On March 13-17, I was with the Northglenn Christian Church at Denver. It was served by my good friend, William Lower. I first met him and his lovely family at Fort Wayne, Indiana. He was an excellent administrator, an apt student and a competent proclaimer of the Word. I stayed in a little camper belonging to one of the brethren. It was pitched at the rear of the church building and it was in a real spot. At night I could see the star-studded canopy of the skies flung above me, unobscured by the smog of our own creation. It was a real place for meditating and I did a great deal of it. Out of my deliberations came an article which was one of my deepest. It was entitled "Spiritual Argonauts" and deals with the nature and essence of truth. It was published in the August issue of Mission Messenger, in 1972, and appears in the volume called "The Divine Purpose." I have never written another to equal it. And I could not have written it if I had not been alone at night on the plains outside "The Mile High City."
March 20-22 found me with the Northside Church of Christ at Grand Rapids, Michigan. I stayed with Patrick Miles and his good wife. They were a wonderful black brother and sister. They had two beautiful children. It must have been rather strange for them having a white man in their home. I caught them staring at me around the door facing as I wrote. Pat was an elder and a good one indeed. He had a grasp of what was transpiring and was a firm believer in the need for implementing the prayer of Jesus for unity.
While there I spoke at chapel at Great Lakes Bible College and also met with the Campus workers at Michigan State. The school was in the vanguard of the student revolution. They were taking to the streets and marching for any cause, or simply creating an artificial cause and marching anyhow. It was interesting to see them gather momentum and wave their fists and start shouting. It was a great time to be there with the message of "The Indestructible Jesus" when a lot of other things were being reduced to rubble or going up in licking flames. In times like these you need an anchor!
I went next to Newport, Oregon for the third time. I was becoming a regular fixture in this fishing town, so picturesquely sprawled above the wide Pacific. The brethren had established a coffee house mission on the waterfront. To it came sailors from every country possessing a fishing fleet. Here they could find a free copy of the scriptures, sometimes in their native tongue. There was always someone with whom to talk about the lordship of Jesus. A few steps down the wharf was Mo's chowder house, a famed place which looked like anything except a restaurant, but made clam chowder which was out of this world. If you ate too much of it you would be too!
We had decided that the lessons at night should be on the book of Romans. I worked out a series which I designated: Nonsense and Incense; Faith and Futility; The Father of the Faithful; Dead and Delivered; the "As" and "So" of Service. The auditorium was filled every night. The open forum attendance each morning was very gratifying. It was while in this town I found an old friend whom I had known from boyhood in Topeka, Kansas. He had become a judge on the circuit court judiciary.
It was my good fortune to go next to Hoxie, Kansas, where Darrel Foltz is doing such effective work. While there several members of the Dunkard Brethren attended every night. I learned that they had quite a colony at Quinlan, Kansas, where there were two congregations as the result of an unfortunate split. Realizing that they had descended from the work of Philip Jacob Spencer and Herman Francke, in protest against certain deficiencies in Reformation life and practice, I was anxious to meet with some of them. We went out to the beautiful and fertile farm of one of the leaders. I soon found that they were descendants of the Pietists, and were part of a restoration movement which preceded ours by a century.
The house was plainly furnished. Everything served a utilitarian purpose. It was spotless. There was no television set. A great many of what we consider "modern conveniences" were conspicuous by their absence. The people attired themselves in simple garments which denoted their faith and separated them from the world about them. They practice foot-washing in conjunction with their communion. They hold a love feast annually as a symbol of their affection for one another. I was blessed by being able to talk with them. It was only in recent years they had begun to attend our meetings. They could come and not offend their conscience since we did not have instrumental music. I was much impressed with the unaffectedness of their lives. It was no problem to me to recognize them as brothers and sisters.
It was about this time I learned of the death of two aged saints whose lives had impressed me greatly. One was Isaiah H.H. Moore, 91, of Louisville, Kentucky. He was killed when thrown from an automobile in a three car collision in New Lebanon, Indiana. This humble black man, a direct descendant of slaves, had long worked with College of the Scriptures at Louisville. The other was Charles Bussard, also 91, who was living near Springfield, Missouri, when summoned to his eternal home. He was of hardy pioneer stock, and had spent his entire life within a few miles of his birthplace. Generous, open and free-hearted he had roots going back to the pioneer days when the English and Scotch people crossed the Appalachians and drifted westward. He had a lot of Elizabethan words in his simple vocabulary.
I traveled next to Elgin, Oregon, for a series of studies on "The Life of the Spirit." I was met at Pendleton by a brother in a light plane. We lifted out of the valley and crossed over a high mountain which stood between us and our destination. We were so close to the ground that I could look down and see bands of wild elk grazing. It was a hunter's paradise. My stay was marred by word of a highway accident which claimed the life of Bernell Weems, of Bonne Terre, Missouri. A preacher of the Word, he died early one morning when his car struck the abutment of a bridge. I was asked to come for the funeral service but could not, as I was scheduled to be the speaker at the commencement at which our oldest granddaughter, Dawn, graduated from the high school at Aspen, Colorado. She was valedictorian of her class and made a fine speech based upon I Corinthians 13.
Following an excellent meeting at James River Chapel, south of Springfield, I was booked next for the camp near Macrorie, Saskatchewan. Word came of the death of J.C. Bunn, at the age of 90, in Washington. In my early boyhood when I was twelve years old, he had announced my first preaching appointment at the little rural church at Old Pearl, in Illinois. My work had "caught on fire" from that fateful night and my destiny was determined. At Macrorie I was associated with Ed Benoit, a member of the provincial parliament for Alberta, sitting at Edmonton. A great student of the Word, and a master of communication he did a tremendous job. We had a great time and saw much good accomplished.
I accepted an invitation to address the College-Career session at the North American Christian Convention. My theme was "The Holy Spirit in the Church Now." After finishing my assignment I was preparing to leave for home a day early. I was asked to deliver the final morning address as a substitute for Joe Barnett, of Lubbock, Texas, who called to say he was sick and could not make it. There were over 5,000 present and I had to speak primarily "off the cuff." A great many persons whose hearing was apparently defective told me it was the best I had ever done. I still run into people who were present and remind me of the speech. It is enough to discourage one from preparation.
August 11 and 12 I was accompanied by Otto Schlieper and Leroy Long, of Saint Louis, to a men's clinic at Rock Garden Camp in the beautiful Missouri Ozarks. I was associated there with Knofel Staton, currently {at the time these memoirs were first published} a professor at Ozark Bible College. Since that time I have been with him in various other meetings here and in Canada. Each time I hear him I become more convinced he is one of the most articulate men among us. His research is so thorough that it leaves nothing to be desired. He is the author of a number of books, all of them good ones. His studies on marriage leave little else to be said. Fortunate indeed are those places which secure him as a speaker.
During September I was at a Family Camp at Little Galilee, near Clinton, Illinois, where Enos Dowling also spoke. The former librarian at Butler School of Religion, he had become associated with Lincoln Christian Seminary. His knowledge of the restoration movement history is unsurpassed. His hobby is collecting old song books prepared by composers in the movement. Among those he has gathered are scores of books starting with Alexander Campbell, and reaching down from the inimitable J.D. Fillmore, to brethren who are still alive and writing. The great transformation that has taken place the past several years betokens the coming of a new reformation. Every such reformation in the past has been launched upon the wings of song.
On September 8, 9 I was at Butler Springs Men's Retreat in Ohio. It was a blessing for me to be associated with James Smith and Paul Bajko. Paul is from Poland. As I write this he has just celebrated his 25th year in preaching the good news to the Polish people. In 1971 the church in Poland celebrated its 50th anniversary. Paul helped to plant a congregation in Bielsk-Podlaski in 1969. They remodeled an old building to seat about 70 persons. They have since outgrown their quarters and have applied to the government for permission to build a larger one. Since 1969, new congregations have been planted in Poland at the rate of one per year.
I went next to Hilltop Christian Service Camp and spoke at a Men's Retreat. The camp is near Columbus, Indiana, and from it I went directly to Sunbury, Ohio. Then on to Hobbs, New Mexico, where I was surprised to see Brother and Sister W.P. Hutson. They had come to take a motel room next to mine just so we could talk in spare moments. Brother Hutson grew up in a different segment of our brotherhood than had I, but he read Mission Messenger and became entranced by what I was doing. We had great times talking over our past and thinking about the future. The three of us became convinced that we were living in one of the thrilling periods of the church.
From Hobbs, I journeyed to Corvallis and Beaverton, Oregon. It was my third trip to Oregon during the year. At Corvallis I had the privilege of association with a great number of college faculty and students who were dedicated to Christ Jesus. Our association was unmarred by any kind of difference or friction. Although they came from various backgrounds, under the gentle influence of the Spirit they were drawn together. At Beaverton I was compelled to deal at length with the rise of the charismatic movement. It was beginning to make an impact upon the community. It was a great time to be alive and actively dealing with the problems of the church.
I closed the year at the little Illinois town of Astoria. We had a great series of meetings and I met some fine people. I returned home to prepare my speech on "Fellowship" for the preachers' workshop at Abilene Christian College. It was to be held January 8-10. As I looked back upon the year just spent I could rejoice in accomplishments for the Cause. I had traveled in every part of our nation, and had gone to Canada as well. Everywhere I found brethren awakening to our needs as a people. It was evident that we were moving into a brighter and better day.
Hershel Ottwell died on Thanksgiving Day, 1972. It was a sad loss to many of the saints, and especially to me. We had grown up together as boys in the country. We used to play together on Sunday afternoons. I was older than Hershel, but we admired and loved one another. He was an excellent teacher. He had devised the fine art of making charts and used them a great deal. He loved to work with small and needy groups and to see them grow. Teddie Renollet and I conducted memorial services. As I saw him lying there with his lips sealed by death I realized that one of God's noblemen had been mustered out of the church militant. We had said farewell to one of the great proclaimers of the Good News.
The year of 1973 had hardly begun when it brought news of the death of an ex-president, Lyndon Johnson. He died of a heart attack while enroute from his ranch to a hospital in San Antonio. Always a controversial figure, the world still argues over some of his decisions. He was buried in a humble shaded family plot upon the banks of the Pedernales River. Meanwhile, his successor, Richard Nixon was becoming more involved in the Watergate scandal with each passing day. And he was forfeiting the confidence of the American people with each move he made. The "Saturday night massacre" in which he fired Archibald Cox, Attorney-General Richardson, and his deputy, Ruckelshaus, was almost the last straw.
The "long national nightmare" as Gerald Ford described it, was augmented by the conduct of the Vice President, Spiro T. Agnew. He resigned his office to avoid further prosecution. On December 6, Ford was sworn in to take his place, the first man to enter office under the terms of the 25th Amendment. The trial of the Watergate accused was televised. Each episode was like driving the knife a little deeper into the body politic.
Early in January I went with Leroy Garrett to the Preachers' Workshop at Abilene Christian College. The weather was frightful. A blizzard swept across the land leaving the roads ice-covered and hazardous. Cars were in the ditches the entire route. Plane service was completely cancelled. Despite this 700 men gathered for the event. I spoke on fellowship. Harold Hazelip, of Memphis, Tennessee, and Richard Rogers, of Lubbock, Texas responded. Then I answered questions for the rest of the morning. Due to the importance of the theme and the interest in it, J.D. Thomas had not arranged anything else and we had the full session. It was an interesting time. Some agreed with me. Others were bitterly opposed. It would be interesting to see the reaction if the speech were being made now. Great changes have occurred. The position I advocated is much more widely accepted in these days.
