Pilgrimage of Joy. . . No. 54

TALKING PLAINLY WITH EACH OTHER
W Carl Ketcherside

The eighth annual unity forum was held July 5-7, 1973, at Tulsa, Oklahoma. Local disciples had worked diligently in promoting it. Brethren were in attendance from 15 states and Canada. The interest was superb. Perry Epler Gresham, former president of Bethany College, and an authority on Alexander Campbell, spoke the same night as I did. His style was inimitable. Although he was on the board of huge corporations, his speech was given in a kind of down-home, “cracker barrel style” which made him appear as a country philosopher.

I told a simple story about an early incident in my life, in which I reacted adversely against my brother because I became unsettled as to whose child I really was. It was a homely little piece which hardly deserved a hearing in such August circumstances. Yet it seemed to impress the audience in a manner which some of my more profound reasoning failed to do. I have wondered a lot of times since that night, if it might not be the case that we are divided purely because of our lack of ability to talk plainly and simply. Only recently I had a letter from a college professor who said he was searching one night for something which he could use to illustrate what fellowship was all about. He came across the article in Mission, and read it to his class. I have never been able to write another article of that kind, yet I wrote that one in one sitting. Apparently it dipped the well of communications dry.

I was impressed with the fact that few of the local members of the churches of Christ attended. I was told that they were warned not to come. Most of those who were present were “freedom fighters” who had struggled with the dogmatism and sterile orthodoxy of the institution and had wrenched themselves free. It was not yet time for people in general to get their eyes opened to the fact that they were being held as hostages to a System. That would come later. A goodly number of those who did come were self-styled “charismatics.” I deplored the brand as a separatist title. It always appealed to me as being divisive in its very nature. Everyone who has a gift from God is charismatic, and that includes all. Among these who came was Ben Franklin, who was later to hold a debate with Guy N. Woods. The debate did but little good. It settled nothing. But the unity group at Tulsa was significant in that it brought together a group of saints who might not otherwise have met. They learned to listen to one another despite wide divergences in their views.

Later, I went to the Lake Springfield Christian Assembly at Springfield, Illinois, to address a group of men. The camp was beautifully situated commanding a view of part of the lake. The brethren used it as a youth camp during the summer, and when September came, they availed themselves of the opportunity of getting together to talk over their problems and recount their victories. Generally they sought for speakers of reputation who could share with them new insights into the Word. I think that such gatherings are reminiscent of the pioneer culture of which we partook in our early years. People on the frontier felt an urge to come together to reinforce the faith, and to listen to a rehearsal of “those things most surely believed among us.” It is a great loss that it becomes ever more difficult to get people to come to such meetings.

From there I went down to Cabool, Missouri in the Ozarks. It was an interesting place. It was a center of small farms from which came some of the 60,000 pounds of poultry per month, and the hundreds of cases of eggs shipped out every week. The Ozarks farmer does not try to conquer the wilderness. Instead, he makes friends with it. He is generally concerned with small plots of it that he can use for pasture and orchard. But chickens and eggs bring in the regular income. As the farmers say, “You can’t rightly tell about fruit. Frost or blight is apt to get it. But not a hen. A hen works right on, rain or shine.” Besides, the women can generally look after the chickens.

The congregation, like so many others in small areas, had been through some traumatic experiences. I sought to help them as much as I could. I was fortunate to have with me a dear brother and sister from Astoria, Illinois, Mr. and Mrs. Evan Price. Those who wished to do so gathered at a little restaurant daily and we talked and ate together, speaking quietly and meditatively together of our relationship to God through His marvelous grace.

I went next to Columbus, Indiana, where there are six thousand people who claim allegiance to Christ in the restoration movement. They are divided into several large congregations. I went to New Hope, which is just a short distance outside the city. The congregation dates way back in history. Immediately behind the meeting-house is an old cemetery, the markers of which indicate burials of many decades past. Daily I strolled through this hallowed spot where “the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.” The congregation is ably served by my good brother, Mat Malott. It was once primarily a gathering-place of rural people. Now it is growing in membership and is composed of many from the city as well as from nearby towns.

At Fairborn, Ohio a pleasant surprise awaited. The crowds were so large as to necessitate extra chairs in the aisles at night. The day sessions, which were open forums, brought in more than sixty persons. The questions were of special interest. The answers were eagerly received. It was in these daytime sessions that the greatest good was accomplished. One thing which impressed me was the similarity of the questions. Whether it was in a Christian Church or Church of Christ, whether in the city or in a rural setting, the same things troubled the people.

