It’s Not About Me, and It Is
TCF Sermon
June 17, 2007
Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there. If there’s ever a day we dads can say what I’m about to say, with at least some authenticity to it, and without sounding like total narcissists, it’s Father’s Day. What I want to say is this:
It’s all about me.
After all, I’m a father. And it’s Father’s Day. So, at least in my house, it’s all about me. If you’re the dad in your house, then it’s all about you.
At least, if I were to buy fully into our culture, I might really think this. And of course, our culture is inclined to think this, even beyond special days like Father’s Day.
We think of Father’s Day as a day to honor and remember our fathers. And that’s a good thing – nothing wrong with that. But, did you know the original Father’s Day, first proclaimed by President Calvin Coolidge in 1924, had more to do with turning men into good fathers than it had to do with enabling dads to say, on this day, it’s all about me?
With President Coolidge’s declaration of that first Father’s Day 83 years ago, he said the purpose of the holiday was to – and I quote:
"establish more intimate relations between fathers and their children and to impress upon fathers the full measure of obligations."
Isn’t it interesting how prophetic Calvin Coolidge was? Prophetic at least in recognizing how fathers need to fulfill the full measure of their obligations as fathers? It wasn’t until the 1990s when we began to debate the effects of fatherlessness on our culture, whether children were without dads because of divorce, or out of wedlock births, or abandonment.
Now, knowing what we know about the social costs of this, you’d have to be an idiot to deny that fathers who do not fulfill the full measure of their obligation, both financially and emotionally, are putting their children, and our society, at risk.
And the reason for that is that too many dads, too many parents – moms are not off the hook here either, think that somehow, parenthood is all about them, just like almost everything else is all about them. Of course, this is just reflective of what Timothy wrote in 2 Timothy.
2 Timothy 3:1-2 (NASB77) 1 But realize this, that in the last days difficult times will come. 2 For men will be lovers of self,
Now, the list of the many things in our sinful human nature that will make the last days difficult times, goes on from there, and it’s quite a list. It’s not a list any of us would like our behavior to be included in. But I stop there, because verse 2 relates to the idea that I expressed a moment ago. Men will be lovers of self. It’s all about me. The words translated lovers of self here are pretty clear. It means self-centered. At the extreme it means narcissistic. How ironic that the word love is used here. It illustrates the limitations of our English language when compared to the Greek. Because when we read what real, God-given, agape love is, it’s a completely different word than the root word used in the passage
where it says men will be lovers of self.
When we read about agape love, we read that love is not self-seeking (1 Cor 13:5). It’s a different kind of love, isn’t it?
So, when it comes to fatherhood, when it comes to parenthood, our culture says it’s OK for parents to say, it’s all about me, it’s about my fulfillment, my satisfaction, my happiness.
After all, you deserve it. Isn’t that what some commercials tell you? But the Word of God tells us something completely different. I’ve called this morning’s message It’s Not About me, and It Is.
Stick with me here. How can it be both/and? How can it not be all about me, and also be all about me? Here’s how:
Because fatherhood, parenthood, is not about making me happy, but it is about making me holy. Let me say that again. It’s not about me and it is.
Fatherhood is not about making me happy, but it is about making me holy.
This is what I want to spend some time pondering this morning. Now, I think we can say this about many things in life, at least if we’re followers of Christ. That is, we can say that this thing in my life is not about making me happy, but it is about making me holy.
We might be able to say it about our jobs, or our school. We can say it about other relationships. We can definitely say it about marriage. In fact, there’s a book called Sacred Marriage, by Gary Thomas. That’s the theme of this book.
This question is on the cover:
“What if God designed marriage to make us holy more than to make us happy?”
Now, I realize how unromantic this idea may sound at first blush, but think about it this way: a marriage that develops holiness in us is definitely more romantic than a marriage that fails because one or both partners decide they’re not happy.
But as I read this book, I realized how many of the things that the author says about marriage are also true of parenthood. A few examples:
He quotes Francis De Sales who said:
The state of marriage is one that requires more virtue and constancy than any other. It is a perpetual exercise of mortification.”
For the language challenged among you, mortification, in this context, means death to self. I think parenting, or today, because it is Father’s Day, fatherhood, is also a perpetual exercise in mortification. Let me give you another quote from the book, but this time substitute the word parenting or parenthood for marriage:
To spiritually benefit from parenthood, we have to be honest. We have to look at our disappointments, own up to our ugly attitudes, and confront our selfishness. We also have to rid ourselves of the notion that the difficulties in our parenting can be overcome if we simply pray harder or learn a few simple principles.
