Pilgrimage of Joy . . .

THE GLORY OF MUTTON HOLLOW
W. Carl Ketcherside

 Upon our return after more than three months of absence we found the congregation of saints at Nevada in an excellent state. Under the guidance of the bishops, and with the cooperation of the other brethren, the morale was high and the size of the audiences remained at such an excellent level there was serious talk of erecting a new meetinghouse. In every congregation of that day, almost fifty years ago, especially those with a rural constituency, there were always brethren who had scruples and qualms about certain things. However, at Nevada, the others did not try to press an opposing view but graciously accommodated themselves so they would not "set at naught a brother" and thus peace was maintained.

 It was decided to bring a luncheon one Sunday and spread tables in the rear of the meetinghouse at noon so all could eat together and be present for an afternoon session in which to discuss the subject of erecting a new house. One brother objected on the ground that his conscience would not allow him to eat in "the Lord's house" or in a place secured with "the Lord's money." No one argued with him about the fact the Lord's house consisted of living stones and not of concrete and boards. In deference to his conscience they rented a hall for the meal and everyone was happy. Two years later, the weak brother had become strong enough to outgrow his scruple on the matter and we could eat together in the basement without objection.

 The word for scruple is from the Latin scrupulous, and refers to "a little pebble in the shoe." Such a foreign object pains no one but the wearer of the shoe and those who do not feel the twinge must slow down until the weak brother can walk with them. Eventually, he may recognize that the pebble is not an essential part of the shoe and remove it to his comfort and the quickened pace of himself and others. The fact that we walk in the Spirit does not mean we all have the same gait. We should neither drive our brothers away nor run off from them. It is the stronger who must slow down for the weak cannot walk any faster until they also become strong.

 It was decided we would wreck the old meetinghouse and salvage any material possible and erect the new one ourselves, since we had several brethren who could oversee the construction. The sisters would take turns providing food for the workers at noon. There was a sufficiently large crew the day we started so that we wrecked the old building and stacked the material in one day. When we ,began the new one, several men from the community with carpentry skills volunteered their labor. Some of them were immersed into Christ before the new structure was completed.

 Only one incident marred the proceeding. When the framework was up some of the brethren sitting around eating their luncheon suggested we should take out insurance upon it to cover the cost of construction in case of wind, fire or other damage. One brother hooted at the idea and protested emphatically. He declared that it was the Lord's work and the Lord would protect it. He insisted that nothing adverse would happen either to the structure or to anyone working on it, and to take out insurance would be to show a lack of faith in God. He said, "it would be a shame to insure the Lord's property with unbelievers." Three days later he fell off of a scaffold and broke his arm. We took him to an "unbelieving doctor" to set the bones.

 Although the new auditorium seated more than twice as many as the former structure it was filled to capacity the very first Sunday night. It had been so long since a religious group had outgrown their structure that people flocked in to see what was happening. In spite of our narrowness and provincialism, or perhaps because of it, the number of the disciples grew.

One of my favorite areas in "God's vineyard" was the Missouri Ozarks in the region around Springfield and south to the Arkansas line. I held my first meeting in "the Queen City of the Ozarks" when I was a mere lad. It was in a tent on North National Boulevard. After thus being introduced to the region I began to conduct meetings in rural areas off the beaten track. At Walnut Hill the community gave us an excellent hearing and I liked the place because after the evening services we could turn the dogs loose in the timber along the James River and go coon hunting the rest of the night. Here I also got my first taste of fox hunting.

 It was during one of my visits to Springfield that brethren from Nixa, a village some twelve miles south, came to interview me and invite me to hold a three week gospel meeting for them. When I began on the third Sunday in September I inaugurated a custom that became an annual affair and continued until I had held thirteen meetings, baptizing some two hundred persons. In this little community of about three hundred population there were three or four religious edifices, but the largest was owned by the Church of Christ.

 There were three elders — John Bennett, Otis Stine and Jonas Parsons. The first‑named had been a rural schoolteacher until retirement. Then he became president of the local bank and general advisor to the community. Since I stayed in his home during many of these meetings I became well acquainted with him and met scores of people who came to him to help them draw up legal documents and even to write letters for them, since some of them were virtually uneducated and could not "put their thoughts down on paper." The congregation was given prestige by the number of people who studied the Word every day and became proficient in it. A wealth of talent was developed and the congregation grew strong under the guidance of their shepherds.

Every year during our annual meeting I was invited to speak in a number of high schools in the area. I recall that a few of them had makeshift buildings and inadequate classroom facilities, but the concern of the teachers and their dedication to their profession made up for the physical lack. Some high school students were from such poverty‑stricken homes they came to school barefoot, bringing lunch pails or sacks containing cold biscuits and sorghum molasses. No days were ever wasted during my three week preaching stints for people arranged meetings and announced them by word of mouth so that I spoke from the porches of country stores or at sawmills and grist mills where native people gathered. The men chewed tobacco and listened with gravity while the women held the children and heard me gladly.

When such meetings were not possible all of us gathered at the home where I was to eat the noonday meal, the women bringing food to spread together, and while there were no formal meetings we sat and talked together well into the afternoon. These were times of simple enjoyment where hearts were cemented together by the love of God and all of us grew in knowledge of the Book as we discussed controverted passages. They were especially profitable to me because of the simple unadorned lives of the people enriched by their constant contact with the divine revelation. Some years I stayed in a different home every night of the three weeks, and often I have blown out the kerosene lamp and tumbled into a bed where the tick was filled with straw or corn shucks, and slept like a log because of physical exhaustion.

