An Ode to the Fatherless

 

At the beginning of 2019, I gave a sermon that involved this teddy bear. I grew up holding and loving that bear. It carried my memories of a time with my hero; my dad being present in my life. But the teddy carried the brokenness of one who longed to be a father, and one who walked away from being one.

You see the teddy bear was made by a prisoner who could not see his children but wanted to give them a gift. He couldn’t, so in his own symbolic way, my father was asked to give the bear to me and in that way, the prisoner was able to give a gift to his child.

That teddy bear became a symbol of two kinds of fatherlessness at once: the prisoner who could not be with his children, and the father who chose not to be with his.

And I tell you this because Scripture does not hide these stories. And neither should we. Even as we come together to celebrate and honour father’s day; we also need to acknowledge the presence of fatherlessness in our lives.

Fatherlessness is real. It shapes us. It marks us. But it does not define us.

But there is another type of Fatherlessness, the type that is invisible to many of us, the men without children. One of the most painful memories I have is of Father’s Day in 2015, I dropped into Uncle Harry’s at Westport. Uncle Harry was a friend of mum – on the Coast we follow the Irish and Māori tradition of calling very close friends, uncle and aunty. I popped in to say goodbye to Uncle Harry as we were returning to Wellington. I said to him that he was my dad in my childhood, he believed in me, he mentored me, he saved up on a sickness benefit for my first guitar and he celebrated me. He was my daddy. He tried to deny it in his own humble way but thanked me and also said he believed in Jesus. That night he died.

Fatherlessness is something we don’t often talk about in church because it feels too tender, too complicated, too close. It’s aches in us and pulls our hearts down.

Today, I want to tell you that Scripture does not ignore these stories. All throughout the Bible there are stories of the fatherless; orphans, children whose father’s neglect them, men who fail to be good fathers and men who step up simply because God calls them to it. The Bible does not hide them. Scripture does not pretend that fatherhood is tidy or simple. In fact, one of the clearest examples of broken fatherhood in the Bible is King David; the man after God’s own heart.

And if Scripture is willing to show us David’s brokenness, then maybe we can find ourselves in his story too.

 

1. David the Overlooked Son

Before David ever became king, before he ever wrote a psalm, before he ever held a sword, he was a boy in a field. A boy whose father didn’t call him in when Samuel came to anoint a king. Jesse lined up all the sons he thought mattered. David wasn’t one of them.

We read in 1 Samual 16 that Samuel is instructed by God to gather Jesse and his sons, one by one the sons come up, each time Samual is certain he is selecting God’s chosen.  By verse 10 we read:

In the same way all seven of Jesse’s sons were presented to Samuel. But Samuel said to Jesse, “The LORD has not chosen any of these.” Then Samuel asked, “Are these all the sons you have?”

“There is still the youngest,” Jesse replied. “But he’s out in the fields watching the sheep and goats.” “Send for him at once,” Samuel said. “We will not sit down to eat until he arrives.”  (1Sam 16:10-11)

These verses reveal the complete contradiction of it all. Jessie is told to bring all his sons, Jessie brings all seven of his sons; failing to acknowledge from the outset that he actually had eight sons. David, the youngest, the outcast and the overlooked.

David’s story begins there; in the ache of being unseen.

In Psalm 27:10 we read, “Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me.” David wrote that. He lived that.

For every child who has grown up without a father, David’s life whispers: God sees what others miss. God calls the overlooked. God names the forgotten.

2. David the Broken Father

But David’s story doesn’t stay in the field. He becomes king. He becomes a warrior. He becomes a poet. And he becomes a father.

And this is where Scripture refuses to tidy things up.

David’s children lived through the consequences of his silence, his absence, and his failures.

In 2 Samual 13 we learn of the story of Amnon and Tamar, brother and sister. Both to different mothers but both with David the father:

Amnon became so obsessed with Tamar that he became ill. She was a virgin, and Amnon thought he could never have her. (2 Sam 13:2)

Amnon eventually assaults, let’s be honest he rapes, Tamar. And David did nothing. Nothing.

