The Call of a Father

There was a scene in the new Star Wars film The Force Awakens that captivated me.  I must admit I am not a Star Wars expert or fanatic, but I grew up watching the original trilogy like most young boys of my generation and I loved it.  So now being a father myself and watching the new film with my eight-year-old son made the experience that much more memorable.

Without spoiling anything, the scene I mention for those who saw the movie is the one that left most of us gasping with a collective “WHY?”  It was the scene in which Hans Solo confronts his son, Kylo Ren.  For those who have not seen the movie yet, or don’t plan to, Kylo Ren is the villain of the Dark Side.  What struck me most was not the end of the scene, the part that left us yelling “NOOO” from our seats, rather it was when Hans Solo initially called to his son.  He didn’t shout “Kylo”, he didn’t shout “Kylo Ren”, and he didn’t shout “Hey”.  He didn’t see his son as everyone else saw him.  He didn’t see his son the way his son saw himself.  He called out to his son by name, “Ben”.

What is it about a father’s call to his son?  What is it about the burning desire within all children to hear their father call them by name?  In a world when we define ourselves by all kinds of occupations, feelings, accomplishments, and failures, to be called by name by our father brings with it a powerful truth that can cut through our fears and fantasies in which we live.  To be called by name by our father gives us strength and peace to face the truth in our lives while at the same time courage to enter into the dark nights of our soul.

And yet, despite this call, there still seems to be a mysteriousness about a father.  There seems to be a constant unknown that lurks within our consciousness that never seems to go away.  For most of us when we think of our fathers, whether we have or had a good relationship with them or not, the mysteriousness about who this man is and seemed to remain.  So maybe it is within this mystery that we uncover the deepest longing in all of us.  Namely, the desire to know our fathers and for our fathers to know us.

I have been thinking a lot lately about baptism.  Not only when my boys were baptized, but when I was baptized as well.  More specifically, the part of the ceremony when the parents are asked explicitly, what name do you give this child?  In other words, what sounds will we make when we refer to their deepest identity?  What syllables are strung together when the child who someday will become an adult needs to see himself or herself as someone who is loved unconditionally?  What name is given to this unique body and soul created and known by the Father?

In our faith tradition, we believe that we are baptized into Christ.  This means, baptized into the journey of the never-ending instant of Christ’s death and resurrection.  A death that caused wounds…wounds that remain after the resurrection.

Or are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?  We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life.

-Rom 6:3-4

Up until a couple of years ago, outside of the Lord’s Prayer, I never prayed to God the Father.  I always prayed to the Son.  It wasn’t a conscious thing.  For the Father was just an unknown.  A Mystery.  A Darkness.  A Silence.  That was until I realized that it was through the Son I was gaining access to the Father.  More specifically, through His wounds, I was coming to see my deepest desire of wanting to know and be known by my Father, who still remains in the darkness and mystery.

There is a great song sung by Tim McGraw called “Walk Like a Man” in which the lyrics talk about how the sins of the father become the sins of the son.  Maybe getting to know our fathers come when we start to name and enter into our own sins.

For maybe when we name our fears of whether or not we are being a loving parent to our children that begin to understand the same fears that our parents might have faced when they looked at us.  Or maybe it is when we name our anger that at times overcome our rational response to our needy children that we get in touch with the same anger that might have overcome our parents when we caused them such distress.

My greatest fear in life is that my boys lose themselves.  That they allow the pressures, the temptations, the feelings, their accomplishments, or their mistakes to define themselves.  In other words, they begin to call themselves by a different name (Kylo Ren).   I know that my sins are being passed on to my sons.  And for that, I hope that they will someday forgive me and see me through their own sins.

But until that day, my prayer will be that even though I will remain somewhat of a mystery to them as their father, they will always recognize and respond to their father’s call to them…

”Jack”

”Andrew”

And unlike “Ben” (Kylo Ren) they will act on this call.

“If there is one very good reason for God to reveal himself as the Father of Jesus, it is because that is where most people are unfeeling, unbelieving, and unwhole.  With Philip the Apostle, we all join in, “Master, show us the Father, and that will be enough for us” (John 14:8).  Without facing, feeling, and restoring this wound (father wound), I am sure that most people will continue to live lives of pseudomasculinity: business and bravado as usual, dishonest power instead of honest powerlessness.  And the sons and daughters of the next generation will repeat the sad process – unfathered.

Is there a way out?  There is.  But only for “men” – that is, for people, both men and women- who will act.  There is no way to masculinity.  Masculinity is the way.  So, name the wound.  Feel and weep over the wound.  That is strength, not weakness.  Seek the face of the Father.  That is action and journey, not passivity.  Own and take responsibility for your life and behavior.  Don’t blame, sit in shame or wait for warm feelings or miracles.  Act as if.  Do it.  Go with it.  Risk it.”

-Richard Rohr