Have a Little Faith – Mitch Albom (2009)

Have a Little Faith: A True Story by Mitch Albom, published in 2009, is a reflective and deeply personal work of nonfiction exploring the complex terrain of belief, redemption, and the human spirit. Over the span of eight years, Albom recounts his interactions with two spiritual leaders from vastly different backgrounds – Rabbi Albert Lewis, his childhood clergyman in New Jersey, and Pastor Henry Covington, a former drug dealer turned preacher in a destitute Detroit church. What begins with an unusual request to deliver a eulogy evolves into a heartfelt journey through faith, doubt, and humanity’s search for meaning.

Plot Summary

In the quiet moment of an autumn day, an aging rabbi asks a favor. He wishes for someone to deliver his eulogy, someone who knew him once but had long drifted from faith. The man he asks, Mitch, is no longer part of his congregation, and no longer sure of belief. Yet something in the rabbi’s eyes – something unwavering and still warm with life – compels him to say yes. But with a condition: before he speaks about the rabbi’s life, he must understand it.

So begins a journey that unfolds over eight years, across seasons, across cities, and across two very different kinds of faith. In New Jersey, there is Albert Lewis – tall, musical, and endlessly devoted to his calling. In Detroit, there is Henry Covington – once a thief, once a drug addict, and now a pastor in a crumbling church where rain leaks through the roof and homeless men find shelter. Between these two lives lies a thread of discovery, drawing out the tangled knots of belief, forgiveness, and what it means to do good.

Albert Lewis – the Reb, as everyone calls him – has led the same congregation for over half a century. To many, he is a voice from the pulpit, booming with humor and grace, raising his arms like a conductor while quoting scripture and song in equal measure. To Mitch, he is a memory from boyhood, a towering presence he once feared and later avoided. But time has aged the Reb. His robes have been replaced by sandals and shorts, his home filled with files on God, old sermons, and stories clipped from magazines. As they meet, again and again, the layers fall away. What seemed once like a man of celestial certainty reveals itself to be a life made of gentle choices – of rituals upheld not for show but because they anchor the soul, of a marriage built on quiet understanding, of a love for community that never aged.

In his small study, the Reb offers not doctrine but questions. Why does faith matter? Why do people run from it? Can one love without needing to explain how? His answers are often wrapped in song, or Yiddish jokes, or the parables he’s told for years. There is no performance anymore. Just a man growing older, preparing for the end, hoping that the words spoken about him will reflect who he truly was – not the stage presence, but the person who showed up for every funeral, every hospital bed, every troubled soul who knocked on his door.

Far from the manicured lawns of suburban New Jersey, another voice of faith speaks in the shadows of Detroit. Henry Covington’s church is called I Am My Brother’s Keeper. It is a name he believes in more than any sermon he could preach. His past is not hidden – he lived on the run, sold drugs, stole from strangers, even once cried to Jesus with a shotgun in his lap, promising to change if he could live through the night. And when he survived, he meant it. Slowly, with setbacks, he built a life of service. His church feeds the hungry. It offers beds to the addicted. It asks for nothing.

But the building is crumbling. When it rains, the water pools on the floor. There is no money for repairs. And still, Henry stays. He preaches from a broken pulpit to men with broken spirits. He never forgets what he was. That memory keeps him humble, keeps him honest. He does not claim to be holy. Only forgiven.

Mitch travels between the two worlds. In one, the Reb speaks of rituals – of lighting candles and tying scripture to the body, of prayer as a daily rhythm. In the other, Henry speaks of redemption – of mistakes paid for and a second chance granted not by men, but by grace. Both men, so different in race, class, theology, and history, believe in something larger than themselves. Both have given their lives to lifting others. Both carry the weight of guiding souls.

Over the years, Mitch sees the Reb falter. Illness creeps in – his speech slows, his body bends. He hides his cane, worried about looking weak. But his humor never fades. He sings to Mitch in greeting. He shares stories of childhood, of old synagogues and broken-down churches, of prejudice and healing, of the day he failed to enter the seminary, and the second chance that changed his life. Always, he returns to love – love for his people, his faith, his God. He speaks not as a man above others, but beside them.

