Let's get right to the point. Here's a mom, standing in the pulpit, with the nerve to talk about fatherhood. Actually, a mother is a highly reliable observer of fatherhood and certainly part of the conspiracy that gets a child into the world in the first place. Usually we co-star in the partnership that raises a child and are often part of the extended community that ensures children are nurtured and more or less ethically civilized. So I stand here under the same authority that my colleagues have stood here year after year on Mother's Day. Many of you know I'm a Mom as well as a minister, with three daughters whom I adore, married to a Father with the same three daughters, in one of those second-chance entities we sometimes call a blended family. And I know, from several years in the trenches with my husband and yes, with an ex-husband, that it's not easy being a Dad.
I wonder if the oldest profession is not what popular opinion thinks it is, but rather, the profession of parenting. The fathers of antiquity as the fathers of today had their fair share of hassles from their offspring and some intimidating challenges from the powers that be. Deity reached new heights of intimidation when God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac.
"....God tested Abraham, and said to him, 'Abraham!' And he said, 'Here am I.' He said, "Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering upon one of the mountains of which I shall tell you....
Genesis 22:1-2
Now at this point, any parent with their wits about them would have asked if God had not just given up altogether on the capacity of humans to parent. Then again, not all parents have their wits about them. Yet, this writer of Genesis tells us that Abraham did take his son, Isaac, to the appointed place, built an altar, bound his child, and prepared to carry through on God's command.
Then Abraham put forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son. But the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven, and said, 'Abraham, Abraham!' And he said, 'Here am I.' He said, 'Do not lay your hand on the lad or do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me."
Genesis 22:10-12
This is a test of allegiance that I would not care to pass. Nor would I welcome Abraham home if I were Sarah. Nor would I ever trust my father again if I were Isaac. What kind of God would ask a parent to sacrifice his child? But the many faces of God in the Old Testament are not all faces of compassion.
Isaac survived and grew into adulthood to become a father himself and the unwitting pawn in the intense rivalry between his twin sons, Jacob and Esau. We know early on that trouble is brewing when we are told that the twins struggled in their mother's womb, and God gives clues of what is to come with the pronouncement to Rebekah that:
'Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples, born of you, shall be divided; the one shall be stronger than the other, the elder shall serve the younger.'
Genesis 25:23
And it came to pass. Esau, the hunter, was Isaac's favorite. Jacob, the contemplative, was Rebekah's favorite. The temperaments of the parents are played out in the behavior of their children. Jacob lures Isaac, famished from working in the fields, into selling his birthright for a mess of pottage. The menu doesn't even sound appetizing. Esau comes to despise his birthright. Isaac grew old. His family knew that his time was limited. Isaac knew that his time was limited. He bids his son Esau to go and hunt game for him and prepare for him the food that he loves before he gives his blessing to this favorite son. Overhearing the conversation, Rebekah connives with Jacob, the younger twin, to win his father's blessing.
Rebekah sends Jacob off to select two prime goats from their flock, which she then prepares in the manner that so pleases her husband. Jacob states his concern that his father will expose the deceit when he smells the scent of Jacob rather than that of his brother and that his father, to confirm his hunch, will touch his arm--a sure giveaway when the arm that is felt will be smooth, unlike the hairy arm of Esau. Unstoppable, Rebekah clothes Jacob in Esau's garments and places the skins of the slain goats on his arms. Though Isaac is skeptical when he hears the voice of Jacob, the ruse works.
"[Isaac] said, 'Are you really my son Esau?' [Jacob] answered, 'I am.' Then he said, 'Bring it to me, that I may eat of my son's game and bless you.'"
Genesis 27:24-25
And Jacob received his father's blessing. Once Isaac discovered that he had been fooled, he cannot undo the deed, though we read that he "trembled violently." (Genesis 27:33) He cannot bless Esau with the blessing received by Jacob. However remorseful, Isaac tells Esau, "'Your brother came with guile, and he has taken away your blessing.'" (Genesis 27:35)
Is this not the stuff of family discord that has propagated itself through the centuries? Parent and child or child and child form an alliance over against other members of the family, and trust is sacrificed on the altar of coveted blessings.
The Old Testament is rife with the grief of fathers and the trials and conspiracies visited upon them by their families and by the variably inclined God with whom they struggled mightily. How must Elkanah have yearned for his son, Samuel, when as a young boy, Samuel was chosen to serve God in the house of Eli, away from the house of his parents? How must Job have anguished over the loss of his entire family? How must the fathers of Isaiah and Jonah and Micah have known utter bewilderment, perhaps even shame, over the ill received railings of their sons against the injustices of their time? And centuries later, how distraught must Joseph have felt over the prophecies of Simeon and Anna regarding the fate of his son, Jesus? Then when he brought his family to Jerusalem and Jesus, at the impressionable age of 12, went off to confer with the teachers at the temple, without telling his parents, I imagine that Joseph experienced the full force of alarm familiar to any parent whose child wanders off on their own in a big city.
