 | The New England Church PulpitNew England Congregational Church UCC |
Thanks!! A Father's Day Sermon | June 16, 2002 |
Kyle and I were driving back from Michigan on I-90. It was pouring so hard that I could not see. Suddenly I heard a noise that shook my very soul. Pow!!!SHHHH!!!! My car had blown a tire. Luckily surrounding cars had noticed my fate and let me cross to the side of the highway, across two lanes of traffic, where I stopped. My heart was pounding. Kyle was wide-eyed. He looked at me and said, "Your day is about to get worse." Heart still thumping, I asked, "Why?". "Well," he said, "I have to go to the bathroom and I have a bloody nose!" Where upon he clutched both appropriate body parts. I peered out the window only to discover that we are in the "Y" of an exit. I-90 is on our left. The exit is on our right. Cars and trucks are passing so fast on both sides that my little Honda is swaying in the wake of their speed and motion. Some of my most immediate internal responses I cannot speak aloud in this sanctuary. (I must tell you I am working on not swearing and these phrases, although I may have thought them, I did not speak them.) However, my most loud internal longing can be said here and it was this. "I WANT MY DADDY!!!!!!!!"
My father gave me safety lessons when I learned how to drive, including how to change a tire. But when I stepped outside the car to see how bad it was, a truck came so close it nearly took my door off. In those few short seconds I got thoroughly soaked and I saw that my tire was in ribbons, with a few pieces left on the highway. My "I WANT MY DADDY!!!" response grew. You see my father can take a stick of chewing gum and two spools of thread and build a shelter. He can start a fire in the pouring rain and find food that is edible in any season or setting. When my father did not appear, I did what any frightened, good woman would do. I called the Auto Club and waited.
I am told that at this church we do not do Father's Day sermons. I will tell you that I currently work with three churches and so far this year I have preached on Mother's Day, Children's Day, and in two weeks I will be preaching on Family Sunday. To preach about these topics gives me time to reflect, to study, to change, to improve, and to forgive myself and others. I think it is worthy to reconsider relationships in the sacred context of the church. So today I am preaching a Father's Day Sermon.
My Father has character and he is a character. He taught me many things but two in particular stand out. First, he told me, "You can say anything to anybody as long as you say it with a smile." This works for him. It makes him unforgettable. I have tried it and it does not work for me. When I think of a "Dad-ism" and smile and say it, people think I am mean. So I have decided to ignore this piece of fatherly teaching.
But the second thing he taught me is this. "God put us on this earth to be and to do the best we can and to help one another." This second rule is his central and abiding principle. My father will give to anyone anything they need, help in any way he can and in his gruff New England way he will listen to any sorrow or hurt. He does not however countenance whining. He has little patience for wasted emotion--which he considers whining to be.
My Father is not a careful listener. So I have learned to put my need in the first phrase of the request, because he wants to help so much that he often starts helping before one has finished talking. But most of all I consider myself to be lucky to know my father, especially since it is by the grace of a miracle that he lived to see me grow up.
When I was five years old, we lived in a little river valley in central Connecticut. That year in August there were 17 days of rain and on the 18th day 15 inches of rain fell in 12 hours. We had been evacuated several times and on August 18th my mother, sister and I went to an overnight baby shower. My father stayed behind to sand bag and to keep watch. (I know you know about floods here in Aurora, because there was a flood here in 1996.) This flood was somewhat different. When the dam burst at 2:00am, my father was sleeping. As our house lifted off its foundation he jumped out a window, with our family dog. In 15 feet of raging flood water, with houses, farm animals. and trees swirling around him, he watched our house collapse into sticks as he swam. That night 11 people who lived on our street died, including a high school girl who was my babysitter and three boys, ages 2, 4, and 6, who were my playmates.
My father was missing for four days. His skills as a boy scout leader helped him to swim to safety and make it the next 12 hours until he arrived at the rescue site. There he joined the Red Cross and the National Guard as a rescue worker. My mother likes to point out that while he was helping out, she did not know whether he was dead or alive, because he forgot to tell people that he was a victim as well as a helper. (This has been a point of discussion for years in my parents relationship.) So for four days my mother waited, as the waters receeded to get some news. Finally on the last truck on the last day, there was my Dad still holding the family dog. I remember running to him and clinging to his leg. I thank God for the wonder of his return. Even when he is his most irritating self, I thank God.
