Father 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, seducing 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 really 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 started 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
destination only in your 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 it.
"Oooh.. 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 appointment, 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.
Frankie wants you all to know he loves you and this was posted because of my interpretation of Luke 16 and the story of Lazarus and the 'rich' man.
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