Mourners Stream to the Chapel
by
Edgar P. Senne
The chapel on the campus of Valparaiso University was not yet named
the Chapel of the Resurrection; it was still called the Memorial Chapel. The
stained glass windows were still incomplete, but it stood tall, towering above all
other buildings on the campus. In President O. P. Kretzmann’s dream, it would
always be the sacred center of the life of the University.
On Friday, November 22, 1963, the Chapel truly was the center toward
which all things moved. It was like the “horns of the altar” in the ancient
Tabernacle of Israel (I Kings 2:28), a place of refuge, strength, and safety.
About noon the Department of Theology was holding its weekly meeting
in the lower storey of Moellering Library, and I with them. Business was
moving along pretty much as usual, when suddenly someone tapped on the
door and, without waiting for a response, burst into the room. Before a word
from the assembled faculty could be spoken, the intruder announced,
“President Kennedy has been shot in Dallas.” Someone asked, “Is he still
alive?” The answer was, “We don’t know.” With that the door was shut. That
was about 12:30 CST.
We sat in shock, and the room was filled with a prayerful silence. Then
someone said, “We can only pray for him and wait for a later report.” With that
we went back to the business of the department, though, clearly, our hearts
and minds were in Dallas. It seemed like only a few minutes later, just after
one o’clock, when the door swung open again, this time with the message,
“President Kennedy is dead. It has been confirmed.” I heard a few soft gasps!
We all stood up and, in dazed silence, walked out of the room.
I remember so well what I saw, when I walked up the steps to the main
floor of the library. I turned to the right and looked out through the large glass
front doors toward the Chapel. The sight is vividly etched in my memory:
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hundreds of students, faculty, and staff, streaming like a river along the
walkway that leads into the Chapel. Was there a scheduled service? No, but
several thousand hearts were calling for a time of worship and prayer. The
crowd flooded into that house of prayer and filled it with their grief. Of course!
What else could they do? Shocked! Frightened for our country! Vaguely
frightened for themselves! Hearts full of grief and confusion! Their beloved
young President, the one who had raised the level of hope in so many
Americans; he’s gone, gone in an instant. What now? Like Joab fleeing to the
horns of the altar in the ancient Tabernacle, the crowds were gravitating
toward the Chapel, the present-day symbol of God’s presence.
Someone, I don’t know who, ran to the home of President O. P.
Kretzmann on the edge of the campus, informing him, “The Chapel is full, seats
are filled, people are standing all around against the walls and milling around
in the narthex. Please, will you come over and pray with us.” Dr. Kretzmann
was only a few years from his retirement in 1968 and not very quick on his
feet. Nevertheless, he picked up his prayer book, got into a car, and started the
short drive up the little hill to the Chapel. He walked slowly down a side aisle,
sat down on a front pew to catch his breath, then climbed the stairs into the
chancel, taking his place behind the lectern. His voice was choked with grief,
as he spoke, ever so briefly, about our shock, our fears, and our need to turn to
the One who is our refuge and strength. He read Psalm 46, which begins, “God
is our Refuge and Strength, a very present help in trouble.” Finally, he offered a
few brief prayers and invited all to return at 6:30 that evening for a memorial
service. As the President left the chancel, the people remained at their seats,
many kneeling in silent prayer, some weeping audibly.
At least 2,500 people gathered spontaneously that afternoon and another
3,000 that evening.* Dr. Kretzmann addressed the evening assembly, calling
this event the culmination of “the horrifying and terrifying evil in the human
soul. In an event like this,” he said, “God calls upon mankind to turn in
repentance away from every form of hatemongering.” After his remarks, the
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President led the community in praying the Litany, the Church’s traditional
prayer of repentance and supplication. When vespers ended, not a person
moved until the last candle was extinguished. Gradually, the crowd began to
file out as silently as they had come.
The Monday following President Kennedy’s assassination was declared a
national day of mourning. Classes were cancelled and another memorial
service was held in the Chapel. Dr. Richard Scheimann delivered the homily,
focusing on the fact that God does not intervene against such evil actions as we
are facing in this presidential assassination. He does not compel people to act
in goodness and kindness; instead, he has chosen “to win us by the persuasion
of love. God’s love challenges us, ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who
persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven’” (Mt.5:4445).
In this one dreadful and heart-rending event, the Chapel, as President
Kretzmann had dreamed, was the sacred center of the campus, a harbor of
safety and strength for a grieving community. Three times in these dark and
somber days the Chapel was filled with people, yearning for the comfort of
God’s Presence and some way to make sense of what we and the whole nation
were experiencing.
*To prompt my memory of some of the factual material in this story, I have consulted the
Special Edition of The Torch, Saturday, November 23, 1963 and the next regular issue,
published on November 27th.
September 2009
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