How do you feel about the word father?

Growing up, I felt the word like a thorn in my flesh. A frequent reminder of what I didn’t have. A gateway term into descending valleys of discouragement, insecurity, and envy. Father: whenever I heard the word, it mercilessly brought back to my mind what I was trying to forget. I was fatherless.

Perhaps your story is similar. Perhaps your father, like mine, left you and your family when you were young. Or maybe your father, unlike mine, was often home but never really present for you. Or perhaps your father had every intention of being a good father but was prevented by disease, disaster, or death.

Regardless of the reason, many today know themselves as fatherless. You might count yourself among their number. But have you also come to know yourself in light of what God, the Father, says to his fatherless people?

He Will Be Yours

Father figures are a great gift from God. I had a few growing up; perhaps you did as well. Though some of them were truly fatherly, none was ever truly my father. At the end of the day, they returned to their own home and I to mine, only to find my temporary escape from fatherlessness evaporating once again. Can the fatherless ever truly find a father of their own? King David, writing Psalm 68, answers in the affirmative:

Father of the fatherless . . . is God in his holy habitation. (Psalm 68:5)

What a breathtaking reality! God is not merely a father figure to the fatherless. Nor simply father-like to the fatherless. He is not a part-time, second-string, when-available father to the fatherless. He is a full-time, all-in, every-sense-of-the-term Father to the fatherless (Psalm 68:5).

He disciplines as a father (Hebrews 12:7), listens as a father (Matthew 6:9), provides as a father (Matthew 7:11), and shows compassion as a father (Psalm 103:13), including to the fatherless. He is present and available to his children in ways that even the best of earthly fathers could never be.

He doesn’t slumber or sleep as you toss and turn in the night. Though even the best of earthly fathers must eventually rest, God the Father remains attentive — ever ready to hear the voice of his children (Psalm 17:6).

He doesn’t give bad advice or mislead in ways that even the best of fathers occasionally do. No, his counsel is always good. His instruction is always wise. He makes his children’s paths straight (Proverbs 3:6).

He does not weaken in strength or fail in energy as the strongest earthly fathers will. Through his strength, his children are made strong (Ephesians 6:10) — even and especially when his children see they have no strength of their own (2 Corinthians 12:10).

“Though even the best of earthly fathers must eventually give way to rest, God the Father remains attentive.”

Your father’s absence from your life was real and significant. Yet far more real and significant is God’s presence in your life. He is not like a father, but actually Father. And not just any father, but your very own heavenly Father.

Do you long to know the love of a father? Do you yearn to have a father to call your own? In Christ, God is the Father to the fatherless, and the fatherless become the fathered in his embrace.

His Help Will Be Yours

We all are needy by nature. When fathers help meet those needs, calm and security flourish. When they don’t, fear and anxiety take hold, and questions begin to arise. Who will protect me when someone seeks my harm? Who will provide for me when my need is greatest? Who will be there to tell me who I am, what I’m worth, and where I should go when I no longer know?

If fatherless, then “dad” is scrapped from the list of viable answers. It seems only a matter of time before “no one” or “guess I’ll have to” fills in the gaps. Those voices will mask our neediness for a while. They’ll numb us for a time. But they cannot change reality — we are still needy till help arrives. But what kind of help arises for the fatherless? Psalm 10:14 explains: “You have been the helper of the fatherless.”

When the fatherless lift their eyes to the hills, where does their help come from? God, the Maker of heaven and earth (Psalm 121:1–2). It is he who executes justice for the fatherless (Deuteronomy 10:18). It is he who pleads their cause (Proverbs 23:10–11). It is he who upholds the fatherless and keeps them from ruin (Psalm 146:9). He guards them with his law; he hears them when they cry; he executes vengeance on their behalf so that injustice never has the final word over them (Exodus 22:22). The fatherless throughout the ages have brought their needs to him. They’ve called out to him expectantly for love, provision, and protection. He, their Father, has been their helper.

Do you feel needy? Do you feel weak? Do you seek a father who can strengthen you, help you, and uphold you (Isaiah 41:10)? One who will go with you and never leave you nor forsake you (Deuteronomy 31:6)? One on whom you can cast your every fear and anxiety and know his genuine care (1 Peter 5:7)? Look no further. God has been the helper of the fatherless. If you put your hope in him, he will be your helper too.

His Home Will Be Yours

A house without a man of the house rarely feels like home. With one parent instead of two, a home can feel stuck in a state of flux, perpetually incomplete. It is, after all, a fraction of what God designed it to be, and often everyone inside knows it. Will the fatherless ever taste a true experience of home?

In Psalm 27, David revels in the glory of home — God’s home. Here is a place of supreme gladness: “I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy” (verse 6). Here unshakable security and safety can be found: “He will hide me in his shelter” (verse 5). Here is a dwelling in which to enjoy unfathomable intimacy with the Father: “To gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple” (verse 4). It’s no wonder David longs to go there. But do you know who else is invited?

My father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in. (Psalm 27:10)

Watch as the fatherless approach his doorway in droves. See the Father open wide his door to them. Take in his smile, his gladness, his joy as he leads all of them to their very own room — the one he’s made just for them. His home is now their home. His courts are now their courts. He, the God who made his dwelling among them, now makes their dwelling with him. They are home, finally home, experiencing every bit of glory that word conveys.

The once fatherless, now fathered. The once helpless, now helped. Those once kneeling in the ashes of a broken home, now standing in the glory of his unbreakable home. This is the blessing of our great God and Father. He sent his Son so that we could become his sons, and now he ever works for the good of his children.

