Pilgrimage of Joy. . . No. 55

JUNGLE FELLOWSHIP
W. Carl Ketcherside

With the beginning of 1974 I knew that we had but two more years to edit the paper. We had resolved to discontinue Mission Messenger with the December issue of 1975. It had been a part of our lives for thirty-seven years. And it would be difficult to bid it farewell. There was never a time in all of those years that we were not conscious of it. We ate with the paper during the day and slept with if at night. We calculated time from one issue until the coming of the next.

For a long time I had been wanting to do a series of articles on pure speech. I was motivated in the desire by a statement of Alexander Campbell in his “Synopsis of Reformation.” I could see that this was of prime importance. Accordingly, I commenced to write on the general theme. I started off with a quotation from Joseph Addison in the British journal called The Spectator, which was born on March 1, 1711. I closed with the statement, “I want to be with all who are saved, and I expect to be. I care not one thing for any partisan flag over an exclusivistic rampart. My hope is in Christ Jesus. I began in the Spirit and I have no intention of trying to be made perfect in the flesh.” The writings for 1974 were all gathered into a book called “Pure Speech.”

It was our custom to bind about 2250 of the books each, year. They have long since been sold, and seem to be even more popular now that they are all out of print. It is my hope that they may continue to bear the message when I leave for worlds unknown.

My first trip in 1974 was one of great interest to me. For a number of years, missionaries from Independent Christian Churches had labored in Brazil. They had planted congregations in Brasilia, and at various other points throughout that great land. In more recent times Churches of Christ began to send in workers who tended to congregate in Sao Paulo, and to work out from there. Each of these with a common restoration heritage met for a combined conference. One year one group brought in a speaker, the following year the other group had the privilege of doing so. For several years the Christian Church brethren had been asking for the privilege of having me come. Each time they were told not to do so. I was dangerous; it was not time to have me yet. My thinking was too advanced to risk having me.

Finally, the brethren decided they were going to have me whether it was approved or not. The others said that if I came they were going to ask someone to come also.’ They selected Reuel Lemmons, editor of the Firm Foundation. We had never really been together, although both of us knew we should meet if possible. We had tried to do so once or twice without success. Brother Lemmons had been provoked into making an attack upon my position in his paper. I replied and three articles from each of us had appeared in both journals. He had written one entitled “Blind in One Eye,” and I had also answered it. I had tried several times to get articles published in the Firm Foundation. Each time they were returned with a curt note saying that I was not welcome to write.

Realizing the influence of this fellow-editor I was anxious to meet him and to be with him. The circumstances were ideal. The camp, which had been rented from the Presbyterians, was carved out of the jungle. There was a kitchen and dining room at one end, and a circle of cabins, with a large assembly-hall at the other end. Brother Lemmons and I stayed in a very small unit together. In our bedroom we could reach out and touch each other from the bunks.

I learned a great deal about my companion while we were together. I am not sure he was as comfortable with the brethren from the Christian Churches, as I was. But he was formally polite to all and gave no offense. He was brought there to do a job, and he did it, and that was it. I found him to be a mellifluous orator of the old school. Some of his presentations rivaled the best of William Jennings Bryan, “the golden voice of the Platte.” This was especially true of the early morning devotionals in which we took turns speaking on one of the psalms. Since our visit I have had a longing to talk at length with Brother Lemmons about the community of saints in which we both share. There is no justifiable reason for us being apart. Certainly there is none for us appearing as enemies.

It would require too much space for me to describe all that took place in the jungle vastness, and I shall desist. It became apparent to me that the men who work there must find a solution to their problems or perpetuate among humble people a division which grew up on the frontiers of America. It is incredible that those who believe in the same Jesus, who worship the same God, who read the same Bible and sing the same songs, should project an image of alien churches upon the native minds. I worked with the young people, boys and girls who were children of the missionaries. Some of them came from remote Indian villages in the jungles of the Amazon. They were schooled by their mothers. We had a great time together.

I flew back to Saint Louis from Rio de Janeiro, in a frightful blizzard. We were bandied back and forth between airports where we were not permitted to land. We were flown to Dulles and not permitted to leave the plane. Finally we were cleared for landing at Kennedy in New York. I finally arrived in Saint Louis, having been for almost twenty-four hours without food. The next morning Nell suffered a blackout and fell with a thud in the bathroom. When I reached her I thought she was dying, from the look in her eyes. I called an ambulance and she was in the emergency room all day. They never determined the cause of the blackout, but she was in frightful pain for the ten days she stayed in the hospital, and had to be cared for when she returned home. I was glad that the providence of God brought me home when I was most needed.

