Abba, Father...

Be forewarned that this is one of my sillier posts. I love the image of the Trinity, and one of my favourite lines of scripture is that when Jesus, after the resurrection, refers to "My Father and your father, my God and your God." I normally would be writing with feeling, perhaps even insight, about our status as adopted children and the like. But I'm rather worn out at the moment, so I'm about to lapse into diversion - and make a silly point that I believe remains quite true.

My earthly father, Sam, was not what one would call conventionally religious, but he did have a strong sense of vocation - God's willing him to dedicate his life to spouse and family, and this was a vocation he fulfilled superbly. His own father, Nicholas, was not a 'churchy' type in the least, but indeed was devoted to his family. I often found it amusing how Sam would assume how God had (or should have) acted, because I think he confused Yahweh and Nick.

As a simple (and very amusing) example, Sam was convinced that the reason his brothers had only sons (not that Italian men weep over that - but their wives hope for a daughter here and there) was that they did not observe the custom of naming their first son after his paternal grandfather. (In the area from which my family came, the first two sons were named for the grandfathers - and normally the first two daughters for the grandmothers. It was considered an act of respect towards one's parents.) Sam would have named his first son Nicholas - had one arrived - and he was the only one of his family to have a daughter. (I don't know that Sam actually was looking for three girls and no sons, but at least God sent him the female offspring in acknowledgement of that any son would have been named for grandfather.)

I well remember Sam's saying, of his eldest brother (the obligation related to names fell the strongest on the eldest) whose wife longed for a girl, "The first one they name William. The second Anthony! So, when the third one came, they finally wised up and named him Nicholas, and God said 'to hell with you, I'm not sending you any more.'"

Italian people will never be noted for devotion to king and country, as I've explained in other posts. Basically (and I for one think this is wise), "I" think first of myself, then of my family. Not being one for structures, family is cherished because it is the one obligation we revere, and in which security lies. The elderly, ill, children, anyone in need will always have care from the family in our tradition.

In the company of others not of their background, Italian people do tend to assimilate all too well (and I say this with some regret.) I love when they are strictly amongst their own, and approach church (if, indeed, they approach at all other than at milestones of life) as 'my father's house,' being comfortable, even a step short of rowdy, in the process. There certainly is no excessive guilt (unless one neglected a parent!), let alone a fear of hell. Dad may be disappointed in a child. He may express anger - may even smack you. But hell? Unthinkable. And, one way or another, any Father will provide for you. (No one ever thought less of that for being poor. God still was providing, as best he could.)

Still, there are times when any one of us can be confused because, deep down, we confuse God with our fathers. I miss my father terribly (he died in 1997 - and how I still wish I could pick up the phone or turn the corner to the old street and find him there.) I'll admit there are times I've wept, the 50+ orphan, because I was troubled or needy and wish he was there to turn to - independent though one may be (I was independent in many ways before I could walk...), when one is alone one has the days of wishing one had a home to which one could return, at least now and then.

Sam certainly had no concept of the arts, literature, theology, mysticism and the like. I think he saw me as purely ornamental. It took him many years to see that I was not lazy. (Those who know me would undoubtedly be astonished that I, one so driven and passionate, could ever be thought lazy, of all things. But Sam saw study, music, writing, etc., as 'resting.' ) I sometimes become confused, because I can offer thanks to God for the gifts and vocation God gave me, yet fall into a sort of placating because they are beyond my earthly father's comprehension.

There's another side to this, of course. I can write of the philosophical problem of evil quite prolifically, and have done so on this blog. Yet, whatever Sam's shortcomings, I cannot imagine that, if he had boundless power, he would have not rid any of his children from disease, famine, war, and so forth. So - we often are tugged in two directions! Our image of the divine father can make us fearful or ashamed - yet we also wonder if God lacks the basic generosity of the earthly father.

No wonder it took millennia for God to be seen as Father, rather than as, oh, let us say fire in a burning bush. :)