Question

A
story you will long remember . . . . .

Father
John Powell, 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/***. 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 *** of the course to turn in his final exam,

he
asked in a cynical tone, 'Do you think I'll ever find ***?'

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. </s

Answer 1

What can be said?

Answer 2

Another beautiful and clever teaching...it's true that sometimes we are so down and ready to quit...but then "something"pick us up to go for another round, doesn't ?
Thank you....

Answer 3

That's true Victoria

Answer 4

Another "no atheists on their death bed" story.

*Yawn*

Fear of mortality does make people come up with self-serving delusions, all right.

Next.

Answer 5

Great Story..

Answer 6

What can be said?

Answer 7

An old and beautiful true story, and told so well. Thank you for posting it again.
I have the compact version here for anyone wishing to share it on other media.

TOMMY’S MESSAGE

A story you will long remember . . . . .

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. 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/***. 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 t...

An old and beautiful true story, and told so well. Thank you for posting it again.
I have the compact version here for anyone wishing to share it on other media.

TOMMY’S MESSAGE

A story you will long remember . . . . .

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. 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/***. 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 *** of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a cynical tone, 'Do you think I'll ever find ***?' 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, *** 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 *** 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 *** was ****** 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 ***. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging ****** fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But *** 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 *** who may be or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I didn't really care about ***, 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 ******* 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 *** 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 *** 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

Answer 8

Passed to a number of friends

Answer 9