Icons of the Father

O son, help your father in his old age, and do not grieve him as
long as he lives; even if he is lacking in understanding, show forbearance;
in all your strength do not despise him. (Sirach 3:12–13)

Father’s Day is coming up quickly. I’ve often noticed that while Mother’s Day is full of praises for our lovely moms, Father’s Day is often taken as an opportunity to call out the failures of dads to fully live up to the glory of Christian Fatherhood.

I’m sure my experience isn’t universal. Maybe across the country, men everywhere are hearing those nurturing words from the pulpit, from their families, and from society at large: You are a joy to your family. Your love, your leadership is a good and holy thing. I hope my experiences are just that – mine.

But I’ve sat through too many Father’s Day homilies from well-meaning priests. I’ve listened to too many mocking advertisements. I’ve heard too many old men wonder why their adult children keep track of every failure but forget the sacrifices. And too many good fathers in my own generation have never expected to be honored for their fatherhood – instead, they watch advertisements mocking their interests and dismissing their contributions.

The truth is, I worry about the hearts of fathers, particularly those entrusted to me. So for Father’s Day this year, in the month of Christ’s Sacred Heart, I want to write a little love note to my father, and by extension to those fathers who can find themselves in some aspects of it.

Icons of the Father

If you’ve ever prayed with icons, you know that they act more as doorways to the sacred than as mere images for reflection. The point of an icon is to reveal Truth and to invite the saint into the space. Traditionally, Eastern Catholics treat icons with respect – as companions rather than pictures. Our fathers are called to a similar role. Every father has the opportunity to stand in his family as an icon of the Father’s love.

I remember joyful evenings as a child, especially when my mom was out, when my father would spend hours playing games, reading aloud, and in general just delighting in his children. Those evenings with him have sunk into my soul like the deep roots of a tall, solid beech. When I was older, and wrestling with Christ, those evenings were the bedrock of my faith. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that God, like my own father, would delight in me. Of course He longed to love and forgive. Of course He would live and die for my salvation, that’s what fathers do! In my angsty little soul, I could see God sitting cross-legged on an old, green-shag carpet playing Candy Land and loving every minute.

My father, for all his faults, excelled at being a living icon of the Father’s affection for His people. Other fathers may image the Father’s wisdom, mercy, or justice – all good things – but my father was God’s affection. I think of him every time I read about the rich young man and Christ who, “looking at him, loved him” (Mark 10:21).

But I don’t think my dad sees himself this way. Like many men, he’ll sit in the pew on Father’s Day and listen to a homily that “calls him on” to “know better and do better.” He’ll listen as he’s called again to “servant leadership” and to “die to self” – perhaps with a sports analogy that he won’t bother listening to. During the homily, he’ll think again on his failures. He’ll look back on the years he spent raising his children and working long hours wondering if he did enough, gave enough, loved enough.

These are questions we should all be asking ourselves – men and women. But on Mother’s Day, women get a break. Father’s Day is too often a giant microscope – focused on the perceived failures of our fathers.

So, In Honor of Father’s Day…

I’d like to say thank you, Dad. You taught me…

To trust in God’s infinite mercy. If it hadn’t been for you, I might not have loved Confession. I might never have learned to laugh with God at my own frailty. Without your constancy and forgiveness, I might have struggled long to feel Christ’s continual willingness to forgive me.

To make peace with my own failings. We don’t have to pretend you have no flaws. I remember you working to improve yourself. I’ve seen you work to change. I’ve seen you listen to my critiques and take them to heart. I’ve seen you strong and I’ve seen you weak – both are inspiring. Thank you for letting me be imperfect and for encouraging me to pursue perfection anyway.

To humble myself. In a world that pushes self-sufficiency or entitlement, you taught me gratitude and humility. You showed me that gifts should be received graciously, and that help is there for the asking. Thank you for always seeing the person at the heart of the gift, and for teaching me to see that person as well.

To expect joy in my relationships. I hear all the time that marriage and parenting are hard work. That they’re a constant sacrifice. But you taught me to expect joy from my relationships. The marriage I saw growing up was joy-filled and comfortable. It taught me that an abundant, happy love was a natural part of life. It taught me to dream big and wait until those dreams were fulfilled. More than almost anything, I am so grateful that I grew up watching you love fully, care deeply, and embrace the adoration of your wife with confidence. Your marriage has made my own, joy-filled marriage and motherhood possible.

When you listen to those homilies, Dad, I want you to tune out the sports analogies, the jokes about God “practicing on men” before creating women, and all the little digs at your fatherhood. Instead, think about the kids you raised – flawed people in love with humanity, beauty, hope, and goodness. I want you to think of your grandkids – confident in your love and happy to spend all day puttering around the house with you. And I want you to think of Christ, who knew what He was doing when He entrusted us all to you. Smile a little, it’s going to be a good day – and yes, you deserve steaks on the grill and a strawberry-rhubarb pie.

An Opportunity

If you’re feeling trapped under the microscope on Father’s Day. If it’s become a day of judgement and accusation for you – take comfort. This is the month of the Sacred Heart! Christ is ready to absorb all your pain and use it for the salvation of your family. You are so perfectly positioned to unite with Him in hope and suffering and love.

In this transitional month – the first month of summer, the month of St. John the Baptist, the first month after Pentecost, the month of the Sacred Heart, and here in America – the month of fatherhood, entrust your hopes and fears to the heart of Christ and enjoy the gratitude of your children.