Pilgrimage of Joy . . . No. 48

SUMMONED TO COME UP HIGHER
W. Carl Ketcherside

The year 1971 will be remembered by different people for various reasons. Southern Californians will recall the severe earthquake which resulted in buckled freeways, and 62 deaths, with more than a billion dollars of damage. Space enthusiasts will recall it as the year when the astronauts of Apollo 14, led by Alan Shepard, spent 10 hours exploring the lunar surface. Revolutionaries will remember it as the year of the bomb in the basement of the United States Capitol, which resulted in $300,000 damage.

Indians will recall it as the time when Federal marshals occupied Alcatraz Island which had been seized by representatives of various tribes who hoped to make of it a cultural center. Theatrical buffs will remember it because of the opening of the John F. Kennedy Center for the performing arts in Washington. Felons will call to mind the occupation of the state prison in Attica, New York, when 34 of their number died with 9 of their hostages in the brief battle with state police and sheriff’s deputies. Blacks will recall the death of Ralph J. Bunche, under-secretary general of the United Nations, who received the Nobel peace prize in 1950. He was the first Negro Nobel Laureate, and a man of distinction.

Only yesterday newspaper headlines screamed these events. The hearts of men palpitated with pride or failed them for fear as they read them. How much a part of the dim past they now seem. How far away they appear. How remote they are from our present busy lives. There is no Nobel prize for those who labor for spiritual peace. But there is a noble reward at the end of the way. So our own striving for peace among believers went on. It seems almost incredible that I was engaged in 24 meetings in 16 states. These were in a context that reached from ocean to ocean and from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico.

I have recently read again of the travels of the pioneer proclaimers. By steamboat down the Ohio, by stagecoach through forests and across the prairies beyond, and then by horseback along faint trails they made their way. Wherever they went the light shone. Now I can board a jet in Saint Louis and I am within three hours of any place in the United States. What a responsibility this lays upon me. I seem to have accepted the challenge in 1971, for I was away from home more than I was at home. I must tell you about a few of these encounters as they are part of the warp and woof out of which the pattern of life has been woven. But first I must inject a note of sadness for the year was one in which some of my dearest friends were summoned to come up higher.

Bob Haddow was a real inspiration to me. He was completely paralyzed. Yet he became a great reader. He laboriously formed letters and words and wrote to me. He came wherever I was in California in a special van in which his bed could be hauled. His mother always accompanied him, driving the vehicle. Generally his grandmother was also along. He believed in what I was doing. He dreamed the same dreams as myself. It was in his home I first met Harry Robert Fox, Jr., recently home from long service in Japan, and became convinced that I was in the presence of one of the humblest, most erudite and well-read minds I had ever had contact with. Subsequent contacts did not change my thinking. I wept when I learned that Bob Haddow’s spirit had wrenched itself free from its twisted clay tabernacle.

The deaths of Dewey Elliott, of Richmond, Mo.; Noel Sutterfield, of Detroit, Michigan; and Forest Tabor, of Fairplay, Kentucky, made me realize the far-flung regions in which men lived who had affected my life. Then, in rapid succession three more were called home who had been of profound impact in my life. The first was Everett Noel, of Topeka, Kansas. He was one of the first men we met when my parents moved to Topeka. When the church divided, over what now appears to me to be trivia, he stood with us. He was always helpful to my parents during their lives. I am not sure how he looked at what I advocated as God opened my ideas to the wider vistas of His kingdom. I was gradually barred from the church of my childhood and was not invited back to where I had stood as a high school youth and parroted the party line. But I love them then and I love them now, and I realized that the death of my brother marked the passing of an era.

Louis J. Kappelman was a true man of God. Born of emigrant Lutheran parentage as was I, he accepted the plea to become a Christian only, the first time he heard it at a little Arkansas congregation back in “the sticks.” He was honest, hard-working and humble. Amidst all of the pressures and tensions of the party spirit, he “kept the even tenor of his way.” I stayed in his home during some of the most dramatic periods I encountered as a preacher of the gospel, when every day brought fresh accusations woven of a tissue of falsehood, and it was refreshing to talk with someone who was unperturbed and tranquil. I learned much from him and his departure wrenched my soul.

Bertha Robinson died at the age of 87, one of the noblest Christian women to ever grace God’s footstool. Her life was of no significance among the kingdoms of men, but can never be overlooked in the kingdom of heaven. The cause for which we plead in the Saint Louis area owes its inception to her. Never married to any man on earth she was free to be a member of the bride of Christ. Her entire life was dedicated to caring for others. She possessed a patience which became proverbial and “admitted openly that she was a foreigner and a refugee on earth.” She did not leave home when she died, she went home. Nell and I still talk feelingly of her pilgrimage among us.