January 31, I went to Kentucky to Murray State College, for meetings with the Murray Christian Fellowship. As I met with the students and answered their questions I was made to appreciate the fact that the fellowship was not limited to those who were of our persuasion. It was open to all who were seeking the answer to the great question of life itself. I met many who had grown up in various religious backgrounds. They were being ministered to according to their needs. The student rebellion was grinding to a halt but there was no adequate substitute for it. Fortunately, those who attended the Bible studies of the fellowship were being pointed to Jesus, and to march for him was the real way to go.
Before I returned home I was scheduled to speak at the Christian Church in Brookport, Illinois. The town was a microcosm of the divisions of the restoration movement. Although it was but a very small Ohio River town, at one time it had three congregations, all meeting within a few blocks of one another. The hostilities and bitterness were bequeathed from one generation to another and the feud perpetuated. The situation is somewhat alleviated now, although there are often internal troubles which beset the groups. I have often wondered what would happen in such a place if there were just one person who ignored all of the divisions and simply recognized everyone who loved Jesus as his brother. This is the way Paul did at Corinth.
The month of February proved to be very busy for me. I spoke for the North Central Regional Camp Conference at Lincoln, Illinois, and went from there to Jacksonville, Florida. I was in the home of Tillman and Ellen Cavert. It was Ellen's father who gave the original money to build Florida Christian College. They feel very strongly that it was diverted from its original course, and they were "sold down the river." If the truth ever becomes apparent it will look bad for the administration. While I was in Jacksonville, some sixty brothers and sisters gathered in the Cavert home where I spoke to them on fellowship.
I went next to Patoka, Illinois, where I addressed a full house on the subject of the Holy Spirit. I addressed the Area Men's Fellowship at Gillespie, Illinois, in one of the great coal mining areas of the state, and concluded the month at Columbus, Illinois, where I spoke on "The Four Dimensional Life." For four nights I emphasized that if Christ dwells in your heart by faith, and you are rooted and grounded in love, "you may have power to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth, and length and height and depth, and to experience the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge." If you have never known this it may be indicative that you are not one of the saints.
Early in March I went to the Family Life Conference at French Lick, Indiana. Other speakers were Dr. Robert Burns and Dr. Charles Shedd. Dr. Burns was at his inimitable best and the more than 400 persons who had enrolled thoroughly enjoyed him. Dr. Shedd had recently authored the book "The Fat is in Your Head." He had formerly weighed 330 pounds, but now was down to 165, which was just half of his previous avoirdupois. He said he had "shed one Charlie."
In his introduction he told us how he was motivated to write the book. In his younger days he always had to clean up his plate. It was an unpardonable sin to leave any food on it. You always had to eat what you took out even if it made you gag. His mother hovered over him with the threat, "Clean up your plate or you will get no supper." When he got married and his children came along he could not treat them so cruelly. Still he had the neurotic aversion to food left on the plate. So he would take what the children had left, rake it out on his own plate, and eat it. This continued until one day his youngest son looked at his mother and said, "Mama, if we did not have papa we would have to keep a pig, wouldn't we?" On such casual observations hang the writing of many books. It does not take much to trigger a real writer into starting.
The Sixth Annual Missionary Reunion of Mexico was to be held south of Cuernavaca, in Morelos, Mexico. I was invited to address it each evening for three days. It was a fascinating experience for a "gringo" like myself. We stayed in an old, old inn, and the meetings were held in a large room. In the daytime we met in a group under the beautiful trees on the grounds which were fenced in. The furniture was heavy and ponderous, all of it hand-carved by artisans of the past. The water was turned on four hours per day. If you wanted a bath you had to be there. Drinking water was obtainable from huge jugs in the hall.
The waiters spoke only Spanish and I never was quite sure what I would get when I ordered. This resulted in some frantic gestures and waving of the hands. One thing I could admire was their ability to make bread. Each morning there were six to eight different kinds of delicious fresh rolls on the table for breakfast. I could have made a meal of them alone. One day some of the missionaries took me into the native section of Cuernavaca to an ice cream parlor run by a man and his wife. The ice cream was made in flavors I had never seen before -- fresh corn, prunes, avocado, mango, and a host of other things too numerous to mention. I got a double dip cone, one dip being guava, and the other banana. It was delicioso!
It was interesting to hear some of the problems encountered by missionaries, especially by those who had gone to remote jungle villages, or penetrated into mountainous regions off the beaten track. It was nothing to have chickens scratching around and clucking in the buildings used for meetings, or to find a dog taking a siesta under the Lord's Table. The improvising of various things for enhancement of teaching taxed even the most fertile and inventive minds. I learned a lot about problems on the mission field. I came to appreciate the various moral standards which had developed through the ages. But I still came away with the idea that the chief problems were one's fellow missionaries. If one could learn to put up with them he generally had no trouble with the natives. It was interesting to see the "gung ho" American spirit come up against the "Ma¤ana" attitude of the people. The latter eventually won!
I went directly from the exotic influence of our sister country to the south to my own native town, Flat River, Missouri. It had made great changes but had not yet developed into an asphalt jungle. It was near here I was born. Here I was christened in the Lutheran Church. It was a mere formality because I never remember going back. Here I grew up in childish simplicity. Here I married Nell when I was twenty. It was good to be back home again, although the rough, rude mining settlement had grown up into a more cultural city.
The boom began just eighteen years before I was born with the sinking of a shaft that uncovered incredibly rich veins of lead ore. The place was tough, the rough and tumble life of the miners centered about the Blue Goose, the Black Bear, the Klondike and Moonlight saloons. When I was a youngster someone was always being killed in a drunken brawl. It was a real pleasure to return and I felt humbled by it all. I was thankful to see the sophistication that had replaced the early days. I spoke at the Lions Club, the Kiwanis Club, to the Rotary and Optimist Clubs. In every instance I held out the hope that is ours in Christ Jesus. When there was time I answered questions. Many of them were pertinent and penetrating.
Soon thereafter I began a tour of western Texas and eastern New Mexico. My real purpose was to expose myself to some of my friends who had never met me, and to meet as many of those who opposed me as possible. I wanted to be vulnerable. I believed in what I was saying. I had confidence in what I was trying to do. Of course, I could not generally speak in church buildings as the sectarian spirit forbade that. In the divided condition of God's family I purposely opted for neutral locations since this would make it possible for all to attend regardless of conscience. I found out that generally the ones who fought my coming most desperately were the preachers. I am convinced that our brethren would have settled their differences years ago had it not been for the fact that they were kept apart by professionals.
At Borger, Texas, I was a guest of David Warren. A group of us met for dinner in an uptown restaurant and talked as fast as possible since time was short. We then adjourned to the lovely home of the Warrens to which people came from all over. The spacious living-room was crowded. We continued our talk until almost midnight. That night I went home with the Hutsons, to Friona, Texas. I spent the next day in the hospitable home of the senior Hutsons but we were blessed by the coming of their son Leland, and his family, to have luncheon and to spend the day with us. That evening we met in the Hospitality Room at the local bank. It was filled to capacity. I spoke about my growing concept of the fellowship for the whole family of God. It was generally well received. The big thing was to get someone to implement it.
In my last installment I was in Friona, Texas. It is one of the great cattle feeding places in the United States. We visited one of the feeding pens. There were thousands of cattle. Everything was mechanized. The feed was mixed with supplements in a towering silo and fed by augers into the troughs. All the cattle did was to come and eat. It was almost like the church in a lot of places. The herd had nothing to do with selection. They had to take what was supplied. It was put into the trough and they could not question it. They must either eat it or sleep through it.
I went next to Portales, New Mexico, where I was a guest in the home of Frank Poynor, a brother with whom I had corresponded, and whom I had come to love. Our meeting was held in the Conference Room at the City Library. It was my privilege to have a number of young people from the New Mexico State College with us. A goodly number of them had recently left the large Church of Christ in the city and had started to meet to themselves. They had done so because they thought it was essential to protect their freedom from prejudice.
It all started over a Bible study held on campus. The young people were baptizing a number of other students. They obtained permission to use the baptistry at the church building. There was some objection to the dress of some of them. They wore jeans. They allowed their hair to grow a little longer than the people were accustomed to. They ignored the pews and sat down on the steps to the pulpit and on the floor surrounding the baptistry. They sang choruses. When one was baptized they lifted up their hands to God and praised Him. They hugged the person while he was still dripping wet. The deacon who was taking care of the building and unlocking the door became infuriated. He declared, "Not only did they not sit on the comfortable pews we had provided, but they sat there and sang songs that were not even in our books." So they left and began meeting where they were cemented together and not concretized.
At Lubbock our meeting was held in the Student Center at Texas Tech. It was preceded by a small gathering in the home of Dr. Thomas Langford, dean of the university, and a real man of God. A number of friends dropped in to talk about the progress of reformation. They were overjoyed with what was happening. The meeting at the center brought together a goodly number of readers of Mission Messenger in the area, some of them secretly "for fear of the Pharisees." There were also students present from Lubbock Christian College as well as from the local school of preaching. It was quite obvious I was saying some things they did not hear daily. I was "bringing certain strange things to their ears."
The question period was particularly penetrating. One young man asked if I were not afraid that I might be advocating heresy. I replied that I was even more afraid that he would confuse orthodoxy with heresy, and pointed out that it was Erasmus who said, "By identifying the new learning with heresy, you make orthodoxy synonymous with ignorance." I then mentioned that every reformer in history had been branded a heretic by the establishment. Luther, Huss, Calvin, Wesley and even Alexander Campbell. If I were a heretic I was in good company. All of these were hounded and harassed, driven out and persecuted during their lifetimes, and it was only after they had been dead a hundred years that they became heroes. Anyone who differs with us, who does not parrot the traditional ideas, is regarded as a heretic. We mistake walking in the old paths with wallowing in the old ruts. It is not wrong to dissent. It may be wrong not to do so. The status quo is not sacred. We have to be willing to be reckoned as oddballs rather than to play ball sometimes.
It came to me that the reason these diverse people could come and hear me was because I represented no party or sect. I belonged solely to Jesus. I was continually astounded by the fact that people could grow up in the same community and know nothing about their "other brethren." There were six different groups present at Lubbock. Each of them knew only a certain group of preachers. They read only their own papers. I introduced some who had met in business transactions but did not know each other as Christians. They could hear me with a clear conscience because I no longer represented any of them. I was simply a member of the fellowship of the unashamed. My only creed was Christ, my only law was love. I did not shrink from questions of anyone.
At Ruidoso, New Mexico, the following night, we met in the Luncheon Room at the Chaparral Motel. There were not many of us but it was a thrill to sit down and discuss "kingdom matters" with those who had vowed allegiance to the king. After it was all over we went to the lovely home of Brother Teague and continued talking until it was quite late. I have often wondered about those whom I met. I have heard of none of them during the years that have elapsed. Are they still faithful to the principles about which we talked, or has the lure of the world deflected them from their goal?
After a series at Ferry Road Church of Christ in Waynesville, Ohio, I went to the banquet held in the Student Center ballroom, at the University of Kentucky, in Lexington. I never visit the city without feeling a sense of something bordering upon awe. The cause was established there by Barton Warren Stone in 1816, with 24 members. It was here, just sixteen years later that the Disciples and Christians united in a meeting which began on New Year's Day and continued four days. On the following Lord's Day they communed together and pledged to each other their cooperation.
