Come and Meet the World's
Finest Father *
A Father's Day Sermon From Luke 15:11-32
by Dave Redick
Hwy 20 Church of Christ, Sweet Home, OR
*Author's Note

Three expectant fathers were awaiting news of their wives, who were all in labor for several hours in the local hospital.. As the hours passed, more and more coffee was consumed and nerves were on edge. Small talk had long ago stalled. The three paced back and forth. Each minute seemed like an hour. The strain could be seen one each man's face as he waited.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a nurse came out and told one father the good news. His wife had just given birth to twin sons. The nerves that had been so taunt were now relaxed, and he quipped humorously, that this was great, because he worked in the front office for the Minnesota Twins, and he could go and tell the staff they had twins.

After the excitement died down, the other two men went back to pacing anxiously, awaiting the next word from the nurse. After what seemed like hours, which had been, in reality, only 20 or so minutes, the nurse came back out and told the second father the tremendous news. His wife had delivered triplets. He had two daughters and a son, all were healthy, and the mother was fine. Shocked at his fortune, his only comment was, "Boy, will they laugh in the office tomorrow; I work for 3M."

All alone now, nerves stretched the to max, the remaining father waited. He thought, "One had twins, the other triplets...2 and 3 kids, what if... ?" About that time the nurse came out with a big smile that looked to him to be bigger than before. As she began to tell him the good news, suddenly he snapped. His eyes enlarged, his pupils dilated, his hands trembled and there was perspiration on his brow. He gave a bewildered look and then bolted, as fast as he could run, out of the hospital, into his car, and down the street.

The shocked nurse looked over to a passing volunteer and asked what in the world caused that? The volunteer commented that while he was pacing back and forth, he kept repeating over and again, "Oh no, what am I going to do? I work for 7-up...I work for 7-up."

As a father myself, speaking to fathers present here today, I want to tell you that both the joys and the jokes of fatherhood are great. I love them, and I hope you do, too. I hope that your fathering is smooth and effective and... I wish I could say, "trouble free." It seems, however, that being a father does have its struggles.

We're going to take a look this morning at the parenting style of the finest Father who ever lived. Actually, I'm happy to report to you that we are honored this morning to have this Father present with us and we will be talking to Him at the conclusion of this message. Before we do that however, I want to tell you some things about Him. His story is over in Luke 15 and, whether you are a Christian or not, you probably have heard it. Actually, the story is usually named after one of this Dad's sons. We usually call it "The Prodigal Son."

(Read Luke 15:11-32)

The first time I ever preached from this passage I, like so many others, highlighted the younger son of the story, probably because it was closest to my own experience - I was young and didn't grow up in the church. Then, as the years went by, I gradually realized that there was an older boy whose story was told here. My emphasis shifted to the bitter older brother in the story, who was really the focus of Jesus' hearers. Recently, however, probably because of my age and the fact that I've raised four children and have now seen four grandsons born into our family, I've been looking at the father in this story and relating very much to him. It is this father that I want to focus on in this message. I see some things in his parenting style that every father should understand and emulate.

I see first that this father was

I. Approachable.

By "approachable," I mean his sons did not fear speaking to him or dread coming into his presence. I base my observation on some of the first words his wayward son said after he came to his senses in the pig pen. He said, as recorded in verse 18, "I will get up and go to my father..." His first thought was, "I'll go to dad."

Dads, are you the first one your children think of when they are in trouble... or the last? A lot depends on how approachable you have been for them. No, we cannot control what a person's response will be in a crises, but we may strongly influence what it will not be. If, each time they have come to you in the past, they've found a grumpy, vindictive, tyrant who shows little interest and no understanding or compassion, you'll be the last one they'll go to, if they go to you at all. Had the father in this story been that way, this boy would probably have said something like, "O, would I love to go home, but I know that is impossible. My dad will never understand and he'll never forgive me." He might have never been restored to the family.

Jim and Linda Onan of Wadswroth, IL, wanted an unusual house. Accordingly they built a 7,000-square-foot pyramid covered in 24-karat gold. The house is surrounded by a moat which Onan plans to stock with sharks. When I read that, I thought about the symbolic nature of those sharks. Obviously, these people didn't want to be approached by anyone.

Dads, if your kids messed up like the boy in this story, squandered what you gave them, dragged your reputation in the dirt, then came to their senses and wanted to come home, would they have to swim a mote filled with sharks or would there be a bridge there for them with you waiting on the other side to welcome them?

"I will get up and go to my father..." the young boy said. Did he expect to be restored to his position in the family? No. He knew that was not fair. He hoped only that his dad would have enough pity on him to give him a place at the table where the servants ate. He did know that his dad could be approached.

