John Powell, a professor at
Loyola University in Chicago writes about a student in his
Theology of Faith class named Tommy:
Some
twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file
into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of
Faith. That was the day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind
both blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung
six inches below his shoulders. It was the first time I had
ever seen a boy with hair that long. I guess it was just
coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it isn't
what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on that
day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately
filed Tommy under "S" for strange... Very
strange.
Tommy turned out to be the
"atheist in residence" in my Theology of
Faith
course. He constantly objected! To, smirked at, or whined
about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father/God.
We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester,
although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the
back pew.
When he came up at the end of the
course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a cynical
tone, "Do you think I'll ever find God?"
I
decided instantly on a little shock therapy. "No!" I said very
emphatically. "Why not," he responded, "I thought that was the
product you were pushing."
I let him get five
steps from the classroom door and then called out, "Tommy! I
don't think you'll ever find Him, but I am absolutely certain
That He will find you!" He shrugged a little and left my class
and my life.
I felt slightly disappointed at the thought
that he had missed my clever
Line --- He will find you! At
least I thought it was clever.
Later I
heard that Tommy had graduated and I was duly grateful. Then
A sad report came. I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer.
Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he
walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted and the
long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy! But
his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first
time, I believe. "Tommy, I've thought about you so often.. I
hear you are sick," I blurted out.
"Oh,
yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of
weeks."
"Can you talk about it, Tom?" I
asked.
"Sure, what would you like to know?" he
replied.
"What's it like to be only twenty-four and
dying?"
"Well, it could be worse."
"Like
what?"
"Well, like being fifty and having no values
or ideals, like being fifty and thinking that booze, sedu cing
women, and making money are the real 'biggies' in
life."
I began to look through
my mental file cabinet under 'S' where I had
Filed Tommy
as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by
classification, God sends back into my life to educate
me.)
"But what I really came to see you about," Tom
said, "is something you said to me on the last day of class."
(He remembered!) He continued, "I Asked you if you thought I
would ever find God and you said, 'No!' which
Surprised
me. Then you said, 'But He will find you.' I thought about
that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense
at that time.
(My clever line. He thought
about that a lot!)
"But when the doctors removed
a lump from my groin and told me that
It was malignant,
that's when I got serious about locating God. And when
the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I reall y
began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven.
But God did not come out.. In fact, nothing happened. Did you
ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with
no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with
trying. And then you quit.
Well, one day I woke
up, and instead of throwing a few more futile
Appeals over
that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there,
I just quit. I decided that I didn't really care about
God, about an after life, or anything like that. I decided to
spend what time I had left doing something more profitable. I
thought about you and your class and I remembered something
else you had said: 'The essential sadness is to go through
life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go
through life and leave this world without ever telling
those you loved that you had loved
them.'"
"So, I began with the hardest one,
my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him.
"Dad."
"Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the
newspaper.
"Dad, I would like to talk with
you."
"Well, talk."
"I mean . . . It's really
important."
The newspaper came down three slow
inches. "What is it?"
"Dad, I love you. I just wanted
you to know that."
Tom smiled at me and said it with obvious
satisfaction, as though he
felt a warm and secret joy
flowing inside of him.
"The newspaper fluttered
to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never
remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me. We
talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next
morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his
tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me.
"
"It was easier with my mother and little
brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other,
and sta rted saying real nice things to each other. We shared
the things we had been keeping secret for so many
years. I
was only sorry about one thing --- that I had waited so long.
Here I was, just beginning to open up to all the people I had
actually been close to."
"Then, one
day I turned around and God was there. He didn't come to
me when I pleaded with Him. I guess I was like an animal
trainer holding
out a hoop, 'C'mon, jump through.
C'mon, I'll give You three days, three
weeks.'
Apparently God does things in His own
way and at His own hour. But the
important thing is that
He was there. He found me! You were right. He found me even
after I stopped looking for Him."
"Tommy," I practically gasped, "I think you are
saying something very important and much more universal than
you realize. To me, at least,
you are saying that the
surest way to find God is not to make Him a priv ate
possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in
time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know,
the Apostle John said that. He said: 'God is love, and anyone
who lives in love is living with God and God is living in
him.' Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you
in class you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make
it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology
of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I
told them the same thing it wouldn't be half as effective as
if you were to tell them."
"Ooh . I was ready for
you, but I don't know if I'm ready for your
class."
"Tom, think about it. If and when you are
ready, give me a call.
In a few days Tom called, said he was
ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God
and for me. So we scheduled a date. However, he never made it.
He had another appointm ent, far more important than the one
with me and my class. Of course, his life was not really ended
by his death, only changed.
He made the great step from faith into vision.
He found a life far more
beautiful than the eye of man has
ever seen or the ear of man has ever
heard or the
mind of man has ever imagined. Before he died, we talked one
last time.
"I'm not going to make it to your class," he
said.
"I know,
Tom."
"Will you
tell them for me? Will you tell the whole world for
me?"
"I will, Tom. I'll tell them. I'll do
my best."
So, to all of you who have been
kind enough to read this simple story about God's love, thank
you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit,
verdant hills of heaven --- I told them, Tommy, as best I
could.
If this story means anything to you, please
pass it on to a friend or two. It is a true story and is not
enhanced for publicity
purposes.