It was in Lexington that the debate between Alexander Campbell and N.L. Rice was held. It began at 10 o'clock, Wednesday, November 15, 1843. It lasted fifteen days. Each disputant made 64 speeches. The published account filled a book of 912 pages of closely set type. Mr. Rice proved to be the most difficult opponent Mr. Campbell had met during his whole career.
In 1847 the church in Lexington was the largest in the state. It contained 382 members. It had been beset by trouble over various things from the beginning. From 1864 to 1870 instrumental music became the most bitterly discussed issue in the Millennial Harbinger and in Lard's Quarterly. Some of its greatest antagonists were in Kentucky. Among these were J.W. McGarvey, Moses E. Lard, and I.B. Grubbs. Brother McGarvey withdrew his membership from the Broadway Church when the instrument was installed. But he never made it a test of fellowship. He still returned to Broadway to preach when invited to do so. He professed a sincere love for all of the brethren there. He was big enough to distinguish between fellowship of God's children and participation in a practice which he could not condone.
When I visit Lexington it seems that I am in a microcosm of the entire movement. Specters from the past appear to materialize out of the gloom. Heroes of yesterday who "waxed valiant in fight and turned to flight the armies of the aliens" seem to hover about. But gone is the deepseated spiritual dedication combined with intellectualism of the highest sort. What a privilege it would be to sit at the feet of Campbell, Stone and McGarvey. I spoke at the banquet on the topic "The Battle of the Pea Patch," drawn from II Samuel 23:11, 12.
I went next to Belmont Avenue congregation in Nashville. This was a unique and free congregation. Some had been excommunicated by Churches of Christ in the area because their opinions did not jibe with the establishment. Others had just grown tired and left of their own accord. They were searching for green pastures. They were tired of munching on dried hay. There were jeans-wearing, long-haired kids in the number, but there were also doctors, lawyers, professors and businessmen. All got along well. The only test of fellowship was your relation to Jesus. The service was alive unto and enlivened by the Spirit.
The congregation had a magnificent social consciousness. They supplied food, clothing and furniture to the needy on a daily basis. They had chosen to remain in the old building and it was crowded for every service. There were two meetings held on Wednesday night while I was there. Both of them filled the place to capacity. A lot of students from David Lipscomb College came to hear me. They sat on the floor, on the steps of the pulpit and in the baptistry. Some of them stood patiently in the rear.
People drove long distances to be present. I met young people who were in Nashville, hoping to make good in country or bluegrass music. The service was so unstructured that anyone could come up on the platform, or stand where he was, and tell what Jesus meant to him. Don Finto was generally responsible for the meetings. He had been a teacher at David Lipscomb College but was let out in one of their purges. He was joined by several other professors who were guillotined and who helped to start Belmont. It was a church whose time had come.
Actually the church had been there for many years. The father of Norvel Young was one of the elders. But the church was fading into the background as the community changed. It was dying rapidly. Only a handful of people were attending. Most of them were afraid to return at night. Drugs and prostitution were all around them in the streets. Stealing and vandalism took their toll. And then renewal set in. Drug users came back from a living death through Jesus. Young prostitutes found a haven of rest in Jesus. In an amazing fellowship which knew no second-class citizens of the kingdom people were baptized unto a living hope. Obviously there were risks. There are always risks where freedom is found and everything is not cut, dried and stacked beforehand. But it was a great thing to be a part of a congregation which had been resurrected from the dead.
It was while I was there that I met the father and mother of Pat Boone. They were gracious, kind and unassuming. We went out to eat together one night so they could tell me their story. They were greatly disturbed when they heard that Pat and Shirley had become wrapped up in the Holy Spirit. They prayed for them every night, asking God to bring them back. They had all been members of the Churches of Christ for years. One night the elder Brother Boone could not sleep, so in the middle of the night he slipped out to read his Bible and pray. While he was praying he became convinced of the presence of the Holy Spirit. He awakened his wife and told her that Pat was right. She arose and prayed and said she experienced the nearness of the Spirit. They were so overjoyed at the discovery that they made the mistake of telling about it next Sunday. Sister Boone was divested of her class which she taught and they were both excommunicated. They were still attending there, however, as they loved those who had treated them so unfairly.
Right after I left Nashville I went for a Talkathon to Missouri University. It lasted about nine hours in all. I began at 1:30 p.m. and closed at 10:30 p.m. Students could come and go as classes or work demanded. The room was always full and some were standing in the hall ready to take the place of those who had to vacate. There was a fifteen minute rest period every two hours. In each segment I spoke for 30 minutes and then answered questions for the remainder of the time. Some of the questions were very interesting. They were the kind you would expect from students who were part of a great university under the domination of humanistic thinking.
We discussed the relativity of truth and I suggested that in its final analysis truth was a person and not a proposition. Jesus declared that he was the way, the truth and the life. Before a proposition can be stated it has to exist first as a concept in a logical mind. I postulated that all truth had to exist in a divine mind. It was a great session.
The eighth annual unity forum was held July 5-7, 1973, at Tulsa, Oklahoma. Local disciples had worked diligently in promoting it. Brethren were in attendance from 15 states and Canada. The interest was superb. Perry Epler Gresham, former president of Bethany College, and an authority on Alexander Campbell, spoke the same night as I did. His style was inimitable. Although he was on the board of huge corporations, his speech was given in a kind of down-home, "cracker barrel style" which made him appear as a country philosopher.
I told a simple story about an early incident in my life, in which I reacted adversely against my brother because I became unsettled as to whose child I really was. It was a homely little piece which hardly deserved a hearing in such august circumstances. Yet it seemed to impress the audience in a manner which some of my more profound reasoning failed to do. I have wondered a lot of times since that night, if it might not be the case that we are divided purely because of our lack of ability to talk plainly and simply. Only recently I had a letter from a college professor who said he was searching one night for something he could use to illustrate what fellowship was all about. He came across the article in Mission, and read it to his class. I have never been able to write another article of that kind, yet I wrote that one in one sitting. Apparently it dipped the well of communications dry.
I was impressed with the fact that few of the local members of the churches of Christ attended. I was told that they were warned not to come. Most of those who were present were "freedom fighters" who had struggled with the dogmatism and sterile orthodoxy of the institution and had wrenched themselves free. It was not yet time for people in general to get their eyes opened to the fact that they were being held as hostages to a System. That would come later. A goodly number of those who did come were self-styled "charismatics." I deplored the brand as a separatist title. It always appeared to me as being divisive in its very nature. Everyone who has a gift from God is charismatic, and that includes all. Among those who came was Ben Franklin, who was later to hold a debate with Guy N. Woods. The debate did but little good. It settled nothing. But the unity group at Tulsa was significant in that it brought together a group of saints who might not otherwise have met. They learned to listen to one another despite wide divergencies in their views.
Later, I went to the Lake Springfield Christian Assembly at Springfield, Illinois, to address a group of men. The camp was beautifully situated commanding a view of part of the lake. The brethren used it as a youth camp during the summer, and when September came, they availed themselves of the opportunity of getting together to talk over their problems and recount their victories. Generally they sought for speakers of reputation who could share with them new insights into the Word. I think that such gatherings are reminiscent of the pioneer culture of which we partook in our early years. People on the frontier felt an urge to come together to reinforce the faith, and to listen to a rehearsal of "those things most surely believed among us." It is a great loss that it becomes ever more difficult to get people to come to such meetings.
From there I went down to Cabool, Missouri in the Ozarks. It was an interesting place. It was a center of small farms from which came some of the 60,000 pounds of poultry per month, and the hundreds of cases of eggs shipped out every week. The Ozarks farmer does not try to conquer the wilderness. Instead, he makes friends with it. He is generally concerned with small plots of it that he can use for pasture and orchard. But chickens and eggs bring in the regular income. As the farmers say, "You can't rightly tell about fruit. Frost or blight is apt to get it. But not a hen. A hen works right on, rain or shine." Besides, the women can generally look after the chickens.
The congregation, like so many others in small areas, had been through some traumatic experiences. I sought to help them as much as I could. I was fortunate to have with me a dear brother and sister from Astoria, Illinois, Mr. and Mrs. Evan Price. Those who wished to do so gathered at a little restaurant daily and we talked and ate together, speaking quietly and meditatively together of our relationship to God through His marvelous grace.
I went next to Columbus, Indiana, where there are six thousand people who claim allegiance to Christ in the restoration movement. They are divided into several large congregations. I went to New Hope, which is just a short distance outside the city. The congregation dates way back in history. Immediately behind the meeting-house is an old cemetery, the markers of which indicate burials of many decades past. Daily I strolled through this hallowed spot where "the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." The congregation is ably served by my good brother, Mat Malott. It was once primarily a gathering-place of rural people. Now it is growing in membership and is composed of many from the city as well as from nearby towns.
At Fairborn, Ohio a pleasant surprise awaited. The crowds were so large as to necessitate extra chairs in the aisles at night. The day sessions, which were open forums, brought in more than sixty persons. The questions were of special interest. The answers were eagerly received. It was in these daytime sessions that the greatest good was accomplished. One thing which impressed me was the similarity of the questions. Whether it was in a Christian Church or Church of Christ, whether in the city or in a rural setting, the same things troubled the people.
November 5, I went to Terre Haute, Indiana, at the invitation of the campus ministry, to deliver three addresses in a hall on the campus of the State University. It was a delightful occasion. I met with the Christian students early in the morning for prayer and Bible Study before the sun was up. An excellent audience was present each night, with brethren coming from far and near to be a part of the encounter. It was during this time I learned a great deal about Elton Trueblood and the "Yokefellow Movement" which he began. I was not too far from Richmond, Indiana. Trueblood credits C.S. Lewis with his conversion from a liberal theologian to a Christ-centered believer. In his autobiography he writes, "C.S. Lewis reached me primarily because he turned the intellectual tables."
It was about this time that a new journalistic enterprise began. It was devoted primarily to reaching Disciples of Christ, Independent Christian Churches, and Churches of Christ. It had three consulting editors, one drawn from each segment. It was aptly and significantly titled "Fellowship." Several issues were printed and they contained some meaty articles. But it never really got off the ground. I have often wondered why. I have come to the conclusion that it was because it represented the dream of a top echelon of men. No movement has ever marched which did not begin at the grass-roots level. A great many lesser, and much inferior, papers are being published in our day. And "Fellowship" seems to have been needed so much.
At Indiana University, Stanley McDaniel, who was a professor at College of the Redwoods in California, when we first met, made application to do his doctoral theme on "The Life and Preaching of W. Carl Ketcherside." Permission was granted and Stanley, who now teaches at Johnson Bible College, began collecting my materials. He did not neglect any source. The result is that he accumulated the largest body of my writings of anyone on earth. He listened to numerous tapes, besides reading every book and paper to which I had contributed. Finally, after several years he completed his thesis. I appreciate what he said, but I still wonder why the university agreed to allow it to be written about such an obscure personage.
I went next to address the annual banquet of the Eastern Lakeland Christian Campus Ministry at Charleston, Illinois. I felt while I was there that it was one of the most effective and best conducted of any such work I had seen. The students seemed to be gung-ho for Jesus. They were not Christians and students, but Christians who were students. There is a difference. The first think of their student life as separate from their Christian commitment; the second see it as merely a part of it. In my talk I sought to recapture for all their mission. They were "secret agents" for another kingdom. They were on enemy territory and in an alien land. They had been dropped behind the lines as commandos for Christ. They were on a search and rescue mission. They were members of the heavenly Central Intelligence Agency. Their allegiance was not to the school first but to their absent King. Someday He would return and rescue them from the asphalt jungle.
