It would serve no good purpose to pass by the year 1966, without detailing one special event which had great significance. It was the fiftieth anniversary of the First Christian Church in Lubbock, Texas, and I was invited by the genial Dr. Dudley Strain, to speak at the banquet honoring the event. Upon my arrival in Lubbock I found that Broadway Church of Christ was but a short distance down the street and that Batsell Barrett Baxter was in a meeting there, with special noonday services. I resolved to attend.
We went early and I met Bill Banowsky, who was minister, and also Jim Bevis, who was on the staff. I was amazed to see about 450 present at midday. After Bro. Baxter had finished, Bro. Banowsky arose and said he could not introduce all of the many visitors who were present, but there was one who was giving such a fresh and wholesome outlook to the churches, that he wanted all to come and meet him, for the day was coming when men would say, "We had a prophet among us and knew it not." He then asked me to stand and be identified. He also announced that he had called Dr. Strain and had reserved a table for Church of Christ folk, and he intended to hear me at the Christian Church that evening.
During the afternoon I met with more than a dozen preachers of the Christian Church -- Disciples of Christ, discussing what course would be pursued by those who loved the Lord in our day. I was appalled to see how the so-called social gospel had eroded their minds and how little of the sacred scripture they really knew. After the banquet I learned that Dr. Kline Nall, head of the English Department at Texas State University, had arranged for a wide open meeting on the subject of fellowship. It was attended by a number of Disciples of Christ ministers, together with representatives of seven different Churches of Christ. There were about ninety present. I spoke about ten minutes and then opened it for questions. To give everyone a fair opportunity for questioning, I limited the number of questions to three from one person each round.
Brother Banowsky was present and listened carefully but asked no questions. Brother Baxter quietly asked a few during the course of the evening. But Brother Thomas B. Warren set out to trap me and throw the thing into confusion. On his last question he asked a number of them, each one with a design in mind. It was easy to detect his purpose and I "headed him off at the pass." It was that evening, during the three hours "among the doctors" that I became convinced that the position I held on fellowship was unassailable and invincible, and that all the objectors could do was to quibble and cavil. I also left feeling that some of those present were in actual sympathy with my position but could not say so openly. It was a refreshing experience and made me more glad than ever that I was free in Christ.
On February 23, 24 I went to Columbia, Missouri, seat of our state university, to speak three times at a fellowship forum at Westside Christian Church, and to address those who attended the banquet for the college-university class, which was under the sponsorship of Dr. James Ferneau. It was while I was there that I became convinced that the battle for the minds of men would be fought out on the university level. It became obvious that our real enemy was humanism and secularism. I returned home to begin a study of these, and to gird myself for the future combat. It was suddenly borne home to me that we are not in the arena with ignorant anti-intellectuals any more, but with sophisticated rebels in an "age of doubt" and some of these are razor sharp.
On March 6, I began with Riverside congregation in Wichita. It was only by God's providence that I should be there. It had been the congregation where G.K. Wallace, had held forth for so long. Sister Wallace, the wife from whom he divorced, was still there. When I debated with Brother Wallace, in Arkansas, a number of years before, no one would have dared to predict that I would preach there. The people were great Christians, above the average intellectually. They were nervous and upset by the continuous attacks made upon them by other Churches of Christ in the area. They were under a constant barrage.
Bro. Robert Meyers was preaching for them, and I was with him and his great family a lot. Bob was not a traditional Church of Christ preacher, nor a preacher of Church of Christ traditions. This disturbed a few in the congregation, who not only wanted to hear the same things said, but in the same words they were accustomed to hear. I received Bob because of his deep faith in Christ, and admired his superb scholarship, although I was probably a trial to him by my lack of it. I returned for another meeting later and I suspect some good was done. Eventually Bob changed to teaching at Wichita State from Friends University, and became preaching minister at the Congregational Church in the city. I have often longed to see him again.
I would not want to be critical, nor "hurl the cynic's ban," but it seems to me that we are unable to make room under the umbrella of God's love for those who challenge us to think beyond ourselves. We are uncomfortable with men who want to scale the peaks, and dwell among the clouds. Our God is a "God of the valleys" and we prefer to dwell there "in peace and quiet" like the inhabitants of Laish who "had no dealings with other people." The demand for parrots has produced a lot of "chickens" among us. It is only when we learn to make allowance for one another in love that we will have arrived.
If you recall, 1967 was in the thick of the counter rebellion which originated primarily at Berkeley, but could have burst out anywhere. The Haight-Ashbury district in San Francisco was composed of the flotsam and jetsam of our culture which was blown up by the westerly winds. The "flower children" were doing their thing. Nudity was being flaunted. The sex-revolution was at its height. Drug abuse was fast becoming a way of life. Young people were blowing their minds as frequently as they once blew their noses. It was at this very time that Gene Rogers and Loran Biggs, ministers, brought me to Gardena, California, to spend the entire Easter break working with the young people of the area.
The arrangements were ideal. Buses brought 152 high school kids in every morning. They were alone with me for two hours. Then the church furnished them luncheon. Closed circuit television allowed the parents to see me and hear my answers to the questions, but not see the children. Their questions were terrific. They covered the whole range from the nature of religion to sexuality. I was training them to be not only aggressively pure but to wage war against the whole mixed-up social order. I wanted them to become "commandos for Christ." Those who were in high school were not there merely to study algebra and science. They were dropped behind the lines to wage a warfare. They were secret agents for the greatest kingdom ever founded. Their task was not to run from evil but to infiltrate the ranks of those who were engaged in it and take them captives for Christ. It seemed to work. In the afternoon I met with 60 college people, and at night spoke to an average of 330 adults. It seemed to me that we were privileged to give Satan a real blow and drive back the forces of darkness.
March 30 found me at the Southern Christian Convention in Kingsport, Tennessee. Present also to speak was George Gurganus, at the time with the Harding Graduate School in Memphis. He was there because of his great knowledge of missions. It gave me a chance to observe how men from the non-instrument ranks reacted around other brethren. They were not free and comfortable. I found that they simply spoke and retired from the scene. They did what they came to do and that was it. Most of them, at the outset of their speeches, disavowed the idea that their speeches implied fellowship. It was evident they were "covering their tracks" if they were questioned by some of the more radical brethren back home. There was no warm fraternization, except in the case of Bill Banowsky and Norvel Young, who seemed to appreciate being invited by the North American Christian Convention and generally appeared to have a good time. Bill Banowsky especially treated the folk like brethren.
April 10-14 I conducted a five night study on the Holy Spirit at Fort Wayne, Indiana. My good friend, Bill Lower, was minister. He has since removed to Denver, Colorado where he has done a remarkable job. The Charismatic movement was just beginning to gain momentum. Demos Shakarian and Dennis Bennett were still unfamiliar names to a lot of folk in the restoration movement. I chose to make my teaching positive, rather than negative, and to tell what the Holy Spirit does for us, rather than what He does not do for anyone.
The lessons were well received, and I kept polishing them up for a presentation elsewhere. Eventually they became the basis for two of my books One Great Chapter and Heaven Help Us. The first constituted a verse-by-verse study of Romans, chapter 8, in which Paul seems to rise to new heights in telling of God's great provision in Christ. I used a great number of the questions I received in my talks on the subject as groundwork for the material in the books, which could well have been designated a kind of "brotherhood project." I was a little astounded to find out how little most of the brethren knew about "Our Little Helper."
It was during this year I spoke at the homecoming at Johnson Bible College, where anything can happen, and something usually does. It was a rare privilege for me to be on Kimberlin Heights, where Ashley S. Johnson, through sheer drive made his dream take reality. It was here he began The School of Evangelists in 1893. Always known as "the father of the poor young preacher" he threw the doors of his school open to any young man of purpose in the mountains who was willing "to endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ." Everyone was expected to work in those days, on the farm, in the dairy, or in the kitchen. Students arose at 4:30 a.m., and found the president already up and praying.
Of course things have changed in our day, but there still hangs over the lovely campus which has displaced the rude one of an earlier day, enough of the spirit of its founder to sanctify many of the students and to give them some of the courage of him who, like Napoleon, refused to recognize that there was such a word as "impossible." It was a really great thing to be there where so many of his books had been written. I had read all of them.
There were two events which I attended in 1966 which were outstanding because of their nostalgic value. The first one sought to recapture for our day the spirit of Cane Ridge where it all began. It was the Second Annual Brush Arbor Meeting, near Fairfield, North Carolina, held on June 24. When I arrived the day before I found a number of men presiding over the roasting pits on which lay four hogs and and a whole beef. The men were under the direction of a chef who told them when to replenish the fire under the spits and grills. They worked all night long preparing for the next day.
People came early to allow time for visiting. They parked in a huge field, directed by several men into the long rows of vehicles. Everything was very systematic and orderly. By the time for the morning meeting there were about three thousand present. The license plates bore the names of a number of states. The pulpit was erected out in the open and had a canopy of brush over it. It was a haunting reminder of the old days. I recalled the times I had spoken in a brush arbor in the Missouri Ozarks in my younger days. After I had spoken in the morning meeting, the people lined up in six rows to be served with meat and slaw. The food was great and the fellowship was wonderful. Nothing was lacking.
The other event was The Cumberland Christian Camp Meeting, held out in a state park near Corbin, Kentucky. The town itself was renowned as the home of Colonel Sanders, of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame. One could see the restaurant where he had gone bankrupt, with nothing left but a recipe and a vision. These he had parlayed into a fortune. The colonel was immersed while still a boy and had been a member of several Christian Churches.
The camp meeting was held under a huge tent. A number of brethren pitched tents around it and stayed for the entire thing, including the chicken barbecue prepared by men of the Corbin area the last evening. It was my privilege to stay with Fred Waggoner, whom I had known in Logan, Ohio, and several other places. Like me, he was pretty much of a "homespun" preacher who operated a grocery store at Grayson where we first became acquainted. He would tackle anything, whether qualified or not, and generally was successful. We had a great time together and the meetings were tremendous.
