“Conor …” I heard Gurdon Brewster’s warm and raspy voice behind me as I was slipping out after Church. My summer schedule had been pretty crazy, as my Chuch back home was begging me to play bass each weekend. I loved to play, but it meant a 90 minute drive from Ithaca to Chittenango and I had a full class schedule at Cornell.
“I’m glad you came,” Gurdon said. I had been slowly making my journey into the Episcopal Church over that year. In the fall semester, Gurdon agreed to be my subject for a class project. I was to interview someone over the course of a semester and write a twenty page paper on their religious life. Gurdon’s first response was, “Wow that’s a lot of talking.” But we set a schedule over several weeks so as not to overwhelm either of us.
During that time he told me stories from his life. He had the dramatic ones where he worked with both Rev. Martin Luther Kings, and he had his ordinary stories like the one about his childhood teacher, Ms. Stump.
I was at a funny point in my spiritual journey. I loved Jesus but most of the theology I heard had me tied up in knots, Most of my friends believed in total depravity, which meant anything any of us did was sinful - filthy sinful at that. Get frustrated by a test? Sinner. Flirt with a girl? Sinful. They found their way through it by accepting Christ’s redeeming work, but that left out anyone who wasn’t a born-again Christian. So no matter who the Christian was, I was apprehensive.
As Gurdon shared his stories with me, I got such a sense of who the man was. Sure he could have told me that God wasn’t going to damn everyone who wasn’t Christian. But when he told me the story of a little Hindu girl asking if she was going to Hell for being Hindu … let’s just say the story moved me to tears.
From all these stories I grew really comfortable around him. The chaplaincy had a Wednesday Evening Eucharist and I began attending. I got to know the community and realized Gurdon’s warm and accepting nature rubbed off on the flock he took care of. I’ll never forget the first time he asked me to read the Prayers of the People. I was so nervous but he assured me I would do just fine.
It’s interesting looking back that he never had to hit me with heavy theology. Instead he shared his life. I benefitted from his experiences with MLK and MLK Jr. I shared his epiphany when the little Hindu girl asked hi, if she was going to Hell. I even have warm feelings for Ms. Stump, even though she had died long before I knew a thing about her.
Gurdon gave me such a gift by sharing his stories with me. Imagine what would happen if more stories were shared.
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