I have often wondered how Joseph would have felt if could have foreseen that such a sizable segment of the faith that evolved from his son's teachings regarded Jesus as the child of a virgin? Was he simply Mary's escort and Jesus' caretaker? It was Mary, we are told, who "pondered these things in her heart." What were the reflections of the father? Skewed theological perspective has placed Joseph definitively on the sidelines, although there is every indication, from the sketchy narratives we receive in the Gospels, that Joseph was a present and responsible father.
Fatherhood, in its purely physical dimension, is a sidelines function. It has always been possible, for example, to father a child and never see that child. Psychologically and spiritually, such a reality is a torment to father and child and a heavy burden on the relationship between mother and child.
Let's fast forward to our own time, our own families, our own fathers, ourselves. It's not easy being a dad or a mom, and sometimes it's less easy being a dad and a mom on harmonious terms with one another so that we might act in concert on behalf of our children. Divorce is a reality familiar to many of us. Issues of custody wreak havoc with our sense of family and self. Sole custody, joint custody, shared custody....the trials--sometimes literal trials--and tribulations around who will be with whom send us spinning and send the fortunate among us to therapists. Casual conversations around single parent families still assume the children reside with the mother. Yet single fathers with shared or sole responsibility for their children are present in ever increasing numbers. It's a tough job being a single mom or a single dad.
In so many respects fatherhood is not much easier now than it was in the time of Abraham and Isaac. There are so many fathers who wake up every morning and, like Sisyphus putting his full weight against the boulder to push it uphill one more time, these Dads keep on trying. They keep on trying to make a positive difference in their own lives and the lives of their families. But they're human--sometimes spurred, sometimes tripped up, by that curious hormone known as testosterone.....which, by the way, I keep thinking of as a type of pasta: "I'll have the testosteroni primavera, please."........ It's a truism that Dads and Moms have feet of clay, hearts of putty, and time that stretches...not all, of course, but a gratifying percentage of the parent population.
In the last few weeks I was introduced to some fathers who cannot hide their feet of clay, whose hearts long for their children, and whose time stretches beyond our imagining. The setting was Sing Sing, the maximum security prison only an hour north of here. It is the home not by choice of well over 2,000 men. Bill Webber, a longtime friend and former President of New York Theological Seminary, had extended the invitation to visit when he was Scholar in Residence earlier this spring for a series of Adult Education sessions here at All Souls. Bill is the co-founder and Director of New York Theological Seminary's graduate program at Sing Sing.
Alex Lesman and I--Alex heads our Task Force to End the Death Penalty--accepted Bill's invitation and accompanied him on a brisk May morning to Ossining. We had completed all the necessary forms for the first step of our security clearance. Escorted by heavily armed guards, we arrived at a room in the interior of the interior of this ominous institution on the Hudson. It is a classroom with minimal decor where 16 men, serving sentences of seven years to life, met daily to engage in courses on Biblical history, theology and ethics, modern American religions, and pastoral counseling--leading to a Master's degree in Professional Studies. The courses are taught by professors from the Seminary and are every bit as arduous as those taken by non-inmate seminarians here in the city.
How, you might ask, did these men receive their undergraduate degrees? After the 1971 tragedy of Attica, New York State subcontracted with colleges and universities statewide to provide undergraduate educations to willing male and female inmates across the prison system. Spurred by this opportunity and having successfully completed their undergraduate work, a group of Sing Sing's inmates and their chaplain sought the challenge of graduate work. New York Theological Seminary responded, with the timely advocacy of an Assistant Commissioner of Corrections, who was a recent graduate of the seminary. In the last few years, the political climate has undermined the will to publicly fund this cost-effective, results-producing program. The opportunity to pursue an undergraduate education in prison is now offered by thoughtful inmates who have completed their degrees. They serve as teachers for the next generation of college graduates in prison.
Over the last 17 years, 240 men have received their Master's degrees from New York Theological Seminary, while incarcerated at Sing Sing. The program is funded through the seminary by private foundations and individual donors. This graduate program in Professional Studies equips men with the skills critical for working in community agencies and church-based settings outside of the walls. While still confined, they begin teaching and counseling their fellow inmates. For some, Sing Sing will be their only field of practice.
I requested and received permission from the class of 1999 to share the stories they shared with me and other guests during our full-day visit. If we think it's tough being a Dad in the world to which we have grown accustomed, can you imagine trying to be a Dad when it's obvious not just to your children but to the world that you have messed up big-time or that you are one of the thousands of invisible men caught in the quagmire of the Rockefeller Drug laws?
