the front. That experience gives you a sharpness and a vigilance that Petter lacks. “As for me, I was in Eastern Karelia first, then on the Isthmus. I can tell you, it tests your faith. And as if you weren’t wrestling with your own doubts, the boys see to it that you’re really forced to confront your beliefs. For example, I led prayers with the ones who wanted to pray before going out on patrol, and of course I prayed for success in their work and asked God to send them back in one piece. Immediately someone shouted, ‘What kind of a priest are you who doesn’t pray for our enemies and those who persecute us?’” Fredrik pauses for effect, and Petter obliges.
“What did you say?”
“I said he was right to put his finger on one of the most important points in Christianity, a fundamental principle that we find difficult in times of war and calamity when our existence is under threat from an enemy pursuing an unjust cause. Maybe our Lord didn’t mean that we should pray for our enemies’ success but that we should think about their welfare and pray that their hearts might be enlightened so that they cease to make war against us and persecute us and agree to a just peace.”
“Well said,” Petter says.
“Some of them laughed and a couple of guys from Österbotten shouted ‘Amen!’, but there was one man in real distress who said, ‘Many of the Russians we’re shooting at are here because they have to be, not because they want to attack us.’ ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘That’s why we put our cause in God’s hands. It’s he who can see the whole picture. We’ve been put here to do our duty as soldiers. And as soldiers, we have every right to pray for help in doing our duty successfully. If we can also pray for our enemies’ enlightenment and conversion, so much the better.’”
He drops his slightly preachy tone and goes on. “I guess you never struggle harder with your conscience than you do in a war. Do the things we’ve been taught really hold up? What do we actually know about God’s plan for the human race? How far does our loyalty to the state go? For me, it was terribly ominous to cross the old border during our advance in 1941. Nevertheless, I had to publicly thank God for our progress. I was appalled by what the Germans were doing down in Europe, but I still had to pray for our comrades in arms. Then in 1943, I was convinced that we had to make peace in order to save whatever could still be saved. But as a chaplain I was nevertheless required to do my best to instil courage and optimism in boys being sent straight to their deaths by the men commanding the army, who could see everything was going to hell but still didn’t have the guts to start negotiations.”
The genial Fredrik Berg has set his jaw and doesn’t look at Petter. His expression says it doesn’t matter to him in the least what Petter thinks. But Petter has straightened up and seen a community of thought. “You mean you sympathized with the peace opposition? So did I.” They turn and stare at each other with real pleasure. What good luck that they’ve been placed in adjacent parishes! Two young priests with such similar values! They talk at length and from the heart about the war and the terrible choices Finland faced, and about their own agony. It is almost unbelievable that now, after all of that, they sit and speak openly in a free country, when things could have turned out so very much worse! They talk about the everyday happiness of living in peace, with young families and realistic hopes that their lives will get much better.
As regards the larger situation of the church, they cannot avoid talking about the increasing secularization and godlessness and, almost with nostalgia, about the powerful trust in God that people felt during the war—so quickly pushed aside in the material strivings that have followed it. But here, alone together and in almost identical circumstances, they can put such thoughts to the side and speak instead of the pleasures of peace and the joy of believing in the future.
The advantage of being an island priest is that you control your own time and can make up neglected duties later. Petter will return to the Örlands with Post-Anton that evening, so they have the whole day to themselves. The early summer weather is beautiful. They take a turn to the parsonage and have afternoon coffee, then out again and have time to wander across all of Mellom while they continue their conversation and lay the basis of a lasting friendship. When they were in school, Fredrik would have been an older boy with the right to snub and make fun of a little kid like Petter. But childhood comes to an end. As adults, they can be equals, share experiences, discuss career, family, life, books, open themselves without being mocked or isolated.
Perhaps Fredrik is not always so pleasant and full of smiles. When they stop by the parsonage, his wife says, “It’s nice to see that Fredrik’s found a friend and colleague he can talk to.”
“And that I have a colleague like the priest at Mellom!” says Petter warmly. “I feel much better knowing we can talk on the phone any time we like. I think I’m going to need that.”
“It’s so far to the dean that we’ll just have to get along without him. So here and now let’s create our own Archipelago Deanery. We’ll confer and make our own decisions. What do you say?”
“Brilliant!” Petter agrees. “We’re going to have to elect you dean for the time being—until I’ve grown into my clothes a bit and can run against you.”