Today
is Father's Day and looking around this sanctuary, I can see that
there are a lot of good dads in the room. But what makes a good dad?
The old joke is that fathers have photos in their wallet where money
used to be! Paul Harvey wrote the following about fathers:
What
Are Fathers Made Of?
by Paul Harvey
A father is a thing that is forced to endure childbirth without an anesthetic.
A father is a thing that growls when it feels good -- and laughs very loud when it's scared half to death.
A father never feels entirely worthy of the worship in a child's eyes. He's never quite the hero his daughter thinks, never quite the man his son believes him to be -- and this worries him, sometimes.
So he works too hard to try and smooth the rough places in the road for those of his own who will follow him.
A father is a thing that gets very angry when the first school grades aren't as good as he thinks they should be. He scolds his son though he knows it's the teacher's fault.
Fathers are what give daughters away to other men who aren't nearly good enough so they can have grandchildren who are smarter than anybody's.
Fathers make bets with insurance companies about who'll live the longest. Though they know the odds, they keep right on betting. And one day they lose.
I don't know where fathers go when they die. But I've an idea that after a good rest, wherever it is, he won't be happy unless there's work to do.
He won't just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he's loved and the children she bore.
He'll be busy there, too, repairing the stairs, oiling the gates, improving the streets, smoothing the way.
by Paul Harvey
A father is a thing that is forced to endure childbirth without an anesthetic.
A father is a thing that growls when it feels good -- and laughs very loud when it's scared half to death.
A father never feels entirely worthy of the worship in a child's eyes. He's never quite the hero his daughter thinks, never quite the man his son believes him to be -- and this worries him, sometimes.
So he works too hard to try and smooth the rough places in the road for those of his own who will follow him.
A father is a thing that gets very angry when the first school grades aren't as good as he thinks they should be. He scolds his son though he knows it's the teacher's fault.
Fathers are what give daughters away to other men who aren't nearly good enough so they can have grandchildren who are smarter than anybody's.
Fathers make bets with insurance companies about who'll live the longest. Though they know the odds, they keep right on betting. And one day they lose.
I don't know where fathers go when they die. But I've an idea that after a good rest, wherever it is, he won't be happy unless there's work to do.
He won't just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he's loved and the children she bore.
He'll be busy there, too, repairing the stairs, oiling the gates, improving the streets, smoothing the way.
Thank
you Paul Harvey – that is a good description of fathers in general.
Although my Dad isn't here today – he's over at Centenary, sitting
in his usual place in the balcony – there isn't a day that I don't
thank God for giving me the gift of a wonderful earthly father. Don't
get me wrong, I know he isn't perfect...I would describe him as
“quirky.”
Dad
is easily frustrated by refrigerators. He is convinced that the
contents of the refrigerator have rearranged themselves (surely he
doesn't blame us!) in order to hide things. The pickles hide the
jelly, the mustard hides the relish and the good Lord only knows
where the mayo is hiding! I'll admit that he has a point sometimes -
if I were to count the contents of the fridge we would have at least
5 different mustards, 7 different pickles and an even dozen or more
jars of jelly. You know...yellow mustard isn't enough, got to have
dijon and stone ground and honey mustard and spicy brown and
something called dijonaise which is a blend of mustard and mayo...
And certainly Dad would be perfectly happy with cherry preserves and
grape jelly - but sometimes when wandering through the market we are
tempted to add things like fuzzy navel, raspberry cognac,
apricot/kiwi and blackberry preserves...till we have quite the
collection of little pint jars.
As
much as Dad hates refrigerator mysteries...that is how much he LOVES
rope. Anytime you need to tie something down or keep a float from
escaping - you can always count on my Dad to have a rope, string,
shoelace, bungee cord or strap to fit the bill. You will almost
certainly need to untangle it from its brothers - but that is part of
the charm. (much like finding the correct washer in his collection of
jars and loaf pans of random hardware) And he can never turn down a
free piece of rope. I think one of my bonding experiences with Dad
was one afternoon when we were driving out into the country to mow a
yard for someone. We were on a back road and as we passed around a
bend I saw a short length of rope lying in the road. I knew that he
had also seen it - but I guess since I was driving, he figured it was
not meant to be his. Without even asking, at the next cross road, I
turned around and drove back. It was about 15 or 20 feet long but (I
can't believe I'm saying this) it was a nice piece of rope. And it
made him happy.
