We are in the twenty-second chapter of Genesis. This story does not stand in isolation. It is just one in a series of stories about Abraham. Much has already happened. When we were introduced to him, his name was Abram. That name means “the father of many.” Of all the people on the face of the earth, Abram caught God’s eye. Not because of his sinless nature or his good looks. Instead, he caught God’s eye because of his character. In other words, he was a man who simply wanted to please God. In one of the great stories in the Bible, God promised Abram that he would someday be a father of a great nation. In time, his name is changed from Abram, the father of many, to Abraham, the father of the multitude. Everything sounds great except for one glaring fact. For many years, Abraham had no children. Abraham and his wife, Sarah, welcomed their first-born into the world at the age of ninety-nine and ninety-eight. That birth not only ruined their retirement plans, but it demonstrated the power of God. They named their long-awaited son Isaac. All of this is necessary to understand our scripture lesson.
When Isaac was twelve years old, God decided to test Abraham’s priorities. God must be number one in your life. The father-son team head off to make a sacrifice. Isaac does not know until the last second that he, himself, is the sacrifice. In the end, the life of a goat was taken, and the boy is spared. It is a cruel story in many ways. However, what I love about the story is it illustrates for us Abraham was a good father.With Abraham in mind, let me make three statements about fatherhood.
First, fathers deserve to be respected. In the Genesis story, Isaac respected his father. He even let him tie him up and laid him on the altar. Let me say this clearly. Respect should never be given blindly. Respect must be earned. Fatherhood is not simply a biological act. Fatherhood is a relationship. What are you doing with your life to earn your children’s respect? Fathers deserve to be respected.Do you, did you, respect your father?
Second, fathers deserve to be trusted. It really is quite a scene. Abraham and Isaac travel to a remote location. When the time comes for the sacrifice, the father bounds his son. Abraham draws his knife to slay Isaac. At the last second God stops the killing. All these years later it is still shocking. Today, someone would have called Children’s Services. Yet, there is no sign in the story Isaac stops trusting Abraham. Fathers deserve to be trusted. Do you, did you, trust your father?
Third, fathers deserve grace. Isaac must have needed some serious counseling after that day. He must have had a million questions and he must have had some sleepless nights. Yet, the relationship between Abraham and Isaac continued. Isaac forgave his father. I have never known a perfect father. However, I have known countless fathers who made mistakes and who needed to be forgiven. I have known fathers who have experienced grace. Maybe it is time you forgave your father? Fathers deserve grace. Do you, did you, offer your father grace? If not, it is not too late.
My father’s name was Ronald Adams, He was born in Ashtabula, Ohio in 1920. His father, my grandfather, Roger Adams, had a variety of jobs during the Great Depression. Growing up I never heard the word poverty, but money was always tight. My father was just a child during the depression, but the poverty of those years never left him. I have worked with many who lived through the Great Depression. They reacted to the Depression in one of two ways. Either they rejected poverty and became very generous. Or they feared poverty and became very frugal. My sister, Susan, is a much kinder person than me. She says our father was frugal. I say our father was cheap. For example, he would not even buy new socks. He held the old ones up with rubber bands. He never handled money easily. Saving money was one of his great preoccupations. I do not want to be remembered as being cheap. I want to be remembered by my children as generous.
On December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese Empire. My father was twenty-one years old. He and his brother, my Uncle Carlisle, volunteered for military service. My father joined the Army. My uncle joined the Navy. My uncle went to the Pacific. My father was in the medical corps and started off in North Africa. In time, as the war progressed, he moved up to the boot of Italy. He must have experienced and seen some horrible things. He died with those tales. He never spoke of those experiences. When the war ended in Europe, he prepared to move to Manila. The day before they were to leave, the orders were canceled because the first of the atomic bombs was dropped. When the war ended, my father arranged to stay in Europe. He wanted to do some sightseeing. It seemed to be a wise choice. He was in his mid-twenties, single with only a high school education, and unemployed. He saw many things that most only see in pictures. I believe those were the happiest days of his life.
When he returned home, he used his G.I. Bill to get an education. He was an interior decorator by trade. He first went to the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, then he went to the New York School of Interior Design. It was while he was in New York that he met my mother. They met at a social gathering at the Marble Collegiate Church. They were married at a Dutch Reformed Church in Brooklyn and had their wedding reception at my grandparent’s home around the corner. They spent their wedding night at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. Staying in New York was never an option. My father always wanted to return to Ohio, his home.
In time, they would move to a magical place called Warren, Ohio. They bought their first home when my twin sisters, Susan, and Janet, were born. I was born seven years later. My mother was a dietitian who worked at Trumbull Memorial Hospital. My father was a buyer for the Carlisle-Allen Department Store. As a child, I thought our home was boring. It was not until I became an adult that I discovered it was exceptional. Our home was always stable, and my parents rarely fought. My parents went to church every Sunday and to work every day. In those days loyalty was a big deal. My father stayed with the store for over thirty years. On the day he retired, no one noticed, because no one cared. He gave his life to “the store,” and he deserved better. Yet, several years later when “the store” closed, he grieved.
Can I be honest with you? I never felt close to my father. I really do not know why. I like to think we were both good people. Everybody seemed to like him. He intimidated me. I do not want to sound critical. However, I want to be honest. My father showed very little tolerance with me. I cannot remember a single time standing next to my father not feeling nervous. He never hit me, but I was always ready for his backhand. I was often the brunt of his jokes for his stand-up routine. I think it is better to be yelled at and taken seriously, then laughed at and be dismissed. I yearned to have a relationship with my father, but it never came. When my father died in 1996, I grieved. However, I did not grieve for the relationship we had, because we had no relationship. I grieved for the relationship we never had and never will.
My parents are buried near my home. During my time in the ministry, I have been to that cemetery several times. Each time, I visited their graves. Each time I go, several things strike me. First, time goes fast. My father died almost twenty-seven years ago. How could it be twenty-seven years? How fast will the next twenty-seven years go? I wonder where I will be twenty-seven years from now. I wonder if I will still be alive. Second, I have a good life. I can trace all the best things in my life back to my parents. My mother made sure our home was filled with love. There was always enough to eat and drink. Our clothes were clean. Our home was warm. My parents gave me what every child really wants and needs – stability. Third, the time has come for me to stop being critical of my father and start remembering him with grace. Time has taught me the best you can do is the best you can do. Perfection is impossible. I know my father did his best with me. It is not easy being a father. It is not easy being a parent. I am doing the best I can with my children. I hope they do not look for perfection. They did not receive it from me. I hope they look at me with grace. American author Kent Nerburn (born 1946) once said, “It is much easier to become a father than to be one.”
Russ Adams 