From the pulpit one could look out to where the blue haze dropped down on distant hills. The cool crisp mountain air in the morning was invigorating. It was easy to imagine the wagon trains of yesteryear snaking through the Cumberland Gap. Kentucky was destined to play a prominent part in the restoration ideal. It was at Cane Ridge that it began, and at Lexington that the forces of Stone and Campbell met together and became one. It was at the outset of the meeting which consummated this union that John Smith said, "While there is but one faith, there may be ten thousand opinions; and hence, if Christians are ever to agree, they must be one in faith, and not in opinion."
I went to Macrorie, Saskatchewan, for the camp meeting in which I taught. There were 150 enrolled. This gathering was sponsored by the congregation at Outlook, a little group of hardy souls, numbering about 25 in those days. The camp was located in a shady valley which cut like a gash through the wheat fields of the almost boundless prairie. The people who attended pitched their tents, or pulled their campers into little cleared spots in the underbrush. I slept in the back of a converted schoolbus. It was a tremendous time of fellowship and Bible teaching. The camp has contributed much to the alleviation of suspicion and distrust. Although the congregation does not use instrumental music it has consistently refused to make a test of it and has used preachers who favor it. The result is that sharing has been encouraged and needs have been met in a very real way. Much of this is directly attributable to the Banting and Tweedie families who have worked together amicably for years, and whose good judgment and commonsense have become noteworthy.
On September 1, 2, I was the speaker at Pearson's Mill Christian Assembly near Converse, Indiana. The camp director is Rod Cameron, a man of many talents, and a great friend of mine. A descendant of the Scottish clan Cameron, Rod was fortunate enough to marry Beverly who has stood by him through thick and thin. That has taken some doing because it was often thicker than it was thin. Early on he became a ventriloquist, and he and his dummy are well known. He went to Africa in 1958, shortly after the erection of the gigantic Kariba Dam on the Zambezi River in Rhodesia. They cut a track of almost eleven miles through the heavy brush, and for several months slept under the bed of their Chevrolet Power Wagon. Their first kitchen was a tarpaulin stretched over a rope, their first storage room was a shelter made with reeds. Their water supply was eight miles away.
Rod nearly drove the "witch doctors" up a tree with his ventriloquism. They did not know what to make of Gabby. Few people really do. There were few things the witch doctors could do that Rod could not do better. But I had to leave to begin preparation for the delivery of the speeches in the Roy B. Shaw Memorial Lectureship, held annually at San Jose Bible College. The school has a great history of promoting unity. It was while Bill Jessup, that wonderful man of God, was president of the college, that Ernest Beam began to make overtures of oneness. Brother Jessup brought him into the Bay Area for a joint meeting of brethren. It was shot down by anti-instrumental brethren who attended for that purpose. It ended in a shouting match which was disorderly. Challenges were waved about for debates. But times have changed, and there were brethren present from all segments of the church to hear me. Al Tiffin, the president, had contributed well to the ongoing dreams of his predecessors.
It was about this time that the magazine Mission began. The first edition carried articles by Abraham J. Malherbe, Roy Bowen Ward, Thomas H. Olbricht, Donald McGaughey, Wesley C. Reagan, and Juan A. Monroy. The journal began as a kind of sophisticated medium to relate to the modern world in which we live. It proposed to give good thinkers a chance to be heard in a way they could not in the ordinary publications. From the first it had to be subsidized by its trustees. It faced opposition, both overt and covert, because it did not hesitate to milk sacred cows, which previously had been used only for worship. It is a matter of deep shame that Abilene Christian College exercised censorship over those on its staff who wrote for it, and brought pressure upon them to quit.
It was during 1966 that Norman Waters, a Tutor at Fitzwilliam College, at the University of Cambridge, in England, passed away. He was the first president of the Alexander Campbell Society. This was a coalition of persons in various colleges and universities in Great Britain who had banded themselves together to preserve the heritage and influence of the reformer. He was succeeded by Peter D. Archer, of Glasgow, and Philip Brooks became the secretary of the society.
The last named and I began a correspondence which lasted over a period of several years. From him I obtained a list of the members and their addresses. It was interesting to note that they came from every college and university in the entire United Kingdom. I became an associate member and enjoyed the exchanges with some of the most brilliant young minds I have ever known.
Some fine things happened to people whom I knew and loved during 1967, things which caused me to rejoice in their behalf. Bert Ellis wrote from Pusan, Korea, about discovery of a grassroots movement of concerned Christians who could see the folly of denominationalism. Mont Smith reported from Kiramu, Ethiopia, that 87 native people attended meetings in his livingroom in one week. Dr. Robert Walker and his wife Phyllis were being used of God at Hippo Valley Christian Hospital, in Rhodesia. William Hendren, Belfast, North Ireland, with whom I had made my home, was elected a Fellow of the Royal Microscopic Society. John L. Morrison received his Ph.D. from Stanford. The subject of his thesis was "Alexander Campbell and Moral Education."
Henry Boren, of the History Department at the University of South Carolina received a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities, which would enable him to live in Rome for a year and work on a numismatic project. Thomas Langford accepted a fellowship for a year of work at the United States Office of Education, in Washington, D.C. Boyd L. Lammiman was selected as the new president of Alberta Christian College in Calgary. He is still there. A.V. Mansur brought out a new book under the title "Let My People Go." Gordon Souder, who was living at Burnaby, British Columbia, finished a second semester of Russian language study at Simon Fraser University and was laboring with Russian-speaking Christians in the area.
Bob Duncan was granted a sabbatical leave from his position at Illinois State University to do research in California. Barry Willbanks was awarded an Honor Scholarship at Harvard Theological Seminary for topflight scholastic work. The Dallas Times Herald featured a three-column spread on the work of Leroy Garrett in the field of Christian unity. Brother Garrett expressed himself as being extremely optimistic for the future. Mike Wood was given a scholarship for research at Emory University. All of this seems so very long ago. I cite these instances to show how active God is in human affairs. He is continually bestowing gifts, blessing all of us, calling all of us to greater heights of service. It is no wonder that I bow in humblest adoration and daily give thanks for His marvelous grace.
Of course, during the year He called a lot of brethren to be with Him. He allowed them to graduate ahead of the regular class, and receive their diplomas before the rest of us were called. Among these were James Pierce, a wonderful brother in Des Moines, Iowa; Bonds Stocks, former administrative assistant to Rep. John Rankin, of Mississippi; Cleo Mabery, Flat River, Missouri, whom I immersed when both of us were fifteen years of age; Vearla Foltz, Chillicothe, Missouri, a retired rural mail carrier, whose home had often been mine; James A. Allen, Nashville, Tennessee, long time editor of the Apostolic Times. Bro. Allen was set against the rise of the clergy system, which he could see invading the churches. He was handicapped in his opposition by location and circumstances. Paul Mackey, Burbank, California, an excellent journalist, finally succumbed to cancer after a long battle. He was only 33 years of age.
As I look in retrospect upon the death of these and others whom I knew I wonder what changes would have occurred if they had lived. What kind of an impact would they have made upon the world? Then I am encouraged to press on without delay, knowing that I shall join them on the other side. It is a wonderful thought that those whom we knew over here we shall see over there where all conflicts have ceased and all strife is past.
It is amazing how the history of the "kingdom of God" is interwoven with and affected by the things which transpire in the kingdoms of men. Although we have no continuing city here, we have to live in a lot of them which are not going to continue, and in which rot and decay have already set in. We may be strangers and pilgrims, but we are also sojourners in a land that is not ours. Whatever happens politically, economically, or socially affects us all. Candidates for glory die in times of epidemics and plagues as do the rankest unbelievers. All of us alike live in an atmosphere that has been colored by guilt and sin.
In March of 1968 President Johnson shook the nation by announcing that he could not enter the race for another term. That "waved the flag" which made it possible for everyone to get into the race. It was won by Richard Nixon who received 43.4 percent of the popular vote to 42.7 by Hubert Humphrey. A surprising 13.5 percent went to George Wallace. The stage was thus set for the traumatic and as yet unexplained condition which later transpired and took the name of Watergate.
On April 4, Martin Luther King was shot to death on the balcony of a motel in Memphis, where he had gone to assist in a strike by black sanitation workers. On June 7 James Earl Ray was arrested in London and charged with the wanton murder. Frustration, disappointment, and depression gripped the black community and expressed itself in looting and violence. Then, as if a frightful and malign influence was manipulating the nation, Robert Kennedy was shot on June 6 in Los Angeles. It cast a pall over a peaceful populace who had rejected forceful overthrow of the existing order as a rational alternative to the ballot box.
During the year, death claimed one of the greatest examples of triumph over handicaps in our nation. At the age of 87, in Westport, Connecticut, Helen Keller gave up the struggle to maintain a life which had been marked by privation and suffering. At the age of nineteen months she became blind, deaf and mute. Under the careful and gentle tutelage of Anne Sullivan Macy she quickly learned to read and in 1900 she was able to enter Radcliffe College. She graduated with honors in 1904. Later she lectured throughout the world, visiting wounded veterans and giving them hope and infusing them with courage.
In spite of the frightful murders, the looting, and the rapine which ripped our nation apart, the year ended on a note of real faith. Nell and I were in the home of Jerry, our son, and with his family on Christmas Eve when it happened. Three astronauts aboard Apollo 8 had orbited the moon several times. They were the first human beings to view the far side of the moon. Suddenly one of them began to read from the sacred scriptures. Man's voice came from the greatest distance it had ever come with the age-old truth. It seemed that everything was all right again.
It was about this time that I had matured to the place where I had learned to trust in God fully and completely. I began to realize that He knew the end from the beginning, and could call the things that be not as though they were. He holds the whole world in His hand. This made two changes in my life. First of all, I prayed before arriving at a place that God would take the whole thing under His providence and bring together those who needed me most and let me relate to them for the mutual upbuilding of both of us. Since that time I have never been uptight about crowds. I have spoken to those who were present with equal fervor, whether there were six or six thousand, and have praised His name for what He did.
