Pilgrimage of Joy … No. 52

GETTING ACQUAINTED IN TEXAS
W Carl Ketcherside

Hershel Ottwell died on Thanksgiving Day, 1972. It was a sad loss to many of the saints, and especially to me. We had grown up together as boys in the country. We used to play together on Sunday afternoons. I was older than Hershel, but we admired and loved one another. He was an excellent teacher. He had devised the fine art of making charts and used them a great deal. He loved to work with small and needy groups and to see them grow. Teddie Renollet and I conducted memorial services. As I saw him lying there with his lips sealed by death I realized that one of God’s noblemen had been mustered out of the church militant. We had said farewell to one of the great proclaimers of the Good News.

The year of 1973 had hardly begun until it brought news of the death of an ex-president, Lyndon Johnson. He died of a heart attack while en route from his ranch to a hospital in San Antonio. Always a controversial figure, the world still argues over some of his decisions. He was buried in a humble shaded family plot upon the banks of the Pedernales River. Meanwhile, his successor, Richard Nixon was becoming more involved in the Watergate scandal with each passing day. And he was forfeiting the confidence of the American people with each move he made. The “Saturday night massacre” in which he fired Archibald Cox, Attorney general Richardson, and his deputy, Rukelshaus, was almost the last straw.

The “long national nightmare” as Gerald Ford described it, was augmented by the conduct of the Vice President, Spiro T. Agnew. He resigned his office to avoid further prosecution. On December 6, Ford was sworn in to take his place, the first man to enter office under the terms of the 25th Amendment. The trial of the Watergate accused was televised. Each episode was like driving the knife a little deeper into the body politic.

Early in January I went with Leroy Garrett to the Preacher’s Workshop at Abilene Christian College. The weather was frightful. A blizzard swept across the land leaving the roads ice-covered and hazardous. Cars were in the ditches the entire route. Plane service was completely canceled. Despite this 700 men gathered for the event. I spoke on fellowship. Harold Hazelip, of Memphis, Tennessee, and Richard Rogers, of Lubbock, Texas responded. Then I answered questions for the rest of the morning. Due to the importance of the theme and the interest in it, J. D. Thomas had not arranged anything else and we had the full session. It was an interesting time. Some agreed with me. Others were bitterly opposed. It would be interesting to see the reaction if the speech were being made now. Great changes have occurred. The position I advocated is much more widely accepted in these days.

January 31, I went to Kentucky to Murray State College, for meetings with the Murray Christian Fellowship. As I met with the students and answered their questions I was made to appreciate the fact that the fellowship was not limited to those who were of our persuasion. It was open to all who were seeking the answer to the great question of life itself. I met many who had grown up in various religious backgrounds. They were being ministered to according to their needs. The student rebellion was grinding to a halt but there was no adequate substitute for it. Fortunately, those who attended the Bible studies of the fellowship were being pointed to Jesus, and to march for him was the real way to go.

Before I returned home I was scheduled to speak at the Christian Church in Brookport, Illinois. The town was a microcosm of the divisions in the restoration movement. Although it was but a very small Ohio River town, at one time it had three congregations, all meeting within a few blocks of one another. The hostilities and bitterness were bequeathed from one generation to another and the feud perpetuated. The situation is somewhat alleviated now, although there are often internal troubles which beset the groups. I have often wondered what would happen in such a place if there were just one person who ignored all of the divisions and simply recognized everyone who loved Jesus as his brother. This is the way Paul did at Corinth.

The month of February proved to be very busy for me. I spoke for the North Central Regional Camp Conference at Lincoln, Illinois, and went from there to Jacksonville, Florida. I was in the home of Tillman and Ellen Cavert. It was Ellen’s father who gave the original money to build Florida Christian College. They feel very strongly that it was diverted from its original course, and they were “sold down the river.” If the truth ever becomes apparent it will look bad for the administration. While I was in Jacksonville, some sixty brothers and sisters gathered in the Cavert home where I spoke to them on fellowship.

I went next to Patoka, Illinois where I addressed a full house on the subject of the Holy Spirit. I addressed the Area Men’s Fellowship at Gillespie, Illinois, in one of the great coal mining areas of the state, and concluded the month at Columbus, Illinois, where I spoke on “The Four Dimensional Life.” For four nights I emphasized that if Christ dwells in your heart by faith, and you are rooted and grounded in love, “you may have power to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth, and length and height and depth, and to experience the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge.” If you have never known this it may be indicative that you are not one of the saints.

Early in March I went to the Family Life Conference at French Lick, Indiana. Other speakers were Dr. Robert Burns and Dr. Charles Shedd. Dr. Burns was at his inimitable best and the more than 400 persons who had enrolled thoroughly enjoyed him. Dr. Shedd had recently authored the book “The Fat is in Your Head.” He had formerly weighed 330 pounds, but was now down to 165, which was just half of his previous avoirdupois. He said he had “shed one Charlie.”