What if God didn’t design parenting to be “easier”? What if God had an end in mind that went beyond our happiness, our comfort, and our desire to be infatuated and happy as if the world were a perfect place? What if God designed parenthood to make us holy more than to make us happy?
Indeed. What if? What if God’s design for our experiences as fathers is to make us into the image and likeness of Christ. Doesn’t that help us work through the inevitable challenges? Yes, of course, in that, happiness and joy may be a byproduct. Yes, of course, in that, we have a clear responsibility to be the physical and spiritual nurturers for our children. But we see books designed to make us not just better fathers, which is a good thing, but to make parenting easier.
What if it’s not supposed to be easy? After all, growth requires resistance of some kind. You have to stress your muscles to strengthen them. So, our purpose as fathers is to nurture our children, to teach them, to help them grow, learn, to be responsible citizens, in our culture and in the Kingdom of God. But God’s purpose in having us participate in this work for Him is twofold:
1. that we would be among God’s agents in accomplishing these important things in our children
2. that He would use the experience of parenting to make us into His image.
Do you see the problem with a romantic view of marriage or of parenting?
A romantic view of parenting might be the idea that everything’s always perfect, the kids are always perfect, there are never any challenges, as long as you do this, this and this. Practice this formula, and things always work out great. Hakuna matata – no worries.
Your kids will never do drugs. Your kids will never stray from the Lord or get into trouble. They’ll be pure before marriage. Your kids will all go to Princeton or Harvard. They will marry rich doctors or lawyers, and always make you proud.
Some of us parents experience these things to some degree. Many don’t – at least not all of them.
Now, don’t misunderstand me. There are clearly principles in parenting that are better than others. Discipline is better than no discipline, for example.
Scripture provides very important analogies between our parenting relationship with our children, and God’s parenting relationship with us. How about this one?
Hebrews 12:5-11 (NIV) 5 And you have forgotten that word of encouragement that addresses you as sons: "My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, 6 because the Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son." 7 Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined by his father? 8 If you are not disciplined (and everyone undergoes discipline), then you are illegitimate children and not true sons. 9 Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live! 10 Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. 11 No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.
Now, what parent here can say they understood this passage in the same way before they had to lovingly discipline their own children?
But real life has a way of upsetting the applecart. A romantic view of parenthood has no elasticity. It can never be stretched. It just shatters. It shatters when the expectations are unrealistic. It shatters when there’s disappointment. But a view of parenting that requires a mature, agape love must stretch us. It’s the only way we grow.
Our children aren’t the only ones transformed by our parenting. The real transforming work in us as fathers, as parents, is in the 24/7 grind of commitment. Have you heard the word crucible?
1. A vessel made of a refractory substance such as graphite or porcelain, used for melting materials at high temperatures.
2. A severe test, as of patience or belief; a trial.
Parenthood, like marriage, like many other things, is a crucible. It’s the crucible that grinds and shapes us into the character of Jesus. Fatherhood, parenthood, calls us to an entirely new and selfless life. Quoting Gary Thomas again:
Any situation that calls me to confront my selfishness has enormous spiritual value, and I slowly began to understand that the real purpose of (parenthood) may not be happiness as much as it is holiness. Not that God has anything against happiness, or that happiness and holiness are by nature mutually exclusive, but looking at (parenthood) through the lens of holiness began to put it into an entirely new perspective for me.
Now, let’s be clear here. We can derive a sense of satisfaction from fatherhood. We can and do sometimes derive a sense of happiness from fatherhood. But, I think it’s important for us to remember that this is primarily a byproduct – it’s not God’s primary purpose.
Unfortunately, our society has largely lost this idea. Our popular media, in movies, in TV, etc., tell us:
1. people with wealth, education and independence have few, if any, children
2. the good life is not defined by community or family, but by individualism, by the pursuit of unfettered time to do what brings us happiness and satisfaction, and the freedom of self-fulfillment.
3. all of these things require money.
4. none of these things translate into changing diapers, scrubbing food flung by a toddler off the kitchen floor, working an extra job to pay for your child’s tuition, driving a used minivan, or sacrificing your own wants or desires to help provide for others.
The reality is that it no longer makes economic sense to have kids. The financial liability of raising a child to adulthood ranges from $700,000 to $1.5 million per child, depending on whose estimates you believe.