A short time before, the Humanist Society issued Humanist Manifesto Number Two. It was anything but complicated. It was a plain declaration of war against everything which I hold dear. It called for a freeing of the American mind from what it called the fear and dread of the supernatural. and predicted that by the year 2000, all forms of superstition and religion would pass from the scene. It was a calculated flinging down of the gauntlet in the face of those who believed that Jesus was the Son of God.
It was signed by a host of men and women who were regarded as the most erudite in our land. They were the instructors of thousands of our youth. Among them were a couple of professors at Indiana University. Recognizing the grave danger of raw humanism being dumped like raw sewage into the clear streams of thought, and realizing that it had already infiltrated our whole life structure, I welcomed the opportunity to appear on the campus of Indiana University at Bloomington, to discuss openly the implications of the manifesto.
I carefully studied the whole question until I was thoroughly conversant with its appeal to the modern scientific and technological mind. I became convinced that the inclination to place all things in the realm of relativity had laid the foundation of the theory in its modern form. So I sat down and worked out my presentation on a three-prong basis. (1) Where I agreed with humanism; (2) Where I disagreed with humanism; (3) My personal apology, in which I set forth the reasons for believing that the faith for which I make my plea is far superior to humanism. I gave a five point breakdown in developing the last. It was a privilege to be on a modern campus and to be brought into contact with some of the brilliant minds to be found there. Yet it was tragic to see how far the school had drifted since the days when David Starr Jordan was president of the institution.
I closed the year with the brethren at Washington, Illinois. They had invited me to come and speak on the theme, "Meeting Problems of Today's Youth." It was one of my favorite subjects and I was quick to accept the invitation. Reconstructing the year in my memory, it appeared to be one in which God had been rich in His abundant mercies. I had traveled all over the United States without undue incident. I had engaged in all kinds of encounters and had come out relatively unscathed. It was a great feeling to be used of God in so many different ways and for so many things. I faced the coming year with confidence in the divine mercy and compassion.
As 1834 drew to a close, Alexander Campbell wrote in Millennial Harbinger, "We expect and hope to travel more than usual during the ensuing year, the Lord willing. On deciding the rival claims of numerous sections, we incline not to be arbitrary, and have nearly adopted this resolution -- to be governed by the number of readers we have in various places, our experience hitherto proving that we can be most useful in those regions, because there is something to work upon in the minds of such communities." That said it for me also.
With the beginning of 1974 I knew that we had but two more years to edit the paper. We had resolved to discontinue Mission Messenger with the December issue of 1975. It had been a part of our lives for thirty-seven years. And it would be difficult to bid it farewell. There was never a time in all of those years that we were not conscious of it. We ate with the paper during the day and slept with it at night. We calculated time from one issue until the coming of the next.
For a long time I had been wanting to do a series of articles on pure speech. I was motivated in the desire by a statement of Alexander Campbell in his "Synopsis of Reformation." I could see that this was of prime importance. Accordingly, I commenced to write on the general theme. I started with a quotation from Joseph Addison in the British journal called The Spectator, which was born on March 1, 1711. I closed with the statement, "I want to be with all who are saved, and I expect to be. I care not one thing for any partisan flag over an exclusivistic rampart. My hope is in Christ Jesus. I began in the Spirit and I have no intention of trying to be made perfect in the flesh." The writings for 1974 were all gathered into a book called "Pure Speech."
It was our custom to bind about 2250 of the books each year. They have long since been sold, and seem to be even more popular now that they are out of print. It is my hope that they may continue to bear the message when I leave for worlds unknown.
My first trip in 1974 was one of great interest to me. For a number of years, missionaries from Independent Christian Churches had labored in Brazil. They had planted congregations in Brasilia, and at various other points throughout that great land. In more recent times Churches of Christ began to send in workers who tended to congregate in Sao Paulo, and to work out from there. Each of these with a common restoration heritage met for a combined conference. One year one group brought in a speaker, the following year the other group had the privilege of doing so. For several years the Christian Church brethren had been asking for the privilege of having me come. Each time they were told not to do so. I was dangerous; it was not time to have me yet. My thinking was too advanced to risk having me.
Finally, the brethren decided they were going to have me whether it was approved or not. The others said that if I came they were going to ask someone to come also. They selected Reuel Lemmons, editor of the Firm Foundation. We had never really been together, although both of us knew we should meet if possible. We had tried to do so once or twice without success. Brother Lemmons had been provoked into making an attack upon my position in his paper. I replied and three articles from each of us had appeared in both journals. He had written one entitled "Blind in One Eye," and I had also answered it. I had tried several times to get articles published in the Firm Foundation. Each time they were returned with a curt note saying that I was not welcome to write.
Realizing the influence of this fellow-editor I was anxious to meet him and to be with him. The circumstances were ideal. The camp, which had been rented from the Presbyterians, was carved out of the jungle. There was a kitchen and dining room at one end, and a circle of cabins, with a large assembly-hall at the other end. Brother Lemmons and I stayed in a very small unit together. In our bedroom we could reach out and touch each other from the bunks.
I learned a great deal about my companion while we were together. I am not sure he was as comfortable with the brethren from the Christian Churches as I was. But he was formally polite to all and gave no offense. He was brought there to do a job, and he did it, and that was it. I found him to be a mellifluous orator of the old school. Some of his presentations rivaled the best of William Jennings Bryan, "the golden voice of the Platte." This was especially true of the early morning devotionals in which we took turns speaking on one of the psalms. Since our visit I have had a longing to talk at length with Brother Lemmons about the community of saints in which we both share. There is no justifiable reason for us being apart. Certainly there is none for us appearing as enemies.
It would require too much space for me to describe all that took place in the jungle vastness, and I shall desist. It became apparent to me that the men who work there must find a solution to their problems or perpetuate among humble people a division which grew up on the frontiers of America. It is incredible that those who believe in the same Jesus, who worship the same God, who read the same Bible and sing the same songs, should project an image of alien churches upon the native minds. I worked with the young people, boys and girls who were children of the missionaries. Some of them came from remote Indian villages in the jungles of the Amazon. They were schooled by their mothers. We had a great time together.
I flew back to Saint Louis from Rio de Janeiro, in a frightful blizzard. We were bandied back and forth between airports where we were not permitted to land. We were flown to Dulles and not permitted to leave the plane. Finally we were cleared for landing at Kennedy in New York. I finally arrived in Saint Louis, having been for almost twenty-four hours without food. The next morning Nell suffered a blackout and fell with a thud in the bathroom. When I reached her I thought she was dying, from the look in her eyes. I called an ambulance and she was in the emergency room all day. They never determined the cause of the blackout, but she was in frightful pain for the ten days she stayed in the hospital, and had to be cared for when she returned home. I was glad that the providence of God brought me home when I was most needed.
It was about a month later I was scheduled to speak three times and conduct a workshop at the Christian Writers' Clinic, held at Holiday Inn North, in Cincinnati. It was a rich experience for me. The clinic was conducted by Standard Publishing. The editors of their various publications were all present, giving advice and sharing experiences with budding journalists. I have since met people all over the United States who have told me they met me there. They have expressed themselves as being appreciative of the encouragement they received. Some of them have since blossomed into authors and have brought me copies of their books. I never had the opportunity to attend such a school as I was growing up. I simply started writing down the thoughts which came to me in my moments of meditation. I never thought I would be an editor this long.
On March 7-9 I was in Kingsport, Tennessee. I stayed in the congenial home of Max E. Smith. We had a full schedule of meetings. I spoke three nights, conducted forums each morning, spoke at two luncheons, delivered three radio addresses and made two thirty minute television appearances. It was a blessing to me to be able to enjoy the hospitality of such a gracious home and the fellowship of such a fine band of disciples as I found there. I have often thought about how the sectarian spirit cheated me in not allowing me to know so many whom God loved and whom I also found it easy to love.
I was scheduled to be in Xenia, Ohio, April 3-5, and as I was flying into an airport some twenty miles away, I noticed the pilot was having a difficult time landing the plane. We were being buffeted by heavy winds. The sky outside was almost as black as night. When we got to the home of Bro. and Sister Jones where I was to stay, we learned that Xenia had experienced a frightful tornado and many homes, schools and churches had been wiped out. We hurried to the meetinghouse to find it had been turned into a rescue station. People came straggling in, dripping from the torrential rain which had followed the storm.
Some of the members had lost their homes. Included among them was Brother Isaac Flora, the minister. Many of those who came to the church building still had loved ones missing, in some cases buried in the debris. The women warmed up the chili which had been prepared for our lunch the next day. Coffee was made and thankfully received. Everyone had a tale to tell about how the storm swept in leaving devastation in its path. There were those who could not talk. The uncertainty numbed them. The tornado was one of scores which had harassed the country on that frightful day. Our meeting was cancelled and the city began the monumental task of cleaning away the rubble in preparation for rebuilding. It was a tragic thing.
I went next to Los Angeles to make a special film with the Vernon Brothers. It was made at Warner Studios. They had been making "Homestead, U.S.A." which featured their birthplace and home in the Ozarks. It was a successful presentation. The four brothers formed a real quartet. All of them had married wives who were singers and who had a quartet of their own. Then the children followed in the footsteps of the parents, and they could form almost any kind of combination of voices. They did an excellent job of sending forth the message on wings of song. Best of all, they did not strive to make it by their distinctiveness. They just got up and sang their heads off, and that was distinctive enough in our day. Besides that, all four of the boys were preachers and they could exhort and encourage their listeners to be faithful.
You will recall that it was the Vernon Brothers who led singing for me and did special numbers years before, when I was at Lakewood, California where Ernest Beam was serving when he died. I was there at the invitation of his successor, the inimitable William Jessup, who will never receive enough honor in this world to repay his noble efforts in behalf of the unity of the believers. It was great to be reunited with the brothers again. We used the old Roy Rogers set and present on the program with us was Dale Evans (Rogers), his wife. I was able to talk with her frequently during the long day of filming and I came to admire her a great deal. She told me of their desire to have children and how they had adopted so many of all races.
The night before I had spoken at Westchester to a full house. It was served by one of my favorite people on earth, Harold Thomas. He succeeded Bill Banowsky, who had resigned to become president of Pepperdine University. Harold had been a real pioneer, a trailblazer in the northeast, especially in Maine. He and his good wife were great souls, addicted to the kingdom, willing to make themselves vulnerable for the sake of Jesus. In the same congregation was Harry Robert Fox, Sr., who, with his family had spent so many years in Japan, beloved by the native peoples. I already knew Harry Robert, Jr., and Logan, both of whom were possessed of a fabulous knowledge of the Word. It was a rare privilege to see their revered father.
On May 9, I delivered the baccalaureate address for the graduating class at Cincinnati Bible Seminary, and the next week was in a meeting at Amarillo, Texas. It was my first time to actually conduct a series for brethren who had always opposed the Sunday School. Some of the brethren were a little skeptical of my coming. The preacher was David Sullins, a unique and precious brother. I stayed in his home. Dave had been in Germany during the war, charged with the repair of the motor vehicles for a contingent of motorized cavalry stationed near Berchtesgaden, the mountain retreat of Adolf Hitler, about ten miles from Salzburg. He had fallen in love with an attractive German girl and they married. It was fun attempting to "sprechen sie Deutsch" with her, especially since I only remembered from my childhood, the little warning taught all children:
But we had a great meeting and talked about what God expected of all of us in this age. I went back once again for another meeting and found the brethren able to work across the lines with those who did not agree with them.
