Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time B
and
stopped to check out a small bookstore there.
That’s
where I picked up this little book:
How to Build A Fire,
And Other Handy Things Your Grandfather Knew.
And Other Handy Things Your Grandfather Knew.
It’s
a book filled with
what was once common knowledge,
what was once common knowledge,
passed
on from one generation to the next.
There
are chapters on how to change a tire,
how
to drive a nail, and how to shine shoes;
on
how to apologize, how to ask for help,
and
how to bounce back after failure.
I’ve
noticed an increasing number of books like this
being
published these days.
The
books themselves are great,
but
they point to a troubling trend:
that
this kind of wisdom
just isn’t getting passed down
just isn’t getting passed down
by
fathers and grandfathers anymore.
I
wouldn’t be the only one to share the opinion
that
America is facing a bit of a crisis in fatherhood.
Thumbing
through the book,
and
reflecting on the gospel reading for this Sunday,
I
got to thinking:
Isn’t that what Jesus is
doing with his disciples in the boat?
He’s fathering them!
Now,
most folks hear the word “fathering”
and
think in biological terms.
That’s
ironic, of course,
when
so many sexual encounters today are sterile,
whether
they’re naturally so
or because
we’ve effectively neutered them—
ironic,
too, in an age when, should a child be conceived,
it’s
increasingly likely to happen in a clinic,
rather
than the marriage bed.
Biologically
speaking, we’ve nearly succeeded
in
making fatherhood obsolete.
No,
I’m not talking about the fathering
which
produces the human body;
I’m
talking about the fathering
that
fosters the growth of the soul.
That’s
getting to be a lost art, too.
We
neglect to teach boys and young men
not
only manners and mechanics;
we
fail to teach them what most contributes to authentic manly virtue:
we
fail to teach them how to be men of faith and prayer.
Where
are all the guys in church?
Many
accuse the Church of being male-dominated…
…but
just take a look around the pews
and
you’ll get a rather different picture.
It’s
in this deeper, truer, spiritual sense
that
we find Jesus fathering his disciples
while
their boat is tossed about on the sea.
As
the disciples are making the crossing,
you
could say that Jesus is taking their training wheels off.
By
his actions even more than his words, he’s saying:
See what confidence I have
in the Father?
I can curl up on a cushion
and sleep right through the storm!
I need you to have that kind
of confidence in me.
But
they’re terrified!
“Do
you not yet have faith?” Jesus asks them.
The
faith Jesus wants to hand down to these, his spiritual sons,
isn’t
so much a matter of committing doctrines and rules to memory;
it’s
about learning to trust.
“Having
faith” is really just another way to speak of “taking risks”—
being
willing to put it all on the line
because
you’ve put your complete trust in God.
troubled
relationships and poor health (whether ours or a loved one’s);
financial
struggles and an increasingly violent world.
But
for us as for those disciples at sea,
the
worst storms are swirling about within the boat,
not
swamping it from outside.
Yes,
life is hard —
but
it’s harder still if we allow ourselves to be paralyzed by fear
or despair of things getting better;
if
we carry on as if everything depends on us alone
or try to taker and maintain total control;
or try to taker and maintain total control;
if
we lack for faith.
I
was fathered by a pretty great dad.
Perfect? No…but what dad is actually expected to
be?
Among
all the things he taught me—and is teaching me still—
I’m
most grateful for the gift of my Catholic faith.
Dad
didn’t teach me the faith by giving me sermons
or performing
great acts of piety.
You
know what stands out in my memory?
The fact that,
growing up on a farm,
when
there could have been many compelling excuses,
we
never, ever missed Sunday Mass.
No
matter how many things went wrong in the barn,
or
how many chores remained still to be done,
we
dropped everything to get to church.
The
work could wait; our
duty to God could not.
These
last couple of years,
I’ve
been giving a lot of thought to what it means to be a father.
(Now, don’t
worry:
I’m
not about to reveal that I have some secret love child!)
“Father”
is more than a merely customary title given to priests.
It
points to a real relationship between a priest and his parish.
He’s
the head of the family—even if he’s not its most senior member.
And
just like any other dad: he’s not perfect…
…but
what dad is actually expected to be?
I’ve
come to learn that,
even
when I’m doing what I’m sure to be right,
it
won’t always be appreciated at the time.
What
teenager—our fine graduating seniors, included—
has
ever agreed with every decision dad makes?
But
how many an adult looks back and reluctantly admits:
Go figure! My father was right!
God
appoints priests to father his family,
not
so that he can keep his children happy,
but
so that they might become holy.
As
your father,
I’m
so incredibly humbled when you trust me—
not
because of who I am or what I myself can do,
but
because you put your faith in the one who called me.
My
new book might have a chapter
on
“How to Banish Monsters Under the Bed,”
but
Jesus has shown us that he can quiet
even
the most violent of storms.
Let
us be renewed in the faith of our fathers!
Let
us place our full trust in him
whom even wind and sea obey.
whom even wind and sea obey.
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