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I am taking a class right now in the writings of Brother David Steindl-Rast, and one of the members of the class posted this story, which they said should be shared...so I am sharing it...
great story how God finds us Tommy's Story
* 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 I 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*
great story how God finds us Tommy's Story
* 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 I 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*
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