Robert Sanchez, known as Pito, is a poet and a playwright. At the age of 19, he was arrested coming out of an apartment that contained crack-cocaine. As a first-time non-violent offender, he was handed a sentence of 15 years to life. Pito is now 31. In spite of his excellent behavioral record, parole is increasingly elusive for him and so many like him. To many in positions of power, parole means not being tough on crime.
Pito grew up poor. "I got after-school jobs," he told me. "I wanted a leather jacket. My mother had problems paying the rent. At 18 I married, then signed up for the military. A car accident prevented me from entering the military. I went to business school and met this guy who offered a fast way to make money. I wanted to be like the Vanderbilts. Somewhere inside me, my father died." [repeat] "We need to tell our stories," he continued. There are 17,000 Amadou Diallo's in prison. When is enough enough?" At 19, Pito became a father, the same year he entered prison. He has a daughter, whom he has missed every day for 12 years. He acknowledges his mistakes and his bad judgment. Through the seminary graduate program, Pito--Robert Sanchez--has turned his life around.
So please forgive me, [writes the poet, Robert Sanchez] Yet again, For thinking/knowing I can be like them, Human once again....
Michael Melendez Curet is 32. "I was raised in a loving family," he told me, but "in school I was beat up by my teachers and [even] by principals. As I became older, I did things to prevent this. I carried a gun....[Yet] no one asked, 'What's happening to this kid?' I ended up in special ed."
Gerald Weeks, learning that I was a Unitarian Universalist minister, posed question after question about Unitarian Universalism. Gerald, known as Jid, has studied many religions. Like his classmates, he has also studied theology and sociology and ethics. He offered a ready commentary on the crises of our day. Jid spoke of the "economic problems out there....the gap between the rich and the poor, the feeling of some that blacks take jobs from whites, violence in the mass media, what we discovered through Columbine," that violence is not confined to communities of color. "We have to involve ourselves deeply in the struggle," he asserts. "People have to have something to do, meaningful work. The privatization of prisons, guaranteeing stocks and shares, guarantees your prison population."
Several of the men declared their desire to serve as role models for their children, models of how a person can turn their life around and make something of themselves, even in prison. "I want my child to be proud of me, and I know I have to earn that," was what I heard again and again.
Last week, I attended graduation. Upwards of 200 family and extended family members assembled in the Visiting Center of Sing Sing to witness the ceremony in which these 16 men received the mantles signifying the attainment of their Master's Degrees. After Bill Webber placed the mantle on each set of proud shoulders, every graduate shared reflections on the meaning of the program in their lives. There were many moments that moved me. Perhaps the most poignant was when Marvin Lewis had received his mantle. Marvin approached the podium, and gently called his teenage daughter to come forward. He lifted the mantle from his shoulders and placed it on hers. "Here honey, this is for you. You've earned it too."
Marvin and Gerald and Michael and Robert and their 12 fellow graduates are keeping their faith alive. They live it every day. Those who are fathers--and they are all father figures--have recaptured the dignity of parenthood. They know its anguish. They know its pride.
I wonder if the stories of these modern day fathers--rendered largely invisible by thick walls, poor judgment, misguided behavior, and political inequities--is not so distant from the story of Abraham, whose God called him to sacrifice his child. How have the exigencies of modern day life called upon these men to sacrifice the everyday gift of being a father? I wonder if the story of these modern day fathers is not so distant from the story of Isaac, pawn of family rivalries. Consider the contention among those of us who call upon the powers that be for the harshest of punishment for those who break the law and are caught--especially for men of color--and those of us who advocate opportunities for transformation. Is it not possible to view this contention as a corollary of Jacob and Esau, contending for their father's blessing?
Elkanah and Hannah surely felt their grief when their son, Samuel, was chosen to serve God in the house of Eli, away from the house of his parents. How profound is the grief of the parents of those who are sentenced to serve time in a very different house, also away from the house of their parents? How must Job have felt when he lost his entire family? How many families have been lost through our system of nominal justice?
Just as Joseph was distraught over Jesus wandering off on his own into the streets of Jerusalem, the fathers of our own city are distraught as their sons take to the streets to show that they are somebody--albeit in a much different style from that earlier adolescent. And I wonder what we all do to render our incarcerated fathers invisible, as Joseph has been rendered invisible by so many who would thwart the historical vitality of his fatherhood.
It's not easy being a dad. It's not easy being a mom. It's not easy being a person. We are here to abet creation and to witness to it, to notice each other's beautiful face and complex nature so that creation need not play to an empty house.
wrote Annie Dillard.
What does it take to fill the house? To all fathers and father figures, to all parents and parent figures, and to all children, I wish you a full house and the blessings of the day. Carpe diem. Amen. Copyright AllSouls 1999.