Some
of my mental images include hiking with him along the Blue Ridge
Parkway - if it had rained he would hurry a little ahead of us, hide
behind a tree and shake it just as we went under...yelling "hey,
it's raining!!" Or when we would go swimming and he would get
everyone to start "rocking the pool" - everyone
cannonballing as fast as we could until there were 2 foot waves on
the surface! (I was always kind of proud of the fact that he was the
only adult that the lifeguards made sit out)
There are quiet memories too...like watching him wrap his arm around my Mom's shoulder at a funeral, or teaching Bible study to a dozen youth sprawled around on a basement floor, or especially when I was feeling so desperately low after losing a job...how he shared how he felt when the company he had worked at for over 25 years closed its doors.
There are quiet memories too...like watching him wrap his arm around my Mom's shoulder at a funeral, or teaching Bible study to a dozen youth sprawled around on a basement floor, or especially when I was feeling so desperately low after losing a job...how he shared how he felt when the company he had worked at for over 25 years closed its doors.
I've
often said that I can completely understand the concept of a loving
Heavenly Father - because I have experienced the most incredible
earthly one. He's an anchor, a foundation and steadfast. Everyone
deserves a father like mine.
In
the Gospel of Mark we read a story about Jesus and a storm:
Mark 4:35-41 The Message (MSG)
The Wind Ran Out of Breath
Late that day he said to them, “Let’s go across to the other
side.” They took him in the boat as he was. Other boats came along.
A huge storm came up. Waves poured into the boat, threatening to sink
it. And Jesus was in the stern, head on a pillow, sleeping! They
roused him, saying, “Teacher, is it nothing to you that we’re
going down?”
Awake now, he told the wind to pipe down and said to the sea,
“Quiet! Settle down!” The wind ran out of breath; the sea became
smooth as glass. Jesus reprimanded the disciples: “Why are you such
cowards? Don’t you have any faith at all?”
They were in absolute awe, staggered. “Who is this, anyway?”
they asked. “Wind and sea at his beck and call!”
Jesus
told the storm to settle down and it did.
A
good father is that sort of anchor. In the midst of life's storms he
can be the calm. A good father walks the walk, doesn't just talk the
talk through the storm. But not every child has a good earthly
father.
David
Blankenhorne writes in his book, Fatherless America, that "tonight,
about 40 percent of American children will go to sleep in homes in
which their fathers do not live". "Fatherlessness,"
argues Blankenhorn, "is the most harmful demographic trend of
this generation.” “Fatherlessness is a defining feature of
American childhood.” 40% don't have that anchor of a good father.
40% don't have the joy of finding a gift of rope in the road. Don't
have the arm wrapped around their shoulder when life's storms
threaten to swamp the boat.
I
work with Centenary's Thursday after school program called JIFF
(Juniors in Fun and Fellowship). It has been a few years back that I
found my mom wiping away tears at the end of the evening. She told me
that one of the girls had been chatting with her and asked how many
kids she had. Mom replied that she had 5 kids, 4 girls and one boy.
She wasn't prepared for the next question. Usually when someone finds
out that she has 5 kids, the next questions are about how you feed
that many or how you find the money for vacation or how the kids get
along. Not this time. The next question was, “do any of them have
the same father?”
Do
any of them have the same father? Fatherlessness – absent fathers,
unknown fathers, too busy fathers and disconnected fathers have been
so commonplace today that it was unfathomable to this young lady that
you could have 5 kids with the same father. It's so far outside my
perspective that it could be any other way.
Mom
was able to share that not only do all 5 kids have the same father –
he is still around and was actually there leading the 6,7,8 grade
boys group.
Is
it any wonder that society seems to be in the midst of a hurricane?
Without the anchor of good fathers in the world, it must be very
difficult to wrap your head around the concept of a loving heavenly
Father.
The
storm that the Gospel of Mark relates is sudden and violent – like
the violent life storms that we all face: the loss of a job, the
death of a loved one, the unexpected diagnosis. How do we deal with
those storms?
The
geography of the Sea of Galilee makes it especially susceptible to
sudden violent storms. This is part of the reason that the gospels
generally describe Jesus and the disciples sailing more or less along
the shoreline rather than directly across the open body of the sea.
If you were closer in, you could make a tack for the shore and ride
out a sudden storm with minimal damage.
But in this story, Jesus says, “Let’s set out for the opposite shore.” That meant sailing directly across the sea. And worse, it was getting dark, which meant the temperatures were more unstable. That a storm would suddenly arise on this sea under these conditions is unremarkable. What is remarkable is that Jesus would lead his ship and the others with them to cross this sea at this hour. He had to know he was likely leading them into serious danger. Meanwhile, he went to sleep on a pillow, leaving the disciples to face the violent storm on the open sea.