Tamar’s grief sits in Scripture like a stone that refuses to move. She tears her robe. She sits in ashes. And David is silent. He would have felt the guilt of being the one that sent Tamar to Amnon. But Amnon had lied to David. David would have sat on the guilt of being a part of the horrible plot. And yes, he was furious at Amnon, but he did nothing. I believe the words of his daughter so caught in scripture would have sat on David as a burning stone: “No, my brother! Don’t force me!”(2 Sam 13:12).

Amon’s brother Absalom burns with anger at his father’s inaction. He takes justice into his own hands. He kills Amnon. He flees. He returns. And David still does not speak to him. Absalom waits in Jerusalem for two years, just to see his father. And we know that David loved Absalom, 2 Samual 14 affirms that; the scripture opens with “the king’s heart longed for Absalom.” But the King could not look into the eyes and soul of his son for two years.

Eventually Absalom leads a rebellion that tears the kingdom apart.

Absalom and Solomon’s brother Adonijah then try to seize the throne because Scripture says, “His father had never rebuked him” (1 Kings 1:6). David had simply never corrected his Adonijah, and given what we know about Amon and Absalom, I think it is fair to say that David never disciplined his sons.

The story of David the father, is not a footnote. This is the Bible’s way of saying: Here is a real father who failed in real ways.

And yet – and this is where the gospel breathes – David’s story does not end in failure.

When Absalom dies, David cries out, “O my son Absalom! My son, my son! If only I had died instead of you” (2 Sam 18:33) It is the cry of a man who realised too late what his absence had cost.

Some fathers here know that cry. Some carry regret. Some carry distance. Some carry choices they wish they could undo.

David’s story tells you this: Failure is not final. Regret is not the end. God restores. God rebuilds. God calls men back into courage.

In Joel 2:25, we read “I will restore the years that were lost.” That is not poetry. That is promise.

3. David the Father of Many

Now let me speak those of you men without children.

Before David ever held a baby of his own, he fathered a nation. His courage shaped people. His worship shaped generations. His psalms have mentored the world.

He became a spiritual father long before he became a biological one.

In Isaiah 56:5 we read, “I will give them a name better than sons and daughters.” This is God saying: Your legacy is not limited by biology. Your influence is not small. Your life is not less.

What I personally love about this verse in Isaiah is that it is a verse within a prophecy for the Eunuchs of the temple; even without being a father, their names matter, they have legacy and they have a purpose in God’s story.

Some of the most powerful fathers in Scripture never had children of their own: Paul, Barnabas, Elijah. David joins them.

4. David the Father Who Stepped Up

And then there are the men who choose to step up — the ones who father children who are not their own.

David did that too.

In the cave of Adullam, he gathered the distressed, the broken, the outcasts; and he shaped them into mighty men. He fathered them with courage, with presence, with love.

He welcomed Mephibosheth, Jonathan’s son, to his table and treated him as family. He fathered by choice, not obligation.

Scriptures commands us to step up into the gap when there is fatherlessness and the Lord in turn provides a promise that in stepping up, blessings will come. We are commanded in James 1:27 to “Look after orphans and widows in their distress.” We learn from Ruth 2:12 that God commands a blessing “May the Lord repay you for what you have done.”

To every man who has taken a child’s hand, who has spoken life into a teenager, who has become a spiritual father in this church; you embody the heart of God.

To my husband Eric, thank you for being a dad, from both Tricia and I. Thank you for being both fatherless and a true and authentic father. You see for over a decade Eric poured out a father’s love into the lives of the Moffat twins. And this was a real authentic pouring out. While the twins were at primary school, Eric would go to their home every school night to sit with them and do their homework. Every second weekend, as they were growing up, the twins would come to our home for the Saturday and sometimes weekends, and Eric would do intentional adventures with them – horse-riding, cooking, gaming, tramping, adventure parks, the zoo – you name it, he was there present doing it. We also had opportunities to holiday together and to return to the West Coast to see how tourists do the Coast.