We’ve all been disappointed by someone. We’ve all known what it feels like to be let down. The bitter taste, the sharp sting, the nagging sense of betrayal — it hurts when people fail us. It hurts even more when the people who fail us are our friends. The deeper the relationship, the deeper the potential wounds from disappointment. David knew that deeper pain:

For it is not an enemy who taunts me — then I could bear it; it is not an adversary who deals insolently with me — then I could hide from him. But it is you, a man, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend. (Psalm 55:12–13)

In another psalm, he says, “Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me” (Psalm 41:9).

As Christians, our deepest relationships are often those found and cultivated within the local church. And rightfully so, for, as the church, we are “members one of another” (Romans 12:5). Unlike all our other relationships, we are called to “love one another with brotherly affection (and) outdo one another in showing honor” (Romans 12:10). This makes church relationships uniquely deep and glorious. That means they can also be uniquely, deeply disappointing.

Do you know this by experience? If so, how have you sought to handle it?

The Way of the Cynic

One way to handle this potential for disappointment is cynicism. As a defense mechanism, cynicism markets itself as a way to avoid future disappointment by assuming everyone’s an imposter. The cynic leans on his familiar formula: “You only do (action), because you want (result).” He can attribute impure motives to just about anyone, even those in the local church.

The young man volunteering in childcare is only trying to impress his girlfriend.
The older woman attending multiple Bible studies is only trying to earn the respect and admiration of her peers.
The pastor preaching God’s word is only trying to grow his church (and his salary).

No one in our churches, whether in the pulpit, or on the platform, or in the pews, can evade the cynic’s accusations.

Sadly, cynicism often seems to work, at least for the moment. The one who views the whole world as a fraud is very rarely disappointed. Instead, he appears to have exchanged his potential of future disappointment for the present impression of power (“Now I’m the one who gets to criticize”), and control (“I decide if and when to trust them”), and courage (“I don’t need anyone but me”). And yet, those impressions of power, control, and courage, are only just that: counterfeits of the real things. And as counterfeits, they take more than they give.

Consider, after all, the glorious works of God that any cynic must disregard. When face-to-face with a man who has been radically transformed by God, or a woman who has found her happiness in Jesus despite all the suffering she’s endured, or a whole host of elderly believers who have held on faithfully to God since childhood — what can the cynic do but scoff? A God of miracles and love can’t exist if every saint’s a fraud. We might take up cynicism as a shield against disappointment, but it ends up functioning as a shield against the living God. It keeps us from seeing the wonders of all he’s done.

How ironically disappointing is the world of the cynic?

Disappointment from friends can hurt. Disappointment from brothers and sisters in the church can hurt more still. For those who know this all too well and have found themselves growing cynical as a result, I invite you to lay down your shield and take your disappointment somewhere else.

What Would Jesus Say?

Jesus is the thoroughly genuine man. He says what he means and he means what he says — before every audience, in every context, at all times. He cannot be charged with guile. Insincerity hides from his presence. He is true. He is pure. He is peerless. He is the cynic’s kryptonite. Because of who he is, we can go to him with our church-inflicted hurts, disappointments, and fears, and we can ask him, “Jesus, what do you have to say about these people?” What do you think he would say to us?

“I have called them.”

Faults, blemishes, sins, and all, Jesus has been at work in the lives of those around you. He’s known their names since “before the foundation of the world,” and from eternity he has set his love upon them (Revelation 13:8). At the right time, he came and laid his life down for these sheep, weak, sinful, and ungodly as they were (and weak, sinful, and ungodly as they still are at times) (Romans 5:6–8). Knowing all this beforehand, he still called them (Romans 8:30). Many of them, long before you ever knew them, and long before they ever joined your church.

Yes, they may have disappointed you. Yes, they may have hurt you. But Jesus has been at work in them all the same — calling them out of death, into life, and, in this season, into the membership of your church. Will you choose to love the brothers and sisters whom Jesus has already chosen to love?

“I am still calling them.”

Jesus never calls people partway home. When he calls, he calls all the way: “Those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified” (Romans 8:30). And all along the way, he himself is working in them for his own good pleasure (Philippians 2:13). Although they, like you, might go through seasons of spiritual drought or despair, he will yet sustain them and make them blameless (1 Corinthians 1:8).

They are, right now, members of the church — his very body of which he is the head. And one day, they will be presented as a bride before him in splendor without spot, wrinkle, or blemish (Ephesians 5:27). He has begun a great work in them, and he promises to finish that work (Philippians 1:6). So will you choose to love this great work even when, at times, it results in great disappointment? He has not grown cynical about them. Should you?

The Hope in Excommunication

But what if some members of your church aren’t actually believers? What if they really are hypocrites? What if they are “lovers of self, lovers of money,” . . . “lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power” (2 Timothy 3:2–5)? Or, what if they are genuine lovers of God but seriously and actively walking out of step with their faith?

Either way, the church responds with action, not inaction. Where cynicism would only sit on its hands and sneer, Christian courage, fueled by love and oiled by grace, gets up on its feet in pursuit of the one who is living out of step with godliness. We don’t say, “I told you so,” but, “Brother, come back.” And should our efforts fail, and the time comes to remove them from fellowship, even then, things would not be done as the cynic would have it, but in hope — hoping for miraculous repentance and restoration (1 Corinthians 5:5).

God’s people, with all our faults and immaturities, are God’s glorious works in progress. Though our hearts are often fickle, they are also cleansed. Therefore, we don’t write one another off, but commit to one another, rejoice with one another, give grace to one another. In the process, we will certainly be disappointed, but Jesus will even more certainly be a sufficient salve for our wounds. So, we renounce the way of the cynic and lay our disappointments and fear with Jesus, listening to what he says about his people, and then believing he’s at work in them, even when we don’t see it.