Some of the fathers here at Judson have sent a message, directly and indirectly, to me that they feel that Father's Day is merely a postscript to the worship service on the third Sunday in June. We haven't forgotten you completely over the years, have we? We give a shout out to dear old Dad in our Morning Prayer. We call people to worship by asking them to acknowledge the presence of the men in their lives who have nurtured and cared for them. If the spirit is moving among us, we might sing a refrain from Neil Young's song Old Man. "Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were." You remember now. We haven't forgotten you. We are just exhausted from all the work we put into the Mother's Day celebration. We are spent from all the creative energy that went into designing the Kids' Day celebration. P.S. We haven't forgotten you.
In the four years that I have had the privilege to share your pulpit, I have never preached on Father's Day. Why? Have I drawn the long straw every year? Am I so immersed in the inclusive language movement that I can't utter the word "father" in a religious setting? Could it be that I am still a bit skittish after my Union Seminary chapel service debacle? Friends, I confess, just two weeks prior to receiving my Masters of Divinity, I did refer to God as "He." Thank the non-anthropomorphic God that Union's faculty and Board of Trustees believe in grace. I still managed to get my diploma. Whatever the reasons - fate, avoidance, dumb luck -- here I am standing at the pulpit on Father's Day. Can you hear me now? Father, Father, Father. Can you hear me now?
I will let you decide why it is that we celebrate Father's Day, but allow me to share with you some of the history of Father's Day. I found all this information on the Internet. In 1910, after attending a Mother's Day service, Sonora Smart Dodd felt moved to celebrate and honor her father, a Civil War Veteran, who raised six children on his own after his wife died. Dad's Day really is like an addendum to Mother's Day. P.S. Despite a daughter's devotion, it wasn't until 1972 that Father's Day was assured annual recognition by Presidential Proclamation.
Who needs a Presidential Proclamation anyway? There are many compelling reasons to celebrate our fathers, to celebrate the people who have guided us and given us sanctuary.
According to my Bible concordance, the word "Father" appears 1,125 times in the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible. For this morning's ancient testimony, I searched for a text that I could deconstruct and then rebuild so it would say what I needed it to say. "Father forgive me for I know not what I say." I am going to save that for a chapter heading in my memoirs. I did some projecting. I searched for a text that I thought my father would pick if he were to write a sermon about his relationship with me. I really hope that the story of the binding of Isaac isn't going through anyone's head right now.
Somehow I stumbled across this strange little passage from Luke's gospel: "Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion?" This text highlights the relationship between me and my Dad. No, not because it is strange. This passage lifts up the art of giving. My Dad excels at gift giving. He knows his family and knows what they love and my Dad loves to share our passions. My Dad knows his family. He has always known how to give me things that are good for me, even when I would I have preferred the snake or the scorpion.
Here are a few of the gifts that my Dad has given me:
The question: "May I speak to someone with logic and reasoning skills?" This is to be employed at a stalemate. Let me share the practical implications of the question. You are on the phone with a representative from your cable provider. Your cable has been out for three days and the customer service person on the other end of the line is implying that it is your eyesight that is out and not the cable service. You are going nowhere in a hurry. Now you ask, very politely, "May I speak to someone with logic and reasoning skills?" A gift from my Dad.
Whistle while you work, especially when speeding past a police car with a radar gun. Whistling exudes confidence. Confidence looks like innocence. A gift from my Dad.
I have learned a lot about myself by getting to know my father; I believe my Dad has learned a lot by getting to know me. We didn't, we don't always reach common ground at the dinner table. Sometimes I look at my Dad and think, "I am staring at the polar opposite of myself." And yet, as an adult, when I am unsure about something, I still find myself with the same thought I had in kindergarten: "I wonder what my Dad thinks?"
The relationship between parents and their children is based a great deal on shared experiences and shared interests. Shared experiences and interests, not shared opinions or politics. That is why on Father's Day we find ourselves talking about our memories.
I remember driving from Providence, RI to Flagstaff, Arizona with my parents and my sister. It was my Dad's hope that we would spend time in the car talking to each other, getting to know each other. I was about fifteen years old when we traveled across the county. I packed a Walkman and enough batteries to last through the Armageddon. I was interested in listening to the mix tapes my friends and I had made for each other during the school year. I hadn't even considered the possibility that I was expected to talk to my family.
In one of my more charming fifteen year old, I am too cool for this maroon Subaru, moments my Dad charmed me out of my pout by exclaiming, "look, look, there is the skyline to Flagstaff." Wrapped in my father's glee I said, "Wow, there it is." I proceeded to point out the skyline to my mother and my sister. They saw it too. After a few miles, looking to see how the city would unfold and reveal itself to us, my Dad, holding back a laugh, pointed out that the skyline, he convinced us all to see, was actually just a radio transmission antenna. I still look at the places I have yet to reach with a knowing smile on my face. Since this family vacation, I always bring a side order of imagination to my plate of expectation and anticipation.
