Fw: Theology of faith

[Guest guest]

A good one! Enjoy reading!

 

Raghavan B G

-

Avinash Shirode <shirodea_nsk

B.G.Raghavan <schiwaz

Thursday, November 06, 2003 12:32 PM

Theology of faith

 

 

> John Powell, a professor at Loyola University in Chicago writes about a

> student named Tommy in his " Theology of Faith " class:

>

> 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 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, 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 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 something 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 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 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 really 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 to open up 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 favour? 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. "

>

> " 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, but 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.

>

> 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,

> John Powell, Professor Loyola University, Chicago

>

> " To love what you do and feel that it matters - how could anything be

> more

> fun? "

>

>