A boy named Tommy

> 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
> private 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 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.
>
> 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.
>
> With thanks, Rev. John Powell, Professor, Loyola University, Chicago