If Your Dad Let You Down
Reflections on Father’s Day 2024
I’m guessing many of you had, or have, a complicated relationship with your dad. I did.
On one hand, my father was a great provider. We always lived in nice homes and never lacked food, clothing, or toys. Dad took me to ball games and movies. He played catch and flew kites with me. Occasionally, he slipped me a dime or, if he was feeling generous, a quarter, knowing I would blow it on candy or soda. When I was ten, he took me to the newly-built Astrodome, driving hundreds of miles to make my dreams of seeing a major league game come true.
On the other hand, Dad was an abuser. My sisters and I scurried to neutral corners if he came home with a scowl on his face. We did our best to stay out of his way because even a minor infraction could earn us a thrashing. When he deemed my misdeeds severe enough, he’d order me to retrieve a belt from his closet, like a condemned prisoner walking the last mile. Then he would double it up and swing the thin leather with angry abandon, raising welts on my back and butt. Once, when I wasn’t rolling up a water hose to his liking, he slapped me in front of a friend. Another time, out in his garden, he whipped me with a rotor tiller starter rope. I couldn’t even remember what I did to earn his wrath. It didn’t matter. Dad’s fuse was shorter than a whisker on a teenage boy’s chin.
Dad was a verbal abuser, too. If I didn’t grasp something the first time, the insults would start to buzz around me like stinging flies. His favorite word for me was “Dummy.”
“Hey, Dummy! I told you to get a Philip’s screwdriver, not a flathead one. Use your head for something other than a hat rack, you dummy!”
I tried not to cry when I was punished, but it was hard for a kid whose dad hurled more degrading words than tender words of encouragement. And, yes, many times my father delivered the classic old-school line: “Stop crying, or I’ll really give you something to cry about!”
From youth to adulthood, my father’s complex character left me uncertain and perplexed. In college, when I was getting interested in acting and theater, he thought it was unmanly and kept pressing me to consider a business degree (he was a real estate appraiser). Once, when a director of one of my plays asked my father if he was an actor, he scoffed, “No ma’am, I work for a living.” And yet, despite his reservations, he would come to every one of my plays and tell me I did a good job. This juxtaposition of disdain and support was something I struggled to understand.
Wrestling with the Image of God as Father
For those of you who knew your dad loved you, but had a hard time showing it, you may have conflicted ideas about God. If you grew up in church, you surely learned a famous prayer that opens, “Our Father, who art in heaven…” This was a God who gave us our daily bread, pardoned our sins, and delivered us from evil. Like any good father, God loved His children.
But we also know that God could be wrathful, right? He rained down fiery sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah and dispatched an angel of death to strike down the firstborn of Egypt. At times, you may even think He seemed peevish. Wasn’t this the God who killed a man for steadying the Ark of the Covenant when it was about to tip over; the God who blocked Moses from entering the Promised Land because he struck a rock instead of speaking to it? Those kinds of disturbing stories can make us question if God is truly a gracious Father.
Understanding Jesus Cry: ‘Abba, Father’
Enter Jesus. In a time when rabbis described God in such lofty terms as “Lord,” “King” and “Almighty,” Jesus knew Him as “Father.” In one instance, He addressed God as “Abba.”
The word “Abba” is Aramaic, the language that Jesus spoke. Some translate it as “Daddy” or “Poppa” to stress the intimate nature of the name. But that’s not quite right. It is true that Hebrew-speaking children still call their fathers “Abba.” It’s indeed a term of affection and closeness, but it carries more weight than just “Daddy.” “Abba” also conveys trust and esteem for one who is older and wiser. The translators of the New Testament kept the original Aramaic in the text, but also added the Greek word, “Pater,” or “Father.” This was a word of respect, even of reverence. According to Strong’s Concordance, “pater” comes from a root that means nourisher, defender, or upholder.
The Father Is Still At Work
Fast forward to the letters of Paul. In Romans 8:15 and Galatians 4:6, the apostle writes that believers can rightfully call God “Abba, Father.” They do not have to live in fear, because they have been adopted into the household of faith. They are now beloved sons and daughters.
I know that’s hard to believe if your dad was like mine. For those of us whose fathers were both a shield and a storm, God’s identity as Father can be a complex knot to untangle. My dad and I reconciled when I was in my late 30s, but to this day, I sometimes struggle to silence his critical voice in my head. The wounds that a parent can inflict run deep and they aren’t easy to heal. Because of this, it’s easy to project feelings for our earthly dads onto God.
Would it surprise you to know that the Son of God struggled with His Father? In the gloom of an olive grove, under such stress that He sweated beads of blood, He cried out that Abba would remove the cup of suffering from Him. He didn’t. On the cross, death coming for him like a relentless wolf, He panted, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” There would be no answer that day.
Jesus experienced the anguish familiar to many of us — the terror of wondering if our prayers have been discarded like trash. But does this mean that God wasn’t there on Calvary’s hill? Did Abba stop being a Father when the spear pierced the side of Christ and He breathed His last agonizing breath? Many dads, including mine, worked hard behind the scenes. I didn’t always understand my father’s efforts or witness the sacrifices he made, but I know now that his love was constant and his presence unwavering, even when I couldn’t see or even appreciate it. As the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer noted, “God is not a matter of mood. He is still present even when we are not in the mood to meet with him.”
On Easter morning, the Father raised the Son. God showed up in power and Jesus was vindicated. In time, after your weeping has ceased and your tears have evaporated, you may feel the stirrings of resurrection, a gentle whisper of hope rising within your heart. This is your Father still at work, turning mourning into dancing, ashes into beauty, transforming your pain into a story of redemption and renewal.
On this Father’s Day, you may not feel like celebrating your dad. Maybe, someday, you will. But for now, know it’s okay to sit with the pain and questions. Healing takes time, and understanding takes even longer. In the midst of it all, there is a Father who sees you, who hears your cries, and who, even in the silence, is weaving something beautiful out of the broken threads.
NEXT: God Lays an Egg
A Word, Please is a blog that explores the amazing words of the Bible. One Word = Endless Truth
