Christian Worker

The door at 201 South Ashland Boulevard, in Chicago's highly unfashionable near-West Side, is open to anyone in trouble. Here come battered bums, anxious women, soul-sick businessmen and troubled ministers of the Gospel. They come to talk to Father David Edward Gibson. A white-haired old man, he sits at a cluttered desk, confident that God guides him in his work.

Last week, Episcopalian Father Gibson celebrated the 25th anniversary of his ordination. To one friend who telephoned him, he said with characteristic humility: "Now this has made the day very nice for me to receive your congratulations--but you just keep still about it, because no one out here at the [Cathedral] Shelter knows a thing about it."

Layman's Purpose. David Gibson was late in coming into the priesthood. As a professional photographer he spent eleven successful years photographing social functions and Chicago bigwigs. But more & more of his time and heart were taken up by his "hobby"--helping down-&-outers. Few businessmen would refuse to give a job to one of Dave Gibson's "boys." In addition, he filled every place open to a layman at Chicago's Episcopal Cathedral, devoted what time he had left to the Cathedral's City Missions work.

One day David Gibson went to his bishop and said that he wanted to work among the poor. The bishop thanked him, noted that he was already carrying a heavy load, asked how much more time he could give. Said layman Gibson: "You don't understand me, sir. I am selling my business and want to give my whole time to the Lord Jesus."

The bishop set him to work running the Cathedral Shelter, which helped out the indigent and homeless with food, clothes and, when possible, a fresh start. Gibson took to it so naturally that the bishop finally called him to enter the clergy. At 53, after a year's tutoring in theology, he became a deacon, and two years later was ordained a priest. In 1932 he was appointed a canon of the Cathedral.

Cleric's Prayer. A widower for 20-odd years, Father Gibson lives alone in a small apartment. He rises at 4 each morning to spend an hour or so in prayer. He prays and thinks in terms of the present day only, never worries about tomorrow ("God hasn't given me tomorrow yet"). By 7, he is at the Shelter, where he celebrates Mass in the small, blue-walled chapel. Each night he is home and in bed by 8.

The Cathedral Shelter is next door to Father Gibson's old-fashioned Church of the Epiphany. Last year, 7,051 persons were interviewed at the Shelter, which provided 9,661 free meals and 2,801 nights' lodging. But the ministry of Father Gibson (who also serves the inmates of Cook County Jail and the Chicago House of Correction) cannot be reduced to statistics, it is perhaps best understood in the stories men tell of him.

One fellow priest recalls being asked to stay while Father Gibson interviewed a man who had been waiting outside for a long time. "The fellow came in," he says, "and told us one of the most pitiful stories of misfortune I have ever heard. After he had finished, I was about ready to dig down and give him everything I had. But Dave Gibson just said to him: 'Kneel down, son.'

"Then Dave put his hands on the man's head and began to pray. '0 Lord,' he said, 'please help this poor man and relieve him of his terrible habit of lying. Every word he's been telling me is a lie, Lord, and I want you to help him tell me the truth.'

"After he had told a straight story and arrangements had been made to get him started on the right track again, I asked Dave how he knew the man had been lying. He said simply, 'God told me. I know I can't do anything to help these people by myself. Whenever somebody comes in here with some problem I just ask God what to do and He tells me.' "

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