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.
