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Faith In Shoeleather
'Mornin' Folks!
Are you awake, yet?
Getting ready for church, huh?
OK, I'll wait until you get your coffee made. Mine's done, and it is sizzling hot!
Of course I always make my coffee using a French Press.
That's where you grind your fresh coffee beans, put them in the bottom of the Carafe, pour boiling hot water in, let it steep for about five minutes, and then push the strainer down to keep the coffee grounds from pouring into your cup.
This is nothing more than Ranch Coffee with a little "hoity - toity."
Got yours, yet? OK, let's get this day underway.
A little background for you, first of all. The Capener family is one with a long, recorded lineage dating back more than a thousand years, with evidence that goes well beyond that.
Our first English ancestor came across the English Channel with William the Conqueror and aided him in his conquest of the British Isles.
It isn't important here to get into lots of family detail, but that ancestor's son and son's son, and so forth, were active Christians, engaged in propagating the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
In 1523, one of my ancestors, John Capener, became the first Vicar of St. George's Cathedral in Brockworth, England; and to the best of my understanding, each successive generation of Capeners for some 400 years pastored there.
In the late 1700's and early 1800's, my great-great-great-grandfather, Daniel Capener, was both Vicar of St. George's and Chief Musician to the English Court.
His son, John (the name, John, repeats in every generation for the past 600 years in family history) fulfilled the same posts for a time, and in 1836, married Sarah Anne Smith, who was Lady-in-Waiting to Queen Victoria.
Not long thereafter, they emigrated to the United States where John became a Presbyterian pastor.
John's son, Alfred, served in a ministerial capacity for a time in a Congregational church, and Alfred's son, Howard (my grandfather), became a Methodist minister.
John, Alfred, and Howard, all became farmers as well, becoming an integral part of building the Wisconsin dairy industry.
OK. Enough of family history. I needed to lay the foundation, however, so that you can appreciate where this story is headed.
You'll understand the spiritual heritage that birthed some very practical faith.
My father, Alvin Capener, was born into this environment of faith and lots of hard work.
At the age of six, however, he contracted double pneumonia and died.
At the time, the family was living in Erie, North Dakota.
My grandfather had left his traditional pulpit and was ministering to families that lived and farmed on the Dakota plains.
My grandmother refused to accept Alvin's death as being from the Lord.
She went into her bedroom, closed the door and knelt down beside her bedside, where she prayed and interceded for her young son's life. His body had been taken out of the house to the barn and laid on a stack of hay, and a nurse was sent for from Fargo to certify his death.
Grandma stayed on her knees praying. "Lord, if you will raise my son back to life, I will give him to you for the ministry."
For hours, she stayed on her knees. "Lord, I know you didn't give him to me just to let him die like this.
Raise him back up and he's yours." After several hours of this, peace swept over her whole being and she got to her feet knowing the Lord had answered.
The nurse from Fargo had arrived and had certified young Alvin's death.
She was preparing to leave when Grandma came out of the house headed to the barn.
She motioned for the nurse to follow, and when they got to the barn, color was returning, his eyes opened and he looked around.
Within a matter of a couple of hours or less, he was up running around like any normal six-year old.
At the age of nine, the Lord revealed Himself specifically to Alvin Capener, and called him to His service.
By the age of nineteen, the Lord spoke to him in an audible voice and said, "I want you to go to Alaska for me."
Dad felt to prepare himself for ministry, and enrolled at Central Bible Institute (now Central Bible College) in Springfield, Missouri where he attended for four years, and was ordained as an Assemblies of God minister.
This story would get way too long if I filled in a lot of fascinating details and experiences, so let me fast forward to 1944.
Dad has married the former Lillian Lorraine Lehtosaari -- a second-generation transplant from Finland, moved to the Finnish fishing community of Ilwaco, Washington (across the mouth of the Columbia River from Astoria, Oregon) where he has built and pastored a church for the past four or five years.