One of the outstanding gatherings of men in the United States is the Cavalier Men's Retreat in Virginia. I have now spoken there three times. When I went in 1974 it was held at Oak Hill Christian Assembly grounds, just outside of Richmond. Now it meets some seventy miles away, near the little village of Yale. There were 460 men present the first time I was there. Now it consistently attracts more than 500. Campers are parked all over the hillside and tents pitched throughout the pines. It is a strictly "come as you are event" and no one dresses up for it. The music is under the direction of "The Gospel Lads," who direct audience participation as well as render specials. Those who attend go back home refreshed in spirit, and ready to try and remove mountains for the Master. It is truly an inspirational something.
I flew next to Saskatoon, where brethren met me and took me way south to Macrorie. Here it is that a kind of wilderness camp has been carved out by the brethren. Room has been made in a deep valley for the pitching of tents and the parking of camping vehicles. A tractor stands by to snake the cars out in case of rain. Brethren come from all over Canada and part of the United States. All eat breakfast together. At noon camp stoves and campfires are going all over the place as every family prepares for itself. There are meetings in the morning and evening, the latter generally around a fire which is needed occasionally when the sun goes down. The pace of life is slow and relaxing with the afternoon given over to games in which anyone may feel free to participate.
During the light refreshment period at night, choruses are sung over the dying embers. The young people are exceptionally good singers, and the wooded hills resound to the sound of their voices. Cecil Bailey, from Winnipeg, Manitoba, and Harold Fox, from Malta, Montana, were the other two speakers. I was endeared to them by their seriousness of purpose and their love for the Word of God. I spoke analytically on the Ephesian Letter. It was hard to bid each other goodbye when the time of separation arrived.
I had to hurry back to the states in order to get to the School of the Ministry, an annual feature conducted at Milligan College in Tennessee. Milligan is a famous school because of its origin and its setting. It is one of the loveliest places in the world. I joined Knofel Staton, Mildred Phillips and Olin Hays on the program. The entire Vernon family was present and regularly provided us with superb music. I came to believe that Knofel Staton was one of the most capable men in the restoration movement in our day. Young and vigorous, he was also filled with knowledge. He talked about marriage and I thought I had never heard another series to equal it. Sister Phillips was excellent in her presentation of personalities she had known in the restoration movement. She is the daughter of the late P.H. Welshimer of Canton, Ohio, whose name has already become legendary. Brother Hays was also in his usual excellent form. It provided a good time for all.
It was about this time I learned that in England, Carlton Melling, who had been gradually losing his sight, resigned as editor of the Scripture Standard. He was succeeded by the efficient James Gardiner of Edinburgh. The paper was once under the editorship of Walter Crosthwaite, so during my lifetime had been blessed by three dedicated men, capable and scholarly. It was good to realize that it had been entrusted to good hands.
The war had made a greater impact upon the British brethren than they had at first realized. Those who lived in Scotland, England and Wales, were all pacifists. During my two trips among them I found only two men who believed it was right for a Christian to bear arms in defense of his country. During World War I they had suffered indescribable physical torture because of their conscience on the matter. They had been thrown into prison and starved on bread and water. Some of them always bore the marks of their suffering.
But World War II brought among them a different breed, men from the United States, some of them in uniform, some of them conscientious objectors, but who tried never to allow anything to interfere with their devotion to the Lord. These men, and some of their contemporaries, went back to Europe after the hostilities had ceased, taking with them American ideas and methods of evangelism. In Italy, Finland, Germany, France, the Netherlands, and even behind the Iron Curtain, as well as in England, they planted congregations of believers. Neither group was as tolerant of the other as they might have been. Challenges were issued to debate, and to all intents and purposes, a divided group of believers was the result. At present it appears that both sides continue in a kind of suspended animation, watching each other, talking about each other, but seldom talking to one another. A new paper has been started, and there has been a sad polarization.
September 13, 14 I went to the Men's Retreat at Round Lake Christian Assembly, in Ohio. There were 601 men registered for the occasion. Don DeWelt was the other speaker, and he did a masterful job. Many years ago, when we first began to try and bring some degree of understanding and tolerance into an area where hostility had always raged, Leroy Garrett and I met with Don and Seth Wilson at Nowata, Oklahoma, in an epoch-making forum which was conducted openly and fairly. My brother Paul presided over it. At the time I came to have a deep appreciation for the men whose position we opposed. We have grown closer together through the years.
Don has taught at Ozark Bible College for years. He has always been an advocate of intense evangelism coupled with nurture in the Word. He has published a whole series of books devoted to helping men understand and teach the Word of God. One of his most noted accomplishments was that of bringing back the entire set of Campbell's Harbinger. His latest feat has been the returning to print of the periodicals by Walter Scott, with "The Voice of the Golden Oracle" as the final volume. I consider it one of the greatest volumes I have ever read. Don's method of public presentation is unique. One of the blessings of it comes from his ability to carry on a conversation with himself. It was a great blessing to me to be associated with him. The men all loved him!
Four days later I went to Hanover, New Mexico. To get there, it was necessary to fly to Albuquerque, and take a small commuter plane which flew by way of Truth or Consequences. We landed at Silver City, which was founded in 1870 to mine the gold and silver ores in the foothills of the Mogollon Mountains. Although the supply of these precious metals is about exhausted, copper mining has displaced the work of digging them out. It is thriving. The little town of Hanover lies in sight of a copper mine. The handful of saints meeting there were precious in their faith. The sisters brought lunch and we ate together at noon and again at night after the meetings. The Mexican-flavored food was super. We lingered on in the company of each other, unwilling to break the magic spell of fellowship which engulfed us all in its embrace.
Al Botts, who had been successful in forging a career in the Far West, had returned to Silver City, where he was engaged in his trade, while preaching for the little band of saints. He was not caught in the sectarian noose at all, and extended the love of Christ to all who deserved it. I was refreshed greatly by the simplicity of life in this remote village which was literally "the end of the trail." Ghost towns and abandoned mining villages dot the mountains. Owls fly in and out of deserted houses. Coyotes make their dens under the ruins of old taverns which once echoed to raucous laughter. But there is nothing ghostly about the fellowship of the saints. It is genuine.
The following month I went to Solsberry, Indiana, where James Root ministered. He had been a successful newspaper editor, but an inner gnawing had driven him to become a preacher of the Word. So he left the desk and went out "not knowing wither he went." He was never able to divorce himself completely from his former vocation. One who has smelled printer's ink never is. So he continued to report the news and do book reviews for the paper, but his work for Christ became very challenging and satisfying. Fortunately, he was not caught up in a lot of the political strivings which seem to be part of the religious establishment. So he and the little band of saints were making progress. This was evidenced in the capacity crowds which attended the meetings. The house was filled every night.
It was while I was there that I came to realize the urbanization of our culture and the words of Jacques Ellul struck me with full force. He said, "We are in the city even when we are in the country for today the country (and soon this will be true of the immense Asian steppe) is only an annex of the city." Solsberry had once been a quiet Hoosier village. The old country store was still there. It stocked everything from horse collars to kerosene lamps. You could still buy an ice cream cone for a nickel. There was a bench behind the stove where "the spit and argue club used to meet." But times had changed. The village was now the bedroom of the city. Every morning people arose from their sleep and headed for the city to work. Some of them were on split shifts. Times had changed and were still changing before our very eyes.
My next work was in Saint Louis, Michigan, where a congregation was thriving under the direction of Henry MacAdams. We had been together years before near South Bend, Indiana. It was good to see him again. He was loved by the people and respected in the community. I was pleased to see brethren from several wings of the non-instrument group come. Some of them were ill at ease at first, walking gingerly as if treading upon forbidden ground. But they were soon listening quite calmly and were resigned to the fact of where they were.
I went next to Beaverton, Oregon. Donald S. Cox was the minister, and I had the great privilege of staying in his wonderful home. Don is man intent upon following God's leading as he understands it. He has a tremendous grasp of the sacred scriptures and a sense of the relevance of the good news to our present age. He is an excellent administrator, but seeks to lead the flock gently home. It was a tremendous blessing to be associated with him.
On August 9, Richard M. Nixon became the first president of these United States to resign from office. The day before he had made his farewell address to the nation admitting only to poor judgment. I had defended him until a few days before. When I became convinced that he was no longer speaking the truth I could not speak up for him. I was greatly disappointed. It seems incredible that a man who had held religious services in the White House could deceive the people of our land. But I was glad when the Watergate ordeal was over and Gerald Ford took office. I think he made a grave error in political judgment when, on September 8, he announced that he had unconditionally pardoned his predecessor for all crimes against the United States he "has committed or may have committed." I do not think the public was ready for this and I do not think his reasons for doing it were all that logical.
It was December 19 before both Houses of Congress gave a majority vote of approval to Nelson Rockefeller as vice president. This came only after a lengthy and full investigation of the sources and use of his colossal wealth. For the first time the country had an unelected President and Vice President. Meanwhile two famous show personalities died after years on radio and television. Ed Sullivan passed away in New York on October 13, and Jack Benny died in Beverly Hills, California on December 26. The first was 73, the second was 80 years of age.
Change and decay were upon every hand. The small and the great were all subject to it. But it was a blessing to be in one whom it could not affect. It was with faith in Him I began what was to be the final year of publication of the Mission Messenger.
Before I get too far from it, I must tell you about the Thanksgiving Workshop of Evangelicals for Social Action, in which I was invited to participate as a delegate. It was held in the Downtown Y.M.C.A. in Chicago and lasted for three days. There were two men from the independent Christian Churches and one other from the Churches of Christ, Vic Hunter, who had been editor of Mission but had just resigned. It was interesting to listen to those who had been invited to speak in behalf of various groups, blacks, Orientals, and Hispanic. Some of the most fervent oratory was poured forth in behalf of a majority group in our society -- women!
Among those who impressed me most were Paul Rees, Tong Gaw, and Carl F.H. Henry. The latter delivered one of the finest speeches I had ever heard. Leaving all theory aside he went straight to the Bible, and made it come alive. He seemed to be a master of the art of exposition. He developed the parable of the injured man on the road to Jericho in a truly new and exciting way. I liked the calm fashion in which he reacted to the questions and feedback which grew out of his speech. He was firm without being stubborn, practical without being pushy.
In looking back now upon the year I am describing, I find another thing which brought great satisfaction to Nell and me. I had made it a practice, when I sold enough books to pay for the printing, to start giving the remainder away to college students absolutely free. We even paid the cost of wrapping and postage. In seven years we gave away over 4200 volumes. The postage alone was a little more than fifteen hundred dollars. No one who wrote was turned down provided he personally requested the book. We refused to send them to young people at the request of preachers or parents. We did not want those who received them to feel obligated to read them. We did not propose to thrust anything down unwilling gullets. The books went to every continent. We mailed them to Cambridge, Oxford, the University of Leeds, and various other schools in England. We sent them to universities in Lebanon, Egypt, Taiwan, Amsterdam, Germany and South Africa. It was a real joy to get letters with odd-looking stamps and quaint handwriting asking for one of the books. It helped to show the circulation range of our little paper.
We were not even launched into the New Year when I received word of the death of longtime friends. M.S. Whiteman, one of the original students at the old Alabama Christian College, when G.A. Dunn was president, and the college was located at Berry, many years ago. We had become real friends. Harry Robert Fox, Sr., the gentle missionary who planted the cause so firmly in Japan, and who finally retired to Inglewood, California. He wrote me such encouraging and stimulating letters, never complaining about his own increasing age and infirmities. Elizabeth Vermilion, of Riverside, California. I used to stay at their house in Springfield, Missouri, when I was known as "the boy preacher." I played with her sons until they had to summon me into the house to get ready for evening meetings. John Hasty, the dyed-in-the-wool Republican of Nixa, Missouri. He lived to the age of 94, always kind and considerate of others. These all died in the faith, having seen the promises and embraced them afar off.