Over the next 8 months, my father worked three jobs and built us a house. He finished this house in time for my mother's birthday on June 15th, 1956. (The anniversary of our moving day was yesterday.) As I grew up I knew kids whose father's were absent or cruel or uncaring. I know that Father's Day is tough when the father we have been given has not been or is not worthy.
My Father is not perfect. When I went to theological school, I did so without his support. He told me I was enough of a smart aleck and I should get a job. I went to graduate school despite his suggestions. That year at Thanksgiving time, I came home and he started to tease me about how smart I had become. I burst into tears. I told him about my professor who quoted scripture in class which said women could not be ministers. I told him about the professor who administered my psychological tests who said not to worry, I would never graduate because all I really wanted was my Mrs. degree. I told him I had paid $5,000.00 in tuition to be tormented daily by the "good" men of the church. He shut up.
I went back to school and my mother called me about two weeks later to tell me that my father had been reading and studying scripture, especially the part pertaining to women and the ministry. She said in the midst of his study my parents had gone to a party where a conservative Episcopalian priest had pronounced that women should not be ordained. My father argued scripture and verse for 2 hours and the party finally broke up because my Dad would not bend. He had a new cause--to support his daughter's ministry career. A few days later my Dad called me and said, "Kid, I can't believe what you must be going through. I'm in your corner."
I have been to therapy to work out other aspects of my relationship with my father, but this I do understand, there is no such thing as a perfect parent. We all goof. We do the best we can. We all need to be forgiven. My husband and I joke about this as we decide the appropriate response to some child's surprise and as yet unheard of parenting dilemma. As we work it out with our children, sometimes to their dismay and disapproval, we look at each other and say, "We're either right or this will be material for therapy someday."
Over the years I realize what a gift it is to have a father who is willing to change his most closely held beliefs because of and for me. Now he has not changed everything, but he has changed some. And I have changed also. Because of his love for me, a few years ago I made a contribution to a gift for my Dad. We collected money for a black powder gun. I, who cannot abide hunting or guns, made a contibution, because it is something my father loves.
When we love others, we need to be willing to be changed by them, to affirm them even when we may not understand, and to trust that love will abide. For in being changed and in changing, we discover hidden aspects of ourselves. We discover that love never ends and is always new. If there are aspects that we cannot abide or accept, we need to be willing to let it go, to give it over to God and to the best of our abilities, to find a measure of peace.
Over the years because my father has loved me, I have grown to trust new men in my life. I have crafted new relationships with my husband and my son. In some way life is about learning and healing, forgiving and transforming. I am so thankful my father swam to safety that night in 1955.
As I sat on the highway with trucks zooming by, I thought of my father and I know for as long as I live when I am in a technical jam, I will long for the safety of his strength. "I WANT MY DADDY!!!", is a wonderful response. It is a tribute to both of us.
After an hour I called and found that the Auto Club had forgotten about me. I was stuck. Suddenly an old car stopped. Out stepped a young African American man. He said, "I'm in a hurry, but you look like you need help." I held the car door open and waved the trucks aside. He changed my tire in 3 minutes. Then he turned to me and said, "I won't accept money but you could buy me a meal." I gave him some cash anyway and said, "Have a Happy Father's Day! Thank you for helping me." Then I realized how many times my Dad has pulled to the side of the road or helped someone in need. All in the name of his favorite teaching, "God put us on this earth to be and to do the best we can and to help others." And I realize that on this Father's Day I have only one word to say, Thanks!! And I"ll say it again, Thanks!!!!!. And I'll say it Louder, THANKS!!!!!!! And finally I'll say it softly as in a prayer, Thanks!!!! Amen.
The Rev Ms Denise D. Tracy
| Copyright © 2002 by Denise D. Tracy. All rights reserved. |