Sermon for Trinity Sunday – Father’s Day – June 16th, 2019

Note: June 16th, 2019, was our monthly Video Sunday, so there was no sermon. However, since it was Father’s Day, here’s a sermon from a few years ago on the subject.

Text: John 16:12-15 (RSV)

 12 “I have yet many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. 13 When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speak, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. 14 He will glorify me, for he will take what is mine and declare it to you. 15 All that the Father has is mine; therefore I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.

In the Name of God, the Holy and Undivided Trinity. Amen.

One of Mark Twain’s more famous quotes is this one: “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”

Well, here we are again: It’s Father’s Day. Today we honor all of our fathers, grandfathers, uncles, and all the men, whether they’re genetically related to us or not, who fill such important roles in the lives of our families and our church. Fathers we salute you.

I have to admit, though, that every year, when Father’s Day rolls around, I have the same difficulty getting my head around the sermon that I had the year before. Since I am a father, extolling the virtues of fathers seems maybe a bit self-serving. And, since dads aren’t “supposed” to like attention being placed on them, I guess I’m also maybe a little embarrassed.

But, be that as it may, Father’s Day is not only worth noting, it’s worth celebrating. Because fatherhood and fathers really are important.

I took a poll yesterday of my brothers and some of my friends. I texted: “OK, fellow Dads – what would you like your pastors to say about dads and fatherhood on Father’s Day?” I actually got some responses! Here’s a selection:

“Dads are people, too!”

“Wemons [sic] work is sun to sun, dad’s work never done”

“Dads must listen and temper their decisions. They were younger once too.”

There’s humor, and also wisdom, in those responses.

Katie alerted me as well to an article online titled “The Truth About Being A Dad, According to 14 Really Funny Guys.” Here’s some of what these men had to say:

“When I hear people talk about juggling, or the sacrifices they make for their children, I look at them like they’re crazy, because ‘sacrifice’ infers that there was something better to do than being with your children.” – Chris Rock

But this one’s my favorite from the article:

“Having a kid is like falling in love for the first time when you’re 12, but every day.” —Mike Myers

The consensus here seems to be that one of the most important things about being a father is simply being there for your family, but especially for your kids.

Many years ago now, I came across the following true story.

Charles Francis Adams was the son of President John Adams. He followed in the political footsteps of his father and became a U.S. diplomat to Great Britain.

Like many men of that age, he kept a daily journal. One terse entry reads: “Went fishing with my son today – a day wasted.”

Now, his son Brook was the one who’d gone fishing with Charles that day. He also kept a diary. His entry for that same day reads: “Went fishing with my father – the most wonderful day of my life.”

It may be that Brook didn’t really know what his father did. He probably didn’t even care. All he knew was that his dad took him fishing one glorious day.

It’s not the big things, brothers, that makes the difference. It’s the little things.

When I look back on my years as a father, there is an entire catalog of things I wish I’d done with my kids, but didn’t, because I was too busy doing things that seemed so important at the time but which I don’t even remember now; there’s another catalog of things I wish I’d done better, and a whole library of things I wish I hadn’t done or said.

Yet, as I like to say, despite our best efforts, our kids turned out just fine. They’re both good, decent, caring individuals who have accomplished some amazing things in their lives and who make us proud.

And – as far as I know, anyway – they both still like their Dad! (Or at least tolerate him!)

So, just what is it about dads, anyway?

In some ways, every father is a “do-it-yourselfer.” The role of the mother seems to be pretty well-defined, but the role of the father strikes me sometimes as being kind of fuzzy and out of focus.

In fact, it might not even be correct to say “the role of the father,” because it seems nowadays as though the father has more than one role – he’s the one who often plays the heavy, the disciplinarian – “Just wait until your father gets home!” – who hasn’t heard that before? Or the dad is the one who’s the wise and guiding counselor who teaches his children about the ways of the world. Or the dad is the generous source of funding – the provider, the breadwinner – for his kith and kin.

Or the dad is the protector, the junkyard dog, who keeps the bad things of the world at bay. As Sigmund Freud once wrote, “I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father’s protection.” I’ve always been pretty serious about this last one –  my name, William, or Wilhelm, is a Germanic name that means “desired helmet,” or “resolute protector.” Even before I knew the history of my name – and I don’t want to go too far with this – I always seemed to have a sense of wanting to be that kind of shielding person. I’m sure that it came mostly from my Dad. Dad always made sure that we were well taken care of. He didn’t make a big deal out of it; he just did it. Following in Dad’s footsteps – or trying to – has always been a point of honor for me. Maybe this commitment also came from watching all those episodes of “Bonanza” or “Gunsmoke.” But there it is.

Not that we’ve spent a lot of time in harm’s way. I’m thinking more of those occasional, unusual, incidents that “allow” a father to rise to the occasion.

I remember one time, late one night, back when we were living in Durand. I had just crawled into bed when I heard an odd metallic noise. I knew right away what had the caused the noise. We lived in the ancient parsonage of the church, which had those old louvered floor vents. The furnace, though, was newer, so those old vents weren’t attached to anything. I figured that the noise I’d heard had to have been one of those old vents opening – but what would have caused it to open?

So, being the Resolute Protector (not to mention the person closest to the bedroom door), I got out of bed to find out just what was going on. The hallway light switch was conveniently located on the opposite wall, so I walked in the dark over to the switch. Just as I flipped the switch, I said to Katie, “I heard a noise, but it’s probably noth- IT’S A BAT!!!!”

