My college best friend lost her father-in-law, Sidney, the day of the Presidential Inauguration. His death came in the midst of a torrent of fathers of friends dying – fathers of friends from church and other circles, fathers of friends here and far away – the impression I have is of a whole generation of dads departing this life at the same time. A bleak impression, one that makes my chest hurt and my eyes water, and that’s even before I get down to the business of grieving individuals.

The coincidence of the timing of Sidney’s death – Tuesday, when President Biden took the Oath of Office and President Trump was conspicuous by his absence – added a cosmic layer to the grief of his passing. 

National identity as manifested in the father figures of government has been a divisive, toxic element in the American conversation recently. Americans have been arguing about Fatherhood at the national level while Americans have been burying their fathers by the thousands throughout this past year: from the systematic debunking of the mythologies of the “Founding Fathers,” to the way that fatherhood influences Presidents and Presidential fathers use or misuse authority on behalf of their children, national “fatherhood” is on the dock.

Grief and anger – powerful emotions separately, and overwhelming simultaneously – make it hard to think clearly. But thinking clearly (as opposed to feeling passionately) is ultimately the only way out of our Father griefs, be they personal and specific, or national and metaphysical. 

Father Figures: the Good, the Bad, & the Absent…

I have been blessed with an abundance of father figures. Have you? 

My Dad, Skip, modelled gentle manners throughout my childhood. He spoke only the best about people. His great taste guided my choices in everything from food to doll clothes to college selection. 

My Uncle Jeff is the only person I’ve ever known to be as keenly fascinated by organic chemistry as by opera… and he is among the most genuinely hospitable people, male or female, on the planet. My whole life, I have felt welcomed and cherished in his home.

My close friends’ Dads have tended to be awesome in quirky ways. Margaret’s Dad, Leslie, appeared to be the quintessential British Army officer – buttoned up and stern – but he made exquisite, delectably dainty desserts (tortes were his specialty) and he was game for costume parties, anytime. Joel, Deb’s Dad, a very successful lawyer and keen intellect, wields a high-octane grin and beaming, boisterous enthusiasm with such contagious energy that to be with him is to helplessly smile back. Kate’s Dad, Jim, reads everything, thinks deeply about everything, and shows up at every game to holler encouragement at his grandchildren. 

Mike, my adopted Dad, was a Marine Corps tough guy and Captain of Industry who delighted in sharing his table and his wisdom and his sense of humor with anyone who felt left out or less than.

These men exemplify radically different ways of being “good fathers,” but they ALL fit the bill. Each is or was a man who took seriously the responsibility of his influence and power, and strove to use both to make things better for others. Their imperfections – and of course each and all has them, because each and all are human – only make their goodness the more obvious and winsome.

Not all fathers are like that, of course. The influence and power that fathers have can be wielded as weapons so easily… and to such devastating effect. And the wounds fathers inflict tend to fester regardless of whether they were meted out on purpose – through physical or emotional cruelty – or whether they were the accidental result of plain old human error. 

The absence of a father figure can create the deepest wound of all… a lifetime insecurity about personal value, significance, and purpose… to be “fatherless” and to be an orphan are, at least in scripture, equivalent.

Patriarchy

The indisputably momentous role fathers play in families and in history is being hotly disputed in our moment. Everything from reproductive medical technologies to philosophies of intersectionality contribute to the confusion.

But fatherhood has always been a complicated concept, as the Patriarchs of the Bible make clear. Abraham, the one called by God to be the “father of many nations”, had troubling fathering any children whatsoever, becoming a father only as an elderly man. His two sons (by two different women – whose experience of Abraham’s paternity was radically unequal) fathered more children than Abraham, as did successive generations. Yet Abraham remains known as “Father Abraham.” And Bible figures from Moses to Jesus describe God the Father as the “God of Abraham.” Why?

Similarly, the other Patriarchs (particularly Jacob, Abraham’s grandson, nicknamed “Israel” because he was the Father of the twelve tribes thereof) struggled mightily not just with being good fathers but with being good men. Liars, cheaters, unfaithful to spouses and prone to lapses in judgment at key times, these overtly imperfect men are the origins of “patriarchy” and the venerated fathers of Judaism and Christianity. Why?

Adopted. And consecrated.

The fatherhood of the Patriarchs derived its authority and holiness not from the Patriarchs but from the Father God who called them His own. Their identity as God’s chosen people superseded their identity as fallen, feckless fathers. Foundationally, God’s adoption of them – the claim of the perfect Father on them and on their children – was the entire basis for the Patriarchs’ significance and value. 

Separated from God, the Patriarchs’ deficiencies and delinquencies disqualify them from any claim to be “good” whatsoever… but under the covenantal covering of the Father, these men are the progenitors of the holy family that will one day be comprised of “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages…” (Revelation 7:9).

Father / Maker

This family of adopted children that will be the consummation of history derives from the Fatherhood of God but can only be achieved through God’s unique role as Creator. God’s fatherhood is not fatherhood in the sense that a sperm donor is a father. It is not fatherhood even in the sense that a human parent raising a child, day in and day out, is a father. God’s fatherhood is specific to God: He is the Maker – not a participant in making life but the origin of life in Himself. God’s breath, God’s design, God’s animating voice calls all that is into being; God’s ongoing love and provision sustains all that is as long as ever it will be.

In more plain terms, thinking about God as Father is more like thinking about Alexander Graham Bell as the “Father of the Telephone” than like thinking about Alexander Graham Bell as the father of Elsie, Marian, Edward, and Robert. Bell’s contribution to history and claim to historic fatherhood is rooted in his creative genius, not his procreative potency.

Summarily: God is more than our Father – God is the omniscient genius who made fatherhood itself.

God’s Son // God’s Self

The New Testament speaks of Jesus as the “only begotten Son” of God. It also spells out that Mary’s motherhood was not the result of a sexual act, but rather the miraculous quickening of Holy Spirit incarnate – of the pneuma / breath of God taking residence in a human womb. 

Jesus, as the Son and as eternal person in the Trinity, is both God’s Son and God, Himself. So clearly, even in the single instance when God the Father has a Son, there is an exceptional quality to God’s fathering that has no point of comparison.

Abba, Father!

God’s invitation to call Him “Abba” – “Daddy” – is the starting point for our healing from all our father griefs. 

National rage and bewilderment about the character of the men who fathered our system of government and cast the vision for our nation dwindles into relative insignificance when those men and their legacies are seen, like the Patriarchs’, as the inevitably imperfect contributions of creatures beloved by a perfect Father. 

Personal agonies in the face of the graves of earthly fathers – agonies different and specific to each of us – become bearable when we understand that our fathers (like us) are safe in the arms of the Father from whom they came in the first place.

The best of earthly fathers cannot be perfect; the worst of earthly fathers empties the word “father” of meaning… but the Father who is in Heaven, the Father whose name is Hallowed, the Father who was and is and is to come – His perfection purchases us peace in this moment and hope for all the moments yet to come.

JoJo’s favorite hymn sums this up so beautifully that I will close with the lyrics and a link to a recording, too. May we rest in the Father’s love, helped and healed and made holy by Him, evermore and evermore.

 Of the Father’s love begotten
ere the worlds began to be,
he is Alpha and Omega,
he the Source, the Ending he,
of the things that are, that have been,
and that future years shall see,
evermore and evermore!