Alvin Capener, Part 2 

Felicitations!

Isn't that one of those greetings from yesteryear -- like maybe 1807 instead of 2007?  I remember seeing the term used by our nation's founding fathers in their correspondence, and I've even seen the greeting used in novels from the turn of the 20th Century.  Don't think I've heard anyone use it in the last few days, though.

Hey, Man!  'Sup?  Isn't that what you're more likely to hear these days?  Brother, how the English language has deteriorated!  You almost need a new dictionary to figure out what some folks -- uhh, street folks -- are trying to say to you.  They slur their words and their phrases so much you have to run things through a translator.

My grandson, Raymond, has picked up the street lingo (rap talk?  hip hop?), and unfortunately has a number of friends who talk just like that.  A couple months or so ago, he called me on the phone because one of his friends was having trouble getting his car started after having run it through the car wash.  When I drove over to the car wash where they were struggling with this hot rod, Raymond's friend said something to me, but his words were so slurred and run together I couldn't make heads or tails out of what he said.  I just looked at him blankly.  He repeated his slurred phrase, and it made no more sense the second time around than the first.

So I turned to Raymond and said, "Which being translated meaneth?"  Raymond had this puzzled look on his face because of my question so I added, "Raymond, if you guys want me to answer, you've got to speak English -- not some rap talk that's unintelligible.  Both he and his friend laughed at me, and his friend then actually repeated what he'd said before, but in very articulate English.

Brother!  Anyone ever figure out why the language of youth goes through such gyrations?  What kids use for English today in no way resembles what we used when I was a teenager.  I daresay that some of our expressions when I was 16, 17 years of age would curl some eyebrows today, too.  Not sure where it came from, or how it started, but we had an expression we used when we wanted to describe something that was absolutely wonderful, regal, or magnificent.  Know what it was?  Things were "George."  Figured it must have come from some reference to England's King George, or some such.

Hmmmm..... How'd I get off on this tangent today?  Better have some coffee, I guess.  The French Press is steeping.  Time to pour my cup.

When you have a call the likes of which Dad had received, had it confirmed with a burning bush (cornstalk) experience, and watched the Lord prepare the way in front of you the way he had seen it, and people who are supposed to be spiritual leaders decide you should do something other than what God has given you to do, it stirs no small reaction in your spirit.  I've had the same thing happen to me on several occasions during the nearly 50 years that have elapsed since I first began preaching the Word.

Dad headed out of that office not quite sure what avenue of provision God would make, but he figured that since he was in a community where commercial fishing was the primary occupation, he should try his hand at it.  It mattered not that he was not a commercial fisherman, nor that he had been raised a long ways from the sea and fishing in general.  If God had given him the ability to do so many other things, there was no reason why he couldn't go fishing.  In the back of his mind, he figured that with the blessing of the Lord, he might actually generate enough money to pay off the church debt.  Where the other $5,000 would come from was not something he had an answer for at the moment.

Not far from Ilwaco was the community of Raymond, Washington, where there was a fish cannery.  The owner of the cannery was someone Alvin Capener had befriended.  (I've lost track of this man's name, so for the sake of our discussion, we'll refer to him as "Jim.")  The cannery owner had a few boats of varying size around or near the cannery, so he became the natural individual for Alvin to share his desires.

"Jim, you know that I've shared with you our call to Alaska.  We've got a debt to pay off on our church building, and I've decided to take advantage of the fact that this is a commercial fishing area.  Do you have a boat I could rent from you for the fishing season?  I'm going to try my hand at this in the expectation that God will help me."

The cannery owner couldn't help but laugh.  One doesn't become a commercial fisherman just because they decide to.  Deep sea fishing has its own hazards anyway, but fishing off the mouth of the Columbia River is more than a little treacherous -- particularly for those who don't know the kinds of currents and turbulence created by the Columbia's dumping into the Pacific.  Virtually all of the commercial fishermen in the region had grown up as second, third and fourth generation sea salts, raised on the water with all the instincts of the sea finely honed in them -- instincts developed over a lifetime.

Alvin Capener's decision to do commercial fishing was tantamount to an individual today deciding they're going to be computer repairmen or software engineers and diving into the business without any concept of what makes a computer operate, the math that drives computing as a whole, and the principles behind the development of software and operating systems.  Yup.  That's a pretty good analogy.  Anyone who tries it gets "lost at sea" in a hurry -- uhhh, pun intended!