Second, I began to pray that He would open up for me great doors and effectual, although the adversaries were many. I realize that He never had a less qualified person through whom to work. The only thing I had going for me was an intense desire to see His will accomplished, and a fervent love for people. My educational attainments were as nothing and I cast what little I did have to the dogs. I had no degrees and had never been to college. But I resolved to go wherever the opportunity was afforded and to do my best. That prayer opened up for me chances which were tremendous and for which I am humbly grateful and profoundly thankful.
On February 13 I went to Milligan College to deliver an address at the Welshimer Memorial Lectureship. Brother P.H. Welshimer was in Canton, Ohio when a great revival was held by Billy Sunday. He followed up on those who made a profession, baptizing hundreds into Christ. He began the largest adult Bible Class in the nation at the time. A Welshimer Room is contained in the beautiful library which bears his name at Milligan, and every year a lectureship is held in his honor. My theme was "The Cross and the Growth of the Church."
That night I was scheduled to speak at Erwin, Tennessee, as one of five speakers brought in by a joint rally of Protestant Churches, each year, to demonstrate that, in spite of their differences, Jesus Christ is Lord. It afforded an opportunity for those with varied doctrinal biases to meet others in the community. That afternoon I was interviewed over radio. I then spoke to more than 700 persons gathered in the building of the First Baptist Church, following which I held a dialogue session with the Protestant clergy of the area. I came away convinced that these men were greatly responsible for the perpetuation of feuds and divisions.
The next morning I spoke to more than a thousand students in the local high school. At noon I broadcast a sermon from the pulpit of the First Christian Church. As I prepared to fly out of the area that afternoon, I looked back upon my stay of one and a half days, and thought of the bases I had touched. It was apparent that God was opening doors, for by no stretch of the imagination could I conceive of myself arranging all of these things. But it was merely beginning.
A little more than two weeks later, on March 3-7 found me at Langley Air Force Base for a Religious Emphasis Week. It was arranged by George C. Fisher, Wing Chaplain of the 450th Air Base Command. Brother Fisher was up for retirement soon and wanted to leave a heritage to the men. I was met at the air terminal by a Filipino soldier in a limousine. He was to be my orderly while on base and took me to a luxury apartment which was to be my home. It was stocked with all kinds of liquor when I arrived and with the same amount when I left.
The next morning, which was Sunday, I was to speak in three Protestant Chapels, one immediately after the other. My car was awaiting when I finished at one to hustle me over to the next one. I was saddened by the fact that I could not talk directly to the men, shake hands with them, and share with them. That evening I spoke to the Protestant men of the base at the fourth chapel, following a barbecue. I answered questions from the audience. They were a different kind of questions than one hears in civilian life.
There followed in succession in coming days a meeting with the Junior Youth Group, a bunch of young people, some of whose fathers were flying the skies over Vietnam, and a dinner with a High School Group, during which I fielded their questions and learned a lot about their hangups. I ate at the Officers' Club, and often had early breakfast with men dressed in their flying suits who could be in the air in the next hour with the Far East as their destination. We explored the question of war and its moral force.
One of the most interesting meetings was an address to the 316th Field Maintenance Squadron. Colonel Barner, a bluff Roman Catholic, issued a commander's call, which meant that the men in the squadron had to attend or be in the hospital. It was a captive audience. Many were resentful, a few of them openly hostile. In the group were hard-bitten men from the streets of Brooklyn and New York City, farm boys from the wheatfields of Kansas, and sun-tanned lads from ranches in Texas and Arizona. That day I received a lesson in how to weld an army of trained men together out of raw recruits from every walk of life. I began on time and ended on time. There was no dragging of feet in the military.
The last day there were two addresses. One was to the Protestant Women of the base. They were joined by busloads of women from two nearby bases. It was for the women I felt the greatest compassion. They were separated from their men for weeks on end and never knew how they would return, if they did. Life for these women was a cycle of worry and fear. There was the daily dread of the knock on the door to reveal the loss of a loved one on some foreign soil. In the evening we closed with a grand finale, a meeting for everyone. During the time I was on the base I prayed more than I had for a long time. It was easy to sense the loneliness of those I met, people who could establish no routine, who had no certain home.
I went almost immediately to Santa Clara, California, to speak at the Sunday school convention. It consisted of more than 600 superintendents and teachers, representing every evangelical church in the great valley, except the Church of Christ. It was held in Calvary Baptist Church, and I stayed in the "prophet's chamber" of the church. This was a lovely two-room apartment upstairs. It was well-stocked with food of every kind, so that one could fix his own meals and even entertain visitors if he liked.
The congregation had started seven years before with twenty-one members meeting in a home. The Sunday following the convention, the goal was 1400. They had registered 1380 the Sunday before. I did not get to talk to the two ministers. They were not there. They were out making calls the entire time. Another spent his time in the hospitals. But I talked to other members of the staff about the phenomenal growth. They attributed it to two things -- the people found their needs supplied and the fellowship. The motto of the church was "Where you are a stranger only once, and then only for a few minutes." In addition to speaking each night I also taught two workshops.
But the thing that gave me the greatest satisfaction was an invitation to address the evangelical preachers of the area at a noon luncheon. There were almost 300 present. The president of the group was a Baptist. The man who introduced me was a member of the Salvation Army. It was just the kind of group I had been looking for to try out a new approach to restoration. I spoke on "Renewal through Recovery of the apostolic proclamation, purpose and power." As I spoke I noticed the men taking envelopes from their pockets and hastily jotting down notes. Little did they realize that they were being treated to Thomas Campbell's Declaration and Address, presented in the light of contemporary needs.
I pointed out that renewal was not the creation of something new, but the recovery of something old. We had surrendered a lot of provinces which had to be recaptured. To do this demanded a strategy for world conquest. As I offered them such a strategy, they seemed deeply grateful.
In 1958, Erskine Caldwell wrote in the July issue of Atlantic Monthly these words: "I think you must remember that a writer is a simple-minded person to begin with and go on that basis. He's not a great mind. He's not a great thinker, he's not a great philosopher. he's a story-teller." I take a lot of comfort from that observation and rather suspect I am a living example of it, although not too well. If one had to be a great philosopher, this story would wither on the vine.
I began the year of 1969 with a trip to Miami, Florida, where my good brother, Robert Shaw, was ministering to the First Christian Church. It was a Disciples of Christ congregation located squarely in the downtown area. The building was a huge and imposing structure. In former days it had been filled to capacity in the fall and winter. The preacher in those days had specialized and speculated on prophetic interpretation and "snow-birds" from the north filled the place. There were almost as many on Sunday night as on Sunday morning. Many of the wealthy and sophisticated northerners came to know each other and looked forward to seeing each other at the church when the first flakes began to fly in Michigan and Ohio.
But the scene had changed. Cubans had flocked into Florida and settled in the city center. The old stores moved out and Spanish-speaking people surrounded the church location. Many of the new arrivals were Catholic. Many others had no religious affiliation at all. The audience got down to about 250. They made a little huddle in the midst of the great structure designed to seat fifteen hundred. They talked with nostalgia about the great days of yesteryear and dreamed rosy dreams of the past. Some of them were still possessed of courage. They wanted to relate to their changing world.
I held sessions every night during which I sought to speak with encouragement and "strengthen the things which remained." The church was suffering with internal pressures. The question of restructure troubled them. Brother Shaw was a conservative in the truest sense. Each morning I held a meeting during which I sought to answer the questions of those who were present. Men came from the Independent Christian Churches and from non-instrument Churches of Christ. Some of the questions were particularly touchy.
I recommended that all those who wanted to maintain the faith as it was once delivered exchange addresses and start a little paper to be circulated among all, keeping each other informed as to their plans. I suggested at a Minister's Breakfast that there were surely some areas in which all who loved Jesus could work together. I further suggested that the preachers of all groups meet and eat together each month and discuss the mutual problems in such a great national "playground." I was speaker at a luncheon at the Exchange Club one day. I spoke of the need of the recapture of a moral dynamic for America. It was pleasing to see the response.
The following month I was back in Central Florida for the Annual Spring Spiritual Clinic which was held on successive nights in Orlando, Cocoa and Daytona. As my policy was, following my speech in each of these places, I invited questions from the audience. As was generally the case this proved to be the most interesting feature of all. Some of those in the audience had evidently been saving up their questions and finally found a chance to use them.
I next went to the School of Christian Living in Louisville, Kentucky. Each night the chief of police and I addressed the audience upon the spiritual and ethical phases of the Christian walk. During the five days I was there I spoke 17 times. I addressed Circle-K at Kentucky Southern College, spoke to 1100 students at Seneca High School; to the entire student body at Old Kentucky Home High School, in Bardstown; and to the Junior High School at Boston. It was a real pleasure to share with these young people, some of whom were very brilliant and perceptive, and give them hope. It must be remembered that the Vietnam War was still going on, the draft was a way of life for young men, and there was a genuine struggle in their emerging consciousness as to what was right and what was wrong.
I addressed a noon luncheon of the Kiwanis Club at the Executive Inn, and spoke to the faculty and students at the College of the Scriptures. This was a black school primarily operated to train preachers of the good news. I met and shared with them. During the time I was in Louisville I was on a one hour open line program over WFIA. The listeners zero in on anyone who tries to answer their questions. I enjoyed the give-and-take of it.
I rode one night with the police. I reported at headquarters and was assigned to a squad car until midnight. Then we returned to headquarters and I rode with two other men until 3:00 a.m. It was astonishing the different kinds of calls that were received. I was allowed to go in with the police. We refereed family fights, picked up sodden drunks, investigated a robbery, and broke up a gang fight at an all-night eatery. I came to have a tremendous respect for the "men in blue." All with whom I rode were young and a part of "the new breed" who deserve a lot of credit.