In his introduction he told us how he was motivated to write the book. In his younger days he always had to clean up his plate. It was an unpardonable sin to leave any food on it. You always had to eat what you took out even if it made you gag. His mother hovered over him with the threat, “Clean up your plate or you will get no supper.” When he got married and his children came along he could not treat them so cruelly. Still he had the neurotic aversion to food left on the plate. So he would take what the children had left, rake it out on his own plate, and eat it. This continued until one day his youngest son looked at his mother and said, “Mama, if we did not have papa we would have to keep a pig, wouldn’t we?” On such casual observations hang the writing of many books. It does not take much to trigger a real writer into starting.

The Sixth Annual Missionary Reunion of Mexico was to be held south of Cuernavaca, in Morelos, Mexico. I was invited to address it each evening for three days. It was a fascinating experience for “a gringo” like myself. We stayed in an old, old inn, and the meetings were held in a large room. In the daytime we met in a group under the beautiful trees on the grounds which were fenced in. The furniture was heavy and ponderous, all of it hand-carved by artisans of the past. The water was turned on four hours per day. If you wanted a bath you had to be there. Drinking water was obtainable from huge jugs in the hall.

The waiters spoke only Spanish and I never was quite sure what I would get when I ordered. This resulted in some frantic gestures and waving of the hands. One thing I could admire was their ability to make bread. Each morning there were six to eight different kinds of delicious fresh rolls on the table for breakfast. I could have made a meal of them alone. One day some of the missionaries took me into the native section of Cuernavaca to an ice cream parlor run by a man and his wife. The ice cream was made in flavors I had never seen before fresh corn, prunes, avocado, mango, and a host of other things too numerous to mention. I got a double dip cone, one dip being guava, and the other banana. It was delicioso!

It was interesting to hear some of the problems encountered by missionaries, especially by those who had gone to remote jungle villages, or penetrated into mountainous regions off the beaten track. It was nothing to have chickens scratching around and clucking in the buildings used for meetings, or to find a dog taking a siesta under the Lord’s Table. The improvising of various things for enhancement of teaching taxed even the most fertile and inventive minds. I learned a lot about problems on the mission field. I came to appreciate the various moral standards which had developed through the ages. But I still came away with the idea that the chief problems were one’s fellow missionaries. If one could learn to put up with them he generally had no trouble with the natives. It was interesting to see the “gung ho” American spirit come up against the “Manana” attitude of the people. The latter eventually won!

I went directly from the exotic influence of our sister country to the south to my own native town, Flat River, Missouri. It had made great changes but had not yet developed into an asphalt jungle. It was near here I was born. Here I was christened in the Lutheran Church. It was a mere formality because I never remember going back. Here I grew up in childish simplicity. Here I married Nell when I was twenty. It was good to be back home again, although the rough, rude mining settlement had grown up into a more cultural city.

The boom began just eighteen years before I was born with the sinking of a shaft that uncovered incredibly rich veins of lead ore. The place was tough, the rough and tumble life of the miners centered about the Blue Goose, the Black Bear, the Klondike and Moonlight saloons. When I was a youngster someone was always being killed in a drunken brawl. It was a real pleasure to return and I felt humbled by it all. I was thankful to see the sophistication that had replaced the early days. I spoke at the Lions Club, the Kiwanis Club, to the Rotary and Optimist Clubs. In every instance I held out the hope that is ours in Christ Jesus. When there was time I answered questions. Many of them were pertinent and penetrating.

Soon thereafter I began a tour of western Texas and eastern New Mexico. My real purpose was to expose myself to some of my friends who had never met me, and to meet as many of those who opposed me as possible. I wanted to be vulnerable. I believed in what I was saying. I had confidence in what I was trying to do. Of course, I could not generally speak in church buildings as the sectarian spirit forbade that. In the divided condition of God’s family I purposely opted for neutral locations since this would make it possible for all to attend regardless of conscience. I found out that generally the ones who fought my coming most desperately were the preachers. I am convinced that our brethren would have settled their differences years ago had it not been for the fact that they were kept apart by professionals.

At Borger, Texas, I was a guest of David Warren. A group of us met for dinner in an uptown restaurant and talked as fast as possible since time was short. We then adjourned to the lovely home of the Warrens to which people came from all over. The spacious living-room was crowded. We continued our talk until almost midnight. That night I went home with the Hutsons, to Friona, Texas. I spent the next day in the hospitable home of the senior Hutsons but we were blessed by the coming of their son Leland, and his family, to have luncheon and to spend the day with us. That evening we met in the Hospitality Room at the local bank. It was filled to capacity. I spoke about my growing concept of the fellowship for the whole family of God. It was generally well received. The big thing was to get someone to implement it.