At the same time, Henry’s work grows heavier. He confesses that feeding the poor is not enough when the roof threatens to collapse. Mitch helps bring attention to the cause, and slowly, hope seeps into the woodwork. Donations arrive. Volunteers come to patch what can be patched. It is not perfect. But it is something. And for Henry, that something means everything.

As the Reb’s time draws closer, his requests become simpler. He asks Mitch to keep coming. Not for sermons or eulogies. Just to talk. Just to be there. And Mitch, once skeptical, begins to find solace in those moments. Not in sudden conversions or revelations, but in small truths. In the sound of the Reb’s voice. In Henry’s unshakable conviction. In the way faith, at its best, is not a declaration, but an act of showing up.

The final meeting comes quietly. The Reb is thinner, his voice softer. Yet there is peace in his eyes. He reminds Mitch that he will know what to say when the time comes. Not because he rehearsed it. But because he listened. He understood. And that, more than the right words, is what matters.

A service is held. A wooden casket rests before a sanctuary filled with memories. Mitch speaks, and in his voice is everything the Reb gave him – wisdom, humility, and the comfort of connection.

Far away, in Detroit, the lights flicker on in a church that was once almost lost. Henry preaches beneath a patched roof. He speaks to those who have nothing, and in his voice is hope, raw and undeniable.

Between them – the rabbi and the pastor – a life has unfolded. A life that asks no grand miracles, only this: Have a little faith.

Main Characters

• Mitch Albom – The narrator and author, Albom serves as the bridge between the two men of faith. Initially distant from religious conviction, his journey is one of cautious reawakening. Through the lens of their stories, he grapples with his own spiritual ambivalence, ultimately gaining a nuanced understanding of faith and community.

• Rabbi Albert Lewis (“the Reb”) – A charismatic and devoted Jewish leader from Albom’s childhood synagogue in New Jersey. Wise, theatrical, and deeply principled, the Reb requests Albom to deliver his eulogy, prompting a series of intimate conversations. Through humor, humility, and a deep love of tradition, the Reb offers profound insights into life, ritual, and spiritual endurance.

• Pastor Henry Covington – Once a criminal immersed in drugs and violence, Henry undergoes a powerful transformation after a desperate plea to Jesus for salvation. Now leading a struggling Christian church that shelters the homeless in Detroit, Henry embodies redemption and self-sacrifice, contrasting yet complementing the Reb’s faith journey.

Theme

• Faith and Doubt – At the heart of the narrative is the delicate dance between belief and skepticism. Albom, a lapsed believer, confronts his spiritual uncertainty through the contrasting faiths and life experiences of Lewis and Covington, illuminating the universal struggle with belief.

• Redemption and Transformation – Pastor Henry’s life story is a testament to the human capacity for change. From addiction and crime to spiritual leadership, his journey reveals the redemptive power of faith and the resilience of the human spirit.

• Mortality and Legacy – The impending death of Rabbi Lewis brings forward questions of purpose, memory, and the stories we leave behind. The narrative becomes a meditation on how we define a life well-lived, especially when viewed through the prism of service, love, and forgiveness.

• Community and Connection – Both Lewis and Covington view spiritual life as inseparable from communal responsibility. Whether in a suburban synagogue or a makeshift shelter for the homeless, they teach that true faith manifests through kindness, shared burdens, and acts of service.

• Ritual and Tradition – The Reb’s devotion to Jewish customs and prayers underscores the enduring value of religious rituals in fostering identity and continuity. These practices offer structure, meaning, and a tangible link to past generations.

Writing Style and Tone

Mitch Albom’s prose is warm, personal, and deceptively simple. Writing in a conversational first-person style, he creates a memoir-like atmosphere that feels both intimate and universally resonant. His journalistic background gives the narrative a crisp clarity, while his spiritual curiosity invites the reader to ponder alongside him. Albom is skilled at capturing dialogue with emotional depth and subtle humor, allowing his subjects’ personalities to shine naturally through their words.

The tone of Have a Little Faith oscillates between contemplative and uplifting. Albom balances the weight of mortality and personal failures with moments of grace, wit, and humanity. The dual portrait of Lewis and Covington is tender and respectful, never preachy. Instead of dictating doctrine, the book offers reflections, often through parables or anecdotes, that invite interpretation and introspection. This approach lends the work a gentle moral force, encouraging readers to find their own path to meaning.