March 26-28 found me at Scottsbluff, Nebraska, at Platte Valley Christian College, where I spoke five times. The audience came from long distances and people were present from Colorado, Wyoming and Nebraska. While I was there I granted an interview over the radio at Station KOLY, and another over television KSTF-TV. In addition to this I held a dialogue session at Nebraska Western College. Many of the students were from farms and ranches in the area. I found them alive to what was happening in the world but generally more conservative than their counterparts back east.
On the last day of my stay there, news was flashed over the wires, of the death of Dwight David Eisenhower, at the age of 78. He returned from the European theater of war as a hero to become the 34th president of the United States. The nation mourned his passing and Nell and I went to see the train bearing his body back to Abilene as it came through our city. It was swathed in black bunting. Ike was buried close to his simple old-fashioned childhood home. His mother had been a Bible-reading woman who was opposed to all armed conflict. Her son had planned D-Day with its frightful toll of life.
It was about this time I received a call from Dr. Krister Stendahl, inviting me to Harvard University to deliver an address before the Divinity School on the theme "Toward A Conservative Ecumenism." I accepted and on April 7 appeared in Braun Room at the school where the lecture was to be given. I was to speak for thirty minutes, to be followed by three reactors to my speech. Then I would have fifteen minutes to reply, following which the audience would question me for thirty minutes. The only catch was that the audience did not want to stop when the hour was up.
The three reactors were all men of stature and prominence in the theological world. Dr. Stendahl, who was first, was Dean of the Divinity School and a recognized leader in the World Council of Churches. He had, but a short time before, delivered a position paper at the convention in Uppsala, Sweden. Dr. William Robert Hutchison was Professor of the History of Religion in America. He was born near Washington, Pennsylvania, where Thomas Campbell lived and wrote "The Declaration and Address." Dr. Hutchison knew the restoration movement topside and bottom. Starting out life as a Presbyterian, he had since become a Quaker, a position which he found more comfortable because of the historic emphasis for peace. The third reactor was James Valentine Fisher, a Ph.D. candidate, and a brilliant student. He was the son of Chaplain Fisher who had arranged for me to be at Langley Air Force Base.
I began with a definition of ecumenism which lifted it out of the political wrangle in which it had become engaged, and separated it from the various theological interpretations placed upon it. I then showed the extent, nature, place and purpose of the unity we seek. I affirmed that under the prayer of Jesus, whom I recognized as Lord, we were obligated to seek the unity of all those who believe in him through the apostolic testimony. Therefore, any attempt at a confederation of so-called world religions was not only foreign to the design of heaven but would do despite to the divine purpose and plan "which was to unite all things in one, in Christ Jesus."
Dr. Stendahl commended my distinction between kerygma and didache, and pointed out the initial message to the world was referred to as the gospel, or good news, as distinguished from the doctrine, in which all of us are obligated to grow as a natural effect of our acceptance of the message concerning Jesus. His prime objection was a fear that, in our attempt to get rid of traditional forms and fixtures, we would be ensnared into the common trap of devising other structures which would enslave men more than those from which we had escaped. Dr. Hutchison traced the course of the restoration movement and its multitudinous divisions, ticking them off on his fingers, and expressed the maxim that "by their fruits ye shall know them." He felt that the only thing he could expect was more division, and not more unity. He thought it was like inviting a fox into a chicken house to unite the chickens. He might accomplish his purpose but Dr. Hutchison did not relish the idea of how and where it would be done.
Dr. Fisher objected that too little had been said about the pneuma, or Spirit, as the uniting power. My reply to all of this was that the men had preconceived what they thought I would say and had already formed their reactions before hearing it. Consequently, they had to give their speeches whether they were appropriate or not. I had not appeared as a defender of the restoration movement, and had not even mentioned it. I was there as an apologist for a conservative ecumenism and wherever it took me I was willing to go regardless of my past, just as Dr. Hutchison was no longer a Presbyterian.
Present for the confrontation was the Secretary of the Archdiocese of Boston. I met her before the encounter and she told me that the archdiocesan council was greatly concerned with modern trends and had sent her to glean what I had to say about a more conservative ecumenism. She took copious notes while I was speaking and again when I answered questions. It would have been interesting to know what transpired when she reported back to the council.
The Boston Globe had a reporter present also and the write-up in the paper next morning was quite lengthy and gave a lot of coverage. It was made to appear as a debate between Dr. Stendahl and myself, an idea I had earnestly sought to avoid. The report pretty well ignored what the other speakers had said, primarily because, as I suspect, the reporter did not know what they were talking about.
The student body was composed of some fine dedicated students who regarded the Bible as the norm. I could strengthen them. But it was the day of revolt and some who were present challenged everything held sacred in the past. They worshipped at the shrine of the god of the Now and paid homage to every freakish idea that was deemed to be new. I felt a real sense of compassion for churches which would be saddled with these restless young swaggering bullies.
Our last episode found me at Harvard, and a more unlikely or less qualified individual had probably never graced the premises there in the long history of the Divinity School which was set up in 1816. Nevertheless, Dr. Joseph Fletcher who had written the controversial book "Situation Ethics" heard that I was there and sent me an invitation to join him in his class on "Verbal Tools in Situation Ethics," at the Episcopal Theological School in Cambridge.
I confess that I went with a warped preconceived idea of the kind of person who would produce such a liberal theological volume as he had turned out, and which was sparking all kinds of attack from the religious community. I fully expected to find a gay young "swinger" of about thirty-five years of age, with long hair and a beard, dressed in hippie garb, smoking a pipe, and wisecracking his way through class at every turn. You can imagine my surprise when I found a grandfatherly type, clean-shaven with a short haircut, and wearing a conventional suit of rather somber gray. The truth is that he was attired much more conventionally than I was.
The class consisted mostly of students for the Episcopal clergy, and it was obvious from looking at them, what a wide degree of variance that hoary fellowship tolerated. I had "cut my eye teeth" on the works of men from the Episcopalian clergy system -- Alan Cole, John R.W. Stott, Michael Green, and J.I. Packer, all of whom were part of the "Evangelical Fellowship of the Anglican Communion." Their knowledge of and emphasis upon the word of God was a far cry from some of the wild ideas of these young men. I was thrilled to be among them and to affirm my faith not only in the need for a revelation but in the revelation given to meet that need.
Dr. Fletcher proved to be both modest and gracious. He introduced me to the class of about forty and invited me to participate during the two-hour session. He asked me for my definition of agape, which he laughingly suggested might need to be defined for modern secular man. He defined it simply as "active concern" for others. We discussed the implications of it, and talked about the seeming difference between Paul's theology and that of our Lord. He was quite convinced that, in going to the Greek world, Paul placed certain elements in the message that Jesus never intended. I was quite convinced of the opposite. It made for an interesting exchange. I remained behind with the students to talk and answer questions after he had left the room. It was a morning well-spent.
That evening a group of students under the banner of the Students for a Democratic Society, all slanted toward Marxism, occupied the University Hall and ejected the deans and administrators, and locked them out of their offices. They rifled drawers and files, and obtained some secret and classified materials and documents which began to appear in Old Mole, the appropriately named underground newspaper. The Harvard authorities tried to negotiate with them all next day to get them to abandon the building. The students were adamant and flushed with a sense of victory, and they had no success. They filed a list of grievances which they sent to Dr. Nathan Pusey, president of the institution.
Between three and four o'clock the next morning several hundred police moved in and stormed the place. They used only such force as was necessary, but they dragged the students bouncing down the stairs, cursing and screaming obscenities, and herded them into buses commandeered as "paddy wagons" and hauled them off to various and sundry jails. Just as they hoped it would, their forcible arrest created a real furor at the school and almost the entire student body rebelled. It was apparent that they had been looking for an incident which would spark an uproar.
I sat in on a meeting of the faculty and students of the divinity school, called to determine the policy they should pursue and the direction they should take. Richard Niebuhr presided as a representative of the administration. Harvey Cox was present as a kind of strolling ambassador and mediator. The student president was a radical revolutionary. He was dressed in a bizarre costume which made him look as if he had just drifted in from a reservation. He had a necklace of bear claws around his neck and a ring in one ear. One student suggested it should have been in his nose. He was thoroughly committed to overthrow the existing order. When the shouting subsided he made the proposal that they seize the Divinity School, Andover Hall and the World Religion Center, and hold them "till hell freezes over" or student rights were recognized. Another took the floor and said he was glad to learn that he believed in hell, because he had been denying its existence up until now. Finally enough quiet was obtained to take a vote. The more conservative element won by such an overwhelming majority that the leader and a smaller group of cohorts stamped out of the hall.
Harvard Yard was filled with milling students. There were a lot of young agitators present who were not students and had no connection with the school. Communist slogans and literature were everywhere. Most of it seemed to favor Castro and Chairman Mao. It must have been already printed and rushed in on heels of the revolt. "The Albatross," a hard rock band, set up on the steps of Memorial Church and banged and howled, adding to the general din and confusion. Shortly after noon Dr. Pusey appeared. He walked through the milling crowd like the children of Israel did through the Red Sea. He paid no attention to the jeers and catcalls, and to the occasional obscenities. He was as cool as a cucumber. And that coolness won the battle. In a few days the condition had subsided and gradually things returned to normal.
I conducted small group meetings in various homes and estates while in the area. On Monday night I was at the Wellington home in Mattapan; on Tuesday night in the Edmonds home in Billerica; on Wednesday night in the Van Voorhis home in Bedford, and on Thursday in the Hill home in Medfield. In everyone of these people prominent in various circles met for discussion of the word of God and their lives. On Friday morning I met with a gathering of ladies at the Kaplan home in Bedford. At this I spoke about our great hope through the resurrection of Jesus. On Friday night some 200 people gathered for a farewell meeting in the auditorium of Bedford High School. It was a great time of rejoicing in the Lord.