And yes, I was involved too, but more so as an academic who specialises in education and child development; as someone who knows just how important fathers are to healthy development. As someone who knows that in the English language ‘father’ is both a noun and a verb; it is a name and it is action. I see this in Eric, a true father.

A man who consistently showed up in the lives of the Moffat twins and loved them. A father who spoke life into the girls. Their memory of their childhood is so much richer with Eric in it – caving, extreme forest, pancake rocks and the ‘it’s sinking, it’s sinking, it’s sinking’ panic as we crossed a small river in Westport while the tide was rising. A dad who made space for the girls and gave them a sense of belonging.

I know that Tricia still sees the blessing that Eric has been for her girls and for her. As a church, this is an honour. It is really something that we can do together as we learn to grow together in love. Our children in this church are a blessing and we all can contribute to their healthy development. Being a father is not restricted to a biological relationship; it is a communal relationship.

So where does this leave us?

David’s story reminds us that God does not wait for perfect fathers, perfect families, or perfect men. He works through honesty, through brokenness, and through those willing to step forward.

If you are a father, step into the blessing God has entrusted to you. If you are a man without children, recognise the role you still carry in shaping and guiding the next generation. And if you are a fatherless child, the challenge before you is forgiveness; not because it is easy, but because it is freeing.

Absalom died without reconciliation. His story ends in tragedy. But ours does not need to.

I stand here as someone who grew up without my father in my life, someone whose father even now struggles to receive forgiveness even as his life draws to a close. And yet, in forgiving him, in recognising the father‑figures God placed in my life, in seeing my father’s own broken story, and in pressing into the Fatherhood of God, I have discovered a love that is deep, healing, and profoundly real.

This is the invitation for all of us today: To step up. To forgive. To receive. And to discover that the love of Father God is wider, deeper, and more redeeming than any story of brokenness we carry.

 

Keeping the Fire Burning: What does it mean to be ahi kā

 

On June 19, I had the honour to be invited to participate in a day of remembrance with Ngāti Toa Rangatira, the mānā whēnua of Porirua. We stood around a flagpole as they raised their tribal flag to remember the day, 19 June 1840, when their paramount chief Te Rauparaha put his signature to Te Tīrītī o Waitangi on Mana Island. He signed in the belief that it would guarantee him and his people their ownership of the lands they occupied and he told his people to never let their flame be extinguished, never let their fires go out.

Before the flag was raised, I was talking with a fellow Christian staff member who asked me – what are you doing over the weekend? I said, I am writing a sermon about church membership and what it means to be ahi kā – what it means to keep the fire burning. I spent some time with her talking about the concept of ahi kā and the gift God has given churches here in Aotearoa New Zealand with Māori culture – there is a lot that can be learnt if churches journey with and alongside marae.

We finished the conversation and went to the Ngāti Toa event led by kaumātua Dr Te Taku Parai.  As we stood around the flag on a windless Wellington morning, Te Taku spoke into the key symbol on the flag – a hand holding a flame. The flag of Ngāti Toa is called ahika he told the crowd standing around it.

Quite literally ahi kā means burning fires he told us, but in Te Āo Māori, the Māori world, words have symbolic meaning. To be ahi kā Te Taku told us is to keep the fire burning. Traditionally, fires provided warmth, they would show land being occupied and would sustain the people through the provision of cooked foods.

On a marae, or meeting place, ahi kā represents loyalty to each other, the place that you may have been born and your community. Ahi kā means a deep commitment to keeping the presence of your people to a place visible, the fire burning so that others can see – yes, those people have a presence and a commitment to keeping that presence alive.

Even if wars are lost, or like in recent times, natural disasters destroy the marae itself, to be āhi ka, is for those to remain to tend to the fire that remains, preserving that space and place for people to return.

When I spoke to my colleague that morning on June 19^th, I did not know that the flag of Ngāti Toa Rangatira was called Ahika. All I knew was that since I said yes to being an elder of this church, I felt that God was calling us to be in a place of ahi kā. Just before I said yes, members of this church voted as to whether we would discontinue rebuild insurance of this building complex should it be destroyed in a natural disaster. In that decision, the voting members of this church committed to ensuring that we would maintain a presence in Wainuiomata should we lose this building.

