Some Observations on Faith: Remembering Our Father
These are some words I presented at a memorial service for my father in October of last year.
Being back in this church, where Peter Lee baptized Charlie and where I was confirmed, has me reflecting a little bit on faith.
When I was a kid, I had faith that the service would be over and we could go walk around the sundial or run through the Arboretum.
(In fact, I specifically recall being on Franklin Street when I should have been in Sunday School, and Bob Gregg driving by and shaking his finger –lovingly- at me).
And I recall the way I thought of Daddy back then. Daddy was one smart guy, and master of reason, and science, and mathematics. The stuff that had answers. Some of the things he did in the church fell in that category: finance, the numbers, rendering to Caesar.
Our mother, by contrast, was the artist, who used color and perspective and her endless creativity in her spectacular gardens.
And I assumed that although my father very much enjoyed the fellowship and community and service for and in the church, that he was not so much a man of faith. Such a smart man would not have much use for the mystery, given that he always had the answers.
And now I am back, as an adult, having put away “childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.” (C.S. Lewis). Daddy is largely responsible for that too, because he had the knack to take his responsibilities seriously, but not to take himself too seriously.
Charlie and others have talked about how Daddy was a lifelong learner. But here’s something that you may not know. One thing that he learned and practiced throughout his life was how to love.
It’s fair to say there was some distance between Daddy and his own parents.
Daddy took me to visit my grandfather Jack’s grave on a very hot summer Columbia SC day in 1989 or so. Daddy told me that Jack was a wonderful man, but he never told anyone he loved them.
Distance between Daddy and those he loved would not be his legacy. And the person largely responsible for his growth as a person is his bride of almost 60 years, my mother Betsy Pringle. It wasn’t easy. And it took practice, as all important things do. And it took tremendous courage for Daddy learn those things. To trust. To allow. To let go of something so he could learn something new.
Daddy told all of us he loved us. Every time we parted or finished a phone call. And of course it was not just words, but deeds and actions. Daddy knew love is a verb.
And I look out and see the embodiment and byproducts of all that love. He married that brain with his love for learning and teaching and people and has left us all wanting to carry on that legacy:
- to care for each other,
- to express our gratitude for family and friendship and community; and
- to use our gifts and talents to try and make the lives of those around us a little brighter and a little better.
But the best examples I can give of his courage and love is the way he faced his Parkinson’s and his mortality in a such a clear-eyed and positive way. It was an extraordinary comfort and gift to me and to all of us that Daddy could confront and prepare for the inevitable. He planned with all of us in mind. In the midst of all that uncertainty he put us all at ease.
So, paradoxically enough, (and the paradoxes are really where we live this life), Daddy- the man of reason -taught me what faith is.
Faith for me is not some sense of absolute certainty- Instead, faith means having the courage to move through doubt and risk with grace and intention. And to be brave and helpful for others even when you don’t necessarily feel that way and you don’t know how things might turn out.
Or putting it another way: Smart is not just here (head). It’s here (heart).
Thanks, Daddy.