The relationship between a father and his children is based a great deal on shared experiences and shared interests. Shared experiences and interests, not shared opinions or politics.
My Dad wanted me to share the task of cleaning the apartment. It was April 1, 1975 - the day my sister was born. To get me motivated he promised that we would have pizza when our chores were completed. I don't remember what I was assigned to do. I do remember that my eye was on the prize. We were gonna have pizza. By the way, this tactic still works on me, just ask Barbara. After making the proclamation that the apartment was clean my father added an addendum to his decree: "Time for bed Karen." I went to my room, found my plastic Claribel the Clown pillow (signed by Buffalo Bob) and wept. It never occurred to me that I should challenge my father or call him to accountability. I think that was the first and last time I didn't take the opportunity to challenge my father or hold him accountable. From that moment on, he said "tomato" and I said, "Are the immigrant farmers that pick those tomatoes receiving a living wage?"
My Dad was trying to play an April Fools joke on me. Being a literalist, a phase I have almost outgrown, I just thought he had forgotten about me. I will never forget his face when he came to my room and said, "I was just joking." I think my Dad broke the world sprinting record running to the phone to order our pizza. On Father's Day I always remember that guy who tried to make things right for me.
The relationship between a father and his daughter is based a great deal on shared experiences and shared interests. Shared experiences and interests, not shared opinions or politics.
I am so glad my father picked the passage from Doris Kearns Goodwin's book Wait Till Next Year for the new testimony. It is so apropos to our relationship. My sister likes to tease me and sometimes says, "You are the son that Dad never had." My Dad and I share a love of baseball and a nagging pain we call the Boston Red Sox. My Dad has suffered the curse of the Bambino. But the real evidence that he is a man of endurance is that he was able to withstand inning after inning of my little league games. He was there for the blowouts when my team would win, 80 to 52. He was there for the nail bitters when we would lose a close one, 64 to 63. The scorecard would read 66 walks and one hit - tough loss.
One time I actually got to base without being walked. The ball did not sneak through the infielders legs; it was an honest to god hit, complete with RBIs. I heard the ting of the aluminum bat, the first sign that contact had been made. I heard my coach scream, "run." This was the second sign that contact had been made. I saw outfielders running to the fence. I had made contact. Unfortunately, my Dad had a late night in the office - he didn't get to see my hit. The first sign that the day would come when I would have to raise memories in order to bind my Dad and me together.
The relationship between my Dad and me is based a great deal on shared experiences and shared interests. When it comes to politics ... I say, "potato" he says, "mashed." I say, "pull harder to the left" as he leans to the right. I ask for a fish, he says a snake is fiscally responsible. He asks for an egg and I say, "but the scorpions are unionized."
I tried very hard to stop the war in Iraq. My faith inspires me to celebrate life and hope. My faith shaped my conviction that a war against Iraq would show contempt for the Universal Declaration of Human Rights while reflecting a tragically misguided conception of the United State's proper role in the world. With many of you, I took to the streets and said "no" to a preemptive strike. In the bitter cold on February 15, we stood in solidarity with the people of Iraq as well as with neglected and victimized people in America. We stood in solidarity with all the people who pay a terrible price for the warring madness of our nation's leaders.
After the March 25 The World Still Says No To War demonstration, I called my Dad. I knew he wasn't in favor of Dubya's edict against Iraq, but I wasn't sure how he felt about protesting once the war was on. My Dad is a Vietnam Vet. I thought he might view my actions from his perspective as a war veteran. Although we don't agree on the overall foreign policy of our country, my father did say to me, "You have every right to state your opinions." Can you hear us now Mr. Ashcroft? My Dad never added the P.S. "You have every right to state your opinions, even though they are wrong. The punch line never came. I was disappointed because I had geared myself up to defend my actions. I was relieved because my Dad accepted me as a person of integrity, despite my perceived political flaws. As I said to you earlier in the service, my Dad excels at giving gifts.
We celebrate Father's Day in our worship service because it embodies a very theological question: Are we giving our children what is good for them?
May we continue to provide fish when the children of the world ask for fish. May we continue to provide eggs when the children of the world ask for eggs. May we give all children the tools they need to make informed choices so that they know when to ask us for scorpions and snakes.
Ancient Testimony: Luke 11: 9-13
New Testimony: An excerpt from Wait Till Next Year by Doris Kearns Goodwin
