A few weeks before Christmas my father was discussing one of his step-daughters who was being ordained a minister…after a few weeks study and a correspondence course. She did her lessons at home and was flying to California for the mass ordination ceremony. He said he couldn’t believe she thought that because she paid someone a bunch of money and was taking part in a ceremony she could be a minister. “It’s just one of those cult churches…like yours.”
I felt that I had been slapped in the face. It wasn’t so much that he said that, but that he was so clueless about my newfound faith. I told him that I had never been closer to God than I am now – that I am happier in worship than when I was a member of the catholic church and that our church was a bible based, Christian church…to which he replied that “any church can say that…it’s doesn’t mean anything.”
I left the room.
I know I should have handled it better, but I was not only hurt, but stunned. I couldn’t believe that my father was still so bitter that my worship was not in his church…and it’s not even his church. It is God’s church; one of a million churches based on the life and death of Jesus Christ. I know that my father believes in God, in the resurrection and salvation guaranteed to us by our faith. I didn’t know he didn’t believe in me.
After a few other family members asked my father what he was thinking to have said what he said, he started to regret it. I had asked him to join me for our Christmas Eve service and he did, telling my oldest sister that he “owed me.”
I think that Christmas Eve opened his eyes to what I was doing with my faith. He got to see that we worshipped and prayed and loved each other. I think for the first time, he realized that I actually am in a congregation – not a group of people who show up, pray and leave.
Will he ever say he is sorry? No, he won’t. He is 88 years old. He has already forgotten the hurt he caused.
Will I have better answers the next time he asks? Gosh! I hope so.
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