November 5, I went to Terre Haute, Indiana, at the invitation of the campus ministry, to deliver three addresses in a hall on the campus of the State University. It was a delightful occasion. I met with the Christian students early in the morning for prayer and Bible Study before the sun was up. An excellent audience was present each night, with brethren coming from far and near to be a part of the encounter. It was during this time I learned a great deal about Elton Trueblood and the “Yokefellow Movement” which he began. I was not too far from Richmond, Indiana. Trueblood credits C. S. Lewis with his conversion from a liberal theologian to a Christ-centered believer. In his autobiography he writes, “C. S. Lewis reached me primarily because he turned the intellectual tables.”

It was about this time that a new journalistic enterprise began. It was devoted primarily to reaching Disciples of Christ, Independent Christian Churches, and Churches of Christ. It had three consulting editors, one drawn from each segment. It was aptly and significantly titled “Fellowship.” Several issues were printed and they contained some meaty articles. But it never really got off the ground. I have often wondered why. I have come to the conclusion that it was because it represented the dream of a top echelon of men. No movement has ever marched which did not begin at the grass-roots level. A great many lesser, and much inferior, papers are being published in our day. And “Fellowship” seems to have been needed so much.

At Indiana University, Stanley McDaniel, who was a professor at College of the Redwoods in California, when we first met, made application to do his doctoral theme on “The Life and Preaching of W. Carl Ketcherside.” Permission was granted and Stanley, who now teaches at Johnson Bible College, began collecting my materials. He did not neglect any source. The result’ is that he accumulated the largest body of my writings of anyone on earth. He listened to numerous tapes, besides reading every book and paper to which I had contributed. Finally, after several years he completed his thesis. I appreciate what he said, but I still wonder why the university agreed to allow it to be written about such an obscure personage.

I went next to address the annual banquet of the Eastern Lakeland Christian Campus Ministry at Charleston, Illinois. I felt while I was there that it was one of the most effective and best conducted of any such work I had seen. The students seemed to be gung-ho for Jesus. They were not Christians and students, but Christian who were students. There is a difference. The first think of their student life as separate from their Christian commitment; the second see it as merely a part of it. In my talk I sought to recapture for all their mission. They were “secret agents” for another kingdom. They were on enemy territory and in an alien land. They had been dropped behind the lines as commandos for Christ. They were on a search and rescue mission. They were members of the heavenly Central Intelligence Agency. Their allegiance was not to the school first but to their absent King. Someday He would return and rescue them from the asphalt jungle.

A short time before, the Humanist Society issued Humanist Manifesto Number Two. It was anything but complicated. It was a plain declaration of war against everything which I held dear. It called for a freeing of the American mind from what it called the fear and dread of the supernatural, and predicted that by the year 2000, all forms of superstition and religion would pass from the scene. It was a calculated flinging down of the gauntlet in the face of those who believed that Jesus was the Son of God. It was signed by a host of men and women who were regarded as the most erudite in our land. They were the instructors of thousands of our youth. Among them were a couple of professors at Indiana University. Recognizing the grave danger of raw humanism being dumped like raw sewage into the clear streams of thought, and realizing that it had already infiltrated our whole life structure, I welcomed the opportunity to appear on the campus of Indiana University at Bloomington, to discuss openly the implications of the manifesto.

I carefully studied the whole question until I was thoroughly conversant with its appeal to the modern scientific and technological mind. I became convinced that the inclination to place all things in the realm of relativity had laid the foundation of the theory in its modern form. So I sat down and worked out my presentation on a three prong basis. (I) Where I agreed with humanism; (2) Where I disagreed with humanism; (3) My personal apology, in which I set forth the reasons for believing that the faith for which I make my plea is far superior to humanism. I gave a five point breakdown in developing the last. It was a privilege to be on a modern campus and to be brought into contact with some of the brilliant minds to be found there. Yet it was tragic to see how far the school had drifted since the days when David Starr Jordan was president of the institution.

I closed the year with the brethren at Washington, Illinois. They had invited me to come and speak on the theme “Meeting Problems of Today’s Youth.” It was one of my favorite subjects and I was quick to accept the invitation. Reconstructing the year in my memory, it appeared to be one in which God had been rich in His abundant mercies. I had traveled all over the United States without undue incident. I had engaged in all kinds of encounters and had come out relatively unscathed. It was a great feeling to be used of God in so many different ways and for so many things. I faced the coming year with confidence in the divine mercy and compassion.

As 1834 drew to a close, Alexander Campbell wrote in Millennial Harbinger, “We expect and hope to travel more than usual during the ensuing year, the Lord willing. On deciding the rival claims of numerous sections, we incline not to be arbitrary, and have nearly adopted this resolution --- to be governed by the number of readers we have in various places, our experience hitherto proving that we can be most useful in those regions, because there is something to work upon in the minds of such communities.” That said it for me also.