Our Father
Mary was frantic. “Where’s my boy? Have you seen him?”
No one had. Two days later found him in, of all places, a house of worship.
Can you imagine her relief and frustration? “Why have you treated us like this?” she asked.
Like any other twelve year old boy, he didn’t understand why she was so worried. “Didn’t you know I would be in my father’s house?” he replied.
These are the first recorded words of the world’s most famous man. “My father’s house,” Mary thought. “I wonder what he meant by that….”
Years later, he still used the word “Father.” Now, however, his meaning was clear: the Father in question was God Himself.
Today we’re accustomed to thinking about God as our Father. But at that time it was a revolutionary idea: never before had anyone referred to God that way. To do so would have been considered blasphemous.
The crowds found his apparent familiarity with the Almighty both attractive and offensive. Some sought to stone him for it. But others were drawn to the man for whom God was not a distant idea but rather a close relative.
His followers once asked him for a lesson on prayer. “Teach us to pray,” they said. “When you pray, pray this way,” he said. “Our Father….”
They took him seriously, even adopting the children’s word, “Abba,” to refer to God. It’s like calling God, “Daddy.”
My twenty-two year old daughter still calls me Daddy; my boys prefer “Dad.” Either way, they’re two of the coolest words in the English language. Without explanation it says, “You are the one who gave me life and unconditional love. I belong to you and I’m proud to acknowledge it.”
I know my kids don’t really think that when they say my name. Neither do I when they call me. But I will say this. Now that two of my children live in California, there’s nothing like seeing their picture on my cell phone and hearing the greeting, “Hi Daddy,” or “Hey Dad.”
I write these words while enjoying a family vacation on the coast. Yesterday, while my wife soaked up the sun, the rest of us ambled out to the end of the jetty. Seagulls and pelicans filled the sky. Crabs crept in crevices below. Winds swept the waves against our perch.
My three children and I admired the view, appreciated the weather, and engaged in small chat. I laid back on the rock, looked up at the skies and thought, “Father, thanks for making me a father. Life doesn’t get any better than this.”
Being a father is one of the most profound blessings of my life. And calling God my Heavenly Father makes life even sweeter.
Happy Father’s Day.
No one had. Two days later found him in, of all places, a house of worship.
Can you imagine her relief and frustration? “Why have you treated us like this?” she asked.
Like any other twelve year old boy, he didn’t understand why she was so worried. “Didn’t you know I would be in my father’s house?” he replied.
These are the first recorded words of the world’s most famous man. “My father’s house,” Mary thought. “I wonder what he meant by that….”
Years later, he still used the word “Father.” Now, however, his meaning was clear: the Father in question was God Himself.
Today we’re accustomed to thinking about God as our Father. But at that time it was a revolutionary idea: never before had anyone referred to God that way. To do so would have been considered blasphemous.
The crowds found his apparent familiarity with the Almighty both attractive and offensive. Some sought to stone him for it. But others were drawn to the man for whom God was not a distant idea but rather a close relative.
His followers once asked him for a lesson on prayer. “Teach us to pray,” they said. “When you pray, pray this way,” he said. “Our Father….”
They took him seriously, even adopting the children’s word, “Abba,” to refer to God. It’s like calling God, “Daddy.”
My twenty-two year old daughter still calls me Daddy; my boys prefer “Dad.” Either way, they’re two of the coolest words in the English language. Without explanation it says, “You are the one who gave me life and unconditional love. I belong to you and I’m proud to acknowledge it.”
I know my kids don’t really think that when they say my name. Neither do I when they call me. But I will say this. Now that two of my children live in California, there’s nothing like seeing their picture on my cell phone and hearing the greeting, “Hi Daddy,” or “Hey Dad.”
I write these words while enjoying a family vacation on the coast. Yesterday, while my wife soaked up the sun, the rest of us ambled out to the end of the jetty. Seagulls and pelicans filled the sky. Crabs crept in crevices below. Winds swept the waves against our perch.
My three children and I admired the view, appreciated the weather, and engaged in small chat. I laid back on the rock, looked up at the skies and thought, “Father, thanks for making me a father. Life doesn’t get any better than this.”
Being a father is one of the most profound blessings of my life. And calling God my Heavenly Father makes life even sweeter.
Happy Father’s Day.