My brother, Howard, and I are on the scene as youngsters, and I'm just over two years of age with my brother still a babe in arms.
In the Spring of 1944, Dad heard again the voice of the Lord speaking to him and knew that it was time for the family to move to Alaska.
He went to the Assemblies of God District Council in Seattle and said, "Brethren, as you know, the Lord has called me to Alaska.
The time has come for us to head north. Will you help us?"
Their answer went something like this. "Brother Capener, we cannot send you to Alaska.
It's way too expensive a place to live and operate. We will not send you there.
Now, if you are willing to go to India or Japan or China, we can get plenty of available financial support for you, and we will gladly send you there instead."
More than slightly surprised at their answer he said, "The Lord didn't call me to India or China or any place other than Alaska.
That's where I must go."
"Brother Capener, we cannot, we will not send you there.
If you choose to go, you go without our blessing." Dad just looked at them and said, "Brethren, the Lord called me to Alaska, and that's where I'm going.
What God orders He pays for! If you choose not to go with me, I will go anyway.
The Lord will be with me."
Pretty brave words for a guy who is struggling to make ends meet during WW II, trying to pay off a debt on the church he built, and making plans to go to a land where he's never been and knows virtually nothing about -- all because the Lord called him.
He sat down with Mom and began to assess the situation financially. "Lorraine, (he always called Mom by her middle name) we need a thousand dollars to pay off the debt on our church.
I've been doing some drawing and planning, and I believe we can make the move and begin building a church in Nome for about $5,000."
Anyone who ever knew Dad knows that he was one of the most efficient and most frugal people you'd ever meet. If he said he could do all of that for $5,000, he knew he could. But where do you come up with a total of $6,000? Doesn't sound like much in today's money, but back then, that would have been roughly the same as saying he needed several million dollars!
Dad had grown up as a farmer on the North Dakota plains and near Ponsford, Minnesota. Ilwaco had no farming.
This was a salmon fishing community. So Dad did what any good, red-blooded farm boy would do: he checked out the fishing possibilities.
Meeting with the owner of a local fish cannery, he explained his objectives and asked if there was a fishing boat he could rent or borrow for the seven-week fishing season.
The owner thought this was hilarious -- a farm boy out doing commercial fishing -- but allowed as how he would do his part to help.
He had an old 30-foot boat with little decking and no cabin.
"It's not much, Capener, but you're welcome to use it."
Dad took the boat with much thanks, and with the opening of the fishing season headed out to sea.
He resolved that he would fish six days a week, be back in port by Saturday night, preach on Sunday, and then return to the seas on Monday morning.
If he had a really good -- an exceptional -- fishing season, he thought, he could actually bring in perhaps a thousand dollars.
At least the church would be paid off. Where the other $5,000 was going to come from, only the Lord knew.
The commercial fishermen cast knowing looks whenever they saw this ignorant "landlubber," laughing up their sleeves at the whole idea of cutting the time at sea short in order to preach on Sundays.
After all, if you are in good fishing grounds, you stay until you have your catch; and then you come back into port.
But things didn't quite work out the way everyone had planned.
Dad heard that some fishermen were catching some Albacore tuna for the first time ever out of the port of Ilwaco, so instead of making preparations to catch salmon, he prepared to catch tuna.
Monday morning he went out to sea, this landlubber, preacher, -- and now, fisherman.
Sure enough, the Lord led him to a nice fishing area and he filled that boat up with Albacore tuna.
Returning early Saturday with the boat loaded, the cannery owner (who had contracted to buy all his fish) said,
"Capener, if you're going to fish like this, we got to get you a bigger boat," which he did -- a 50-footer this time, fully decked and with a cabin.
The next week was even better. Again he came back in on Saturday with a large catch of fish.
By now the news of this landlubber, preacher, fisherman was spreading fast among fishing communities.