Words are not adequate to describe the hurt that comes when one of the children you raised turns his or her back on all they've been taught. There are few things that reach the depth of pain that such an act brings. But for the sake of those children, if you find yourself in such a spot, you need to remain approachable in the hope that they will come to their senses and return.

Oh, and by the way, this approachability should be in us whether they stray or not. It takes kids awhile to get things sorted out and they are going to make some mistakes. May it always be that, no matter what has happened, they find a father who is open to reconciliation!

I see secondly that the father in this story was

II. Spiritual.

"Wait a minute," I can imagine someone thinking. "How can you say a man is spiritual if he loses one of his kids? Surely that is evidence that he has done something wrong, isn't it?" Perhaps. But may I remind you of the meaning of this parable at the time Jesus spoke it? It was spoken to a group of grumbling Pharisees and scribes who were upset that Jesus would receive sinners and eat with them (v. 2). Each character in the parable represented someone. The younger son represented the sinners who were coming to God as a result of Jesus' ministry. The older son represented the Pharisees and scribes who thought that Jesus should have nothing to do with such people because they had squandered their lives. Who, then, did the father represent? The father in the parable is God and what this parable is showing us is that God will receive a sinner back if he repents.

Now, back to my original question. If a man loses one of his kids, does that mean he is unspiritual? The father in this story lost one of his for a time, didn't he? . And who does the father in this account represent? God! Is God unspiritual?

Surely this father had made every effort to teach this boy the truth. He hadn't shirked his responsibility. I base my conclusion on verse 18. In the second half of that verse it says, "Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight." Then he said it again in verse 21: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight." This boy knew the truth. He knew about sin. He knew that heaven was the dwelling place of God whom he had offended. He also knew about responsibility because he recognized he had let his father down.

Yet, the boy had free will. He was capable of taking the precious things his father had taught him and casting them aside.

Why do I say these things? Because I know that some of you have watched helplessly as your children, brought up in homes to love and serve the Lord, have push it all aside, deserted your teaching, and gone their own way.

Does it mean you have failed? It certainly feels that way! And, it is possible that you have failed if you have neglected your responsibilities to them. A father who cares nothing for the raising and training of his children is most certainly a failure, whether they depart or not. But some of you have taken your responsibility seriously. You've done your job and yet, seen your kids depart. I say, it isn't necessarily a forgone conclusion that you have failed. Some of God's children have departed too.

Oh, but doesn't it say in Proverbs 22:6, "Train up a child in the way he should go, even when he is old he will not depart from it." Yes it does, but is that statement an absolute guarantee that with the right training, your child will never go astray and that if he does, you have failed? Be careful in your answer. If that verse was intended to be an absolute, ironclad statement, then the rest of the Proverbs should be taken that way, too - as absolute, ironclad, never-fail statements. Can they be taken that way? How about this one: Proverbs 22:11: "He who loves purity of heart and whose speech is gracious, the king is his friend." Is that always true in every case, or is it a general guiding principle that is true most of the time? Need I remind you of David, a man who loved purity of heart, and King Saul, a king who hated him for it? How about this one: Prov 12:11: "He who tills his land will have plenty of bread..." Is that a guarantee that hard working farmers will never be forced to file bankruptcy? I know a lot of former Midwestern farmers who would argue with you on that one. What about this one: Prov 16:13: "Righteous lips are the delight of kings, and he who speaks right is loved." Is that an absolute statement? Are those who speak with righteous lips always loved? Do I need to remind you of Jesus, whose lips were more righteous than any man, yet he was hated by those in authority in Jerusalem to the extent that they crucified Him?

Proverbs are statements of general truth. They guide. They point direction. We get in trouble, though, when we try to make them absolutes that are true in every case. Is the rest of the Bible to be interpreted that way? No. The rest of the Bible isn't made up of proverbs.

This father was spiritual. Fathers today must be, too. Men, don't depend on your wife to do it. Don't think you can "let her take care of the religion in the family." It's your responsibility. If you shirk it, you deserve to be called a failure.

Thirdly, I see that this father was

III. Compassionate.

Look quickly at verse 20: "But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him, and felt compassion for him, and ran and embraced him, and kissed him."

