The First Baptist Church of Granada Hills

            Thirty-nine years ago, Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin brought the Apollo 11 mission to its climax.  On July 20, 1969 two people, after traveling hundreds of thousands of miles, climbed out of a cramped multi-billion dollar box and walked on the moon.  The moon!  Roughly five hundred million people watched as this pair of Americans achieved one of the most significant propaganda victories of the Cold War, affirming the superiority of the free world over against its authoritarian enemies.

            But as amazing as the moon landing was in terms of its political value, its most enduring legacy is a more general one: Apollo 11 bears witness to the power of human ability. The achievement was so overwhelming, so mythical in scope, that it clearly indicated that mankind, given enough money, technology, and will, can do virtually anything.  As God is said to have remarked at Babel, “nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them.”

            This limitless horizon of possibility has filled many with a sense of optimism, and with cause.  Our march from the Stone Age to the modern day has been attended by meaningful advances in the human condition.  Each year it seems that new medicines are developed, new communication arrays are installed, and more efficient agricultural techniques are unveiled making disease, isolation, and starvation ever more distant realities.

            At the same time, though, the progress of human power has had a darker side as well.  The very same theoretical and technological advances that have given us more cures, communications and corn have also given us germ-warfare, online child pornography, and the Holocaust. Thus, while our advances may fill us with hope, our hopes must be tempered with realism.  

            T.S. Eliot once wrote that modern people occupy themselves “dreaming of systems so perfect that no one will need to be good.”  Sadly, these dreams must forever remain exactly that—mere dreams.  For as history has shown, advances of all sorts are ambiguous things; great power can be used both for great good and for great evil; it’s up to the actor to decide which.  Thus goodness will always be a needful thing.

            This sobering truth—power’s inherent ambiguity—ought to cause us to examine our own lives then.  Is the world a better place because of us?  Are we using our ever-increasing wealth, talents, and influence to improve our communities?  Or are we just using our fellow men and women as so much “raw material” for the satisfaction of our own selfish and destructive desires?  Put simply, are we good? 

            A prophet once said, “the eyes of the LORD range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” (2 Chronicles 16:9)  Now, commitment to the Lord involves a number of things, but a commitment to righteousness, to goodness, is among them.  Thus, just as power needs righteousness so righteousness, it would seem, may lead to power.  Let’s then keep this relationship between goodness and greatness in mind—both when we advance personally in some fashion and, perhaps, when we want to.

          As Father’s Day approaches we are all reminded of the part our dads played in our upbringing.  But as this day turns our thoughts to our biological fathers, it also directs our thoughts higher since, for Christians, the word “father” can refer beyond one’s mortal sire to God Himself.  As the opening line of the Apostles Creed declares, “I believe in God the Father Almighty.”

          Recently, though, some well-meaning individuals have questioned the appropriateness of this phrase.  Honestly, isn’t it just the slightest bit sexist to call God “Father”?  Why not simply call Him “Parent”; or switch it up: call God “Father” half the time and “Mother” the other half.  After all, considering that God is a spiritual being not subject to the physicalities of sexual dimorphism, it’s unlikely that He possesses any gender at all.  What’s more, while God is sometimes described with masculine imagery in Scripture (”your God carried you, as a father carries his son,” Deut. 1:31) there are times when the Bible strikes a feminine cord as well (”For this is what the LORD says ‘As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you,’” Isaiah 66:12-13).  Given this ambiguity, why exactly do the historical documents of Christianity retain a distinctly patriarchal flavor?

          It would seem that, as is so often the case, Christianity’s practice here is influenced by the example of Jesus.  Despite the sexlessness of God, Jesus routinely referred to Him as “Father” both as His own Father in a special sense, but also as the Father of all people generally.  As Christ said, “you have one Father, and he is in heaven.” (Matt. 23:9)  And later, at a rather more poignant moment, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” (Luke 23:46)

          Jesus’ preference for this particular designation may have been influenced by His awareness of the robustness of God’s love.  On the one hand, Christ was very clear that God was kind and compassionate, concerned for His creations and willing to assist them, much like a parent watching over His children.  At the same time though, Jesus was equally clear that God’s love is a muscular thing, something that can cause Him to discipline His children, severely even, if they decide to flirt overmuch with self-destructive sin; in our modern context we often refer to this as “tough love” and it seems somewhat masculine by nature.  These two things then, the parental and masculine qualities of God’s love, imply a fatherliness–a fatherliness that Jesus, the Apostles, and the Church every since have recognized and affirmed in the simple declaration that God is Father, the Father.