I returned to Westchester, California, the second week of the New Year. The meeting was kind of outstanding. Each night a different group sang. One night the whole Pepperdine University Chorus was there. Another night, the black choir from Figueroa Boulevard Church of Christ was present. A children's group from a day school was present one night, and still another group from Westchester. These all harmonized a half hour before the preaching began. Every night there were people present from 36 to 53 congregations. It was like old home week. Harold Thomas presided over the meetings. Those of you who have heard him know what an outstanding job he does. I spoke one day for the Southern California Christian ministers, and another for the faculty meeting at Pepperdine.
I went from there to Macomb, Illinois, to visit the campus work which was being carried on under the versatile and capable direction of John Derry at Western Illinois University. This was the thing I liked to do best. It was a real thrill to engage in a dialogue session with young people of college age. Their questions were not stereotyped. They were new, fresh and vibrant. And they demanded answers to the problems of life. A good many students seemed jaded, tired and fed up with the daily routine. I noticed that those who had come to know Jesus did not seem to fit into the groove chopped out for the "average student." Generally, they were a cut above, having added a spiritual dimension to life. And John was doing a good job in helping them to take full advantage of their new perspective.
I found a relatively small non-instrumental congregation in Macomb. Several of the members were connected with the college in the role of instructors. I sought to get them to begin clearing the ground for accomplishing some things together with brethren in the Christian Church. Their common historical roots could nourish them both. One thing I recommended was that they take turns holding their midweek Bible studies together. To me, it seemed a shame to have a mere handful of people studying in each place when they could combine for one night a week with no compromise of convictions.
The first of February found me at the World Convention of Missions at Grand Junction, Colorado. It was sponsored by Intermountain Christian College. Both the college and the convention were the fruition of the dream of Erskine Scates, the president of the school. Always an ardent advocate of sharing the Good News with the poverty-stricken people of the universe, he arranged the annual convention to inform and alert the inhabitants of the fertile Colorado Valley of the needs of the regions beyond. He has now departed to be with Jesus but he has left his sons to put wings to his words and feet to his prayers.
I had been in correspondence with Al B. Nelson, a long-time instructor at Texas A&M University, at College Station, about coming to Bryan, Texas. We had agreed upon February 19-21 as the date. The little Christian Church there had been beset by difficulties of one kind and another, and it was a pleasure to go and proclaim the good news of peace. I was agreeably surprised to see a goodly number of brethren from the Churches of Christ present, and although they tended not to agree upon some of my answers to certain questions, that was to be expected. I tried never to trim my response to please the querist, but to answer in such a manner that I would be willing to give an account if it was the last thing I ever said. I was also perfectly content to do as Martin Luther said, "Give men time." We did not arrive at our present state in one day, nor would we get out of our predicament by sunset.
I made my home with Brother and Sister Nelson, and it was a lovely and quiet place. As we breakfasted together I could look out on the rear courtyard where Sister Nelson kept the birds well supplied with an "avian smorgasbord." Some of them were so tame and had been regular customers for so long they would go up on the windowsill and watch us as we ate. Brother Nelson and I wasted no time. It was a literary blessing for me to be with one who knew Texas so well, and we talked about two realms -- heaven and the Lone Star State -- without stopping.
I went next to Lake Wales, Florida, for the Lake Aurora Christian Assembly meeting. Brethren reported later that it was the largest in attendance of any Men's Retreat they had ever held. I spoke three times and held open forums for questions twice. The questions were especially good. The men had gravitated to Florida from every part of the north. They brought with them the sectional bias of each area, and they wanted to know the truth about their views. I pointed out that every movement begun by men to unite the believers inevitably passes through the same sequence -- charity, innovation, debate, division, sectarianism, and charity again. This starts the whole process over. We are just now emerging from our period of hibernation in the deep freeze of sectarianism. It is difficult for us to be charitable. We are afraid of going too far, of denying what our parents fought to achieve. But our parents were not perfect and a lot of things which they willed us are questionable. We need not fear being lost at sea as long as we cling to the Rock. Jesus Christ is Lord. If we steer by Him instead of by history we will be safe.
At Lexington, Ohio, I was scheduled to speak on three themes which were particularly relevant to our times: "Do Demons Inhabit the Bodies of Men Today?"; "Can the Planets Decide Our Fate?"; and "Resurrection and the Life Beyond." These were on everyone's mind because of "The Exorcist." The house was filled for every service and more than a hundred gathered for the question periods each day. It was a real blessing to be associated with such generous, warmhearted saints, and I thrilled to their companionship in the Lord Jesus.
I had been issued an invitation to speak at the International Convention of Christian Endeavor which was to be held at Portland. More than a thousand persons were in attendance. After I addressed the entire group they split into two equal sections and I met with about 500 of them to answer questions about the faith in Christ Jesus. There were a good many delegates from foreign countries. As a result of speaking for the gathering I have three times been invited to address the Easter Sunrise Service which they sponsor in one of the most beautiful parks in Saint Louis. It attracts some 2500 persons.
I went next to Bloomington, Minnesota where I spoke to the congregation of which Robert Cash is the able minister. Fortunately, it was far enough to the north that the party spirit did not prevail with the same bitterness and intensity in which it is found farther to the south. As a result we had in attendance a great number of Church of Christ brethren. This always makes the question forums of particular interest. Both sides tend to ask about things of which the others have not the faintest inkling of knowledge. Because of their long years of isolation and insulation, both have accepted their own distinctives.
April 23-25 found me at the Colony Heights congregation in Fort Wayne, Indiana, with George L. Shull. It had been a long time since I had been in Fort Wayne. I had made three trips there previously. I found a town which had known the impact of change. The men who had been laboring there when I had originally visited were all gone. But Jesus was there alive and well. It was interesting to see how He could adapt to various circumstances and conditions, and influence them.
Less than two weeks later I was in Lansing, Michigan, for the State Christian Convention. This made it possible for me to meet a great many good friends I had made through the years. Michigan was always very interesting to me. It was in Detroit that Brother Malcolmson, an elder who had come over from Scotland to become wealthy in the coal importing business, had staked Henry Ford to his first $50,000 when Ford was beginning to experiment with his motor vehicle. Ford used to attend services with him. Legend has it that he immersed Ford. They had no preacher for they were staunch believers in mutual ministry. Malcolmson spoke on the theme once at the Abilene Christian College lectureship. It was a masterful address.
In 1856, Isaac Errett left Warren, Ohio, with a group interested in the lumber business. He had to travel by stage from Detroit far back into the timber country. The business failed and Errett started planting churches instead of cutting down trees. He brought about 1000 new members into the body before leaving for Cleveland to edit the Christian Standard. Before he left he was under fire for a sign on his door which read "Rev." Isaac Errett. He was the first man in the Restoration Movement to adopt a title. I went to Michigan with a lot of history behind me. I tried to make a little while I was there.
As the time drew near for the announced demise of Mission Messenger, we were besieged by offers to take it over and continue it. A good many of these offered to continue it in the manner to which it had been accustomed. I steadfastly refused all of these. It was my contention that no one else could edit the paper as I had done. Thirty-seven years of trial and error had stamped it with the impress of my personality and thought. It was a baby which Nell and I had conceived and to which we had given birth. It was a part of us. The transfer of it to another was as unthinkable as it would have been to give one of our grandchildren to someone else to raise.
When that did not work we kept getting offers to buy our mailing list. It was just under ten thousand and consisted of many who had already been introduced to buying books by mail. I stubbornly refused to sell it. It seemed to me it would be a complete betrayal of trust. Those who sent a subscription want the paper. They did not want to receive a fistful of mail every day advertising everything from neckties to cheese. When I announced that the mailing list was not for sale, I was told that everyone else was doing it. Some even became a little huffy and sarcastic. But none of these things moved me and we quit with our list -- and our honor -- intact.
Of course, a great many who lamented our planned discontinuance wrote begging us to continue. This was especially true of those who had recently started to read the little journal and wanted to absorb more of my thinking. It was also the case with those who had been subscribers from the beginning. It had been like one of the family to them. I wrote them all, thanking them for their confidence, but telling them that I wanted the paper to die in my arms and lay it gently to rest. I did not want to see it go out with its back against the wall and the baying hounds moving in for the kill. A great many editors have continued too long and have done as much damage in their final few years as they did good in all of the previous decades of their writing.
Besides that, I had a lot of reading I wanted to do, and a lot of personal work that I wanted to perform. There were miles to go before I could sleep. There had always been certain inhibitions created by having to get out the paper. I felt that when I mailed out the last issue and laid down the pen it would give me a sense of freedom I had not known for years. But meanwhile I was in the final year and I made some serious and far-reaching suggestions to the brethren which would get us off the sectarian hook on which we had impaled ourselves. These were all bound together in the book "One in Christ." It has long ago sold out.
In August of 1975, I went to the congregation at New Liberty, near Windsor, Illinois for their centennial. It was a beautiful old meetinghouse out in the country. I had held meetings there when I was just coming into manhood. I had baptized scores of people in the nearby Kakaskia River. It was only about three miles from Sand Creek, where Daniel Sommer had read his fateful Address and Declaration which started us down the long road of fighting and division. Only eternity will reveal the cost of the strife which began with that lethal dose. When I first went to the area I was not only a victim, but an actual practitioner of the sectarian spirit. Now I rejoiced to see the descendants of those who had sued each other in the courts sitting together in heavenly places.
Less than a week later I was back at a family camp in Mechanicsville, near Richmond, Virginia. I delivered four addresses which were entitled: "Can the Home Survive the Shock?"; "How to Keep From Coming Unglued"; "Who Is Raising Whom These Days?"; and "Darling, You Are Growing Old." I ran the entire gamut of life experiences from the purpose of the home through marriage, parenthood and old age. It was easy to talk to those who were eager to listen and we rejoiced to be with each other in the Lord.
I went next to the Area Men's Meeting in Chicago. It was great to be back with the men who worked in the city which Carl Sandburg called "Hog Butcher of the World, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat." I went over to visit the inner city work. It was doing good but I came away with a feeling that culturally we are ill-adapted as a people to penetrate the hard shell of the city. There are no doubt enough people in Chicago from a restoration movement background to make a congregation many times the size of any we have there. But they are hiding. They are running from themselves. Our rural, Southern-oriented, social culture and life-style has not equipped us to face the problems of a black, Oriental and Southern European conglomeration. It was great to talk and visit and eat with men who had accepted Satan's dare. But it was obvious that we needed a radical reformation, one that cut to the bone.
My very next work was a totally different kind. I was with the Northland Christian Church in Danville, Illinois. The congregation had a lovely structure in which to meet, and was composed of good middle-class Americans. It was a distinct change from the drug-pushing, prostitute-ridden, gang-harassed Chicago streets. It made me feel the force of "East is east and West is west, and never the twain shall meet." I will confess that this has been a source of a lot of anxiety to me. I have always held that the blood of Jesus will cleanse anyone regardless of how filthy, dirty and scabby his sins may have made him. I have an almost unconquerable urge to button-hole people on the streets and tell them about the grace of God. I'm drawn by a deep inner compulsion, a sense of destiny, a real deep-down feeling that makes me want to go down highways and alleys and compel them to come in.
