Romans 5:1-8

William F. Schnell

June 15, 2008

     Several years ago on Father’s Day I shared a story about how my daughter, Mary Beth, ran her mother’s van into my brand new motorcycle the day after I purchased it.  This day, which will go down in infamy, was Father’s Day 2001.  Not wishing to take any more chances with my ride after that episode, I put a sticker on my motorcycle which is there to this day.  It reads: “Nobody rides this but me.”  Even my riding buddy, John Messner, has never ridden my motorcycle, and I have managed to dump three of his over the years (one on its maiden voyage).

     But how do you say “no” to yourself when you have been cloned?  Three weeks ago on Memorial Day I said to my son, Jim Bob, “How would you like to ride my bike.”  We both had the day off, the weather was perfect and there was virtually no traffic on the road through our development.  Jim Bob donned a helmet, mounted the bike and motored to the end of our street.  Unfortunately he did not stop there and turn around.  No, the open road was beckoning and off he went because Jim Bob was “Born to be Wild.”  So when our “Wild Child” did not come back I got the keys to the truck and went to look for him. 

     He wasn’t hard to find, standing by the side of the road with a couple nasty cuts and my bike in the ditch.  I gave him the truck so I could ride my crippled bike home.  All of a sudden an upcoming ride to the Arctic Ocean looked to be in jeopardy.  However $500 worth of parts later I was able to fix the contraption myself, leaving a couple of dings in place as a reminder to Jim Bob of the dangers of overconfidence.  Plus, I installed a new horn that honks instead of beeps, but I digress.

     As I showed off my handiwork to Jim Bob he said, “Do you want me to give it a test ride?”  He was making a stab at a joke, of course, but I said, “You know Jim, the best thing you can do after a horse throws you is get back on.”  “Seriously?” he asked.  “Sure,” I said, “but not until after I get back from my road trip.”  Next time, of course, we are going to stay on the straight and level in our development while we gradually and methodically develop our skills.

     Parenting requires certain sacrifices—among other things the sacrifices of our time, our money and sometimes our cherished stuff.  Even our Father in heaven has had to make certain sacrifices on behalf of his children—certain great sacrifices.  But these he has willingly made because that is, as the title of our message puts it, “What Devoted Dads Do.”  On this Father’s Day we will learn how God models good parenting skills for us to emulate.  In this sense being a dad is like riding a motorcycle—it takes patient practice with someone who knows what he is doing.

     Today is the third sermon in a series of six from Paul’s letter to the Romans.  Thus far we have struggled with Paul’s rather convoluted way of expressing himself.  The opening verse of our text for today sums up what we have covered thus far regarding the justification for our salvation as a gift of God’s grace received through faith.  Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand (Verses 1-2).

     Translation: Life here and hereafter is a gift of God’s grace.  We can receive it by the faith that follows God’s lead, but the “Wild Child” in us can never find it going our own way.  That is only asking for a wrecked life.  But no matter how badly we wreck our lives, we are not beyond hope for being repaired by a heavenly Father who loves us.  And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.  Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us (Verses 2-5).

     Some suffering we bring on ourselves through sinful rebellion, other suffering is simply a cross to bear as we follow Christ.  But God can use both kinds of suffering to develop a godly character in us.  Just as we discipline our children for their own good when they misbehave, so, to borrow a line from the Old Testament that Paul quotes in the New, the Lord disciplines those whom he loves (Proverbs 3:12 & Hebrews 12:6).  The Lord’s discipline always aims to bring out the best in us and never the worst because he loves us.

     Would the crosses we bear for righteousness’ sake be any less an expression of God’s love for us?  For it is by dying with Christ that we are raised with Christ—raised to a new, more glorious life.  That is why Paul says we are able to rejoice in our sufferings because even they have the power to produce positive results in the hands of a loving God.  When we get to the point where we can rejoice in our sufferings, there is nothing left to take away our joy.  The key is to find an expression of God’s love in our sufferings.  This is not easy, and so God became a man to demonstrate his love for us through suffering.

     You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly.  Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die.  But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Verses 6-8).  Christ was God incarnate in human form.  Through Christ God demonstrated his perfect love for his less-than-perfect children.  Though Christ our Heavenly Father sacrificed everything for his children because that is what devoted dads do.

     Our heavenly Father is not a “Deadbeat Dad,” he is a devoted dad.  He is not an absent father or an abusive father, he is an able father—a father who is able to love his children enough to make any sacrifice necessary for their best interest.  That is the kind of father we have in heaven, that is the kind of father God expects to find on earth and that is the kind of father we celebrate on Father’s Day.  Every Father’s Day card, whether humorous or serious, will in some way allude to a devoted dad’s self-sacrificing love for his children.

      I hope you had an earthly father who did his best to emulate our heavenly father in this regard.  If you did, you are probably the kind of person who chokes back the tears while reading Father’s Day cards at the drug store.  You are probably the kind of person who, when the world is putting you down, goes to get a good dose of dad to remind you of the cherished person you are.  Or, you are probably the kind of person who still talks with a dearly departed dad to continue accessing the special wisdom of one who has always, always had your best interest at heart.  You are certainly the continuing beneficiary of his sacrificial love.

