FATHER'S DAY
Father…father
A Spanish proverb has it: “An ounce
of father is worth a pound of clergy.” The priest may offer his Mass, and the
nun her sacrifices, and the contemplative may gaze into divine realities, but
it is the father, that undistinguished man you see in the early morning,
leaving home for the shop, the office, the factory or the coal mine, - that
tired, troubled person you see returning home late evening with a smile and a
cheerfulness that are sometimes hard to tie together – it is he who is the
first guardian of the home and warrior of the faith. He comforts and is
comforted by the children who run into his arms. “A truly rich man is one whose
children run into his arms even if his hands are empty!”
He is the captain of the home, the
rock on which Christian civilisation is built. There is no order or
organisation to record his heroism or promote his beatification. He is the
common, often inglorious beast of burden. Yes, indeed. But there was a day when
the Son of God had personally to arrange for a beast of burden to carry him
triumphantly into his holy city!
The
dedicated father today is a hero, and if you ask why he carries himself so
bravely, I can answer only because in him is the stuff of saints. Not for him
is the boost of applause. The mother is praised in song and extolled in story,
and she deserves it. But the father walks the common way without bugles, drums
and flags. Truly, he has given hostages to fortune. Those holy men and women
who have given up the world are the glorious children of God, but if there were
no harassed, poor, slaving fathers, there would be none of those glorious
children!
Peace
of mind and soul are lovely possessions, but they are not for the dedicated
father. The particular saint in him demands that he go out and meet the
challenges of the day, that he be concerned not with his own well being and
serenity but with those in his care, that he venture forth into the world and
there, thick in the mass of men, seek the opportunity to love his neighbour and
his enemy, so that, in advance and not in retreat, in battle and not in
seclusion, he may prove himself worthy of Him from whom all fatherhood is
named.
All fatherhood is named from heaven.
And all earthly fathers have rightfully kept hold of that old truth that God is
Father. He is the Father of creation, the Father of Abraham and the patriarchs.
You look at the starry sky and are moved with awe at this mighty God’s power
and management. You look at the failures of his creation and are moved by his patience
and endurance, by how he continues, despite it all, to be merciful and
gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. You look at your own
frailty, moral and spiritual, and are moved with his understanding and his
forgiving kindness.
To call this great God “Father” is a
privilege and a blessing, and this is how, over the centuries he has made
himself known. It is a title you use with respect, just as your child uses it
for you: “Papa, Dada, Pop, Hi Dad.” What beautiful sounds! And when you use it
for God, it tells you of his eternal care that holds you and all life secure in
those eternal arms that are underneath and around you.
This is the faith into which you
were born, and this is the love that will not let you go. And when you met Jesus,
he confirmed all that for you, as he spoke and acted in the name of that God of
fatherly love and authority.
When
fathers are gathered on Judgement Day, the Lord will gently say, “I was hungry
and you fed me, thirsty and you gave me a drink, naked and you clothed me,
homeless and you sheltered me, imprisoned and you visited me. Come, enter the
kingdom I have prepared for you.” And the fathers will be bewildered and will
ask: “Are you sure, Lord? When did we see you hungry and feed you?” The Lord
will reply, “Do you really not know? Do you not remember the way you carefully
fed me when I was a baby; the way you loved me into my first small steps across
the living room into your arms; and, later, my bigger steps into the waiting
world?” “All the time that was me you were nourishing. Yes, of course, it was
your child. But it was me, your God, as well.”
“When
were you thirsty, Lord?” they ask. “I needed your love and comfort. You held me
to your chest and I could hear your heart. As tenderly as the sun opens the
daisies in the morning, your gentle voice and loving eyes opened my soul to the
mystery of my true identity. I, your God, became your vulnerable child so as to
experience your tenderness to me.”
“But
naked, Lord, and homeless?” The Lord will reply, “I was born naked and
homeless, and you sheltered me, first in your wife’s womb and then in your
arms. In my rebellious years I left home, blinded by lesser lights and loves.
You did not judge me, your great heart never doubted me; you forgave me, you believed
in me, you drew me into a higher way of life, light-making and love-making. No
matter what, on my return home, your face at the door was always a smiling
sacrament of welcome.”
“But
imprisoned, Lord? Surely not!” The Lord paused. “There are many kinds of
prison. When I was imprisoned in my fears I cried out in the night; you came
and lifted me from behind the bars of my cot and folded me in your arms. Years
later you lifted me from behind the bars of bigger fears -
fears of my own inadequacy, of my own intense emotions, of the terror
and beauty of the unknown life ahead. You were the brave one, Dad, wielding the
gun that defended the family and kept us together; and you gave me the guts to
leap into the jaws of death like a good soldier. So, because of you I can
soldier on. Bless you, Dad.”
Jesus embraces every family, each
with its own stories to tell him – the hurting and the healing, the sinning and
the gracing. He then sits down and explains to us, amazed, how those ordinary
moments of raw human life are his life too. His eyes are twinkling as we
struggle to understand what he is telling us. Comforted, we eat and drink his
words with the bread and wine of joy. He kisses each one of before we leave.
Our hearts are burning within us as we recall his parting words of comfort –
our kitchens, too, are little Bethlehems, our breakfast tables are small
altars; our whole lives, with their calvaries and resurrections, are one long
consecration and communion. But now we are slow to leave.
“Don’t
be sad,” he says, “I’ll be waiting for you at home. There are many rooms in my
Father’s mansion.”
FATHER’S DAY PRAYER
Blessing of Fathers
Lord God, Father of Jesus and of us
all, from you all fatherhood in heaven and on earth is named.
Your Church on earth invokes your
benediction upon the fathers assembled here, that in their gift and task of
fatherhood they may perceive your blessedness,
in their decisions your
righteousness,
and love in their undertakings
towards their families and the universal family of man.
And despite the difficulties and
confusions
of modern life,
may they be supported by the
serenity
of the original creation and the smile of the
rainbow
and the affection of their families
and friends,
and may they be finely tuned to
interpret your word, through Christ our Lord.
Amen