Next I went to Orrville, Ohio. If you do not know, this is the home of Smucker's -- the jam people. Years ago the German family of Smucker began making apple butter on a small scale for sale to the neighbors. As time went on their fame spread and their business grew in Ohio like that of Walter Knott had in California. Now they produce thousands of tons of fruit, as well as making sorghum, honey and peanut butter. They have become "jam merchants to the world." Several of the members worked for them. The Smuckers had Anabaptist roots and this is evidenced in the town. It is a lovely and clean place, like German-oriented towns often are. Kenneth Baldwin ministered to a congregation of gracious and diversified folk.
The following week I was in Flora, Illinois to address the Southern Illinois Christian Convention. The town was named after the Roman goddess of flowers, whose festival, the Floralia, was inaugurated in Rome 250 years before Jesus was born. The meetings were held at First Christian Church which has in excess of 1250 members. I taught an afternoon workshop and spoke at night. The auditorium was filled to capacity.
I went next to Piqua, Ohio, which has a history reaching back before we gained our freedom from English domination. In 1749 a fort and trading post were established here. The town was incorporated as Washington in 1807, the same year Thomas Campbell left Ireland for America on the good ship Brutus. The name of the town was changed to Piqua in 1823. Dave Huddlestun was working with the congregation while I was there with the brethren.
It was while I was there I met Dr. Marcus Miller. He had just written a book "Roots By the River." He sent me a copy. I devoured it. I read it with such avidity I could hardly put it down until I had read every word of it. The preface begins with these words: "This is a commentary and a history of the Tunkers or the Old German Baptist Brethren who settled in the upper Great Miami and Stillwater Valleys of Ohio. It attempts to reveal a little of the personalities and human nature of those who lived in these valleys, a little of the physical and a little of the spiritual sufferings which they encountered, and a little of the thinking that went into some of the courses which they chose to take."
The book details the divisions which beset the "old Brethren." Like ourselves they were caught up in the frightful tensions which tore at a movement that was far removed from the social climate of ancient Judea, and like ourselves they had their "progressives" and "Faithful Brethren." They had problems with protracted or revival meetings, with Sunday Schools and with Social Meetings. They resisted bitterly a "salaried or paid ministry which was believed to be against the apostolic order." They had problems with the bicycle which was designated "a modern invention, popular in the world and creeping into the church." In 1925 they wrestled with the radio, and later with television as "an influence for evil." One of the biggest hassles was over the starting of Christian schools. Another was over the introduction of the automobile. Hours were spent in denouncing Ford and Chevrolet for leading us down a road with no ending. As I read this interesting volume, I could see our own movement on almost every page of this much older and more venerable attempt to "restore the primitive order." I was deeply indebted to Dr. Miller who still wears the "plain clothes" including the coat with the standing collar.
Incidentally, the Dunkard Brethren, in 1911, reached a dress decision which has been binding ever since. It includes the following statement: "That the brethren wear their hair and beard in a plain and sanitary manner. That the mustache alone is forbidden. Parting the hair in the middle or combing it straight back is recommended for both brethren and sisters." The Dunkard Brethren should not be confused with the Old Order German Baptist Brethren. They have a common origin, but there have arisen differences which have driven them apart. Does that sound familiar to you?
My next trip was to Meadville, Pennsylvania. I found the congregation meeting a couple of blocks from the campus of Allegheny College. The college was started in 1815 and chartered in 1817. It was loosely affiliated with the Methodist Church and was noted for its library of 140,000 volumes. Ida M. Tarbell, who was a native of Erie County, had written "A Life of Abraham Lincoln" in 1900. In preparing for it she amassed a tremendous collection of Lincolniana which she left to the school. I went to the campus and was walking across it when I heard my name called. I was surprised to see a man whom I knew. He had grown up in the Churches of Christ but had long since gone to the Disciples of Christ. He was head of a department at the school. We felt that it was providential that I just happened to be walking across the campus so we could meet.
There were several brethren from the non-instrumental congregations who attended the meetings. Some came from as far away as Youngstown, Ohio. The auditorium was filled each night and we had a glorious time. Nothing marred our kinship with one another and the fellowship was unabated. I stayed with Brother and Sister Hessler and it was truly "a home away from home." After the meetings at night a group of brethren would go with us to the hospitable home, and we would talk until almost midnight.
I have thought a lot about the wonders of koinonia. As William Barclay says, it is such a rich word that no single English term can describe it. It literally means "to share a common life." The New English Version so renders it every time it occurs. But the common life we share is that of the Spirit. It is not just putting up with one another, or enduring each other. It is at once so beautiful and thrilling that nothing else can ever take its place in the association of Christians. I think it was one of the grandest things that God ever did for us, the providing of a relationship that is so intimate and full it transcends our differences.
Nell and I received a blow when we learned of the almost sudden death of Brother Melvin Burton at Escondido, California. We had known Melvin and Gladys most of their lives. They moved to Saint Louis shortly after we did and our families grew up together. Their son Curtis married our daughter Sue. Bro. Burton had served until retirement in the criminal investigation division of the Internal Revenue Service. He had helped to close the case against Tom Pendergast, the racketeering boss of Missouri, and had worked on the Al Capone case in Chicago. When he retired he was honored by the President of the United States as well as by many others in the political spectrum. There was never a breath of scandal against him.
In Oct., 1975, the Saint Louis Realtors' Association decided to have a prayer breakfast. It was to become an annual event if it was successful. They asked me to speak at it. A great deal depended upon the reaction. It was at 6:30 in the morning at a prominent hotel. Many of those who came had been "out on the town" the night before. A great many were smoking cigarettes as if their life depended on it, rather than the opposite. The president was a consecrated Christian gentleman. After breakfast he made a few remarks, led a prayer for God's guidance, and introduced me. I have never before felt the same nearness of the Spirit. I spoke about 18 minutes. After the first five the attention was riveted. At the close there was a standing ovation. I am glad to report that the prayer breakfast is a regular thing now.
I was invited to come next to the Kentucky State Teen Convention at Lexington. It was great to see the hundreds of youthful Christians gathering for the occasion. The singing was rousing, the spirit encouraging and the atmosphere was excellent. It gave me a great thrill to touch so many lives while they were still in the dewy freshness of young manhood and womanhood. The courage, faith and hope of such people is a tremendous source of strength to me.
I went from there to Canada to the Ontario Christian Seminary. The president was Alan Larue. I had first met him years ago at a little rural congregation in Ohio. He was always a man of vision and foresight. He had gone to Toronto and built the school up to its present rating. It was a brilliant move. Toronto, an Indian name meaning "a place of meeting," was already the second city in Canada, in point of population. It had just begun to expand. A great medical, museum and musical center, it was also the home of Toronto University, one of the great educational centers of our day. The city was small in number, but had an impact beyond its size. It was great to be able to talk with the students between sessions and to share in their plans and ambitions.
December 3-5 found me at Wickliffe, Ohio. Here I was permitted to be with Jack Ashworth, who previously labored with the Church of Christ, but who had been delivered from a lot of the sectarian hang-ups. Because of the freedom and openness of the congregation it was under suspicion by many others in the general Cleveland area. The very first morning six of the preachers came together to question me. Just as soon as I announced we were ready for queries from the audience they "hogged the show" and sought to dominate the proceedings. It was rather interesting. They followed the pattern I have seen so often. One would ask a leading question, and the other would have his hand in the air before I answered it. They laid down a barrage of questions but fortunately I had heard all of them before, many times.
One of the most interesting features about this kind of tactic which I have experienced so often is the reaction upon those who attend my meetings and who did not grow up in an exclusivistic Church of Christ atmosphere. They can hardly believe their ears. In most cases the questioners keep an eye on their watches and about five minutes before quitting time "they fold their tents like the Arabs, and as silently steal away." When they leave, someone is almost certain to burst out with, "Who in the world are those men, and what do they represent?" Of course, these men cannot eat luncheon in the meetinghouse, so they never meet people informally and personally. They can only hit and run, so they appear cowardly to those who cannot understand either their purpose or their method of trying to attain it. The sectarian spirit makes cowards of men who ought to be brave.
Since Kirtland was quite close, I was eager to go over and see this place which Joseph Smith made quite famous. It was very near the home of Sidney Rigdon, who was a Baptist preacher at Mentor originally. He was an eloquent man who was led into what was called "the current reformation" by Alexander Campbell, after an all night talk on the front porch at Bethany. He became very close to Campbell, even traveling with him by horseback to Washington, Kentucky, to take notes on the debate with McCalla.
Rigdon was led into Mormonism by Parley P. Pratt, who with his brother Orson, was another defector from the Campbell movement. Rigdon had a profound effect upon the developing Mormon faith and is credited with a lot of the theology which became part of it. He expected to become its head, succeeding Smith, who was shot to death in the jail at Nauvoo, Illinois, by enraged citizens who resented his ambitious attitude and his taking of other wives. But he was shouldered aside by Brigham Young, and at the age of sixty returned a broken man to his boyhood home in Friendship, New York. Here he worked as a shingle-packer, disillusioned and upset, referring to himself as an "exile."
The "saints" as they refer to themselves, built a "temple" in Kirtland. It is still maintained by the "Reorganized Church" of Independence, Missouri, one of the five branches into which the movement separated. The caretakers and guides try to make it appear that the blueprint was inspired and the Lord acted as foreman in its erection. It is evident that this is only part of the myth of which the whole false system has been constructed. It has been built into one of the most cleverly-contrived fabrications ever devised to fool and deceive an unsuspecting world.
On two consecutive Tuesdays in December I was scheduled to be the speaker at the Messianic Forum luncheon in Saint Louis. These are held every Tuesday at noon at the Downtown Holiday Inn. They began on May 14, 1948, the day that Israel became a nation, following a resolution by the United Nations General Assembly, on Nov. 29, 1947. This called for an end to the British Mandate for Palestine which had been established by the League of Nations in 1922. I have now spoken about 36 times to the group, which is attended by Jews with a great deal of love for Jerusalem. Some of these are believers in Jesus, but a great many are opposed to him. They are held together by a mutual love for Israel, although their reasons for that love differ widely. I have been privileged to meet teachers and writers exiled from Russia, as well as presidents of large manufacturing concerns, and persons from every walk of life. The most versatile and articulate presentation I have ever heard in answer to my presentation about the Lordship of Jesus, was made by a manufacturer of men's pants.
Once I was invited to speak by the United Jewish Men of Saint Louis. I appeared with a popular and respected rabbi, who presented counter-arguments to my contention that Jesus was the Messiah. There were 800 men present for the dinner and program which followed. The thing which impressed me was the number of Jews who were humanists. The rabbi was in almost as much trouble as I was. The question period lasted an hour and he was attacked for his belief in the existence of God about as severely as I was for urging that Jesus was His Son.
The last event of the year was the Saint Louis Forum. This had always been an honest effort to discuss anything, regardless of how "sticky" it was, without qualm. Any person could feel free to state anything or to ask any question. In 1975 we stretched the program to the point that we engaged in open discussion of moral questions and obligations such as we had not discussed before. We had twice invited women to appear as speakers in a survey of women's rights and privileges in the church. But this time we invited two men who were doctors to frankly discuss the abortion issue; and two persons who were involved in the political spectrum to talk about the Christian's role in modern politics. We asked them to address frankly the problem of whether a Christian had the right to march in peace demonstrations, or to use the power of organized revolt to overthrow laws that were unjust.