     Yesterday, Flag Day, I helped to rededicate a memorial to World War Two veterans across the street on the Library Lawn.  The cannon has been sandblasted of accumulating years of paint and dirt and rust, and repainted in olive drab.  After the festivities the crowd gathered in the Library to see a display of military uniforms and equipment from that era.  On the wall was a War Bond poster depicting a fellow answering the call to serve his country.  I knew a WW II veteran who looked just like this man.  His name was Robert Schuyler Lamneck.

     Robert was a member of what is now called “The Greatest Generation”—a generation fashioned by two great defining events in their lives: the Great Depression and the Great World War II.  It was the deprivations of the Great Depression which taught them the value of productive work, the value of a dollar and the value of community.  There was suffering to be sure, but it was a character-building kind of suffering that many came to look back upon with a strange kind of fondness.  But we get ahead of ourselves.

     Robert was 22 years old and a contender trying out for the Columbus Red Bird Baseball Team (a farm team of the St. Louis Cardinals) while his “day job” was plowing with an Allis Chalmers tractor on the family farm.  One earlyember day his father came running into the field and waved him down with the news that Pearl Harbor had been attacked.  Like most all of the young men of that era, Robert left home to answer the call of his country.  Following boot camp he was considered fit for training as a commander of the Sherman tank with its crew of five.

     Robert entered the war via Normandy (Omaha Beach in particular) on D-Day +15, where his first experience was clearing the deadly hedgerows before proceeding to the liberation of France and then engaging in what became known as “The Battle of the Bulge” with Patton’s Third Army.  Along the way he was exceedingly lucky.  One day while directing the tank from an open turret, a jarring bump caused him to fall into the tank just as a sniper round targeting him hit the hatch instead and fell into his hand.  Not all of his comrades-in-arms were so lucky.

     He was also exceedingly brave, receiving a Bronze Star for valor when his convoy was held up by machine gun and bazooka fire.  Without awaiting orders he moved his tank forward, taking two hits from bazookas which resulted in casualties for his crew, and eliminated the enemy position.  Like most veterans of that war, he never talked about his experiences and it was only many years later that his son came across the medal in a footlocker with the citation that accompanied it.

     Also like most veterans, he came home at war’s end to make up for lost time by settling down, getting married and raising children (one of whom is my wife).  Despite an excellent work ethic, he lost a job with a printing company when he was 58 years old.  That is not a good age to lose a job and start over, and the stagflation of 1977 did not bode well for employment prospects.  The only job he could find was as a public school custodian.  But as he learned during the Great Depression, any job was better than no job at all.

     Over time, the job grew on him.  By the time he worked the minimum 15 years required for retirement, he was 73 years old.  On a bulletin board by his desk were hundreds of pictures of students who had written on the back various messages “To Grandpa.”  The teachers, administrators and staff had worked together to present him with a very personalized quilt when he retired, together with a plaque expressing their appreciation.  But everyone knew he wasn’t going anywhere.  He continued substitute custodial work into his 80’s, so attached he had become to his work there.

     In the meanwhile the 13 acres he purchased for his family to live on near the airport (because the air traffic overhead rendered it so reasonably priced) became, shall we say, a bit more valuable over time while a commercial corridor was being built all around it.  With his equity growing and the offers coming he never had a thought for himself.  He continued to life a simple life, saving and investing what he could while confiding to his wife how happy they should be to have something to give to their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren after them.

     Pop never lived to see his family blessed in this way, but I suppose it was enough for him to just imagine it.  The fruit of this school custodian’s life is now largely responsible for, among other things, putting our two children through college.  Nancy and I are careful to regularly remind them of the sacrifices made for this significant investment in their education—an investment not to be taken lightly or carelessly wasted.  Of course what Pop and Mom have given to our children they have given to us as those who do not have to pay so much for our children’s education, and so we are doubly blessed.

     Why does a fellow endure the Great Depression, survive the Great World War II, labor tirelessly into his eighth decade, and finally hit the jackpot with never the first thought of spending any of it on himself?  Why?  Because “That’s What Devoted Dads Do.”  They sacrifice for those God has entrusted to their special care.  Their compensation is the enduring love and gratitude of family, the respect of fellow citizens, the satisfaction of completing the work God has given them to do and, in a word, contentment.

     At his funeral I described Pop as a common man with an uncommon devotion—devotion to God, to family, to country and to the cause of freedom around the world.  He was a soft-spoken man and not given to many words, unlike his preacher son-in-law, which reminds me of something Mario Cuomo said about his father: “I talk and talk and talk, and I haven't taught people in fifty years what my father taught me by example in one week.”

     There are many here who understand very well “What Devoted Dads Do” from similar examples embodied by their own fathers.  Bob Early lost his father six weeks ago: same story, different name.  Everybody deserves a devoted dad like that.  If you are such a dad, I hope you will find reassurance that lasting meaning, purpose and satisfaction will be found in doing just what you do.  If you had such a dad, I hope you will find a way to honor your father this day whether he is living in this world or the next.  If you did not have such a dad on earth, I hope you will take heart from having such a father in heaven who loves you with a perfect love.  For, as our hymn puts it, we are all “Children of the Heavenly Father.”