Pilgrimage of Joy. . . No. 31

BACK HOME FROM ENGLAND
W. Carl Ketcherside

On May 28 we arrived in Yorkshire, the largest county in Great Britain. It was once the foremost manufacturing center of the world.

We went to Leeds, which is famous for being in the midst of the textile industry. Fred and Hilda Hardy met us, and took us to the home of their son-in-law, Geoffrey Lodge. Almost every home in England has a name and Geoffrey and Bessie called theirs Maranatha. It was a constant reminder of the fact that the Lord is coming.

The next day two carloads of us drove through the beautiful Wharfe River Valley to the lonely Ilkley Moors. We left our cars and tramped through the wild gorse and bracken covered country. It is a land of grouse shooting. We heard the call of the curlews and saw the shaggy sheep which pasture on this awe-inspiring stretch of deserted country. As I looked back upon it from the car window my mind was full of “Wuthering Heights,” by Emily Bronte, written about these same moors.

That night I spoke at Morley to a crowd which filled the little place of meeting. Geoffrey Lodge presided. We engaged in discussion with the Nazarene and Pentecostal folk who attended until we were late for dinner at the Thomasson home. After the dishes had been cleared away, we got our Bibles and talked about the Word until midnight. It came to me that this could be the strength of the Cause all over the earth, for little groups to meet in homes and discuss frankly and without formality the truth from heaven.

The following day we drove to Knaresborough where a ruined castle looks down from the height where it has stood a thousand years. It was market day and this quaint town which looked like an illustration from a book of Mother Goose rhymes was crowded with stands and temporary little shops set up. We wandered through narrow winding streets and alleys, flanked by age-old buildings with slate roofs. Far below flowed the picturesque river. That evening found us at East Ardsley where I spoke at a gospel meeting presided over by Brother E. Worth. It was Memorial Day at home but no one knew that in England. The next morning we departed for Tunbridge Wells, in Kent, the garden spot of southeastern England, bordering on the English Channel. The white cliffs of Dover have made it justly famous. The congregation was small and had an inadequate and poorly-situated meetingplace. It had been plagued by internal troubles, but under the guidance of Albert Winstanley and Ralph Limb had overcome them. I was in a ten-day series of meetings, during which Nell and I made our abode in the hospitable home of a beloved sister, Gertrude Hill. One man was restored, and one immersed. He was the thirtieth person I had baptized into Christ since crossing the ocean.

On the morning of June 13 we bade farewell to the saints in England. We boarded an early train for London, where we spent the day at the World’s Fair which was then in progress. That evening we caught the boat train to Harwich, where we embarked on a steamer which landed us at Hook Of Holland the next morning. We began a tour of historical sights in Holland, Belgium and France. It was an impressive time but I shall mercifully spare you the details.

We went aboard the great ship which was to bear us back home at Le Havre, and arrived in New York on the last day of June. On our train trip back home I stopped at New Castle, Indiana, where a four-day mass meeting was starting which brought hundreds together from California to Pennsylvania. On the first night Adam Bruce and William Horrocks from Canada spoke. On Tuesday night I addressed a packed auditorium on “The Name of the Church.” I took the position that the body of Christ was given no title, and did not need a distinctive name since it had no rivals. To name it was to denominate it, and thus to separate the family of God. This was my first attempt to state convictions which were beginning to form. Fortunately no one seemed to know what I was saying and those who mentioned it thought it was great. It was only later, after I became convinced from reading Alexander Campbell that I came to the conclusion that even the term “church” was a misnomer.

Three days after I arrived home in Saint Louis, Brother J. H. Mabery of Bonne Terre, Missouri left this world to be with Jesus. Fred Killebrew and I spoke words of comfort to the huge audience which had gathered in his honor. He had proclaimed the Word all during his long employment as the chief electrician for Saint Joseph Lead Company. Many men who had been assigned to work under him had been led to Christ. He had started several congregations of believers and we had worked together in weak places with full understanding and appreciation of one another. It was a grievous loss to me.

When the time came to return to Beech Grove, Arkansas, Darrell Bolin went with me. He spoke at Beech Grove and Evening Star. The attempted boycott was completely broken. Brethren came from nearly all congregations. Emotions were running high. One morning we received word to appear at the meetinghouse. When we arrived there were ten men there, including several elders and deacons from Paragould. Present also were Franklin Puckett and G. K. Wallace. When we entered the building and were seated, Brother Wallace took the floor and announced it was time to call my hand and he was there to do it.