Two students of prophecy talked about modern Israel in the plan of God. One of them felt that Jerusalem was destined to play a dramatic role in the future dealings of God with the world; the other felt that Jerusalem meant no more to God than Saint Louis or New York. This made for a good question period. There were two more who spoke on the subject of marriage and divorce especially as divorce and remarriage applied to one who was chosen to serve as an elder. I made an announcement of the forum in the paper but there was no coverage given it because by the time it was held the Mission Messenger was no more.
On December 1, Nell had addressed and wrapped the final paper and I had placed it in the proper bag according to the zip code. I loaded the nine mail sacks in the car as I had been doing each month for thirty-seven years and drove to the loading dock at the main post office in Saint Louis. I am sure it must have come as a great relief to Nell, and to Brother and Sister Ratliff, who had faithfully helped us wrap them for months. Sister Ratliff continued to do so after she had partially recovered from a paralytic stroke. I am not sure how we would have made it without the ministrations of this faithful pair. I said goodbye to the mail handlers on the dock and went into the weighing office and bade farewell to the men who had helped me so much. Only one was left who had been there when I started. I climbed in the car and started for home with mixed emotions.. More than a third of a century lay behind me.
I could not help but think of the changes I had made in those years. In my next, and last article in this series, I hope to detail some of the changes in my perception of the will of God which have occurred to me. I have been attacked and abused for stating them. It appears that we are often more comfortable with one who continues to wear the rags and tatters of a disproven theology than with one who dons a new suit provided by the Spirit of God. If one tells the truth about changes to which he has been driven he becomes the victim of a verbal assault; if he lies or cavils or conceals his true feelings he becomes a recognized, if uneasy, party hero.
In the remainder of this space I want to thank all those who have helped us in any manner. Many of you are still doing so. Your encouragement and sharing are wonderful. I have often thought what I would say if I were requested to name the five persons who have most affected my life. I have reached the conclusion it would be impossible to answer. Surely God has brought all of you into my life for an eternal purpose. You have touched my life for good and I am forever grateful. I have survived three wars, and even two world depressions. I have lived to see numerous changes in "the higher powers" that govern. Men have come, and men have gone, but I have continued with unabated faith in Him "who puts down kings and raises them up."
From one who was an intolerant debater and defender of the party line I have been delivered and made to see the earnest attempt to please God of many who have never heard of the Campbells. I have been led to see the inherent good in the youth of our land and have been able to properly appreciate the strength of middle age, and the wisdom and experience of old age. I am thrilled that I was invited to share this "Pilgrimage of Joy" with you, and since the journey is not completed I trust that you will pray for me that it may be finished as it began.
In this my final article in the present series, I want to suggest some of the things which I think I learned, and which have made such a noteworthy change in my attitude toward others. I constantly hear the charge that I am not the same man I used to be. I always answer that if I learn more tomorrow I will not be the same as I am now. I realize that I could skip these things. By doing so, my stock would rise greatly in some circles, but I would neither be faithful to my own convictions, nor loyal to Jesus, who is my only Lord.
Perhaps the most profound change came with the realization that the Church of Christ was simply another denomination and a sect. There is a difference. To denominate means to give a name or title to. To do this in order to separate and segregate those who wear it from other believers in Jesus is sectarian. To select a title that is found in the scriptures gives added weight to the divisive arguments which always result. And, while the expression "the church of Christ" does not occur in the sacred book, this does not deter some of the trivial arguments used to justify it as the name of the family of God.
It became obvious to me quite early that we had built up a System around the name we had selected, and we were seeking to save a man by getting him into that system. We were going the same route as the Church of God, the Nazarene Church, or the Church of God in Christ. We had been betrayed into thinking that by conforming to a few items one becomes pleasing to God. But each sect has a different set of items. Each party in the church of Christ has a different set. All of these are determined by honest, but stubborn men, who value their own distinctives above the unity of God's people. But one is not saved by being orthodox. He is not saved by a System, but by a Savior.
I was made to realize that the sheep of God were not all in any sectarian fold, but were scattered over the partisan hills. Various things have been done to bring them together. Reformations have occurred at various times. These inevitably produced movements which were doomed to multiply the divisions. One reason for this was the designation "churches" for the various sects. They are not churches by any stretch of the imagination. There is only one church. There never has been but one. There will never be another. Every saved person on earth is a member of the one body. By the will of God we are all one, by the actions of men we are all divided.
People in the sects are not necessarily our enemies. They are flesh and blood. They hurt, feel pain, and have nosebleed. And we wrestle not against flesh and blood. It is easier to fight persons than to fight principalities and powers. It is easier to war against persons than to go up against the unseen power that controls this dark world. We are carnal and we like to see our shots reach home. We can see people wince, dodge and grow angry, and it makes us exult. We must completely change our battle strategy. We have been fighting other believers.
People in the sects worship the same God, believe in the Sonship of Jesus, read the same Bible, sing the same songs, meet on the same day and hour, strive for the same heaven and fear the same hell as do we. Surely it was the malevolence of Satan which caused us to direct our weapons against them instead of "against spiritual agents from the very headquarters of evil." There is not one indication in God's Word that Paul, if he had been confronted with the same situation as ourselves would have turned his hand against every man and rejoiced that every man had turned his hand against him.
These people are hostages to Systems. From birth they have grown up and been reared in such Systems. Or in manhood, in the midst of the tragedy of the human predicament, they have fled to these Systems, as to cities of refuge. Our task is not to beat or belabor hostages. It is not to get the better of them. It is not to kill them. Any nation which kills hostages is inhumane, a violater of all basic human rights. We are to free hostages. But we cannot do so by contriving another System. Our walls are no better than those of other prisons. We must bring them to Christ and not introduce them to another custodian. This is the most difficult thing to do in our generation. It requires a vision of the unseen, a faith which looks beyond.
Another thing which I learned had to do with worship. I had grown up believing there were five acts of "public worship." These had to be performed on the first day of the week when the brethren met together, almost as a ritual. One of the insights I received from my study of the Word was that with the coming of Christ all things were made new. At the same time "old things had passed away." I guess it was just too much to believe that all things were made new. They may have passed away, but I needed them for a security blanket. I held on to some of them like a baby retains the habit of "thumb-sucking." I continued to do so until I came to trust in Jesus like Abraham did.
I shall never forget the afternoon that I was reading and meditating upon Jesus' visit with the Samaritan woman at the well curb at Sychar. It suddenly became clear to me that he lifted the subject of worship completely out of the realm of "the proper place." It was no longer a question of this mountain or Jerusalem. It was no longer what our fathers worshipped. It was not a question of being in the right place. There was no right place for the simple reason that there was no wrong place. It was a matter of Spirit and truth for the true worshipper.
I could see that in Christ there were no holy places, holy things, or holy days. The idea of dedicating or consecrating a pile of brick or stone to God eventually became obnoxious to me. I came to truly believe that "the Most High dwelleth not in temples made with men's hands." No carpenters, no brick masons, no hod-carriers could negate that statement. I separated myself completely from the Jewish concept of speaking about a certain part of the building as a sanctuary. The idea of dedicating an organ, or a fountain, or something else to the God of the universe became silly, and what is worse, a sin. It became obvious that wherever I was it was a holy place because I was there. God dwelt in me. It was not a matter of going to a temple. I was the temple!
Whatever I did in my body became worship, when done in deference to the majesty and glory of God. The passage, "Whatsoever you do in word or deed," took on a new and deeper meaning. God was as interested in how I talked to my grandchildren on Monday as he was in what I said to a group sitting solemnly and gravely before me on Sunday mornings. He was as concerned in how I mowed my lawn, fixed a flat tire, or shopped at the grocery, as he was in what I did in Bible Class. It was a mind-boggling experience, a kind of explosive high to realize that everything -- and I do mean everything -- was worship of the Almighty.
I could see clearly how the "five acts" had been blown up into something that could be used as a hoe handle or baseball bat to beat people into submission. One of the best examples is "the act of giving." Out of the reasoning on this point came an accumulation of money, or hoarding. This created a treasury which necessitated a treasurer. This demanded business meetings and the reading of the treasurer's report, and so on, ad infinitum. I do not think that any of these are wrong. They are not sinful. But the idea that they are a part of God's revelation, or that they are found in I Corinthians 16, is about as far-fetched as the idea that the synthesis of Thomas Aquinas is God's plan for his people. All of this talk about who can be helped out of "the treasury" and who must be helped before it gets to "the treasury" is just so much poppycock. It has all been distilled from feverish, factional hearts. It is divisive by its very nature.
One thing which helped to free me from the insufferable slavery of the sect was the realization that fellowship with God is on the basis of a personal covenant with the divine. We are not in fellowship with Christ because we are in fellowship with others, but we are in fellowship with others because we are in fellowship with Christ. The vertical relationship precedes and makes possible the horizontal and not the reverse. The vertical is primary, the horizontal is secondary. Fellowship is the sharing of a common life, and the life in which we share is eternal life. Men have no control over eternal life. They cannot admit one to it. They cannot discharge one from it. It is foolish for mere weak mortals to talk about receiving one into the fellowship. It is absurd to talk about withdrawing fellowship from him. That is institutional or organizational twaddle. It is a demonstration of "peanut-sized" thinking.
God did not entrust so wonderful a thing as the salvation of a single soul to the whim or discretion of sinful and changeable man, although He made men as His human agents to carry the Good News. But He enters into a personal and direct covenant with each one of us. He does so on the basis of divine grace. No human intermediary is required. No parent can make a covenant for his child. No one in authority can make a covenant for those who are subjects. Human favor has nothing to do with it. It is tragic that we have done with the word "testament" what we have done with many other majestic terms utilized by the Holy Spirit. We have whittled them down in our attempt to make them relevant to our human predicament. It does not take a lot of study to see the old covenant does not consist of 39 books, nor the new covenant of 27.
We are distinctly told that the new covenant was not written with ink. All of the records, epistles, and even the apocalypse were written with ink. On this we have the testimony of the writers. There is a difference between the new covenant and the new covenant scriptures which grew out of it. The new covenant is written on fleshly tablets of the heart. It consists of the Agreement into which I entered with God and to which I subscribed. I surrendered to Him absolutely, unequivocally, until death silences my tongue or forces me to drop the pen from my nerveless fingers. The new covenant is not a written code. It is not a compilation of laws, statutes and judgments. We are not under law but under grace.
Along with this I learned the difference between the gospel and the doctrine of the apostles. The gospel is the euaggelion, the good news of what God did for us when we were helpless to do anything for ourselves. It is to be proclaimed. It is God's message for the unsaved. One cannot evangelize saved persons. The doctrine is for those in the body. It is not for the world any more than the gospel is for the church. I learned this from Alexander Campbell. Then I found out that he had learned it from Dr. George Campbell of Aberdeen, and from Dr. James McKnight of Edinburgh. So I obtained their valuable works and studied them, all the while becoming more convinced of the distinction.
Indeed I am thoroughly agreed with Alexander Campbell that there can never be a thorough reformation, so long as we ignore this vital principle. It is foundational to our goal. It is basic to its achievement. It is vastly more than a mere argument over semantics, or an empty discussion of words. The profundity of it, once seen, will commend itself to the genuine scholar as possessing the greatest potential for unity. It is saddening to see shallow minds which never had an original thought, denying it as a kind of joke.
Now that I have run my little course from birth up to the time when I discontinued publication of Mission Messenger, I shall bow out gently thanking you for the great patience you have exhibited in reading these monthly accounts. Brother Garrett has shown more than ordinary longsuffering with me and I appreciate it a great deal. Nell joins with me in this farewell and in the fervent prayer that God will bless all of you very richly indeed. Grace and peace be unto you!