John Powell SJ on Atheism

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Theology - Tommy and God

Father John Powell, SJ was a professor of Theology at Loyola University in Chicago

---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're 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 24 and dying?"

"Well, it could be worse."

"Like what?"

"Well, like being 50 and having no values or ideals, like being 50 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."

"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 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 in Chicago

This story was written by John Powell, SJ who confirmed that he wrote it on www.truthorfiction.com

http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/j/johnpowell.htm