But in this story, Jesus says, “Let’s set out for the opposite shore.” That meant sailing directly across the sea. And worse, it was getting dark, which meant the temperatures were more unstable. That a storm would suddenly arise on this sea under these conditions is unremarkable. What is remarkable is that Jesus would lead his ship and the others with them to cross this sea at this hour. He had to know he was likely leading them into serious danger. Meanwhile, he went to sleep on a pillow, leaving the disciples to face the violent storm on the open sea.
This
kind of experience is the heart of many initiation rites and survival
training programs across many cultures and times. When they face
danger together, initiates learn both the limits and the depth of
their resources.
These
disciples learned their limits right away. The storm was too big for
them. And it was too big for them even to be respectful of their
master. Their words (“Don’t you care we are about to be
capsized?”) reveal panic and disrespect at once. What happened next
slammed them against more of their own limits. Jesus told the sea to
“shut up,” just like he had told demons before, and the wind
stopped and there was an immediate calm. And the disciples were in
AWE. Jesus’ probing questions teach them even more. “Why are you
so frightened? Do you have no faith at all?”
Jesus
does not rebuke the disciples. He rebukes the storm. He tells it to
shut up, and it does. That’s
what
terrifies them. “Who is this, that even the wind and the sea obey
him?”
There is little in this story that fits a domesticated Jesus or a domesticated Christianity. This is Jesus, weird and wild. This is Yoda sending Luke Skywalker into a cave, knowing he won’t prevail. This is Morpheus telling Neo to leap across a chasm to a building on the other side. This is a mother bird forcing her barely fledged chicks out of the nest to fly. This is a father climbing with his child to the top of the high diving board and saying, “Jump.”
There is little in this story that fits a domesticated Jesus or a domesticated Christianity. This is Jesus, weird and wild. This is Yoda sending Luke Skywalker into a cave, knowing he won’t prevail. This is Morpheus telling Neo to leap across a chasm to a building on the other side. This is a mother bird forcing her barely fledged chicks out of the nest to fly. This is a father climbing with his child to the top of the high diving board and saying, “Jump.”
The
father making the hardest move any good father can make – allowing
the child to test his wings, to try...and even allowing the child to
fail so he can learn from the experience. Can you think of times in
your life that you were allowed to fail so you could learn? Have you
done that for your child? This is part of fatherhood – of
parenthood – of childhood.
And
yet, 40% of children will go to sleep in a home tonight without their
father in the home. In a life full of storms and struggles and the
challenges of daily living – so many will lack the anchor of being
in relationship with their earthly father. How can we expect them to
believe in a loving Heavenly Father?
As
a church and as individuals we can extend the example of good
fatherhood into a world that desperately needs to have those anchors
and foundations. We can volunteer for programs like Big Brothers/Big
Sisters, Jubilee Center or JIFF. We can reach out to the neighborhood
child or teach Sunday school or coach little league...the
possibilities are endless.
We
can be the anchor in a storm – the peaceful resting spot.
Brandi
Carlile wrote a song called “The Eye” and one lyric that is
repeated over and over is “You can dance in a hurricane, but only
if you're standing in the eye.” The eye of a storm is that place,
in the midst of the tempest that is calm. On the NOAA (National
Oceanic & Atmospheric Association) website the eye of a storm is
defined as a roughly circular area of comparatively light winds and
fair weather found at the center of a severe tropical cyclone.
Although the winds are calm at the axis of rotation, strong winds may
extend well into the eye. There is little or no precipitation and
sometimes blue sky or stars can be seen.
The
storm hasn't completely passed and you had better be well aware that
it is going to be building again (the National Weather Service warns
that A common mistake, especially in areas where hurricanes are
uncommon, is for residents to exit their homes to inspect the damage
while the calm eye passes over, only to be caught off guard by the
violent winds in the opposite eyewall.) But even though the eye isn't
the END of the storm...it is a chance to take a breath and get ready
for the rest of the hurricane.
My
dad has often been that oasis in the stormy periods of life. He's
also been a guide and an anchor. My heavenly Father is the same –
if I will remember to call on him and lean into him during the rough
patches, I can dance – even in a hurricane.
And
I thank God for all the fathers who remind us of what our Heavenly
Father is like: recall some of the descriptive words from Paul
Harvey's essay -
enduring,
growling, laughing, heroic, worried, working, loving. Above all –
our Heavenly Father is loving.
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