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The
Story of Tommy, the
Atheist Theology
Student Who Was
Found by God
The Truth:
This story was
written by Father
John Powell, a
retired professor at
Loyola University in
Chicago. Father
Powell is advanced
in years, but
TruthOrFiction.com
found him and talked
with him. The
story was fresh in
his mind and he
confirmed that it is
true and happened in
the way that he
described it.
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 first
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 slightly
cynical tone: "Do
you think I’ll ever
find God?"
I decided instantly
on a little shock
therapy. "No!" I
said very
emphatically.
"Oh," 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, 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?"
"Sure, what would
you like to know?"
"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, then
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 afterlife, 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 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.
And 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
them."
"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
Tommy 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 hear this
simple statement
about 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."
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