On July 19 the papers heralded the death of Mary Jo Kopechne. She was in an automobile which went off a bridge on Chappaquiddick Island, Massachusetts. The circumstances of her death were very suspicious and it seemed that a blanket was thrown over the investigation. It has dogged the steps of Senator Edward Kennedy ever since, and will undoubtedly play a part in the future of any bid he may make for the presidency. There are too many unexplained aspects of it to sweep under the rug.
On July 20, 21 Neil Armstrong stepped from the lunar module Eagle to become the first man to walk on the surface of the moon. We hurried home to watch it on television. As I sat in our living room and beheld those first "bunny-hops" I was seized with a feeling that things would never be the same. We were entering another stage of man's existence. It would be like the Stone Age, the Iron Age, the Machine Age. The Space Age marked another milestone in human progress. It would require a "new man for our time" as Elton Trueblood came to put it.
On July 3-5, 1969, Nell and I went to West Islip, New York, for the Fourth Annual Unity Forum. West Islip was a dream that did not really become an actuality. It began as an Exodus movement. A number of Texas people were transferred at the same time to the northeast where they expected to become the nucleus of a thriving congregation and the seedbed from which to start others all over the New England States. It ended in disillusionment. The people were no different in the new location than they had been in Texas, and in some cases, that was not good. But the unity meeting was great.
It brought together Dwain Evans, Leroy Garrett, Robert Fife, Robert Shaw, J. Harold Thomas, Floyd Rose, Arthur W. Boone and me. Floyd Rose, an outstanding black brother from Toledo, Ohio finally stole the show. He told about his work as a mere boy with Marshall Keeble, and how they were not allowed to stay in the homes of white brethren in the meetings. He talked about a rope through the middle aisle to separate the two races and told how a black preacher took the confession of the blacks who came down, and a white preacher did the same for the whites. Half of the audience was weeping unashamedly when he finished. It was clear to see that Churches of Christ had a miserable record to answer for on their treatment of the race question. Nell and I went to New York City with Don Haymes and his dear wife and saw the frightful conditions under which they labored for the Lord.
It was about this time a new little magazine was launched which was to have an effect far beyond its size. It was called Integrity. The editor was Hoy Ledbetter, a tremendous and capable brother. He was also fearless as one needs to be who undertakes such a work of faith in spite of the opposition of the entrenched forces of the establishment. The first issue contained articles by Dean Thoroman, John Smith, David Elkins, and Frank Rester. The paper drew fire from its very beginning because it dealt with subjects which had always been concealed by the church, but it has survived to this day.
I had gone for "Inspiration Week" to Northwest Christian College at Eugene, Oregon. As soon as my plane landed I was whisked away to a student lounging place called Carriage Trade Coffee House where I was due to be on a call-in program on the radio any time. I went to the college and had lunch with the football team and found that four of them had been meeting every night for prayer. They agreed to set up a meeting for me with the student body of the University of Oregon next evening when I finished speaking for the Christian College. About 325 persons assembled and sat on the floor when I walked into the great Sigma Chi lounge. I began by divesting myself of any sectarian label and appeared before them as simply one of the fellowship of the unashamed. As I talked and answered questions an emotional wave swept over these young people, some of whom had been guilty of gross sins. It continued far into the night on the outside of the building, with weeping and prayers.
It was August 19-21 when I went to the Rocky Mountain Men's Roundup which was held at Como, Colorado, far up in the mountains. It was at Rocking-R ranch and 300 men were present. Most of them stayed over and slept in the bunks at the camp. Present with me were James DeForest Murch who deplored camping out and did not stay to the close, and Don DeWelt who did like it. The latter had been on a mission to Australia, and was on his way home. The slides he brought with him added much to the meeting. I spoke on fellowship each morning and night and the men ate it up. In spite of incessant rain which made it unseasonably chilly we had a great time and a beautiful meeting.
It seems as if the Spirit of the Lord is more apparent in some gatherings than in others. I can testify to His presence in the meeting with these men, many of whom came from ranches and farms. They truly loved the Lord.
The year of 1970 dawned with the war in Vietnam still draped like an albatross around the neck of the nation. The potential for violent protest hovered like a malign stormcloud over the land. No one knew where it would touch the land next with its bombing and murder. The decennial census revealed some strange things. We had passed the two hundred million mark for the first time. The figure was 203,235,298. One-tenth of our citizenry was now over 65. Three-fourths of them were urban dwellers. One eighth were nonwhite. California had overtaken New York as the most populous state. The tide of immigration had shifted from eastern to western flow.
On February 25, a branch of the Bank of America went up in flames as a result of an antiwar protest at the University of California in Santa Barbara. It seemed that the licking tongues of flame were reaching out to consume our way of life. President Nixon announced his intention of withdrawing an additional 150,000 troops from the stinking cesspool of Vietnam the next year. Then on April 29 the war was escalated when the U.S. and Vietnamese forces began a major invasion of Cambodia.
This triggered massive protests across the land. At Kent State University in Ohio, national guardsmen opened fire upon students protesting the war. Four were killed. Many more were injured. It never was successfully proved that any of those killed were in active protest. The incident triggered rebellion throughout the land. Frustrated young people reacted, often in blind rage. By my birthday, on May 10, a student strike center at Brandeis University, announced that 450 institutions of higher learning had been closed down or were experiencing student antiwar strikes.
One of the places where unrest was surfacing was Illinois State University at Bloomington. At the very height of the ferment, the Christian forces on campus decided to inject the philosophy of the Prince of Peace into an ugly situation. InterVarsity, Christian Collegians, Campus Crusade, the Navigators, and Baptist Student Union, temporarily transcended their various methods of procedure, and invited me to come for a happening which was simply called "The Way." It was a happy designation. It was publicized by posters on the campus and in the daily newspaper.
The leaders were sharp enough to realize that unless there was a direct confrontation between the forces of belief and unbelief, between the followers of Jesus and those of the pagans, the meeting would avail nothing. There had to be the actual clash of verbal swords in face-to-face combat. They arranged for that, although, as it turned out, there were unexpected elements which could not be foreseen or provided in advance. These only served to heighten the tension and suspense.
I arrived on the scene the afternoon previous, just in time to see four hundred students wearing black armbands, in honor of their fallen comrades at Kent State, marching to the cemetery in a "Death Walk." Not a word was spoken as they walked along. Blacks, whites, Orientals, they trudged along the sidewalk, with only the shuffle of their feet marking their progress. In the cemetery they sat in silence with bowed heads, among the stones and granite markers, and then marched back. That night they slept on the ground in the quadrangle in what was advertised as a "sleep out for peace."
At 9:00 a.m., the following morning, I spoke to the combined forces of Christian students in Adlai Stevenson Memorial Hall on "How Did Jesus Get in Here?" I pointed out that he entered the earth, cradled in the womb of a woman, and He entered Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, to be acclaimed king. But he entered Illinois State in our hearts. He would be as effective as we allowed Him to be. He would be as bold, as brave, and as courageous as we were. And I pointed out that although the apostles were unskilled and unlearned, their opponents "took note of them that they had been with Jesus." After answering questions for two hours from a hall that was filled to capacity, I went to the cafeteria in the Girls Dorm, where we continued to talk about the things of the Spirit with some thirty Christian young women.
At 1:00 p.m. I was scheduled to meet in open dialogue three professors who were agnostics. It was to be a clearcut encounter with raw doubt and blatant unbelief. The lounge was filled with every kind of student. Included were several black activists. There was a Buddhist present. These hardly knew what to do or how to react toward me when I extended my hand and welcomed them. They were afraid of losing ground if they exhibited any kind of fraternity with "whitey." I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. My theme was "The Transforming Dynamic." I affirmed the intrusion of God into our universe on a revelational and personal plane. I knew where that revelation was found and I knew the person. I pointed out that Jesus was the only revolutionary who changed the world without burning it down.
Dr. Joel Vernon was the first reactor. He had been the son of a Baptist minister but had sold out on his faith. In a speech larded with profanity and four letter words, and obscenities, he branded the new covenant scriptures as a compilation of "myths and damned fairy tales" written to frighten the gullible out of their wits. He was in the Department of Political Science.
He was followed by Dr. Joseph Grabill, of the Department of History. He charged Christianity with creating a coverup to evade reality by the use of traditional words. The last was the eminent Dr. Martin McGuire of the Department of Anthropology. He asserted there was only one brotherhood of the flesh created over millions of years of developmental progress in kinship with animal life.
There was a deep silence as I rose for my ten minute summation and reply. To lessen the feeling I called the men by their first names. I was older by far than they. But all seemed to sense that it was now or never, the battle lines had been drawn. The time for a showdown had arrived. I pointed out that profanity was not proof and expletive was not explanation. It is generally employed by those who face something with which they cannot cope on rational grounds. I said Joel had started rebelling as a child according to his own testimony, and he was still at it in the same way. I urged him to grow up and face the issue, and not try to smother his inability to do so under the cover of swearing. Surely in his studies of political science he should have developed an adequate vocabulary. I pointed out that while he had made a blanket statement that the word of God consisted of "damned fairy tales" he had not given us a single one of them.
Joseph Grabill needed to realize that words which had been tested and tried were not merely traditional terms but were as modern as the morning newspaper. I mentioned that in his speech he assumed to speak only in traditional words for there were no others by which he could convey his meaning. Tradition means "handed over, or handed down," and anything from the past had to be described in such terms. There was no better word to describe our problem than sin, and no better one to portray our condition than lost. It was the "lostness of man" which resulted in his loneliness, alienation and depression. Man had cut himself loose from his roots. He was forming a cut flower civilization. It looked good but it was not alive.
I expressed my appreciation for the scholarship of Martin McGuire who had gone to almost incredible lengths to achieve his doctorate in anthropology. But I pointed out that the "brotherhood of the flesh" of which he spoke originated in the jungle and was fast taking us "back home." It was based upon the "law of fang and claw." It worshipped the idea of "the survival of the fittest." It glorified the concept that "to the victor belongs the spoils." The only real brotherhood worth having was that which originated from a relationship to the same Father, the Creator of us all. In it we could constitute a family of peace and tranquility.