And from that point, I felt God pressing into me to share this message. It has been two years in the making, but as Te Taku spoke into Ahika just over a week ago, I knew in my heart that it is time to share with you what God has impressed on me. We are to be a people who come together in membership to keep the fire of God burning in this community.

You see, ahi kā is the fire that can only stay lit because the people of God stay present.  In this place, at this time, to be a member of this community of faith, of Wainuiomata Baptist church is not to hold the status of ‘member’. It is not to separate those who can vote from those who cannot. Membership here is a presence that you commit to keeping. It is saying that, yes right here, right now I commit to keeping ahi kā, to keeping the light and flame of our fire burning.

This helps us then to see what membership truly is, what to be ahi kā, truly entails. I want to suggest that if we take this idea that the fire can only stay lit because the people of God stay present, that membership entails five deep commitments. And, all of these are about right relationship – right relationship with God and right relationship with each other.

The first of these ahi kā commitments is a commitment to covenant belonging. We can find this call to covenant belonging throughout the full letter of Ephesians. It is the perfect letter for this as it is to a church that has been built on diversity – Jew and Gentile coming together in Christ.  In Ephesians 2, verses 19-22, we learn that:

Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God's people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.

To being committed to keeping the fire that we believe in alight here is Wainuiomata, we are committing to more that just a contractual relationship in which we sign a bottom line and get on with life. We are committed to joining with fellow Christians, citizens of God and members of his household. We are committed to holding Christ as our cornerstone, learning from those who have come before us, and understanding that as we are brought  together in a covenant relationship, we rise up to being a holy temple, a dwelling for God’s spirit.

A covenant relationship with each other is ongoing, it is relational, it is mutual, it looks to the future but also builds our identity as a church together. It is us as a community that defines this church, not the building which keeps us dry. It is us staying present, staying connected and staying committed.

I am reminded of a sermon from Cecily Archer a number of years ago when she spoke into the three-way Covenant relationship between ourselves and our God as a triangle. The apex or top of the triangle is God, at the base is each other, as we allow ourselves to build relationships with each other in God, we become closer to God in turn. This illustration is often used to talk about marriage in God, but the God’s people are also called to live in covenant – and that means in relationship with each other.

The second ahi kā commitment is committing to a presence that sustains the community. It other words, it is a presence that shows to each other and the world that a fire is burning here – there is a presence and the community of this church is alive and well.

In Acts, we learn of the early church and how ahi kā, having a present fire can lead to growth as the fire attracts others. I am reading from Acts 2, verses 44-47:

All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.

So, what is a presence that sustains a community and how can we see this in Acts 2. To be blunt, a presence that sustain a community, is a commitment to remaining, dwelling together, showing up and keeping the fire burning – something that you can’t do if you choose to only come to church when you feel like it. I would even argue that if we made the decision to never again have a Sunday service here, visibly but only met online, our fire would slowly cease burning because we would be for all intents and purposes no longer physically present. After all, it is near impossible to achieve the first commitment, a covenant relationship, on a YouTube screen.

So, showing up and being present is a commitment that another Māori concept captures perfectly – whakawhanaungatanga (the enacting of physical, visible and spiritual expressions of being family together). A commitment to a presence that sustains a community is a community of physical, visible and spiritual relational belonging – coming together as a church family and connecting with others.

The third ahi kā commitment is one to whakapapa, where we have come from, and continuity. It is a commitment that builds on from Helen Temple’s poem – Someone took away the chairs

When I was young, I used to sit behind the saints at church and listen as they told of battles fought and won in lonely places would pray and sing, steady and sure, their faith worn smooth with years ... Today I stood in church and saw that someone had taken away the chairs. Mine was the front row now, and just behind me was young Christians wanting to learn from me …

To be committed to knowing where we have come from and continuity means that we are committed to keeping the fire of Wainuiomata Baptist church burning so that the next generation knows where home is. It is us as a body committing to passing on our faith, mentoring young believers in theirs, knowing and holding the story of this church, and it is a commitment to maintain mission – both local but also global. It is a commitment to sending people out, keeping the fire alight so that if and when they need to, they can find their way home – and there will be a home to go to.