How can a father feel compassion for a returning child who has squandered what h has worked for all his life? How can a father feel compassion for a child who has dragged his reputation in the dirt and spat upon everything he stands for? Drop down to verse 32 to find the answer. The older son has just asked his dad those very questions. He's beside himself because of the way his father received his younger brother back. In verse 30, he says, "when this son of yours came, who has devoured your wealth with harlots, you killed the fattened calf for him!" It is probably safe to say that he thought the boy should be disowned! Yet, look at verse 32: "We had to be merry and rejoice, for this brother of yours was dead and has begun to live, and was lost and has been found." To him, the boy's return was like life from the dead. His possessions, his reputation, compared to that, didn't matter.

Dads, are we compassionate men toward our children? When they mess up and repent, do we accept them back joyfully, or do we disown them or distance ourselves from them? Look at the example of this father and you'll have your answer. Beyond that, consider that you will not always have the opportunity to be compassionate.

The following reading comes from an article in Focus on the Family Magazine back in 1985. It was written by a Registered Nurse named Sue Kidd.⁽¹⁾   It's lengthy, so I probably won't say very much beyond reading it. See if there isn't a lesson in it for you...

The hospital was unusually quiet that bleak January evening, quiet and still like the air before a storm. I stood in the nurse's station on the seventh floor and glanced at the clock. It was 9 P.M.

I threw a stethoscope around my neck and headed for room 712, last room on the hall. Room 712 had a new patient. Mr. Williams. A man all alone. A man strangely silent about his family.

As I entered the room, Mr. Williams looked up eagerly, but dropped his eyes when he saw it was only me, his nurse. I pressed the stethoscope over his chest and listened. Strong, slow, even beating. Just what I wanted to hear. There seemed little indication he had suffered a slight heart attack a few hours earlier.

He looked up from his starched white bed. "Nurse, would you --" He hesitated, tears filled his eyes. Once before he had started to ask me a question, but had changed his mind.

I touched his hand.

He brushed away a tear. "Would you call my daughter? Tell her I've had a heart attack. A slight one. You see, I live alone and she is the only family I have." His respiration suddenly speeded up.

I turned on his nasal oxygen up to eight liters a minute. "Of course I'll call her," I said, studying his face.

He gripped the sheets and pulled himself forward, his face tense with urgency. "Will you call her right away -- as soon as you can? He was breathing fast - too fast.

"I'll call her the very first thing," I said, patting his shoulder.

I flipped off the light. He closed his eyes, such young blue eyes in his 50-year-old face.

Room 712 was dark except for a faint night light under the sink. Oxygen gurgled in the green tubes above his bed. Reluctant to leave, I moved through the shadowy silence to the window. The panes were cold. Below a foggy mist curled through the hospital parking lot.

"Nurse," he called, "could you get me a pencil and paper?"

I dug a scrap of yellow paper and a pen from my pocket and set it on the bedside table.

I walked back to the nurses' station and sat in a squeaky swivel chair by the phone. Mr. Williams' daughter was listed on his chart as the next of kin. I got her number from information and dialed. Her soft voice answered.

"Janie, this is Sue Kidd, a registered nurse at the hospital. I'm calling about your father. He was admitted tonight with a slight heart attack and --"

"No!" she screamed into the phone, startling me. "He's not dying is he?"

"His condition is stable at the moment," I said, trying hard to sound convincing.

Silence. I bit my lip.

"You must not let him die!" she said. Her voice was so utterly compelling that my hand trembled on the phone.

"He's getting the very best care."

"But you don't understand," she pleaded. "My daddy and I haven't spoken in almost a year. We had a terrible argument on my 21st birthday, over my boyfriend. I ran out of the house. I haven't been back. All these months I've wanted to go to him for forgiveness. The last thing I said to him was, "I hate you."

Her voice cracked and I heard her heave great agonizing sobs. I sat, listening, tears burning my eyes. A father and a daughter, so lost to each other. Then I was thinking of my own father, many miles away. It has been so long since I had said, "I love you."

As Janie struggled to control her tears, I breathed a prayer. "Please God, let this daughter find forgiveness."

"I'm coming. Now! I'll be there in 30 minutes," she said. Click. She had hung up.

I tried to busy myself with a stack of charts on the desk. I couldn't concentrate. Room 712; I knew I had to get back to 712. I hurried down the hall nearly in a run. I opened the door.

Mr. Williams lay unmoving. I reached for his pulse. There was none.

"Code 99, Room 712. Code 99. Stat." The alert was shooting through the hospital within seconds after I called the switchboard through the intercom by the bed.

Mr. Williams had had a cardiac arrest.

With lightning speed I leveled the bed and bent over his mouth, breathing air into his lungs. I positioned my hands over his chest and compressed. One, two, three. I tried to count. At fifteen I moved back to his mouth and breathed as deeply as I could. Where was help? Again I compressed and breathed. Compressed and breathed. He could not die!