While I was answering the professors, a young black Muslim arose and stepped forward, taking his position directly in front of me. He demanded to be heard in the name of Allah. It was evident to see that he craved attention. He grasped at the chance of using our meeting to secure it. I smiling said, "Although I do not see your name on the program, you go ahead and I'll listen, since it is obvious that if I go ahead, you will not, and I want you to hear what I am saying." He let loose a tirade against Jesus as a white man's God, used by the western culture to enslave his ancestors. He accused white slavers of being rapists and filled with brutality.
When he ceased speaking, I replied softly. I kept my eye fixed firmly upon him during the entire incident, never allowing it to waver from him for a minute. He became uncomfortable at my gaze and his own eyes shifted from side to side. I told him that he was speaking of a different Jesus than the one I was defending. My Jesus was color blind. I pointed out that he was always interested in the poor and depressed. He would not exploit anyone. He branded people like the traders in human lives as hypocrites. No one ever raped another by following Jesus but by departing from his teaching. Jesus was an advocate of the philosophy of "the second mile" lifestyle. Indeed, it was Jesus dwelling in me that made it possible for me to love him. Muttering that he did not want my love, he turned and left the room.
After this interruption I finished my answer to the reactors and closed with prayer for them. It appeared that I had been in control of the situation throughout, although there was a time or two when it approached the explosive point. But love had won the day. Later that evening I addressed a student rally which was held in Wesley Foundation headquarters. I spoke on the theme "How to Really Get in the Way." I answered questions for another hour, and we explored the Christian attitude toward sex, war, social reform, and other pertinent themes. It was my suggestion that the Christians take over the quadrangle for a full day, and make it an arena in which they took on all comers. They could challenge the neo-paganism openly and it was better to fall in battle than to be nibbled to death by mice.
When I finished at ten o'clock it represented a full day of direct encounter and dialogue. For thirteen hours I had been on the firing line testing the sword of the Spirit against the best the enemy had to offer. I was tired but keyed up for anything. I flew back to Saint Louis that night, and virtually the whole distance I prayed for those I had met. It had been a fruitful day.
I would not have you think that all of 1970 was like the encounter I have just described. There were moments of tranquil meditation and joy. There were times when I could draw a little apart from the multitude and refresh myself by study and meditation. I availed myself of every such moment. But generally there was activity of some kind and I traveled from one end of the country to another preaching the gospel of peace without compromise and emphasizing the hope which makes that gospel "good news." In fact, one of the great things that happened during the year occurred in February. It was notable because of things which transpired which were not on the program. But I will have to tell you about it in the next installment.
One of the great regions of our land is that which has been designated Appalachia. It is ill-defined and no one can tell where it begins or ends, or where its boundaries are. It was fortunate in being settled by a people who were often poor but proud, and who were adept in adjusting themselves to wringing a living from the impoverished hill land in which their little farms were snuggled. These settlers were independent, resenting intrusion from the outside and keeping alive their traditions regardless of cost.
One of these was the Appalachian Preaching Mission. All of the evangelical congregations in and around Johnson City, Tennessee, join together for a week of proclamation once per year. That is, all but the Church of Christ. Services are held at noon in a downtown theater, and at night in the field house of East Tennessee State College. Businesses and industries close down at noon to give their employees an opportunity to attend the meetings. A different person presides each day, including the mayor, the president of the Chamber of Commerce, the president of the college, the head coach of football, etc. Ushers are drawn from various civic groups. One day the Lions Club, the next the police and firemen, the next the Rotary Club. It is a unique situation providing an opportunity for a united effort in proclaiming a common belief in Jesus Christ in spite of differences in dogma and doctrine.
In 1970 I was selected to be the noonday speaker. I delivered five addresses. There were 450 present for each of these. At night, Dr. Walter Judd, Kenneth Chafin, John Anderson, C.M. Ward, and Wayne Smith spoke in turn. It was the kind of thing which could happen only in this area of rugged individualism. I was invited by the president of the college to sit in a meeting of the entire faculty group and make suggestions as to how to deal with the problem of student rebellion. I was amazed to see the deep spiritual commitment of many of the faculty. The meeting began with prayer which I was asked to direct.
One day I was being interviewed over the local television station when the show was caught by the football coach. He called the studio and arranged to pick me up when I went off the air. I went to the school where the football players were in session. He introduced me and I spoke to them for fifteen minutes, witnessing to them what Jesus had done in my life. I then took their questions. I went to dinner with two students who wanted to talk with me. One was a lad who was a half-Jewish kid. He wanted to know how he could obtain what I seemed to have, an unflappable ability to face whatever garbage life flung in my direction with a smile. He confessed to me that he had tried sex, done the sex bit, and was now trying to find his identity and the answers to life by being into the contemplative, meditative, esoteric Far-East religions. I told him that he could stare at his navel until the sun went down and never find anything revealed except a thread or a raveling, but if he saw Jesus as I did, he would have to get up off his haunches, put his clothes on and start marching. He would have to be a part of the personal answer to the world's woes and problems.
One week later I was at a convocation of college and career young people at French Lick, Indiana. It was held in the great resort hotel which was built in the days when this was one of the outstanding spas in the United States. The wealthy came in their private railroad cars to take the baths. Although the luxury had somewhat faded since it had become a convention hotel, it was still fancier than anything most of us had ever seen. We ate together, talked together, and prayed together. Our lives were refreshed by men of stature who had prepared well. I was resource man in the scriptures. On Sunday morning we partook of the Lord's Supper at our respective tables. Each little group of twelve participated as they wished. There were 644 enrolled for the affair. It was the largest group which had ever attended this annual event, sponsored by Christians Unlimited. One of the highlights for me was to see Jim Bevis, who came to stay with me during the sessions. The one time I had seen him before he was a minister of education at Broadview Church in Lubbock. Bill Banowsky was the minister.
I went next to Santa Ana, California, and the First Christian Church, a beautiful structure, presided over by Gerald S. Bash and James Stock. My theme was "A New Look at the Book of Acts." But it was the "extra meetings" in which I found the greatest enjoyment. Most of these were set up by "Skip" Stock, a restless bundle of energy who was always looking for new worlds to conquer. We went directly from my plane to a beautiful restaurant for a private meeting with a brilliant attorney who was a skeptic at the time. It was while discussing with him that I first affirmed that the source of all authority could not be limited by the authority which proceeded from him, and that we cannot bind God by the commands which he gave to bind us, realizing that He is sovereign. I made use of the fact that Jesus said that all authority was given to him in heaven and on earth, but Paul declared that God excepted Himself from that authority.
Each night after meeting those who wished to do so retired to the beautiful lounge which was on the grounds, and I answered questions until 10:30 o'clock. The time was never long enough. A tragic thing had recently occurred. Pat and Shirley Boone and their lovely daughters had lately been excluded from the fellowship of their congregation because of their growing conviction that the Holy Spirit worked in our generation as he did in the primitive church. The elders of the Church of Christ in Santa Ana had commissioned their preacher to go and try to restore Pat and Shirley "to the fold." During the process he also "received the baptism of the Holy Spirit," according to his testimony, so he was also excluded. He attended several of my meetings. All of this was fresh on the minds of the people and most of the questions dealt with that subject.
One morning just as we were preparing to open with a prayer a two-hour session for questioning, nine preachers from the Churches of Christ filed in and lined up on the back seat. They were as solemn as a convention of undertakers. It was evident that they had come for a shootout at the old corral. It began immediately. The first one led off with a question intended to trip me up. But I saw through the ruse and answered it. The second followed to take advantage of the first. I fielded every ball that was thrown. For some reason I never felt more at ease. I have never been more comfortable. It was obvious the preachers were losing ground and they became more sarcastic and bitter as the tide of battle flowed against them. Finally, one of them gave the others a signal a few minutes before closing time and they all arose and filed out. I invited them to remain for refreshments but they ignored me. When they had gone someone in the audience let out a loud "Whew!"
Three days later I was on the beautiful coast of Oregon at Newport. Robert Church was the minister. The little city was noted for its ocean fishing and surfing. The congregation had experienced serious trials and a great deal of internal strife in the past but all was peaceable at the time. We had a varied audience for both morning and evening meetings. The local Lutheran minister, the Assembly of God preacher, two Catholic priests, a nun, and several others came regularly. It was at Newport I first met Stanley McDaniel. He was a college professor in northern California. Later he did his doctoral thesis on my life and preaching at Indiana University. It was also a real blessing to meet the family of my aged brother George Hendrix. A number of them came and took over a small motel and stayed for the entire study. Brother Hendrix was an old-time pioneer schoolteacher. He knew Daniel Sommer, A.M. Morris, and S.O. Pool, names from my own distant past.
One visit I made probably deserves mention. It was to the Abilene Christian College Lectureship. Brother Garrett and I were together. I was invited to speak one night at Southwest Park Christian Church, by Alvin Houser, who was serving as minister. The place was filled almost thirty minutes before the time appointed. A goodly number of professors from the school, together with several visiting speakers, joined with a large delegation of students who were present. I spoke on "Solving Problems of Long Division" and threw it open to the audience for questions. There was not a single untoward minute. On my return I stopped off in Arlington for an address at the Holiday Inn. There were representatives from 17 congregations in attendance, and most were friendly.
It was a notable event for me when I was invited to address the Prairie Young Peoples Association meeting held at Missoula, Montana. This outstanding group celebrated its golden anniversary several years ago. It is made up of Christian youth from the prairie provinces of Canada and from the top tier of states in the United States. There are always friends from other states and provinces in attendance. The meeting at Missoula began in the Snow Bowl Ski Lodge far above the city. It was snowing hard, and after the initial session and snack lunch, taken while sitting on the floor in front of a huge fireplace, it required a snowplow preceding us to get down to the Florence Hotel where everything else took place.