The Associated Press got a hold of the story, and released a story under the following headline,
"Capener Sets the Pace for Fishing." At the end of the third week, he returned with a still-larger catch; and this time, he had the attention of seasoned professional fishermen.
He was out-fishing them, coming in with larger catches than men with 75-80 foot boats.
Following his Sunday-morning sermon at the beginning of the fourth week, some of the professionals came to him.
"Capener, where are you going? What are you doing?
What kind of gear do you have, anyway?"
In the world of commercial fishing, these are often closely-guarded secrets.
Dad was very open, however, and said to them, "You're welcome to follow me out, but you understand that I'm coming back in on Saturday.
I only fish six days a week."
They looked at each other, grinned, and agreed to wait and follow him out Monday, meeting at the docks early Monday morning.
They followed him out and when they reached the designated fishing grounds, split up, agreeing to meet back in port on Saturday.
As usual, it was a spectacular week. Dad wasn't trying to keep track, or count the number of fish or the weight in pounds, but he knew he was being blessed in an unusual way.
As agreed, the other fisherman met him in port on Saturday afternoon.
They were all smiles. It had been a good week!
"So, Capener, how'd you do?" They were so busy patting themselves on the back for their successful week that they barely heard his answer.
"You what?!? You caught how much?" He had still taken more with his 50-footer than they had taken with their larger boats.
It was impossible.
The Associated Press ran a new headline: LANDLUBBER, PREACHER, FISHERMAN OUTFISHES PROFESSIONALS.
Ooooooohhhh! That hurt! The reporters were having a heyday with Dad's successful catches. This was better than Horatio Alger.
Weeks five and six went just like week four. The seventh week began, and Dad headed out to sea as usual. Tuesday, the National Weather Service reported an oncoming storm in the north Pacific, warning commercial fishing boats to get out of the area.
There was a problem with that report, however. Dad was fishing on a shoestring.
He didn't have a radio in the boat. All he had was a compass, and his fishing lines. So, he didn't receive the warning.
This time, he headed farther out than usual -- some 200 - 300 miles.
By Wednesday, he was in the middle of a storm the like of which he had never seen.
He saw the skies brewing up the storm, but being unfamiliar with storms at sea, didn't know to turn around and head back for port as fast as possible.
By Thursday, the storm was so powerful and the waves so high his boat was being buried periodically by huge breakers that came crashing down over it.
After hours of the boat withstanding this beating, he could hear the timbers of the boat cracking and knew that unless the Lord intervened he wasn't going to see Ilwaco again or wife or family, much less Alaska.
He knelt down beside the bunk in his cabin and prayed, "Lord, I know you didn't call me to Alaska just to leave me out here to drown at sea.
Still this storm, Father." After a particularly brutal battering by a huge wave, he saw an opportunity, opened the door to the cabin, ran to the bow of the boat and stretched his hand out over the roiling waters.
"In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you, Peace, Be Still!"
Then he ran back into the cabin and locked the door.
The next wave hit, and of course the boat sounded like it was going to disintegrate.
Just as suddenly, it grew quiet. Within 20 minutes (and this is a matter of meteorological record) the storm died and the sea was calm.
It's Thursday afternoon. He hasn't been able to catch one single fish all week.
Now it's quiet. He next threw his lines out over the side and the fish began to bite.
For more than 30 hours, he pulled in one fish after another, first filling the hold, and then throwing fish into his cabin.
In the meantime, the professional fishermen in port had come around to see Mom.
"Mrs. Capener, we're awfully sorry about the loss of your husband at sea."
No one had heard or seen anything of Dad since Tuesday.
All of the other fishermen had heeded the warning and returned to port. Dad never showed up.
"If you like, Mrs. Capener, we'll be happy to begin making funeral arrangements for your husband."
Mom had the same kind of "give 'em what for" attitude that Dad displayed.
She was a tough cookie who believe that God had called them to Alaska, and that He wasn't about to let them down now.