"O God," I prayed. "His daughter is coming. Don't let it end this way."

The door burst open. Doctors and nurses poured into the room pushing emergency equipment. A doctor took over the manual compression of the heart. A tube was inserted through his mouth as an airway. Nurses plunged syringes of medicine into the intravenous tubing.

I connected the heart monitor. Nothing. Not a beat. My own heart pounded. "God, don't let it end like this. Not in bitterness and hatred. His daughter is coming. Let her find peace."

"Stand back," cried a doctor. I handed him the paddles for the electrical shock to the heart. He placed them on Mr. William's chest. Over and over we tried. But nothing. No response. Mr. Williams was dead.

A nurse unplugged the oxygen. The gurgling stopped. One by one they left, grim and silent.

How could this happen? How? I stood by his bed, stunned. A cold wind rattled the window, pelting the panes with snow. Outside - everywhere - it seemed a bed of blackness, cold and dark. How could I face his daughter?

When I left the room, I saw her against the wall by the water fountain. A doctor who had been inside 712 only moments before stood at her side, talking to her, gripping her elbow. Then he moved on, leaving her slumped against the wall.

Such pathetic hurt reflected from her face. Such wounded eyes. She knew. The doctor had told her that her father was gone.

I took her hand and led her into the nurses' lounge. We sat on little green stools, neither saying a word. She stared straight ahead at a pharmaceutical calendar, glass faced, almost breakable-looking.

"Janie, I'm so, so sorry," I said. It was pitifully inadequate.

"I never hated him, you know. I loved him," she said.

God please help her, I thought.

Suddenly she whirled toward me. "I want to see him."

My first thought was, Why put yourself through more pain? Seeing him will only make it worse. But I got up and wrapped my arm around her. We walked slowly down the corridor to 712. Outside the door I squeezed her hand, wishing she would change her mind about going inside. She pushed open the door.

We moved to the bed, huddled together, taking small steps in unison. Janie leaned over the bed and buried her face in the sheets.

I tried not to look at her at this sad, sad goodbye. I backed against the bedside table. My hand fell upon a scrap of yellow paper. I picked it up. It read: My dear Janie, I forgive you. I pray you will also forgive me. I know that you love me. I love you too. Daddy.

The note was shaking in my hands as I thrust it toward Janie. She read it once. Then twice. Her tormented face grew radiant. Peace began to glisten in her eyes. She hugged the scrap of paper to her breast.

"Thank You, God," I whispered, looking up at the window. A few crystal stars blinked through the blackness. A snowflake hit the window and melted away, gone forever...

I crept from the room and hurried to the phone. I would call my father. I would say, "I love you."

What this father had in his last minutes of life, we need. He had compassion on his estranged daughter. That simple yellow note released her from spending the rest of her life tormented by regret.

Conclusion

Michael Reagan, adopted son of former President, Ronald Reagan wrote recently how his father raised him during the time when fathers didn't show outward affection to their children. Michael always craved to hear his father say, "I love You", but he never did. As most of you know, President Reagan now suffers from Alzheimer's Disease. On a recent visit, Michael gave his father a hug. It received a rather stiff response, but, now whenever he goes to see him, Mr. Reagan is waiting at the door and gives Michael a big hug. It's not too late as long a there is life. Dads, it's not too late for you to do what you can. Sons and daughters, perhaps it isn't too late for you either.

I began this message by inviting you to learn from the finest Father in the World. I also told you that we would be talking with this Father at the end of the sermon. Let's do that right now. Shall we pray?

*This message was formerly called "A Model Father." I retitled it in order to coordinate it with a message on our church's readerboard sign that stands next to the highway. The sign said, "Come and Meet the World's Finest Father. Here this Sunday." [Back]
*Author's Note: The three words "Approachable," "Spiritual," and "Compassionate" were suggested by a sermon outline I read on the web by Don Robinson. That outline may be viewed at:  http://www.sermons.org/sermons/sermon32.html [Back]

1. Sue Kidd, as quoted by James Dobson in his book, LIFE ON THE EDGE.[Back]

Dave Redick is Minister of the Hwy 20 Church of Christ in Sweet Home, Oregon and Editor of The Preacher's Study. He may be reached at pstudysupport@comcast.net.

Copyright © 1996-2008 by The Preacher's Study. Permission is granted to subscribers to use this document in total or in sermon preparation in the context of the local congregation only. Publishing it in a book, on the Internet, or anyplace beyond the local congregation is prohibited.

All Scripture quotations and references are from the New American Standard Version unless otherwise stated.

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