Have A Little Faith Part 23

And we will do it because of a little girl from the congregation who was born prematurely, weighing only a few pounds-the doctors said she probably wouldn't make it-but her parents prayed and she pulled through and she is now a ball of energy with a grin that could lure the cookies out of the jar. She is at the church almost every night. She skips between the tables for the homeless and lets them rub her head playfully. She doesn't have a lot of toys and she isn't scheduled for countless after-school activities, but she most certainly has a community, a loving home-and a family.

Her father is a one-legged man named Ca.s.s, and her mother is a former addict named Marlene. They were married in the I Am My Brother's Keeper church; Pastor Henry Covington did the service.

And a year later, along came their precious little girl, who now runs around as if in G.o.d's private playground.

Her name, fittingly, is "Miracle."

The human spirit is a thing to behold.

I often wonder why the Reb asked me for a eulogy. I wonder if it was more for me than for him. The fact is, he trumped it moments later.

Just before the cantor began the final prayer, the Reb's grandson, Ron, popped a ca.s.sette tape into a player on the pulpit. And over the same speakers where Albert Lewis's voice used to ring out in wisdom, it rang out once more.

"Dear friends, this is the voice of your past rabbi speaking..."

He had recorded a message to be played upon his death. He had told no one-except Teela, his shopping companion and health care worker, who delivered the tape to his family. It was brief. But in it, the Reb answered the two questions he had most been asked in his life of faith.

One was whether he believed in G.o.d. He said he did.

The other was whether there is life after death. On this he said, "My answer here, too, is yes, there is something. But friends, I'm sorry. Now that I know, I can't even tell you. "My answer here, too, is yes, there is something. But friends, I'm sorry. Now that I know, I can't even tell you."

The whole place broke up laughing.

I didn't forget about the file on G.o.d. I went and retrieved it months later, on my own. I took it off the shelf. When I held it, I actually trembled, because for eight years I'd seen the word "G.o.d" written on the label, and after a while you imagine some holy wind is going to swoosh out.

I looked around the empty office. My stomach ached. I wished the Reb was with me. I yanked it open.

And he was.

Because there, inside the file, were hundreds of articles, clippings, and notes for sermons, all about G.o.d, with arrows and questions and scribbling in the Reb's handwriting. And it hit me, finally, that this was the whole point of my time with the Reb and Henry: not the conclusion, but the search, the study, the journey to belief. You can't fit the Lord in a box. But you can gather stories, tradition, wisdom, and in time, you needn't lower the shelf; G.o.d is already nearer to thee.

Have you ever known a man of faith? Did you run the other way? If so, stop running. Maybe sit for a minute. For a gla.s.s of ice water. For a plate of corn bread. You may find there is something beautiful to learn, and it doesn't bite you and it doesn't weaken you, it only proves a divine spark lies inside each of us, and that spark may one day save the world.

Back in the sanctuary, the Reb concluded his taped message by saying, "Please love one another, talk to one another, don't let trivialities dissolve friendships..." "Please love one another, talk to one another, don't let trivialities dissolve friendships..."

Then he sang a simple tune, which translated to: "Good-bye friends, good-bye friends, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, see you again, see you again, good-bye." see you again, see you again, good-bye."

The congregation, one last time, joined in.

You could say it was the loudest prayer of his career.

But I always knew he'd go out with a song.

Epilogue.

One last memory.

This was not long before the Reb pa.s.sed away.

He was talking about heaven and suddenly, for some reason, I had a notion.

What if you only get five minutes with G.o.d?

"Five minutes?" he said.

Five minutes, I said. G.o.d is a busy G.o.d. Here's your slice of heaven. Five minutes alone with the Lord and then, poof, on you go to whatever happens next.

"And in those five minutes?" he asked, intrigued.

In those five minutes, you can ask anything you want.

"Ah. Okay."

He pushed back into the chair, as if consulting the air around him.

"First I would say, 'Do me a favor, G.o.d in heaven, if you can, members of my family who need help, please show them the way on earth. Guide them a little.'"

Okay, that's a minute.

"The next three minutes, I'd say, 'Lord, give these to someone who is suffering and requires your love and counsel.'"

You'd give up three minutes?

"If someone truly needs it, yes."

Okay, I said. That still leaves you a minute.

"All right. In that final minute, I would say, 'Look, Lord, I've done X amount of good stuff on earth. I have tried to follow your teachings and to pa.s.s them on. I have loved my family. I've been part of a community. And I have been, I think, fairly good to people.

"'So, Heavenly Father, for all this, what is my reward?"'

And what do you think G.o.d will say?

He smiled.

"He'll say, 'Reward? What reward? That's what you were supposed supposed to do!'" to do!'"

I laughed and he laughed, and he bounced his palms on his thighs and our noise filled the house. And I think, at that moment, we could have been anywhere, anybody, any culture, any faith-a teacher and a student exploring what life is all about and delighting in the discovery.

In the beginning, there was a question. In the end, the question gets answered. G.o.d sings, we hum along, and there are many melodies, but it's all one song-one same, wonderful, human song.

I am in love with hope.

Acknowledgments.

THE AUTHOR WOULD LIKE TO THANK the families of Henry Covington and Albert Lewis: the wives, Sarah Lewis and Annette Covington; the Reb's children-Shalom, Orah, and Gilah; and Pastor Henry's children-Lakema, Kendrick, Keyshia, and Tiffany. It is never easy to read about one's husband or father in a book, and their grace toward these pages is deeply appreciated. Additional thanks to spouses-Cindy Lewis, Shimon Lipsky, Brian Seitz-and the Reb's many grandkids.

Others who helped make this book possible include Anthony "Ca.s.s" Castelow, Dr. Chad Audi of the Detroit Rescue Mission Ministries, Rabbi Steven Lindemann, Teela Singh, Eddie Adelman, Norm Trask, the staff at Temple Beth Sholom, members of the I Am My Brother's Keeper Church (some of whose names were changed), Matty and Lisa Goldberg for their dusty shelf research, and Ron Lipsky, who adored his grandfather and proved it through the tender footage he captured.

At Hyperion, my deep thanks to my always supportive editor, Leslie Wells, Ellen Archer, Will Balliett, Phil Rose, David Lott, Vincent Stanley, Kristin Kiser, Mindy Stockfield, Jessica Wiener, Marie Coolman, Maha Khalil, Sarah Rucker, SallyAnne McCartin, and Michael Rotondo.

And, as always, the wonderful team at Black Inc-David, Susan, Antonella, Annik, Joy, Leigh Ann, and Dave. Thanks also to those who gave an early read to these pages, to my family and extended family, to Rosey-and to Janine, where my thanks always begin and end.

Finally, a salute to my first home, South Jersey, which I never fully appreciated, and to my current home, Detroit, which maybe I appreciate more than others. It is a special place, and so are its people, and I am proud to live here.

Mitch Albom Detroit, Michigan June 2009

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