It’s always bothered me that St. Francis had such a bad relationship with his father. Francis never seemed to have reconciled with his father or rebuilt their relationship. Francis’ father, Pietro di Bernardone was certainly no father of the year and went so far as to lock Francis away in his home after seeing how poorly Francis lived during his conversion.
So contentious was their relationship that in the middle of Assisi, Francis publicly rejected his father, stripping himself of his father’s fine clothes, and retreating to the arms of the bishop. “Until now I have called you my father on earth,” said Francis to Pietro in front of all the people of Assisi. “From now on, I can say with all certainty: Our Father who art in heaven.” After this, poor Pietro falls out of the narrative and is never heard of again. But I often wonder what happened to him and if he and Francis ever came to a new understanding of one another.
While Francis felt he had to reject Pietro to fully embrace God the Father, I consider it a blessing that my own father, Christopher, modeled what the love of the Father truly looks like. I knew from an early age that God's love for us was much like my father's love for me and my brother.
On a regular Sunday morning, when I was only a few years old, I fell through a glass-paneled door separating our old living room from my brother and my playroom. I was bleeding by the time my mom made it down the stairs, my left arm cut open vertically by the shards of glass. It was a sight no parent or sibling should ever have to see.
Since I was so young at the time, I only remember fragments from that difficult day for my family; flashes of pain, worry, and even horror as we waited for the ambulance. But more than all those things, I remember my father scooping me up, wrapping my arm tight with a towel to stop the bleeding, and holding me close to himself. Maybe he said some encouraging words, letting me know everything was going to be all right. But if he did, I don’t remember them. All I remember was that I was safe and secure in his arms, and I hoped he would never let go.
What does it mean that God is our Father? What should the love of a Father look like? I would argue that it looks much like the love of my dad who bent low to meet me, who bound my wounds, desiring to alleviate all suffering and pain, and who carried me close to himself, as close as cheek-to-cheek.
Because God loves tenderly, all fathers should strive to love their children with tenderness too. That morning so many years ago, when I was hurt and helpless, my dad held me tight, and in my heart, I’ve never let go of him. I recognize that unfortunately, many people haven’t had the same experience of fatherhood as I’ve had. Much like St. Francis, some people have experiences of fathers who are hungry for control, distant, or judgemental. But this is certainly not our God, and it isn't my father.
In Hosea 11, God the Father tells us exactly who he is. God is a Father who has walked with us through life's long journey and who will never leave our side.
It was I who taught Ephraim to walk; I took them up in my arms, but they did not know that I healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love. I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them.
On this Father's Day, I remember my dad who has so often modeled for me, my older brother, and my nieces the tender love of God the Father. I long for the days I was small enough to be held in his arms. I regret those times that my dad’s love went unnoticed and unappreciated. But most of all, I pray that all people may someday come to know the presence of God who loves us as his own children. Thank you Dad for always showing me what it means to love, and Happy Father's Day!
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