This is adapted from a Father’s Day sermon I preached today in the hospital chapels.
A few moments ago, we heard some of the wisdom of the Book of Proverbs speaking to fathers and children about their relationships. Proverbs also has a word of advice for us preachers in chapter 17 and verse 28: “Even a fool, when he holds his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his mouth is esteemed a man of understanding.” Preachers often share little tidbits about their own lives to help us connect with our congregations and build a bridge between the biblical themes we’re exploring and the nitty gritty of everyday life. But there’s a temptation that we have to resist, a temptation to overshare, to turn the focus onto ourselves and make it all about us. In those moments, the figure of Solomon calls out to us from the mists of time and legend: “Shutteth thy mouth, preacher!”
Today is one of those times that I’m in danger of focusing too much on my own stuff. It’s an especially difficult and challenging day for me, difficult and challenging to find a word of inspiration. Today, we celebrate Father’s Day. My own dad passed away less than a month ago, at only 61 years of age. We gathered together back in my hometown of Joliet, Illinois. Gathered as a family, with loved ones coming from Florida, from West Virginia, from Mississippi. We gathered and were supported by our friends and by his friends, from various times of his life. When the time came to lay him to rest, we gathered for a memorial at the same church with whom both he and I grew up, the church where he was baptized and married to my mom, the church where I was baptized and first preached the gospel and presided at the Lord’s Table. Standing where I first preached over 25 years ago, I offered a eulogy, celebrating him as a man whose love for his family was his major driving force, a champion who bravely faced the dragons of this life in the hopes that we wouldn’t have to.
Altar prepared for Father’s Day worship services in the chapel.
In his sermon during the memorial, Matt Bassford, the church’s preacher, made a statement that my dad’s life story was in large part the story of his struggles with his flaws. That wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t insensitive. The challenges of this life left my dad with many deep wounds, many of the same kinds of destructive patterns that we treat here in this facility. Victories, moments of peace seemed for him always temporary, and then the battles would begin again. Though in his final months the toll his struggles had taken on his body was making itself deeply felt, his final months, I celebrated at the memorial and celebrate again today, were also a time of great emotional healing, a time of reconnection with loved ones, a time of reflection on his life story and the attainment of a real sense of peace and completion.
Even in those times in his life when his struggles were at their greatest, when it was all he could do to keep going on, his love for us was never in question. Being our dad was at the very center, the very heart and soul of who he considered himself to be. Flawed? Definitely. The moment growing up when we recognize that our parents aren’t perfect may be tough, but it’s essential to growing up. Perfection is not in the mother or father’s job description. Perfection is not, but integrity is.
“The just man walketh in his integrity: his children are blessed after him” (Proverbs 19:26). To walk in integrity is to move toward knowing who we really are and toward acting with authenticity. Notice, I don’t speak of it as arriving at a destination, but rather as setting our sights forward and moving in that direction. Walking in integrity does not require that all of our convictions are true and that all of our actions are in line with those convictions. Rather, it requires that we be open to truths wherever they come from, no matter how challenging, that we form our convictions accordingly, and that each day we move closer to bringing them to fruition. Sometimes we may find ourselves feeling stuck, feeling as though the life we’re in doesn’t match who we know ourselves to be. We may not be able to snap our fingers and instantly transform. Instead, we commit to transitioning ever closer. It’s a lifelong project, and it helps to have supportive people around us, and to be those supportive people for those we encounter along the walk.
To walk in integrity is to recognize both our gifts and our wounds, our strengths and our flaws. It is to use the gifts we have in service of one another, to leave behind a world with just a little bit more kindness, a little bit more compassion, a little bit more cooperation, a world where we’ve cast our nets just a little bit wider. A world in which our children are blessed after us. To walk in integrity is to know our woundedness, and to seek healing, to know our weaknesses and seek recovery. A life spent struggling with our flaws is a life lived walking in integrity. It is the example we should hope every father sets for his children.
On this Father’s Day, while I continue to mourn his loss, still searing, still fresh, I am grateful that I had a dad who walked in integrity, even when he could only limp. My heart is with others for whom this day is difficult, because they, too, are grieving, or because their relationships call to mind hurtful memories. I’m grateful for all the fathers out there pouring themselves out in loving service for their children. We’re all in this life together, friends, and the work of forming and shaping the lives of the next generation, the work of fathers and mothers, is the holiest work of all.