Workshops were carried on all day Saturday, and I made a speech at the lovely banquet that evening. Sunday morning everyone was up early and the Lord's Day meeting was held so that before noon the attendees could be started on the long trek back to their homes. Each one was provided with a sack lunch. I found myself greatly encouraged to know so many fine young people. The world seemed a little safer for having them.
During the last month of 1970 I went to Houston, Texas for a forum on fellowship. As there was no church building where all could attend we opted for a neutral place, and secured the auditorium of Lanier Junior High School for the night sessions. Noonday meetings were held in the Downtown Y.M.C.A. and provided an opportunity for everyone to ask the questions which they considered worthy. The meetings were attended by representatives of all the churches, but no announcement of them was made publicly by the ministers.
This was the first of two such attempts, and we reached various kinds of Churches of Christ, Christian Churches, and Disciples of Christ, with the message of peace. Some met for the first time and learned they lived on the same street. The second time I invited Ervin Waters to handle the questions with me. I have never worked with a better brother. He was sharp as a tack, having honed his mind through years of debating. It was a real privilege to be associated with him, and we have cemented our friendship as the years have come and gone.
I presented my thoughts for the year in a bound volume of the paper called "Our Living Pattern." At the conclusion of one of the articles I wrote: "If we can ever sense that Christianity is not a law but a life, that it is not a sacrificial code imposed from on high but the sharing in our lot of a God who came down from above, our fears will give way to faith, and our heartaches to hope. We will cease to ride herd on God's sheep and be willing to follow in the steps of the Shepherd. We will substitute the law of love for our love of law, and see the God of goodness demonstrated in all of the goodness of God as manifested unto us."
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 million 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 remember it as the time when Federal marshals occupied Alcatraz Island which had been seized by representatives of various tribes who hoped to make 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 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 whenever 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. 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 loved 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 immigrant 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 Lown, 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 great 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 Navahos 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 negativism. 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 it 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 may or 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.
One of the greatest blessings which has come to me has been the privilege of working with the Canadian brethren. Their great hospitality, developed in part from a frontier existence not too many decades ago, is proverbial. I have been with them from the maritime provinces on the east to beautiful Victoria in the far west. It was because of this I looked forward with keen interest to speaking at the Prairie Young Peoples Association Conference, held in Yellowgrass, Saskatchewan, April 15-17, 1971.
The congregation at Yellowgrass is unique. Never very large, it has sent out more preachers than any place else I have known. Most of these were educated in the States, and most of them remained in "the lower forty-eight" as these United States are called. I had met many of them and knew a great many other brethren from Yellowgrass before I arrived. Without exception they were all sincere and sacrificing for the Cause of Christ. The conference was excellent. It made possible for the bonds of fellowship to be tightened from Winnipeg to Dawson Creek. It lapped over into the northern tier of states and drew people from all of them.
On Sunday night, after the conference had concluded in the afternoon, brethren had made arrangements for me to speak in Regina, the beautiful capital of the province. The meeting was held in the Christian Church building. The brethren were in turmoil. There was a division of sentiment as to which direction they should go on "restructure" which was the talk of the Americans in those days. We were favored by having with us four members of the Anglican clergy. They heard me declare the good news as our only hope. I pointed out that, in the final analysis, all fellowship with God was on a personal basis. It was man-to-God. Regardless of what happened to institutions it could not sever the relationship unless we consented to having it do so.
On April 26-30 I was scheduled for a fellowship rally at Phoenix, Arizona. It continued for five nights in the North High School Auditorium. By selecting a "neutral place" it was believed that more people could attend without offending their tender consciences. I was interviewed on radio twice and appeared on television in talk shows twice. In one of these people could call in and ask questions directly. It was interesting to note that while we were engaged in the great and vital issues affecting the whole world of believers, and unbelievers, that questions from members of the Church of Christ all had to do with instrumental music. The fact that we were divided and rent asunder in direct contravention to the prayer of Jesus seemed of no particular consequence. The sordid problem of division had to be aired. The question was no longer "What think ye of Christ? whose son is he?" It was now "What think ye of a piano?"
I went next to Columbus, Ohio for the Central Ohio Ministers' Fellowship, May 12-24. My theme for the series of talks was "Growing Up in Our Understanding of Christian Unity." I gathered that almost all of the men agreed with me theoretically, but lacked a knowledge of how to implement what I was saying practically. Without realizing it was happening, we have been betrayed by circumstances into becoming a non-sectarian sect. We were in partisan competition with other sects about us. We thought we were right and could not be wrong. They thought the same thing of themselves. We looked upon one who was converted to us being a convert to Christ. It was obvious that we were in some cases developing a "personality cult" built around the charisma of a preacher. It would take a long time until we grew up in our concept of the unity for which Jesus had petitioned.
Our problem was augmented by fear. We had become afraid to venture beyond our traditions. We were frightened at the thought of experimentation, so no new discoveries of how to work were being made. Like a cow tethered to a stake we grazed in our own restricted circles. The length of the rope determined the area we would cover. Yet, all around us was a world dying for what we could share. Meanwhile we were meeting only with those who agreed with us, and rearranging our prejudices. The only bright spot in an otherwise discouraging picture was that created by a few hearty souls who ignored the brands of men and sought to relate meaningfully to the cross of our Lord.
I stayed with Jeff and Linda Smith. They were some of my favorite people. They had been in Great Britain and we had mutual acquaintances there. It was wonderful to be in their home. Jeff was a student at the university and I got to visit it. It was a great buzzing beehive of activity. On May 24, I went to James River Chapel, south of Springfield, Missouri, where I was among friends I had known since my boyhood days. I held my first meeting in the area when I was fifteen and had returned often. For five nights I spoke on the theme, "Will the Real Jesus Please Stand Up?" I showed how we had constructed our own images of Jesus which were not real at all. We had caricatured him only to satisfy our own longings and ideas, but behind the masks we had created stood the real Jesus, still longing to help us.
June 7-11 I began at Highland Church in Louisville. Ernest Lyon ministered to it. It had known some of the great men of the past. Among them was E.L. Jorgenson, who had come from a Scandinavian settlement in Nebraska to become one of the great song compilers of his era. With his goal, the upgrading of the vocal music of the congregations, he was led to bring out Great Songs of the Church. It caught on. He had hit upon the idea of alphabetizing the hymns in several categories. It was a privilege to be in his home and to share experiences with him. He had ministered in Toronto, and had been instrumental in introducing Claude Witty and James DeForest Murch.
These two men began a series of "unity meetings" in 1936. They had agreed that "tradition, creedalism, provincialism, institutionalism, Pharisaism, extremism, indifference, self-sufficiency, ignorance, proselyting, distrust, and all the imps of Satan were running riot. The leadership of the churches were not calling for unity. There was no great uprising of the rank and file demanding it. Yet we, as a people, had preached it; we ought to practice it."
Men from both sides risked their futures and engaged in irenic discussion. I opposed it with characteristic ignorance. We were the loyal church and that was it. Finally, the radical element from both sides shot down the meetings. Foy E. Wallace had bitterly opposed them in the south. They came to nought because the brethren were thinking war instead of peace. It was war against brethren and it was much more appealing than war against Satan.
In early July I attended and spoke at the conference on unity at Atlanta Christian College, in Atlanta, Georgia. It was well attended but I came away feeling that more groundwork was needed. The questions showed a strange lack of relevance to the unity of all believers. That passion for oneness had not yet been fanned into flame. Each party was interested in unity which came its way. There was too much of the spirit of the snake and frog which promotes togetherness by the first swallowing the latter. Several years of teaching would have to be done before each was willing to move toward a common center and let Jesus become the real focal point.
August 2-6 I was back in Oregon at Camp Wi-Ne-Ma for a family camp. It is located in a beautiful spot where hills and mountains drop down to meet the ocean. From my window I could watch huge whales sporting offshore. More than a thousand people were registered. Campers covered the entire area. I was Bible lecturer for the week. In addition, I met with the young people each afternoon. The winds and waves had hollowed out a natural bowl of sand on the shore and we used it for our discussions. All other adults were barred and I could listen freely to the problems and hangups of more than two dozen teen-agers. I was, as usual, deeply impressed with their enthusiasm and potential.
Next I went to the Blue Ridge Men's Clinic, which was held not too far from Grandfather Mountain. This spot is known for its gathering of the clans every year. Dressed in tartans and colorful plaids, thousands of people of Scottish ancestry assemble for a reunion. The sound of the pipes reverberates through wild mountain glens. Scottish dances and games are carried on apace to the exultant cries and cheers from thousands of voices. I know some who have not missed attendance there in years, going back repeatedly to eat haggis and to down Scotch oatcakes.
The clinic featured Beaufort Bryant, Clarence Greenleaf and me, together with 754 other men. It was no place to go to catch up on your sleep. Some men talked virtually through the entire night, huddled around little campfires, and fortified inwardly by coffee which would dissolve shingle nails. They had often stayed up like this while fox-hunting and it was no problem for them.
I went next to Houston, Texas, one of the fastest growing urban areas in our country. What a contrast it was to the peaceful quiet of the mountain regions of the east, where one could hear the far-off crow of a rooster as he awakened in the morning. Once again, at Sidney Lanier Junior High School I conducted a Fellowship Forum for three nights. It was necessary to define fellowship again for those who had been betrayed into thinking it was something men had the power to extend or withdraw, when in reality, it was a state in which we were simply called to share. To accept one another freely was the greatest blessing to which we had been called.
I have often read a piece of reportorial writing with deep appreciation. I know that a reporter must be selective. He must be judgmental. This means that what is not said may be even more important to another than what is covered. I feel the same tensions in writing this. There was my meeting at Astoria, Illinois, and Canton, Ohio, and the Louisiana State Convention at Shreveport. Everyone of these was important. At Canton I spoke 12 times in five days and addressed three breakfast meetings. Yet space will not permit full coverage of them.
