Vernon Grounds: A Man for All Ages

When my generation was in its infancy, it was often told that “children should be seen and not heard.”

This bit of “wisdom” meant don’t interrupt … wait your turn … listen to your father … don’t make waves … never contradict, and (in summary) keep your mouth shut when adults are talking.

When I was 9 years old, I met a man who did not believe this. He came to visit in our home and to preach in my father’s church. From the moment I was introduced to him, I knew he was unlike any other man I’d previously known. He looked me straight in the eye, asked me questions, listened to my answers, and remembered what I said.

As if it were yesterday, I recall him preaching and doing it in a way that was perfectly comprehensible, even to me at that age. His text was 1 Corinthians 3:21: “all things are yours, and you are of Christ.” It was the first time I understood a sermon, and—after all these years—I remember that I said to myself, so this is what a sermon is supposed to be like.

Unlike many others, this man chose to hear me as a 9-year-old kid, and he continued to hear me through the next six decades. Over those years he became my spiritual father, and a mentor, coach, confessor, teacher, and deep personal friend. I loved him.

His name is Vernon Grounds, and he died last week at the age of 96. I begin to understand the lament of old men and women who, when a father or mother has passed, say, “Who is there to hear me any longer?” Today I feel fatherless.

As I think about the fact that Vernon Grounds has left us for heaven, I recall the many times he was there for me. When, as a teenager, my family imploded, he was the man who took me regularly to breakfast and monitored my stability. When I met my wife-to-be, he was the go-to guy to sign off on the rightness of the relationship. When I was ready for a first pastorate, he was the man who made the introductions and did the endorsing. When I wrote my first book, he was among the first to read it and offer encouragement.

I have to be careful not to assert exclusive rights to a personal relationship with Vernon Grounds. All over this world are men and women who also claim him as something of a father figure. Each is equipped with his or her “Vernon story,” as they reflect on times when they met him for a cup of tea, a breakfast, or simply a quiet conversation at the round table in his office.

Each will tell you that few people, if any, in their lifetime ever understood them as he did. They will speak of his probing but caring questions, his incredible ability to listen, his way of sending you on your way with a gesture of affection, a word of counsel, and the gift of mercy.

Many are those who have faced a moment of extreme brokenness (usually due to their own foolishness) and virtually crawled to Vernon Ground’s door to ask if there was anything like a “reset” button in life. And he always started his answer with a yes.

He never seemed to give up on anyone because he so strongly believed in both mercy and fresh starts as the essence of Jesus’ gospel. I know this because, years ago, I was one of those who crawled to that door. When I went through a time of personal and catastrophic failure, he was there to remind me of this “gospel of the second chance.”

The man was unique. He always picked up the check at breakfast. He always knew the title of a book you should be reading. He loved brooding on poetry and singing great hymns. For years he was religious about a daily visit to the gym to work out (he once said that the secret of his longevity was “God, genes, and gym”). He always kept his word, and if he promised you something (a photocopy of an article, for example) he delivered. He was not reluctant to give affection. If you walked with him, he might hook his arm through yours, the way my Hispanic friends do. He hugged you during greetings and goodbyes. He held on to your hand as he pressed courage into you. When the air was tense with conflict, he often had an apt joke or an assortment of words that disarmed everyone and opened the door to fresh insight.

Vernon Grounds, my (our) father in the faith, was, for many years, president of Denver Seminary. He never really ran the seminary (administration was never his gift); rather, he inspired it. He willed it to exist by the power of his character and godliness. On occasions when his seminary was under financial siege or when it was the target of harsh criticism from extreme right wing preachers, he stood tall (short man though he was) and modeled for us how one remains gracious and faithful and loyal when others would have buckled, quit, and put their résumé out on the street.

He won my admiration as I watched him deal with his critics. From him I learned that a man of God never fights back, never replicates the antics of the slanderer or the opponent. The noble way, he would say, is to listen and seek whatever kernel of truth might be found in even the worst of accusations. It was not in him to be contentious.

I must add here one of my favorite Vernon stories. When I asked him one day how he felt about a particularly bitter critic who despised his interest in Soren Kierkegaard, he said, “I suppose it would be nice if someone gave him a one-way ticket for an extended tour of Israel.” That was the best he could do when it came to admitting that someone had hurt him.

As a teacher, his classroom organization was admittedly chaotic. But it was not outlines or brilliantly scripted lectures that caused students to flock to him. Rather, it was his fluid mind that could draw from a myriad of sources, and make one think outside the box and then come to a point of solid conviction.

Vernon Grounds earned his Ph.D. in psychology. He was a certified scholar. But he rarely felt the need to refer to himself as Dr. Grounds. I cannot remember seeing him write the letters Ph.D. after his name as so many scholars are wont to do. That was not where he wished to make his impression. How can it be better said than simply that he was just Vernon, LOP … lover of people.

I shall always associate Vernon Grounds with one of my favorite poems: “Rugby Chapel” by Matthew Arnold. In that poem are some of my favorite lines which I plan to quote when it comes time to memorialize Vernon in a few weeks:

If, in the paths of the world,
Stones might have wounded thy feet,
Toil or dejection have tried
Thy spirit, of that we saw
Nothing—to us thou wast still
Cheerful, and helpful, and firm!

The poet may have written these lines about his own father, Thomas, but they are also a perfect fit for Vernon Grounds.

I remember one day in my 20-something years, I made a strategic decision. I told myself, you must become as much like him as you possibly can. And throughout these years I have tried to do that. The effort seemed worthy because I felt that Vernon showed more than anyone else what Jesus was like.

Occasionally when I have gone some place to speak, someone will come out of the crowd who has known Vernon Grounds. And they will say, “When you said that …” or “When you did that, I saw Vernon in you.”

For me that’s high praise.

Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership and lives in New Hampshire.