It was about a month later I was scheduled to speak three times and conduct a workshop at the Christian Writer’s Clinic, held at Holiday Inn North, in Cincinnati. It was a rich experience for me. The clinic was conducted by Standard Publishing. The editors of their various publications were all present, giving advice and sharing experiences with budding journalists. I have since met people all over the United States who have told me they met me there. They have expressed themselves as being appreciative of the encouragement they received. Some of them have since blossomed into authors and have brought me copies of their books. I never had the opportunity to attend such a school as I was growing up. I simply started writing down the thoughts which came to me in my moments of meditation. I never thought I would be an editor this long.

On March 7-9 I was in Kingsport, Tennessee. I stayed in the congenial home of Max E. Smith. We had a full schedule of meetings. I spoke three nights, conducted forums each morning, spoke at two luncheons, delivered three radio addresses and made two thirty minute television appearances. It was a blessing to me to be able to enjoy the hospitality of such a gracious home and the fellowship of such a fine band of disciples as I found there. I have often thought about how the sectarian spirit cheated me in not allowing me to know so many whom God loved and whom I also found it easy to love.

I was scheduled to be in Xenia, Ohio, April 3-5, and as I was flying into an airport some twenty miles away, I noticed the pilot was having a difficult time landing the plane. We were being buffeted by heavy winds. The sky outside was almost as black as night. When we got to the home Of Bro. and Sister Jones where I was to stay, we learned that Xenia had experienced a frightful tornado and many homes, schools and churches had been wiped out. We hurried to the meetinghouse to find it had been turned into a rescue station. People came straggling in, dripping from the torrential rain which had followed the storm.

Some of the members had lost their homes. Included among them was Brother Isaac Flora, the minister. Many of those who came to the church building still had loved ones missing, in some cases buried in the debris. The women warmed up the chili which had been prepared for our lunch the next day. Coffee was made and thankfully received. Everyone had a tale to tell about how the storm swept in leaving devastation in its path. There were those who could not talk. The uncertainty numbed them. The tornado was one of scores which had harassed the country on that frightful day. Our meeting was canceled and the city began the monumental task of cleaning away the rubble in preparation for rebuilding. It was a tragic thing.

I went next to Los Angeles to make a special film with the Vernon Brothers. It was made at Warner Studios. They had been making “Homestead, U.S.A.” which featured their birthplace and home in the Ozarks. It was a successful presentation. The four brothers formed a real quartet. All of them had married wives who were singers and who had a quartet of their own. Then the children followed in the footsteps of the parents, and they could form almost any kind of combination of voices. They did an excellent job of sending forth the message on wings of song. Best of all, they did not strive to make it by their distinctiveness. They just got up and sang their heads off, and that was distinctive enough in our day. Besides that, all four of the boys were preachers and they could exhort and encourage their listeners to be faithful.

You will recall that it was the Vernon Brothers who led singing for me and did special numbers years before, when I was at Lakewood, California where Ernest Beam was serving when he died. I was there at the invitation of his successor, the inimitable William Jessup, who will never receive enough honor in this world to repay his noble efforts in behalf of the unity of the believers. It was great to be reunited with the brothers again. We used the old Roy Rogers set and present on the program with us was Dale Evans (Rogers), his wife. I was able to talk with her frequently during the long day of filming and I came to admire her a great deal. She told me of their desire to have children and how they had adopted so many of all races.

The night before I had spoken at Westchester to a full house. It was served by one of my favorite people on earth, Harold Thomas. He succeeded Bill Banowsky, who had resigned to become president of Pepperdine University. Harold had been a real pioneer, a trailblazer in the northeast, especially in Maine. He and his good wife were great souls, addicted to the kingdom, willing to make themselves vulnerable for the sake of Jesus. In the same congregation was Harry Robert Fox, Sr., who, with his family had spent so many years in Japan, beloved by the native peoples. I already knew Harry Robert, Jr., and Logan, both of whom were possessed of a fabulous knowledge of the Word. It was a rare privilege to see their revered father.

On May 9, I delivered the baccalaureate address for the graduating class at Cincinnati Bible Seminary, and the next week was in a meeting at Amarillo, Texas. It was my first time to actually conduct a series for brethren who had always opposed the Sunday School. Some of the brethren were a little skeptical of my coming. The preacher was David Sullins, a unique and precious brother. I stayed in his home. Dave had been in Germany during the war, charged with the repair of the motor vehicles for a contingent of motorized calvary stationed near Berchtesgaden, the mountain retreat of Adolf Hitler, about ten miles from Salzburg. He had fallen in love with an attractive German girl and they married. It was fun attempting to “sprechen sie Deutsch” with her, especially since I only remembered from my childhood, the little warning taught all children:

“Messer, glauber, schare, und licht,

Ist for kleine kinder nicht.”

But we had a great meeting and talked about what God expected of all of us in this age. I went back once again for another meeting and found the brethren able to work across the lines with those who did not agree with them.