He presented propositions he had drawn up on the preacher-pastor system and colleges. With a flourish he threw them down on the table and demanded that we put up or shut up. I waited for a minute while the awed silence seemed like an eternity. I slowly arose and walked to the pulpit. Looking the brethren in the face I said I would accept the offer to debate and the propositions as drawn. I proposed that we include a discussion of the scripturality of an evangelist looking after and exercising oversight of a congregation he had planted until elders could be developed and ordained. I felt this needed some clarification. Brother Wallace in a meeting at Paragould which was held to stop my inroads into the southland had misrepresented my position on the question. It was agreed to include it.

We decided to not have moderators but to allow each man to be responsible for his own conduct. Each of us was to choose a timekeeper. I agreed to meet Brother Wallace anytime, and his supporters selected the week containing the Fourth of July the following year. We announced the debate that night. The interest in it was intense, and many regretted that it was so far in the future. As one old brother put it, “We are ready to see the fur fly now and it looks like the best thing to do would be to put the two of you up on the stand and let you go at one another!”

I was really too busy to think much of the debate or to make preparation for it. On August 7 I began a one-week study at Farmington, Missouri, during which one was immersed. On September 9 Ellis Crum and I entered into a series of meetings at Independence, Missouri, and it was a real privilege to me to work with such a talented man. On September 23 I was at Eureka congregation, a fine rural group near Meadville, Missouri, close to the home of General John J. Pershing at Laclede. On October 7 I began at Nixa, Missouri, in the Ozarks, the scene of so many meetings in my earlier days. James Baysinger led the singing and did a marvelous job. We immersed 22 in the three meetings.

The fall and winter months were filled with activity. Three things stand out in my mind as I review events. First, the amount of training of men in various congregations. The Saint Louis Bible Study began November 5 with students from many states. E. M. Zerr came for three lectures on Prophecy. But there were special studies and training classes all over the United States. Brethren were being developed to edify, to do personal work, and to share the Good News.

Second, the continuing contact by mail with the saints in Great Britain. There were letters and articles from England, Scotland and Ireland. Many of these were from humble saints who had come to love Nell and me. They wrote about their families and what was happening in their congregations. We answered them all immediately. They sent calendars and shortbread and other things at Christmas. It was several years before the correspondence dropped away and finally slowed down to a trickle. Death was taking its toll of those who had met us. It meant much to hear from these precious ones.

Third, the intensification of feeling in the southland because of the coming debate. Brethren in many congregations who had entertained grave doubts about the rise of the clergy system began to surface. As they did so, local preachers felt forced to speak in defense of their position publicly. This only served to increase suspicion that something was wrong. But it gave the Baptist Church a respite from attack. Since I was regarded as the greatest enemy to the church in this generation, my name began to be heard with increasing frequency in sermons. It appeared in bulletins, in tracts, on the radio, and even in public advertisements in newspapers as brethren sought to stifle and kill my influence before people had even heard me.

H. F. Sharp of Blytheville, Arkansas,’ took up the cudgel with an article in the October issue of Gospel Guardian. He titled it “Reckless Reporting by the Saint Louis Pope.” In it he called me, among other things, a heretic, a troublemaker, and a pope. He accused me of malicious falsehood, divisive teaching, damnable heresy, and preaching filth. All of this was because of my conviction relative to the ministry of all the saints and the priesthood of all believers. Our brother only served to inflame the issue and to encourage others who had never met me to inveigh against me.

For weeks I became the subject of radio programs in Arkansas, Kentucky and South Missouri. Those who spoke against me had never met me. They had never read a word I had written. They operated purely upon hearsay. Some of them were contradictory. But they sought to prejudice the minds of men against me. The preachers all expected to attend the debate but they did not want the “common people” to come. It was alleged that I could make black appear to be white, that I was a master brainwasher, and that what I said should go in one ear and out the other. It did not work as intended because many of those who heard resolved to come and listen to me out of curiosity.

At the time I had not yet formulated my present conviction that public debating of issues among brethren achieves but little lasting good. It would be several years before I would become bold and brave enough to hang up my verbal gloves and announce that my participation in such partisan encounters belonged to my days of spiritual immaturity. At the time I liked to debate. I liked the exchange of wit and repartee. I gloried in being chosen as a champion. I rejoiced in and responded to the audience reaction.

I made my preparation with full conviction that I was battling for the truth. I still believe that. I am not sure I was as prayerful as I ought to have been. I may have relied too much upon my own ability and knowledge. But I realized it was a battle to the death. One of the combatants was wrong, and one of us would lay his life on the line spiritually.