Stewart Whyte, of Alton, Illinois, was a real inspiration to me during his life. He was the victim of an incurable condition and succumbed prematurely. Homer Harvey, who was a master of the stonemason’s art, and an inimitable carver, died at Middletown, Indiana. Dr. N. Rhoads, a member of an old-time family in our restoration movement died in Eugene, Oregon. I knew I would miss his encouraging letters. My life was impoverished by the deaths of these, all from different states, and different stations in life. Despite the divergency of their interests all had been very meaningful to me.

It was during this year I decided to concentrate my writing on a chapter which had deeply impressed me during my striving toward maturity. As I pointed out in my initial article “The Ascent of Faith,” Romans was the Alps of the new covenant scriptures, and chapter 8 was the Matterhorn, looming high above and towering into the clouds. I analyzed every word in this impressive part of the Book of books, and at the end of the year embodied all of the material in a volume titled “One Great Chapter.” It must have touched a tender chord, since we still receive orders for it long after it has gone out of print.

I began the year at the First Christian Church in Escondido, California. The series was called “College of the Bible.” It brought together people from the Church of Christ to share with those in the Christian Churches. It was a time of great fellowship. We averaged 300 per night and 150 in the morning sessions. I spoke at various civic and school gatherings with good effect. I was accompanied by Al Karges, genial and hard working.

February 1-3 I was scheduled to deliver the T. H. Johnson Memorial Lectures at All Faiths Chapel, on the grounds of Kansas State University, under sponsorship of Manhattan Bible College. Each morning we conducted an informal question and answer session at the college. In the afternoons I had an unparalleled opportunity to meet the students at Kansas State. It was during this time I came to admire so greatly Brother William Lawn, president of the Bible College. His non-sectarian attitude was refreshing to contemplate.

I went next to University Street Church of Christ at Eugene, Oregon. At the time the charismatic viewpoint was a matter of grave concern and many of the questions in the daily forum dealt with the subject. I tried to be as diplomatic as possible. I took the position that I would make no test of fellowship out of one’s personal experience to which he testified, nor allow anyone to measure my standing with God by His own experience. This was calculated to maintain fellowship with all and forbid judging of another by anyone on the basis of his own esoteric experience. I still think that these are the two gravest dangers, and of far more harmful tendency than any opinion relative to the work of the Spirit.

The Abilene Christian College Lectureship began on February 22, and I was scheduled to speak that night at the YWCA auditorium. I did not particularly like the arrangement. I did not want to appear in rivalry against the school, despite their opposition to me. There was little chance of my speech being assessed impartially but I made no reference to the school and dealt solely with the agonizing problem of disunity. Later I was invited to meet in an off-campus room with several students. Most of them and their parents were charismatic. The room was packed and we discussed until well after midnight.

March 3-5 found me speaking at the World Vision Crusade at Intermountain Bible College, Grand Junction, Colorado. Brother Erskine Scates was president of the school. He has since died and we have lost a friend and a good man. I was especially pleased to learn of the work among the Navajos by former students. These had gone on the reservation and lived in hogans, and shared the lives of the Indians as well as the transforming message. They found it easier to relate to these gentle tribesmen than to the world of violence outside. They had learned the language and the traditions and were accepted by even the older men of the clan.

March 15-19 I was back in Oregon, at Newport. I stayed in a home where I could see the restless waves of the Pacific Ocean foaming out against the shore. It was decided that I should speak about the Holy Spirit because of the unrest concerning His work in our day. I decided to pitch my talks on a positive note. It seemed to me there had been enough negativisim. The church had been troubled by various things with no relationship to the current issue, and I did not want to leave them divided over matters relating to the Spirit.

My talks were entitled The Person of the Spirit; The Purpose of the Spirit; The Performance of the Spirit: The Power of the Spirit; and the Peace of the Spirit. In our morning study, for which the room was filled, we attracted a mixed bag of eager students. Several clergymen of various backgrounds came. We had a large attendance from Churches of Christ. It was interesting to answer their questions and not forget my objective which was a plea for peace.

I made clear the difference between revelation and interpretation. The first is what God said. The second is what we think he meant by what he said. The first is the disclosure of the divine mind. It is perfect. The second is the application of the human mind to what was said. It mayor may not be perfect. We are bound by God’s Word. But no man is bound by my understanding of it. Each person upon earth must be free to engage in a private search of the divine revelation, and to deduce what it means for himself. If his deduction differs from mine, one or both of us may be wrong, but we dare not make a test of one’s relationship to God out of his relationship to my understanding of the will of God.

Robert Church, who served the saints at Newport, was in agreement with my method of teaching, and we sailed through nights with a filled auditorium, in which there were Catholic priests and nuns, as well as Lutheran ministers and others. It was interesting to see how eagerly they all learned and how they grew in a love of God in five nights and four days of intense teaching.