But Alvin Capener was no ordinary soul.  In the few short years Jim had come to know him, he'd seen this farmer-carpenter-builder-preacher accomplish some pretty extraordinary things.

"OK, Capener.  Not sure you know what you're getting yourself into, but I'll play along.  I've got a thirty-foot boat alongside the cannery.  Needs some work, but if you want to fix it up, you're welcome to use it.  I'll buy all the fish you catch, too."

So things began.  Dad's knowledge of carpentry and a keen eye for woodworking made the repair job on this old boat pretty easy.  Fishing season was upon the area, and it was slated for a seven-week period.

The first week of fishing season began, and to the astonishment of everyone, Dad took more fish than any other fisherman in port -- including those with boats twice and three times the size.  The cannery owner was astounded!  This isn't luck, this is miraculous!  When that load of fish was dumped at the cannery, Jim said to Alvin, "Capener, if you're going to fish like this, we've got to get you a bigger boat.  I just happen to have a 50-footer on hand.  Take that instead."

One of the factors that differentiated Alvin Capener's fishing season from the rest of the commercial fishermen was that he only fished six days a week, returned from sea on Saturdays so he could be in his pulpit on Sundays.  Because the season was only seven weeks long, most of the fishermen would literally rotate on a continuous basis.  When their boats filled, or they felt they had a sufficient catch, they would return to port, dump their catches, and head directly back to sea.

One other thing: you'll see from the newspaper clipping that the fish being caught were tuna -- albacore tuna.  Ilwaco had never been noted as a tuna port.  They caught salmon.  The tail end of this newspaper clipping notes that "The river salmon catches remain small, and very little salmon or silversides are being brought in by the trollers."  Toward the end of the previous season, however, fishermen had begun catching tuna instead of salmon for some inexplicable reason -- and no one was complaining!  Albacore tuna were bringing six times the price of salmon.

The second week mirrored the first.  Fishermen began to sit up and take notice of this "Landlubber-Preacher-Fisherman" (as he was referred to in a couple of AP articles).  When the third week came and went and Al Capener's catch of fish equaled or exceeded that of fishermen with 80-foot boats, they decided that "Capener must have some carefully guarded secret."  Saturday of that third week, several fishermen came to Dad and said, "Capener, where are you going?  What are you doing?  What's your secret?"

Those aren't questions you ask another fisherman.  Each man guards his plans and his knowledge of where the fish are biting like a military top secret so as to have the best possible catch.  Since Alvin Capener was a greenhorn -- a "landlubber" without previous deep sea fishing experience -- everyone figured he'd be good for a few tips since he wouldn't know just how treasured such information really is.

No matter.  "Gentlemen, you know I'm in my pulpit on Sunday.  If you want to wait until Monday morning and follow me out, I don't have any secrets.  You're welcome to see where I go and what I do."  Ho, Yeesss!  And wait, they did, until Monday.  As they prepared to head out to sea, all agreed they'd meet back in port on Saturday to compare catches.

Sure enough, Saturday of that fourth week, everyone met back in the Ilwaco port.  It had been a great week for everyone!  Those who had followed Dad out to sea were beaming.  "Capener, how'd you do?  This has been our best week so far."

"Take a look," was his laconic answer.  When they saw his catch, their faces fell.  "This is impossible!" said one.  "You've still caught more than I've caught, and my boat is nearly twice the size of yours.  I just don't understand it!"

It was Week Seven of the fishing season, however, that was going to tell the real tale.  Everyone was out to sea, and most had headed out a hundred or more miles.  Alvin Capener had decided to be different that week.  He was beyond 200 miles out.  You'll understand the initial trepidation of Jim at the cannery in Raymond when you realize that neither of these boats Dad used had anything other than a nautical compass.  He had no radio and no means of communication.  He was steering his course at sea by dead reckoning.  Maybe we can understand why they call it "dead reckoning."  Hehehehehe..............  More than a few sailors have lost their lives that way.

What made his fishing experiences all the more humorous was that Al Capener had no professional fishing gear of any kind.  Both boats had been set up for salmon trolling, NOT tuna.  Never one to be deterred by "facts," he just threw lines over the side of the boat.  Every single albacore tuna he caught he pulled in by hand -- every last one of them!

