I love this kid. Jeremy was in my
Confirmation class a few years ago. He always reminded me of Jerry Matthers in
the old “Leave It to Beaver” TV show (Dang! I’m really showing my age now!). He
has a goofy, slightly overshot smile, a face full of freckles, jet black hair,
and wears huge, black-framed glasses. He loves to greet you with a fist bump,
but he would always politely inquire about my wife’s state of health or about
the well-being of members of the church. Rarely have I seen such conscientious
compassion in so young a person.
Jeremy’s sport is ice hockey. Although he
is rather small in stature (Or at least he was.
He might be six foot ten by now. I don’t know. I’ve not seen him since last
Easter!), he excels at this fast-paced, often brutal competition. Because his hockey
games were often scheduled on Sundays, Jeremy could never stay to attend our
11:00 AM contemporary mass at Faith Lutheran. Instead, his dad would bring him
to the early, Roman ordo-and-organ-music mass at 8:15. He was one of the few
people attending that service who still had his own gall bladder (It tends to
be a rather mature crowd at 8:15). All the same, Jeremy remarked that he
actually preferred the traditional mass.
It was quieter, he said, and he felt closer to God in that stately liturgical service
than he did at the more raucous contemporary mass. I began to realize that, in
spite of Jeremy’s sly sense of humor, there was something deeply spiritual
about the lad.
After Jeremy made his Confirmation, his
father told me a tale which, had I known it before, I certainly would have
shared with the congregation when Jeremy affirmed his baptism. It seems that
this diminutive young gent was the only player on his hockey team to skate an
entire season without a penalty called against him. Jeremy takes sportsman-like
conduct very seriously, and, even though his size made him an easy target for
more aggressive players, he never committed a foul in retaliation.
In Jeremy’s last game of the season (if I’ve
got the story straight), a larger opposing player bullied him with a thudding
body check. Between periods, Jeremy’s father came rinkside and suggested to his
young athlete that, having firmly established his credentials as a fair,
honorable, and sportsman-like player, it would not be thought amiss should
Jeremy, in his very last game, choose
to exact a small amount of revenge in the next period of play. Indeed, a
well-placed stick to the aggressor’s blade—even if it should land Jeremy in the
Penalty Box—might have the effect of establishing him as “one of the guys,” and
would certainly raise the ticket prices at the “Mess With Jeremy Tobin” window.
Jeremy declined the suggestion. It was not
for him to do anything to violate the rules of the game.
Non-violence is not merely cowardice in
the face of possible retribution. To be truly non-violent, one must first be
ready and able to inflict violence on others. Then one must actively choose forgiveness.
“But I say to you that listen, love your
enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for
those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also…”
(Luke 6:27-29a)
Every once in a while, your Old Religious
Guy gets the almost unquenchable urge to get in the face of some imbecile who
has really pissed me off and chew them out a new anal sphincter (metaphorically
speaking). When I get this urge, I remember the admonition of Jesus, the
logical fact that my tirade will neither solve a problem nor heal a
relationship, and the example of Jeremy Tobin.
And I am amazed and grateful for what a
teenaged boy could teach me.
Thanks, Jeremy. Keep up the good work.
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