April 2015
“Dad, watch this!” my 5 year old son yelled excitedly as he launched himself from the playscape ladder. I turned just in time to see his tiny body flying through the air toward the second rung of the monkey bars. His little hands grasped the bar, but his momentum caused his body to continue to swing upwards. I watched in horror as his grip failed and he fell headfirst to the ground. It looked like a sure trajectory for a neck injury, but at the last moment, he reached out his arm to brace his fall. I raced over to him, and his head and neck seemed fine (thank God), but his arm was completely snapped.
He screamed in pain, and I fought to keep my composure as I stared at the gruesome injury. Without hesitation, I scooped him into my arms and cradled him as though he were a newborn baby. I carried him as quickly as I could to our car and raced him to the hospital. After a few agonizing hours and a complicated surgery, his arm was repaired and he was on the path to recovery. However, the images of that day are still burned into my brain.
The image of him falling, of course – that still replays in my mind with a nightmarish quality. But also, the memory of cradling him in my arms and carrying him to safety. Amidst the terror of that situation, there was a certain transformation that took place in that moment. I realized more than ever just how much I loved him, just how willing I was to do anything for him. It was sort of a rite of passage for a young father, and I’ve never forgotten it.
I recently watched an old interview of legendary baseball player Mickey Mantle. He grew up in Oklahoma where his father, an avid baseball enthusiast, groomed him to be a great player from the time he was just a small boy. As a teenager, Mantle was signed by the New York Yankees and began his career in the minor leagues. Baseball experts predicted that he would be one of the greatest players of all time – a lot of pressure for an unproven teenager from Oklahoma. Early on, Mickey struggled badly. He was facing better pitching than he ever had before, and it was also his first time being away from home.
Alone, and in the midst of the worst slump of his life, he picked up the phone and called home from his motel room in Kansas. His father answered the phone, and the young ballplayer began telling him about the awful slump. Mickey’s eyes began to well up with tears as he said “Dad, I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.” His father immediately got into his car and drove nearly 10 hours to the motel. He knocked on the door, and Mickey let him in, so relieved to see his father. He stepped back and waited for the reassuring pep talk that he was desperately longing for. Instead, his father marched past his son and grabbed Mickey’s suitcase out of the closet. He opened up the dresser in the motel room and began tossing the stunned teenager’s clothes onto the bed. “Dad, what are you doing?” the younger Mantle asked in shock. His father looked at him and said, “I’m getting ready to take you home. I thought I raised a man, not a coward.” In the interview, Mantle recalled that moment as the turning point in his life. His father’s challenge snapped him out of his self-pity and inspired him to continue chasing his dream with renewed passion and focus. He would go on to have a Hall of Fame career and would indeed become one of the greatest baseball players of all time.
Two fathers. Two stories.
Which one presents the image of a good father: the story of my son and I or the story of the Mantles? Although they are vastly different stories, I would have to say…they both do. The image of a father cradling his wounded son and carrying him to safety seems to resonate with our ideal image of a loving father. However, it’s also impossible to read the story of a father driving 10 hours just to galvanize a faltering son and not recognize a loving father in this image as well. Sometimes I wonder if we’ve put the image of “love” in a box. I wonder if we realize that love doesn’t always look like affection. I wonder if we’ve pigeonholed the image of a “good father.” And if we’ve limited our view of what a “good father” looks like, is it possible that we’ve limited our view of what the “Best Father” looks like?
As a church “lifer”, I’ve watched my generation shape some refreshing viewpoints about the character of God. I’m proud of the way that we’ve purposed to reintroduce God as a good father who loves unconditionally. The image that we strive to present is similar to the story of me with my son on that fateful day. We want to present God as a caring father who tenderly cradles the broken and carries them to safety. And truly, I believe that this is the very heart of the Father towards those who are lost, hurt, or broken. This needs to be the God to whom they are introduced. A God who sees you in your brokenness, loves you through it, and breathes hope and restoration into your life. This is the God that a lost world needs to encounter.
I think that it’s also important, however, to recognize that there are many layers to God’s personality. There are many dynamics to His character. I believe that it is important for our church generation, maybe especially for the masculine souls among us, to recognize that, while God is loving, tender, and compassionate, He is also fierce, powerful, and awe-inspiring. There is an edge to His character. There is fierceness in His love. How else can you explain the cross? And while this may seem like an unnecessary macho chest-thumping message, believe me when I say that this generation, especially the men of this generation, needs to be reacquainted with this side of God’s personality.
So, what does God look like? Does he look like a father cradling his wounded son and carrying him to safety? Or does he look like a father lovingly but fiercely gazing into a wavering son’s eyes and challenging him to reach for something greater? I think the answer is…it’s both. If you’re lost, if you’re wounded, if your broken, He looks on you with tender compassion, and He wants to cradle you in His arms and carry you to safety.
But if you’re a spiritual teenager, if you’ve already been picked up and carried and mended and nurtured and lovingly shown a path to a better way of life, then maybe, just maybe it’s possible that a moment is coming when a loving Father will look at you with fierce love in His eyes and challenge you to reach for something greater. Maybe He wants you to know that it’s time to take some risks. Maybe He wants to challenge you to pursue a life of honor, not for the sake of “doing good things,” but for the purpose of pointing to the One who IS good.
The bible tells us that God IS love. He knows just how we need to be loved. It’s important that we understand this, because we’re the ones who are supposed to love like He does. That means that we can’t love the lost one, the broken one, the sinner, or the outcast like they are a “spiritual teenager.” When I saw my son wounded and broken on that playground, it wasn’t the occasion for “tough love.” I wasn’t moved to give him a “cowboy up” pep talk. In that moment, I didn’t care about his behavior, his motives, his character, or his direction in life. All that I cared about in that moment was carrying my wounded son to safety. That’s how we need to love the lost and the broken.
As my son has grown, however, there have been some “cowboy up” moments. There have been occasions where I’ve looked into his eyes with fierce love and challenged him to reach higher, to dream bigger, to see himself differently. We’ve talked about honor, we’ve talked about courage, we’ve talked about right and wrong. We’ve talked about what it means to truly “grow up.”
We can’t love the lost like a spiritual teenager, but maybe once in a while we can love our brothers and sisters that way. Sometimes I wonder if we’ve become so conscious of not “judging” others that we don’t even remember what “judging” really means. Maybe we’ve forfeited our right to challenge each other. Maybe we’ve equated love with affection. Maybe we’ve forgotten words like “accountability” and “honor.”
When the disciples reached a certain point in their relationship with Jesus, He challenged them to grow. He called them out. He freed them from legalistic religion, but He didn’t eliminate structure. He freed them from a works mentality, but He didn’t eliminate a life of honor. He freed them from condemnation, but He didn’t eliminate a standard of righteousness. He loved them through their failings and weakness, but as time passed He challenged them to “grow up.”
He challenged them to reach higher.
Wherever you are in the journey, He is the perfect Father. Maybe you’re broken and wounded, and you need the Father to cradle you and carry you to safety. He’s ready and willing to show you just how tender and compassionate His love can be. Or maybe you’re further along in your journey, and you need to experience the “other” side of His love. That powerful, awe-inspiring love that can challenge you to reach for greatness.
Maybe we’ve put love in a box. Maybe we’ve put God in a box. After all, God IS love.
Love can be affectionate, but love can also be fierce.
for underdogs & kings... 