By Wednesday of Week Seven, the skies were portending stormy conditions -- in fact, one very big blow.  All of the professional seamen knew what was coming and began a retreat back into the port of Ilwaco.  Alvin Capener, on the other hand, saw the darkening skies, calculated it as just another rainstorm -- he'd already been through a few of them during this seven-week period -- and stayed put.

Thursday morning came and went and there was no sign of Dad's boat -- anywhere!  No one could remember having seen his boat as they made their way back to port, and folks began to worry.  The expected major storm had hit.  Winds were tropical force, and the seas were running at 50 feet.  By Thursday afternoon, a delegation of fishermen made their way to the Capener parsonage to express their regrets.  "Mrs. Capener, we're awfully sorry about the loss of your husband at sea.  If you like, we'll begin making preparations for your husband's funeral on Saturday."

If Dad could have been called a man of "true grit," Mom was no less an adventurer.  Furthermore, she knew the call of God in pretty much the same intensity (if not methods) Dad had experienced.  The thought that Alvin could be lost at sea when God had so remarkably and miraculously called them to Alaska just didn't sit -- AT ALL!  "No, thank you, Gentlemen.  God didn't call us to Alaska just to allow Alvin to drown at sea.  We'll wait."  The fishermen shook their heads at their perception of her state of denial but allowed as how they'd wait a bit longer.

Meanwhile, Alvin Capener is having the ride of his life!  His 50-foot boat is being tossed to and fro.  Huge waves are crashing down over the craft, temporarily burying it before it could (and did) come bobbing back to the surface, right side up.  Hours of this kind of abuse were causing the boat to creak and groan, and by late Thursday afternoon, he knew the boat wasn't going to make it much longer.

After one of these "combers" buried the boat and he came bobbing back up, he dropped to his knees beside his bunk bed and prayed a very quick prayer.  "Father, I know that you didn't call me to Alaska just to allow me to die at sea.  This has to stop!"

Watching for an opportune moment, he opened the cabin door, dashed out onto the deck of the boat and raised his hand out over the water.  "In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you, PEACE, BE STILL!"  Then he dashed back into the cabin and slammed the door before the next wave could hit.

It was the last wave!  Within 20 minutes, the sea was glassy calm.  The skies cleared, and the storm vanished as though it had never happened.  [It is a matter of meteorological record that the National Weather Bureau showed the storm ceasing.  Meteorologists had no natural explanation for what occurred.]  And the fish began to bite.  Did they ever begin to bite!

With his engine running, the fish were getting caught in the lines and being chopped in half by the prop because he just couldn't get to them fast enough.  He'd had the engine running to help hold his position, but a gentle breeze came up and began to blow him back in towards the Oregon coast.  So he shut down the engine and let the boat drift.  Meantime, he was pulling in fish as fast as he could.

Saturday morning comes, and no one has seen hide nor hair of Alvin Capener.  There's been no word, and a few fishermen ventured out to see if they could spot any sign.  By late Saturday morning -- nearing the noon hour -- the same delegation decided they needed to help Lillian Lorraine Capener face reality.  Her husband was gone!  Despite the fact that no one could account for the sudden death of the storm, and the accompanying change of weather, coupled with the fact that no one had seen or heard anything that would indicate he was still alive, these fishermen felt very secure in their "facts."

"Ummm.... Uhhh, Mrs. Capener, really!  You can't still believe Al survived that storm!  No one has heard a thing.  There is simply no sign he's still alive.  We really need to get on with the preparations for his funeral."

Most women would be pretty close to a breaking point by now, but Mom wasn't "most women."  She was absolutely convinced that God had protected her husband, that he would return safe and sound, and they would -- on schedule -- be headed off to Alaska by the fall of the year.  "I'm sorry, Gentlemen, but we just have to wait a little longer.  He'll be here.  You'll see.  The Lord is with him."

You've all heard about the best laid plans of mice and men.  My best laid plans to share this whole story in one or two Coffee Breaks have kind of gone awry.  Sorry to leave you hanging like this.  Shall we try and finish this on Friday?

Grace has not been given to us so that we can make it the accomplice of evil.  Grace has been given to us for our deliverance from evil.

Bless you.
 

Regner A. Capener
CAPENER MINISTRIES
RIVER WORSHIP CENTER
700 South 6th Street
Sunnyside, Washington 98944
(509) 837-4657

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