On October 20 I was back at San Jose, California, to deliver the Roy B. Shaw Memorial Lectures. These were, by terms of the will, to be about the restoration movement. My themes were: The Death of A Dream; The Recovery of Reason; and A Faith For the Future. I demonstrated that our restoration movement arose at a certain period in history. It was spontaneous and not planned. It was adapted to the cultural needs of man as he then existed on the frontier. We no longer live in those times. We must launch a new movement dedicated to renewal through recovery of the apostolic proclamation, purpose and power. We must make the ageless gospel meet the needs of the Space Age.
Later I went to the Genessee Church of Christ, near Flint, Michigan, where it was my privilege to stay with Frank Rester and his good family. Then I found myself at Eldon, Missouri where Seth Wilson, Gareth Reece, Russell Boatman and I engaged in a two-day forum on "The Holy Spirit." I closed my travels for the year at Windsor, Illinois. It was close to Sand Creek, where the division all began. It was there that for the first time the opinions of men were made tests of fellowship, and those who did not conform were told that they no longer would be regarded as brethren. It seemed like a good place to go back to and proclaim the gospel of peace and seek to undo some of the tragic ills which had resulted from an ill-conceived policy.
The year of 1972 will never be forgotten by Richard Nixon. It must both thrill and haunt his every waking moment. It was the time of his greatest triumph. On November 7 he was re-elected to serve a second term with a vote well in excess of forty-seven million. In February, accompanied by Henry Kissinger, he had gone to Communist China. The television screens in every American home registered the progress he made in his negotiations. It was a time of exhilaration for him. His goals were being realized. His dreams were coming true.
On the night of June 17 occurred the Watergate break-in. Those who were apprehended had electronic equipment in their possession. The incident was not at first seen in its full potential. The poison in its fangs was well concealed. On June 22, and again on August 29, President Nixon assured the nation that no one in his administration had anything to do with it. But after his re-election, the serpent began to uncoil itself, striking first at this one and then at another. Before it was over the pride of the haughty would be humbled. The dream temple would lie in shattered ruin. A hero would become a villain. And disillusionment would spread like a pall over the nation.
On May 2, J. Edgar Hoover would die of a heart attack in Washington. He was 77 years of age. He had been Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation since 1924. Hated by Communists and fellow-travelers alike, he had seemed like a towering rock against those who would undermine our national ideals. He had been at the forefront of the battle when roving gangs sought to pillage us. As he grew older, the first accusing fingers were pointed in his direction and he had to reckon with a new kind of opposition. His opponents carried briefcases filled with statistics rather than machine-guns filled with bullets. It was like an old stag brought to bay by the pack yapping at his heels, making his last stand with his back against the mountain. On May 15, Governor George C. Wallace was shot by a 21 year old drifter, Arthur Bremer, in Laurel, Maryland. The day after Christmas Harry S. Truman died in Kansas City, Missouri, at the age of 88.
I began the year in sunny California in Escondido. The "College of the Bible" attracted brethren from all over the region. I spoke each night at the congregation and held an open forum each morning. Men and women seemed intrigued by the fact that they could ask anything they desired. We did not always agree but we had a glorious time in the Lord. No one asked whether you were this or that. It seemed enough that all were in Christ, all wanted to learn, and all were teachable. Between sessions I addressed civic clubs in the area and spoke to other special groups. In all of these encounters I kept in mind the motto of Alexander Campbell: "He that would plead this heavenly cause must stand before the people with peace in his heart, union upon his lip, and truth in his eye."
The last of January I returned to Florida College for the lectureship. An attack upon the principles which I espoused was to be made and I wanted to be present for it. When I was there before, G.K. Wallace, Pat Hardeman and Bill Humble were the prominent figures. All of them had occupied really prime spots on the program. Now all of them were out. Their names were not even mentioned. I met with a number of students, at their request, in a room in the men's dormitory for several hours in the afternoon. They were full of questions. I answered them without reservation. It was suggested that I appear before everyone and take their queries. The school, which was presided over by James Cope, would not allow such an arrangement as if it were part of the lectureship proceedings. It was arranged that it be held at 10:00 o'clock after all regular activities were over. It was to be in the building of the University Church of Christ.
Standing room only was the word which went forth fifteen minutes before the scheduled time. Every conceivable niche was filled for the meeting which lasted three hours and finally ended at 1:00 o'clock a.m. It provided the greatest excitement of the lectureship. I spoke for thirty minutes on my concept of fellowship. I was followed by Robert Turner, who admitted that he had only read a copy or two of Mission Messenger. I then sat down on the platform with Brother Turner, and we were joined by Ferrell Jenkins and Harry Pickup, Jr. It was interesting to watch the men who did the questioning. Some of the older preachers imagined themselves to be prosecuting attorneys with me as defendant. Since I refused to accept the role or play their game they did not know what to do next. They were accustomed to someone who rolled over and played dead when they queried him. An occasional student seized the limelight to establish himself as one of "the faithful." But the majority of the audience listened seriously and soberly.
I am convinced that great good was done, especially with the more observant and erudite students. I have seen reports in the more partisan journals that at least fifty of the most brilliant students in the sect have been affected by my plea. It would seem that this fact alone would cause the party leaders to take thought. If only lazy and sloven students were affected it might be brushed aside as of little consequence, but when top-notch students see the value of the priorities emphasized it is another matter. Since that fateful night in the history of our modern thrust for renewal I have done a lot of thinking about the brethren who oppose support of what we call institutionalism.
I reject the brand of "antis" as applied to these brethren. It is silly and childish. All of us are "anti" on a lot of things. In some respects their contentions are but an extension of some of my own former efforts. But the charge quite frequently made by their opponents that they "out-Sommer" Daniel Sommer is not to be credited. Their position is not the same as his. I knew Daniel Sommer personally. He was often in my home. He ate at my table and shared with me his thinking. The brethren at Florida College are not espousing a warmed-over version of the Sommer ideology.
I think the rise of the party is a phenomenon which occurs at periodic intervals in every group which is based upon a legalistic stance for its survival. The only safeguard against it is the investiture of one man with infallibility, and the universal recognition of him as the authority. As long as that authority is respected and revered the organization will remain intact. It is because of the erosion of authority that the great monolithic structure of the Roman Catholic Church is faced with such problems in our day. The seeds of division are inherent in every legalistic group. Given the correct conditions they will germinate and a fracture will occur.
The regarding of the New Testament scriptures as a written code of laws coupled with the idea that God provided an exact pattern to be meticulously followed in all ages has operated in such a way as to defy the lordship of Jesus and substitute the rule of dominant men. These have generally been editors among the various segments of the Churches of Christ. Sometimes they have been elders who were inflexible. Every time the culture altered, division has occurred. Division is part and parcel of the attitude toward the plan of God. It is not at all a question of respect for the authority of the Word, but of respect for a particular way of looking at it. Many men have deep regard for the revelation of heaven who do not have the same regard for the interpretation of an editor.
As I view it, these brethren are guilty of profound errors in their reasoning. They do not distinguish between the gospel of Christ and the doctrine of the apostles. They do not understand the nature of worship. They do not understand the nature of fellowship. They have arisen as a protest movement against what they considered certain abuses, and allowed it to gravitate into a separate and exclusive party. This was the great mistake. Brethren may think as they wish about the Herald of Truth, and they will do so. They may support it or not support it. They may watch it or not watch it. But when either group creates a party around its deduction it becomes factional. And factionalism is a sin. This makes their opinion as important as the death of Jesus. One must believe it to be regarded as in the faith. It becomes an unwritten creed. But nothing is as important as Jesus -- just nothing!
Of course each party attracts those persons who thrust themselves into prominence by intemperate and injudicious statements. They generally prove to be an embarrassment to those who sigh for Jerusalem and are sincerely saddened by division and strife among the saints. Partisan papers agitate the situation by publishing almost vituperative reports against those who disagree with them. H.E. Phillips wrote in Searching the Scriptures, a monthly periodical, about "the despicable doctrine of fellowship." Others were almost as uncouth in their attacks. But none of these things move me. The road of a reformer has always been a rocky route to travel. But there are great rewards.
Changing the subject, two deaths occurred during the year that were of some significance. Alexander Campbell Johnson, Jr., died at the age of 74. Maria Louise Campbell Barclay died at the age of 105. Both of them were the great-grandchildren of Alexander Campbell. Alexander himself had died on March 4, 1866. It was the Lord's Day and just as it drew to a close he was called to his eternal rest. Now his great-grandchildren were going home at an advanced age.
March 6-10 found me at La Crosse, Wisconsin. Because of a building program our meetings were held in the YMCA building. I arrived just in time to see a member of a rock music group baptized. The leader had been in the hospital as a result of a real bad drug trip, when a candy-striper met him, told him about Jesus, and changed his entire life. His conversion had a great effect upon the other members and one by one they discovered the tug of the Galilean upon their hearts and made the great transformation. They were a jovial group who had tried everything the world had to offer. They conceived the idea of writing Jesus' words to some of their tunes and belting them out to the far-out generation who made the scene.
They suggested that we make a joint appearance on the university campus where they had been "big time" before. I agreed and they secured Presidents Hall. By this time they were calling themselves HOPE, and they put up posters all over the place with our pictures and the inscription "Hope With Carl." I was astounded at the drawing power they exhibited. The great hall filled completely and students and faculty jostled for standing room around the walls. They spilled out into the hall.
For almost an hour HOPE played and sang. I did not understand a word they were saying. They testified of their faith and then introduced me as "The Answer Man." I went for fifty minutes. The questions were terrific. Some tried to trip me up as the Pharisees had done with Jesus. I sailed through the troubled waters without a break. Many of the questions were significant and penetrating. The entire thing was televised. It made the meeting. The night sessions were filled with people. The day sessions produced an interested group who were eager to know. I am pleased to report that all the members of the rock music group went back to school. One became a schoolteacher. The other four became preachers of the gospel. God works in wonderful ways and through all kinds of agencies. How wonderful of His grace to turn drug users into disciples of the Nazarene and into useful servants of His kingdom.