Access To The Father

Dear St Andrew’s,

The story is told of a young soldier fighting for the Union during the American Civil War. It was 1864, and he had been away from his family for several years when news reached him that his father was gravely ill and unlikely to live much longer. “Please come home.”

The soldier immediately sought compassionate leave, but his request was refused. Desperate to see his dying father, he travelled to Washington to appeal directly to the army’s Commander-in-Chief, President Abraham Lincoln. Not surprisingly, he could not even get through the gates of the White House.

Distraught, he sat on a nearby bench and wept. After a while, a young boy sat beside him and asked what was wrong. The soldier explained his predicament. The boy thought for a moment and then said, “Come with me.”

To the soldier’s amazement, the White House gates opened for the boy without question. He strode up the drive, through the front door, along corridors and past officials, with the increasingly nervous soldier following behind. Eventually, the boy opened the door to the President’s office. Abraham Lincoln looked up from a meeting with his War Cabinet and smiled.

“What can I do for you, Tad?”

“Papa,” said the boy, “there’s a man here who would like to see you.”

Whether every detail of that story is historically accurate, I cannot say. But it beautifully illustrates a remarkable Christian truth: through the Son, we have access to the Father.

The God to whom we pray is the Creator of heaven and earth, the Lord of history and the ruler of the universe. Yet Jesus teaches us to approach him with the words, “Our Father.” Through Christ, we have received the Holy Spirit, been freed from slavery to sin and adopted into God’s family. As Paul writes:

“The Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father’” (Romans 8:15).

“Abba” was the intimate language of family life—something like “Papa” or “Dad.” It expresses not flippant familiarity, but loving confidence. We do not creep nervously into God’s presence, wondering whether he will tolerate us. Nor do we need to persuade him that we are worthy of an audience. We come because the Son brings us in.

This is especially good news because Father’s Day can evoke very different emotions. Many of us will give thanks for fathers who have loved, protected and encouraged us—perhaps while also embarrassing us with terrible jokes. Others will remember fathers who are no longer with us. Some carry sadness because their father was absent, distant or harmful. Others know the pain of strained relationships with their own children, or the grief of longing to be a father and never having that opportunity.

No earthly father perfectly reflects our heavenly Father. Even the very best fall short. But God’s fatherhood is not a larger version of our human experience; rather, human fatherhood is meant to be a small and imperfect reflection of his. He is never absent, never selfish, never cruel and never too distracted to listen. He chose to make us his children at immense cost to himself: “God sent his Son…that we might receive adoption to sonship” (Galatians 4:4–5).

So, this Father’s Day, let us give thanks for the good gifts we have received through earthly fathers and father figures, while finding our deepest security in the Father who welcomes us through his Son.

Heavenly Father, we thank you for fathers and for all who offer fatherly love, care, wisdom and encouragement. Help them to reflect your love, grace and self-giving sacrifice. Strengthen new fathers; sustain those whose children are suffering or have died; comfort those who miss a father no longer with them; and bring healing to those whose experience of fatherhood has involved absence, disappointment or hurt. Be close to those for whom this day is painful, and assure all who trust in Christ that they are your beloved children, welcomed through your Son and held securely in your love. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

God bless,

James