If we accept these purely financial and selfish reasons, we really should quit having kids altogether. (Source: Leslie Fields (article in Christianity Today) http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2006/august/15.26.html)
In fact, that’s what many people are deciding to do. Having kids cramps their style. It gets in the way of their personal and financial goals. There’s a book called The Childless Revolution. The book opens by reprinting responses received by Ann Landers, when, 30 years ago, she asked her readers if they could do it over again, would they have children? Any guess what percentage said no? Now, this is hardly a scientific survey, but the number is shocking nonetheless. Seventy percent said no, they’d not have children again.
One woman wrote, “I speak from experience as a mother of five. Was it worth it? No. ... Not one of our children has given us any pleasure. God knows we did our best, but we were failures as parents and they are failures as people.”
Another complained, “I was an attractive, fulfilled career woman before these kids. Now I’m an overly-exhausted wreck who misses her job and sees very little of her husband. He’s got a ‘friend,’ I’m sure, and I don’t blame him. Our children took all the romance out of our marriage. Signed, Too Late for Tears.”
A different mother wrote directly to a woman who had decided not to have children, “I applaud your decision and wish I had had the guts to make it 17 and 14 years ago, but NOOOO I had to listen to my mother and experience the wonderful joys of motherhood.”
Instead of pointing out how incredibly selfish and callous these reasons sound, instead of noting that perhaps these attitudes explain why the generation of children these parents raised has so much trouble maintaining personal relationships, the author of this book wrote:
Maybe parenting is not all it is cracked up to be and some brave souls wanted to spare others from what no one had spared them – namely parenting.
As followers of Christ, we should instinctively recognize that there is something truly perverse about this worldview. When all we ask is “what’s in it for me in terms of happiness?” then something is seriously wrong.
We see this growing cultural attitude illustrated in other ways. How about a $50,000 first-birthday party? ABC News reported on a trend of expensive birthday parties for little children, and it’s clear that the parties aren’t really about the kids – they’re all about their parents impressing their friends.
You have to wonder about the fallout of this when the kids get older
– we’re raising a generation of Paris Hiltons.
Families are forgoing "pin the tail on the donkey" in favor of renting out mega toy stores like FAO Schwartz for upwards of $25,000. Other attractive options include booking sleepovers at zoos and museums, even reenacting entire Broadway shows with professional actors.
Manhattan’s exclusive Mandrian Oriental hotel was the site of the one shindig. Cherry blossoms overflowed on tables set with the finest china, and while the adults enjoyed the all-you-can-eat buffet spread, the kids were treated to a mini-amusement park with a magician, face painter, arcade games and even an inflated castle for jumping and playing.
While (the father) won’t disclose the cost of his bash,
he said the price tag for a similar party would cost about $50,000. This was for a one-year-old.
Another father said, "The bar is set pretty high. I mean, if I go to a birthday party of one of his classmates and it’s at a club, I can’t do it at a club. We have to find something else." ABC News
That’s a clear indication of who this party is about. This dad should say, if he was honest with himself, “it’s all about me.”
There are other cultural indicators of the way parents often make parenting all about their needs and desires. Did you know, for example, that Down Syndrome can now be detected in the first trimester? Currently, women at high risk for having a child with Down Syndrome first undergo a blood test at 16 weeks and then, if the test is positive, they have an amniocentesis at about 20 weeks. If the results confirm the initial findings, they nearly always then have a late-term abortion.
One of the authors of the study which found a way to detect Down Syndrome in the first trimester said that "in light of this study, we should offer screening to all women in their first trimester."
Do you understand the not-so-hidden agenda here? A test that enables doctors to identify birth defects in utero will only be used for one purpose. To eliminate those with the defects. In fact, more than 90 percent of Down Syndrome children identified in utero, are aborted.
Now, relating this to the idea of what we’ve been talking about this morning: What exactly is the “risk” here? Why are we having all these abortions? At least in the case of those abortions for Down Syndrome, it’s clear that it’s not to ease the suffering of the “defective” children.
They don’t suffer, at least not from having Down Syndrome. A writer named Roberto Rivera, who has a son with autism, wrote:
"(Down Syndrome children) are often aware that they’re different, but any pain they may feel in this respect is caused by other people’s reactions to the differences. From my own experience with my autistic son, I can tell you that David’s autism troubles me a great deal more than it does him.
