In November 2006, I received a life-changing phone call from a college classmate. I was home in South Carolina during Thanksgiving break of my senior year. But the classmate from Mississippi who called wasn’t calling to wish me Happy Thanksgiving. He was calling to tell me that our mutual friend, Gerald Turner, had died.
Gerald had just graduated from college in the spring. He had only just married Maci, his college sweetheart, less than three months earlier. But as they visited his in-laws in Florida for Thanksgiving, he died during an ordinary game of touch football.
Gerald, affectionally known as “G-Funk” or “G” by peers and close friends, left us suddenly. He had been aware of a heart defect, but this never stopped him from being a vibrant, energetic student, athlete, and personality.
His smile and laugh were infectious. His energy was boundless. His goals of being a serious, Word-centered youth pastor were beginning to come to fruition as he had begun serving at the Tupelo Free Will Baptist Church (now Connect Church). He was excited about this opportunity to shape the lives of youth and their families. I remember him telling me so on the phone. Yet in a rural, Florida backyard, that dream ended.
When our mutual friend called me with the news of Gerald’s passing, he didn’t beat around the bush in saying, “Gerald died.” I was simply numb. I remember thinking, “What are you talking about? I just saw him a few months ago.” The reality didn’t set in until I caravanned down to Tupelo with a group of students and entered the sanctuary where his funeral was held. There was G, lying in an open coffin, surrounded by flowers and mourners. Behind a bearded face, he just looked like he was sleeping. Reality began to sink in.
I wept profusely during the service. I wept for Maci, his new bride. I wept for his sister and parents. I wept for the church he left behind. And I wept for myself. It didn’t help that both speakers, Terry Pierce and Matt Pinson, choked up constantly during their poignant, personal remarks. What else could we all do? This horrible thing had really happened. Heaven was richer, but we only felt our poverty.
I also wept for our denomination. It lost a young man primed to make a difference. Because G was only one year ahead of me in school much of our spiritual and theological formation happened concurrently. We took many of the same courses, read many of the same books, and reflected together on common themes, ideas, and practices. G was on trajectory. He had begun as something of a wild child—not immoral, mind you—just a bit zany. At least, that was the way some people saw him still during his sophomore year (my freshman year). However, he was changing.
Gerald took a personal interest in me, and I reciprocated. As providence would have it, we ended up attending the same church: East Nashville Free Will Baptist. “East” as many of us called it, had a storied history. Many important denominational figures had pastored the church or been members there through the years. However, it had fallen on very hard times. Only 25 or so adults were attending regularly when we both decided to attend. The church became a hospitable and gracious training ground for the handful of students who decided to make the trek out to that side of town each week.
Gerald and I co-taught a Sunday School class, went out on visitation together, and shared the pulpit from time to time. I think we saw ourselves as the unofficial leaders of the little troupe of college students who saw their involvement at East as an important mission to revitalize the church. Worshiping and ministering with G each week gave us the occasion for many serious and heartfelt conversations about theology, ministry, and the church.
Aside from the seriousness, though, our relationship was filled with laughter. The sense of loss and levity are embodied in the framed keepsakes concerning his death which hang on the wall in my study. He was Gerald Lynn Turner. I’m sure Lynn is a family name, but I remember more than once chuckling with him about that. He didn’t just laugh at things; he laughed at himself.
And boy, did we laugh about other things! For example, East was a unique church. Let’s just say that things would happen from time to time. We’d almost instinctively make eye contact when an older member would say something somewhat off-color, or a mini train-wreck would happen during the song service. You had to laugh to keep from crying. G had a very funny laugh when he got especially tickled. I can hear it right now. It makes me smile, and it hurts my heart.
Despite his early death, Gerald’s accolades were many. He was elected Student Body President for his senior year, named “Best All-Around Boy” during commencement, and was named to the 2006 Who’s Who Among Students in American Universities and Colleges. This doesn’t begin to touch on all the many ways he was involved in student missions and service projects during his four years at Free Will Baptist Bible College. What stands out to me the most in terms of a contribution to the student body was promoting the theme of excellence. Obviously, I had heard the term before, but never had I seen an individual trumpet it over a period of time. This theme not only cohered well with the vision President Matt Pinson was trying to project in the early years of his presidency, but it continues to shape my thinking about what I ought to be doing as a Christian in the world.
When the National Association convened in Birmingham this past summer, I knew I had to avail myself of the chance offered to me by geography. Eggville is the little town where G is buried, just outside of Tupelo. Though I had infant and wife in tow and it was getting dark, I knew I had to take this detour off Interstate 22. I’m so glad I did.
I walked around in the back half of the small cemetery until I happened upon his headstone. Appropriately, it features a football, buck, bass, and guitar—some of Gerald’s many loves. One of the flowers placed in front of the stone had been blown aside, so I gently placed it back in place. I wiped a thin layer of sand from part of the stone, and just took it all in. I missed my friend. His family missed him. Our movement needed him. We trust God’s heart, though we don’t understand His hand when it comes to things like this.
Nevertheless, I thanked God for having been able to know this special young man, and returned to my vehicle.
On this eve of Thanksgiving, the anniversary of his death, I remember my friend. I give thanks for the memories and for using G in the time he walked among us. May he rest in peace.