Fathers' Day

Today is Fathers' Day, and it is good to pay tribute.

If my own father had lived, he would be celebrating his 81st birthday today. My mother and sister and I still miss him. He was a man of integrity, of principal. He was clear, and straightforward. My father was a thoroughly good man, and we loved him deeply.

I thought of my father earlier this week, as we gathered here to celebrate the life of Graham McClenahan. I listened to Catherine and Jane as they spoke about their father. I thought that Graham, too, was a thoroughly good man, and that Graham, too, was deeply loved.

The Fatherhood of Abraham

Today is Fathers' Day, and our first reading seems appropriate to the occasion. It concerns the fatherhood of Abraham.

The story is familiar. God had promised Abraham that his wife, Sarah, would bear him a son, and that he would have many descendants - as many, in fact, "as the stars of heaven." (Hebrews 11:12) But Abraham had waited over twenty-five years, and was now very old. Sarah too was "advanced in age." And, as our text points out: "it had ceased to be with [her] after the manner of women."

Notwithstanding the couple's unfortunate circumstance - God's promise to Abraham comes true. Abraham becomes both father, and patriarch. Moreover, he is remembered, from generation to generation, as an exemplar of faith. It is written: Abraham "believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness." (Genesis 15:6)

But what about Sarah?

But what about Sarah?

One cannot help but notice that, throughout this story, Sarah does little more than laugh. She laughs at the "laughable idea" that she will bear a child, and laughs again when the child is born. It is not the portrait of a biblical hero. Abraham is faithful, Sarah doubts. Indeed, Sarah not only doubts, but also attempts to deny her doubt. She proclaims - presumably with a straight face - "I did not laugh." "O yes, you did," says God. "O yes, you did."

Poor Sarah - caught in the act.

Poor Sarah - remembered from generation to generation as the one who disbelieved, as an exemplar of faithlessness.

Poor Sarah - whose experience is portrayed through a single lens, a particular world-view. It's serendipitous, perhaps, that this world-view is called "patriarchy."

Patriarchy

Today is Fathers' Day, but - despite my best efforts - I could not avoid using the word, "patriarchy."

I first thought about it when I read the title and first line of our first hymn today. "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation." It's one of my favorite hymns, and I wondered why I had not noticed the language before now. The language is patriarchal, and I find it very difficult to embrace.

It's difficult to embrace - even on Fathers' Day - not because it is untrue, but because it's so narrow, so myopic in the image of God it presents. And it's so pervasive. Meanwhile, the compassionate, vulnerable, tender God of my own experience - and understanding - remains largely invisible. The God who inhabits both wind and fire, who "dances" and "sings" God's people, remains hidden.

In this regard, it is interesting to note the number of times that God is referred to as "Father" in the Eucharistic Liturgy found on page 230 of the BAS. There are at least 20 such references. It was for this reason, among others, that this community undertook to fashion the St John's Rite, which we are using this morning. The language of this liturgy is intended to be "inclusive."

I could not avoid using the word "patriarchy" today because the word "fits." Patriarchy - quite simply - refers to a cultural bias, a bias that places a higher value on men (and the experience of men) than on women (and women's experience). It's a bias that permeates today's text from Genesis, and, in my view, seriously distorts our faith-tradition.

For many people, this bias is decisive. It certainly prevents them from entering the "open door" of this church. For these men and women, every Sunday is "Fathers' Day," and every Sunday is spent elsewhere.

Last week, Garth spoke about "culture as prison." Patriarchy is woven into the fabric of our culture, and is very difficult to escape. However, we must all make the effort. We must do so because we are called to this task. We are called to proclaim "good news," and we must find - and use - the conceptual tools to do so.

Divine Compassion

Today is Fathers' Day, and our gospel reminds that the fatherhood of God is transpierced with compassion.

Matthew records that Jesus surveys the crowd, and "has compassion for them." Compassion motivates: it compels Jesus to act. It is the same for us. As one scholar suggests: "divine compassion is the wellspring of our call and mission." (Joyce Zimmerman) We have received compassion without payment, and we are sent to share that compassion with others.

Today is Fathers' Day, and it seems fitting to conclude my remarks this morning with a further observation about my Dad.

My father was a man who rarely displayed his emotions. (I believe he thought it inappropriate.) I saw him cry on just one occasion. My sister had been involved in a serious accident, and my father wept. It was as if my father was feeling Pat's pain, as if he was suffering with her. I will never forget those tears, and my father's compassion. I knew on that day - without a single word passing between us - that my father loved us deeply.

I think that compassion is like that: it communicates love in silence. We scale the walls of the prisons we live inside - of culture, tradition and language - to mediate God's love, God's divine compassion. In doing so, we fulfill the mission of the followers of Jesus to proclaim that heaven, indeed, is close at hand.