"Thank you, but I think we'll wait. Thank you, though, for your willingness to help."
That was Thursday. Saturday afternoon, there still was no sign of Dad.
Again, the Job's comforters showed up. "Mrs. Capener, really!
We do need to begin making preparations for your husband's funeral.
It isn't logical to believe he is still alive. No one could have survived that storm at sea!"
"Thanks, but we'll wait a little longer. God's call to us didn't include dying at sea.
Alvin will turn up. You'll see."
Stupid woman! She's in denial. She's not facing reality.
The fishermen just looked at each other, shook their heads and walked away.
It couldn't have been three hours later that someone spotted a bobbing dot on the horizon.
By the time Dad's boat pulled into port, all of Ilwaco was there to greet him.
What they saw left them stunned. He was standing knee deep in fish.
The hold was full. The cabin was full. There were fish under, over, and around his bunk.
There were fish in the wheelhouse. The deck was covered in fish and riding about three inches above the water line.
Sunday was a day of rejoicing for the community, but it was Monday that told the tale.
"Mr. Anderson, how'd I do?" he asked the cannery owner.
"Capener, this is nothing less than miraculous. It's astounding, that's what it is!
In seven weeks time, you've taken 39,000 pounds of Albacore tuna.
To you, it's worth $6,300."
There it was. The thousand dollars to pay off the church debt, $5,000 to go to Alaska and build, and a bonus of $300 besides!
And the AP followed Dad's receipt of the check with this headline, LANDLUBBER, PREACHER, FISHERMAN SETS ALL TIME WORLD RECORD.
He had, too. Never before, and never since in the history of commercial fishing has a fisherman taken 39,000 pounds of Albacore tuna in seven weeks with a 50-foot boat and lines strung over the side.
The records stands today.
"Well, Capener, as a commercial fisherman, you're a whiz!
Now what you need to do is buy yourself a bigger boat, some real fishing gear, and next year you'll make a real haul."
So said the commercial fishermen.
"Gentlemen, the Lord gave me this catch of fish so I could go and catch men.
This was God's provision -- not the fishing skills of Alvin
Capener."
Little did he realize. That October of 1944, our whole family bundled up and headed off to Nome, Alaska on Alaska Star Airlines (now Alaska Airlines).
The next year, no Albacore tuna were taken out of that port.
Turns out that the Lord literally moved the entire Japanese Current off course bringing the tuna into fishing grounds normally filled by salmon.
Tuna were bringing a lot higher price than salmon. God knew the economy of the day and just compensated for Dad's faith in shoeleather.
During the next forty-plus years, Dad & Mom (and my brother and I when we got old enough to hold a hammer and saw) built seven churches in Alaska in mostly Eskimo communities, the last one at Saint Paul Island in the Pribilofs -- sometimes bringing the Gospel to folks who had never before known that Jesus Christ was alive and desired a personal relationship with them.
Thousands upon thousands of Eskimos, Indians and Aleuts came to know Jesus Christ as a result of their labors.
Dignitaries from all over the world stayed in our home as they came to visit the arctic.
Dad never failed to preach the Gospel to them. On a few occasions, we had the leaders from foreign governments spending days at a time as Dad & Mom led them into a relationship with Jesus Christ.
Dad went to be with the Lord on Good Friday, 1986. Folks traveled from all over the globe to be at his funeral.
I had the honor of standing up to speak and addressing those folks, saying to them, "We live in an age when it isn't accepted or popular to refer to someone as an apostle.
Yet, Dad met every prerequisite for that appellation.
Many of you are here today in honor of a man who laid down his life to lay foundations in your lives.
You are the result, and you are his honor. Dad lived a life where he put his faith to the test continuously and saw it proven consistently.
He WAS faith in
shoeleather."
Regner
A. Capener
CAPENER MINISTRIES
RIVER WORSHIP CENTER
700 South 6th Street
Sunnyside, Washington 98944
(509) 837-4657
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