The inescapable conclusion is that the suffering we’re seeking to avoid is that of the adults. How else do you explain the phenomenon of doctors being sued for the "wrongful birth" of a child with disabilities? Children with Down Syndrome or other disabilities represent an unacceptable impingement on their potential parents’ freedom: they have to work harder at being good parents, and they don’t even get to show off with a "My Child is an Honor Roll Student At ..." bumper sticker. If that sounds harsh, well, it is. It’s also true."
It doesn’t take much research to realize that people with Down Syndrome can live reasonably long and happy lives if just given a chance. In our society, people choose not to have children because children have ceased being ends in themselves. And many who do have children have them because they look good on their social resume – they almost live vicariously through their childrens’ academic, social and athletic accomplishments.
We forget whose life we’re talking about. We forget that, in this sense, it’s not about me. My individual worth, and the worth of my children, is determined by who we are. We are people, created in the image of God. Our worth is not at all in what we accomplish. We cave into society’s worldview by thinking that our children are accomplishments.
My primary role in life is not to fulfill my ambitions, and that holds especially true when I consider myself as a parent. My role in life is to accomplish what God created me for.
Our culture tells us that children are a burden. Our culture tells us children rob us of our individual financial resources and our potential.
But Psalm 127:3 says Children are a gift from the Lord. The fruit of the womb is a reward. Which voices will we listen to? Will we conform to our culture, or will we believe the Word of God?
Children can teach us. They can help teach us how to love unconditionally. They can also help us understand God’s unconditional love for us. Have your children ever done anything to disappoint you? Have your children ever made choices that grieved you?
Have you ever done anything to disappoint God? Have you ever made any choices that you realize grieved God?
With children, I think I now have a better understanding how I disappoint Him, how I grieve Him. Perhaps I understand more of God’s love for me now, having been a parent for almost 20 years, than I did back in 1987 before I had any children.
Children can help us understand what devotion and sacrifice mean in a way nothing else can. It starts with the sleepless nights of infancy, and it moves on to the nose-breaking smells you have to clean up along the way.
We, if we are to be good parents, cannot abdicate these responsibilities just because they are often unpleasant. True devotion motivates us to stay the course, to learn patience, and to sacrifice our own comfort for the good of others.
The things we learn from our experiences with our children, mold us and shape us into the image of our Savior, who is truly devoted to us, who did more than sacrifice just His comfort for the good of each of us – He gave His life.
Our love for our children gives us just a miniscule taste of God’s love for us.
It continues into the toddler and grade school years, when we learn what self-will is all about from the other side of the coin. Doesn’t it make you think of God’s loving care of us, doesn’t it make you think of His unconditional love for us, doesn’t it illustrate God’s patience with us, when we have to witness our own children’s constant testing of boundaries, their constant acts of how far can they push things, their constant experimenting of how far their will can take them?
And that’s just when they’re little, and the boundaries have more to do with how much ice cream they can have, rather than the inevitably more serious things they’ll test as they grow into their teen years.
I can’t tell you how many times, as I’ve watched my own and other people’s children test these things and wrestle with who they’ll obey – their own will, or the truth of what they’ve been taught – I’ve thought – so that’s what God experiences when I do the very same kind of thing, in different contexts, even as an adult, even as a devoted follower of Him.
I hope I’ve learned from those things, and that God has shaped me into a more wholehearted follower of Him, a more useful servant of the King of Kings, because of these experiences as a father.
And we always hope our children learn from these things, too, just as it’s part of God’s design for us to learn, even as adults. Our children help us distinguish what’s important from what’s not. They help us see the clear difference between what’s eternal, and what’s transient and passing.
Roberto Rivera writes:
This kind of education may not sound too appealing to those who value their freedom above everything else, but it’s, in large measure, the things that we learn from loving our kids that makes up the good life.
God has entrusted me with the care and nurture of someone He loves very much. On this side of eternity, I am standing in for the "Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named" (Ephesians 3:15). Everything I do and every decision I make starts from this knowledge.
This doesn’t give my work less meaning; it gives it more. Instead of expecting work to provide me with significance and satisfaction that it probably can’t, being a father makes work part of a satisfying and definitely significant whole. Work, instead of being a quest for affirmation, becomes an act of love -- something you do for others.
This is just a sampling of how being a father is not about me, because it’s not about making me happy. But it is about me, because it is about making me holy.
Pray