I remember people who have come before me in this very church and how they spoke into my life – June and her smile of welcome, Anne and our hidden family connection in the Wilton line. I still hold in my physical bible at home, a photo of encouragement from Gilbert Hadfield for my first ever sermon, as well as a card from Tricia for the same sermon. One of my most cherished letters is from Barbara Gibbard for a sermon I gave on Romans 13 and Bonhoeffer. I still remember, with a smile, family forums when Ron Senior, a founding member of this church would remind us all of our history. And now, it is my turn to give back and feed into the next generation. It is my turn, to tell the story of this church to others. We have a long and proud history built on families, built on mission, and first and foremost built on faith with Christ as our cornerstone.

The fourth ahi kā commitment is one of shared responsibility. It is to say, yes we will be kaitiakitanga of this church, our faith community, we will work together in active guardianship, being good stewards of what God has provided us. And, yes this is about how we actively steward the physical resources we have been provided – this building, the whēnua, the land, on which it sits. How we steward our staff – and this includes our leadership, our pastor. It is about how we give physically our talents, tithes and offerings. It is also active stewardship of our relationship with each other and of what we believe.

Both Phil and I have used the letter of Ephesians as teaching from Paul to the Ephesian church as how to live together – how to light the fire and keep the fire burning.  By the time John is given his revelation, the Ephesian church has moved away from being a church that lives in grace and humbleness, showing mercy to each other to being so rule bound and pious that they are the first of the seven churches to be rebuked by Christ in Revelations 2:2:

I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance. I know that you cannot tolerate wicked people, that you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first. Consider how far you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place.

The fire and presence of the Ephesian Church will no longer be present.

One of the hardest things in keeping ahi kā, is keeping each other to account in love and reminding each other that it is the grace and mercy of Christ that brings us together – it isn’t anything that we have done or can do through our own strength.  So, it is understanding that we have to steward the mission that God has given us, we have to be committed to protecting the unity and health of our church community, we have to work together to discern God’s direction and, yes, we steward the resources we have been given and bring the tithe into the house.

I want to hit this point again about stewarding right relationships with each other though one more time. I have a few more years on me now compared to 1990 when I first committed to Christ. I have see churches come and go – I like others here have seen churches in Christchurch lose their buildings due to the earthquake but I have also see a lot of church buildings, still standing, but empty of worship. I want to suggest one thing, if a church is strong in relationship with each other, they can lose their building and remain strong together. We have seen this through the Christchurch earthquakes, but if a church is divided or poor in relationship with each other, the building may remain but the church itself will collapse. I have seen this time and time again. I have been part of a church where this happened and it still breaks my heart because of the hurt that resulted. The fourth ahi kā commitment is one of shared responsibility and stewardship.

Finally, ahi kā in membership is a mutual commitment. It is a commitment by each and everyone of us to a shared covenant of presence and responsibility. This aligns with how Baptist congregational governance works. When we come together to make decisions, we like the early church in Acts, we make those decisions mutually together. It is not the pastor or the elders presenting the big decisions, it is all of us – all of us as one. Because all of us play a part in ahi kā. All of us keep the fire of our community of faith present.

If we have this understanding that ahi kā is about presence, covenant living together, building on our past and keeping the fire burning into the future, shared responsibility and a commitment to being good stewards of our faith and our resources; if we have a mutual and shared commitment to this, then we have a fire that we can build upon.  

You see, ahi kā is the fire that can only stay lit because the people of God stay present.  In this place, at this time, to be a member of this community of faith, of Wainuiomata Baptist church is not to hold the status of ‘member’. Membership here is a presence that you commit to keeping. It is saying that, yes right here, right now I commit to keeping ahi kā, to keeping the light and flame of our fire burning.