The baptizing was done in the beautiful crystal‑clear James River. One Sunday afternoon a huge audience gathered on the gravel bar to see twenty‑three persons immersed into the relationship involved in the name of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Often baptism was performed at night. Cars would be driven to the spot and parked so their lights could be focused on the river. Fish could be seen swimming in the depths. Night birds blended their plaintive calls with the songs of the believers.

 Not all such gatherings were as peaceful as this. A year before Nell and I were married, I pitched a tent near Bull Creek and stayed a week by myself. I had been in the "Shepherd of the Hills" country, made famous by Harold Bell Wright, even prior to this, when I was seventeen. This was before the days of the tourist invasion and the only way to travel the region was in an old taxi driven by Mrs. Pearl Spurlock who lived in Branson and made daily trips through the area to accommodate people who stopped over between trains. Most of the roads were merely gravel‑strewn trails and the sites featured by Wright were still existent.

Mutton Hollow was an unspoiled wilderness, and one could view its glory from Sammy Lane's Lookout. Preachin' Bill's barn stood to indicate where his log cabin had been and one could walk up "the trail nobody knows how old" to the cabin of Uncle Matt and Aunt Mollie. Uncle Ike, the postmaster at the crossroads, was still living, a bearded patriarch with a Harvard degree who chose to live in solitude but who was anxious enough to visit with me when I met him. The country got into my blood and I decided to go back and camp by myself away from any habitation, and think things out. I selected the right place. Every day I could see the blue haze dropping down on faraway hills and every evening while sitting by the campfire I could hear the eerie hoot of owls and the lonely cry of the whippoorwills.

I saw but two persons in the whole week. A couple of moonshiners came to investigate and assure themselves I was not a revenue agent searching for their stills. They cautioned me not to go up the hollow across the creek from my tent and ask questions afterward. When they learned I was a preacher they immediately proposed that I speak at the schoolhouse on Friday night since the community "hadn't hearn no preachin' since God knowed when." They offered to "norate it around" so I consented.

 I didn't realize that such occasions were generally used as an excuse for resumption of feuds although I noticed when the hour drew near for the meeting to begin a lot of the men were talking a little too loudly and the smell of liquid corn pervaded the air. The women and children went inside and so did a few of the men. The rest lounged around outside and their voices could be heard as I announced the first song. Since few knew it and there were no books, I sang but one verse. It was just as I was preparing to read an introductory chapter that someone outside called through an open window to a man inside, using an unmentionable epithet, and daring him to come outside. Without hesitation the one who was challenged climbed up on the seat and dived through the window, knocking the prop out as he went.

In a matter of seconds the place was in an uproar with everyone pressing toward the door. Outside the drunken frenzied mob was already engaged in a free‑swinging melee. It was not necessary to choose up sides. Everyone knew what side he was on when he arrived. Rocks flew freely. The moonlight glinted off the sharp blades of Barlow knives. When two sheriff's deputies arrived, those who could not walk were loaded into cars and taken to Branson to be sewed up.

Later I became good friends with some of the "feuders" who had served terms in the state penitentiary. One in particular was a mere lad when he and his father lay flat on their stomachs at the edge of their woods, resting rifles upon the fence rails to shoot down a neighbor and his two sons working in the field. They did it to fulfill a "blood oath" laid upon them by the boy's grandfather while he was dying from a gunshot wound. When I met the one‑time boy he had "done his time" and had been released. He had married a girl from the hills and they welcomed me to their home. I baptized the whole family as well as some members of the opposite clan. When I was preaching anywhere within forty miles the former "sworn enemies" came together to hear me, bringing as many of their neighbors as they could get on the truck.

The year of 1931 was memorable in our lives for several reasons. For one thing, Nell again became pregnant and suffered a lot from nausea and discomfort during the summer months. We were fortunate that we had been virtually adopted by George and Minnie Kryselmier who not only came to get Jerry often because they adored him, but also had us at their house for meals with great regularity when George was home from a trip on the Missouri Pacific which he served as an engineer. Minnie was a superb cook with an old‑fashioned flair and we would visit at the table for a long time unless there was a special radio program on WLS "the Prairie Farmer Station" in Chicago. Since we were too poor to own a radio ourselves, any specially announced program was an excuse to visit the Kryselmiers, who generally honored the arrangement by inviting us to eat with them. We never rejected the invitation.

It was in 1931 we bought our first house. A rather lovely six‑room bungalow with a large porch in front became vacant and was offered for sale at $3,100.00 I had never been on a salary and never charged for my services. I simply took what the brethren gave me as I have continued to do through the years. At the time I was averaging about $25.00 per week and we had another baby on the way. But we wanted a place of our own, so we borrowed $300 for the initial payment from Nell's brother Arvel, and began the monthly payments which we continued more than ten years. Nell and I were both troubled about being in debt. To this day we dislike owing anyone anything "but to love one another" and we sense a real relief when a bill is paid.

It was early in the morning of December 10, 1931, that Nell awakened to tell me she had felt her first pains. At this time I had developed a better "husband image" and proceeded with arrangements with more method and less excitement than when Jerry was born twenty‑seven months previously. I summoned Dr. Stanley Love, son of the man who delivered Jerry, and he arrived with greater alacrity than did his father. It was a good thing he did because Nell was in labor but little more than an hour when our baby girl joined the family circle to be given the previously agreed upon name of Sharon Sue. She weighed ten pounds, and Sister Edwards, who again helped us in this critical time, commented upon what a well‑formed and happy baby she was right from the start.

Jerry suffered no emotional trauma because a new life had come to share the attention of his parents. We had carefully prepared him in advance until he experienced the same joyful anticipation as ourselves. When Sue was awake he would stand by her little bed and try to get her to smile at him. It was no great task as she was ready to do so with the least personal attention. Life again became a smoothly functioning routine for all of us except that Nell once more had to include the daily bathing of and attention to a chubby little cherubic being.