My shout woke up poor little Nicky in his room, and he stood up in his crib and started crying, while I shouted to Katie, “Get the baby! Get the baby!” and she shouted back, “Get the bat! Get the bat!

The only weapon I had available was a machete – I’ll tell you later, if you’re interested, why I had one of those – so I ran back into the bedroom, grabbed the machete, and, standing there in my BVDs, started taking swipes at that bat as it fluttered by. And, of course, I missed it every time – bats, you see, have built-in radar, so it just got out of the way of the machete.

This went on for what seemed like a very long time. “Get the baby!” “Get the bat!” “Waaaaahhhh!” “Whoosh!” Finally, I had a brainstorm, and turned the machete at the last second and whapped the bat with the flat of the blade – that did the trick! The bat sailed backward, slammed into the attic door and dropped, stunned, onto the floor, whereupon I dispatched it, carried the corpse downstairs, and threw it out the  front door.

Then I went back upstairs. Katie and Nicky were safely in our bed. I climbed back in myself – and spent the rest of the night, lying awake in the dark, my eyes as big as pie plates, hand not far from that machete, waiting for Round Two. But it never came.

Dad, the Indiana Jones of the family. The Resolute Protector.

I once made the comment to my daughter that I had always tried to be the “resolute protector” of her and her brother when they were growing up, and she had no idea what I was talking about. Even though I was disappointed by that response, my reply was: “The fact that you didn’t notice doesn’t mean that I didn’t do it; it means that maybe I did it well enough that you didn’t have to be aware I was doing it.” I’m not sure she was convinced, though.

And that’s one of the things about fathers and fatherhood, isn’t it? In some ways, the fact that our families don’t sometimes notice what we do means that we’re actually doing it pretty well. It’s like the spark plugs in our cars; when they’re new and sparking and our cars are firing on all cylinders, we don’t even think about them, and just cruise on down the road of life. When they fail, though, that’s when we remember them and how important they are, as we sit by the side of the road, watching others zip by.

We are sort of the unsung heroes at times. I came across this the other day:

A son asks his father, “Dad, what is a man?” The father replies, “A man is a person who takes responsibility for his family and his house and takes care of them.” The son replies, “I hope I will be a man like Mom someday.”

Ouch! Dad, the unsung hero.

But in my lifetime, I have seen a welcome expansion of the scope of fatherhood, too. It wasn’t all that long ago that what a father did was limited to the roles I just mentioned. Everything else – particularly those things that fell under the heading of  “nurturing” – was the territory of the Mom.  Dads just didn’t do that sort of thing. Dads were supposed to be the “strong, silent type.” They were supposed to be stoic and stern, and take their lumps without complaint. As far as raising children was concerned, theirs was a kind of “hands off” approach.

Now, though, dads do a lot of what we used to think of as part of the mothering role. And I think we’re stronger for it. I think we’re better dads, and better men, and better human beings. I’m happy that I was able to also play the part of a nurturing parent; holding my sleeping babies, to name just one example, was a gift that I would not have missed for the world. And when our son was a toddler, early every morning we’d hear his little voice coming from down the hall – “Daddy! Daaaaaaddy!” He never called for Mommy in the morning. I always kind of marveled at that. And enjoyed it, too.

Dads. Being dads. It’s not always easy, though, is it?

Now, when I say “dads,” I’m not using the word interchangeably with “fathers.” You can be a father, but that doesn’t automatically mean you’re a dad. The one has more to do with biology, while the other has more to do with the heart.

There is a scene early on in the movie “The Godfather,” where Don Vito Corleone asks his hot-tempered and often wayward son, Santino, “Do you spend time with your family?”

“Sure I do, Pop,” comes the answer.

“Good,” says the Godfather, “Because a man who doesn’t spend time with his family can never be a real man.”

Just like Brook Adams, what we probably remember the most about our fathers are the times they spent with us. Even if they’re sometimes wasn’t much conversation, the presence of our dads was enough to reassure us.

Dads – and that includes stepdads, uncles, family friends – have an important job in the lives of young people.

The best response I got from my poll yesterday was this one: “A Father’s job is to make sure their kids get to heaven.” Not onto the team. Not into college. Not into that first all-important job. To heaven. For it is through our fathers that we get our first understanding of God – through our fathers, we learn to trust God as our Heavenly Father.

How do we do that?

By following the example of the Perfect Son, who learned all he knew from the Perfect Father. In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus instructs the disciples to listen for the voice of the Holy Spirit, and then act accordingly.

Fathers are teachers. Yes, we are. Whether we want to or not, we are always teaching our children something, whether it’s in words or deeds. We teach them by our presence; we teach them by our absence. We teach them that life is opportunity, and that that life must be lived with courage. Sons and daughters both learn from fathers that you can’t always take the easy road. The life best lived is a life that not only readily accepts risk, but which requires risk; if you sit back and do nothing, that’s exactly what you get: Nothing. I have one of those motivational posters in my house somewhere that has a picture of a baseball player sliding into home plate with the caption “Risk: Sometime the greatest risk is not taking one.” The great missionary Hudson Taylor wrote, “Unless there is an element of risk in our exploits for God, there is no need for faith.”

Dads: Protectors. Providers. Caregivers. Teachers. And so much more.

It’s a big job, and there’s only one way that we can really effectively do it: By following the example Jesus set for the disciples – leading our lives in the courage of faith.

I wish all of you Brothers today a blessed Father’s Day!

In the Name of God, the Holy and Undivided Trinity. Amen.