Like a Father With His Children

The Love That Teaches Us to Be Free

As you know, we dealt with each one of you like a father with his children. 

— 1 Thessalonians 2:11

In our Old Testament reflection earlier this week, we considered Joshua's instruction to select one representative from each of Israel's twelve tribes. It reminded us that families provide a natural foundation for organizing society, preserving relationships, and passing along the memories and responsibilities of one generation to the next. Then, in our reflection on the Psalms, we considered the difficult question of human freedom and its consequences. Why does a loving God permit people to make decisions that may hurt themselves or others? Today, the Apostle Paul brings those questions together with a wonderfully familiar illustration. He describes his relationship with the Thessalonian Christians as being like that of a father with his children. And in the following verse, he explains that he encouraged, comforted, and urged each of them to live a life worthy of God. What a beautiful picture of loving authority!

Anyone who has raised children knows something about the difficult balance between protection and freedom. Imagine giving a sixteen-year-old the keys to the family car. The parent knows perfectly well that terrible things could happen. The young driver might make a serious mistake, give in to pressure from friends, or behave recklessly and cause an accident. Wouldn't it be safer simply to refuse the keys? Perhaps. But a parent who tried to eliminate every possible danger by keeping a child confined, controlled, and dependent would not be demonstrating greater love. Such treatment could become cruel. Loving parents teach, supervise, establish boundaries, and gradually loosen their grip as their children develop judgment and responsibility. They know that experience is one of life's greatest teachers. The goal is not to keep children permanently dependent upon their parents, but to prepare them to live wisely and freely.

I think this helps us understand something about God's relationship with humanity. We sometimes ask why a loving God permits people to make choices that cause suffering. But would we really prefer a world in which God prevented every human being from making a consequential decision? Would love, responsibility, trust, or moral growth have the same meaning if we were never permitted to choose? Human freedom does not explain every kind of suffering, and the terrible harm people sometimes inflict upon innocent others remains a profound moral problem. Yet the analogy of a loving parent helps us recognize that love does not always mean preventing every painful outcome. Paul did not describe himself as controlling every decision made by the Thessalonians. He encouraged them, comforted them, urged them toward goodness, and treated each person with individual concern. Freedom without guidance can become neglect. Protection without freedom can become captivity. Love seeks something better than either.

But Paul's comparison also reminds me of another remarkable dimension of parenthood: its place within the continuing history of a family. Some years ago, during an outdoor devotional, I invited people to think about the photographs we display in our homes. Parents proudly show pictures of their children, and grandparents often have photographs of their grandchildren everywhere! They invest in those grandchildren, delight in their accomplishments, and sometimes become among the most beloved and influential people in their lives. And what a special blessing when someone lives long enough to know great-grandchildren! Even when age limits their activities or sharpness of memory, they may treasure every opportunity to spend time with those youngest members of the family. We expect people to be proud of their descendants, to preserve their pictures, and to tell stories about them.

Then I asked a question that turned the whole illustration around. What about the generations who came before us? How many of us display photographs of our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, or even great-great-grandparents? How many know their stories? We think it perfectly natural for a grandparent to celebrate three or four generations of descendants, but we sometimes regard someone who researches three or four generations of ancestors as having an unusual hobby! Why should that be? We would not even exist without those people. My own great-grandparents lived during the period between roughly 1860 and 1940. My grandmother remembered her grandfather and told me stories about him. Other relatives remembered his wife and shared their memories with me. These are not merely names from some remote historical era. They are people connected to me through a surprisingly short chain of living relationships. And if future generations of my own family live into the twenty-second century, the span between those ancestors and my descendants may approach three hundred years. Think of the extraordinary reach of a single family across time!

Of course, ancestry does not confer automatic wisdom or moral authority. Some parents and grandparents have been wonderful guides; others have caused great harm. The prophet Micah, whom we encountered in our first reading, reminds us that those entrusted with leadership are accountable for how they treat the people in their care. Yet our ancestors occupy a permanent place in our family story, whether or not we know their names. Their decisions, relationships, sacrifices, and failures helped shape the circumstances into which later generations were born. And that makes the responsibility of parenthood especially significant. We are not simply raising children for the present moment. We are participating in a story that began long before us and may continue for centuries after we are gone. The love, encouragement, example, and freedom we offer today may influence people we will never live to meet.

When Paul describes treating the Thessalonians like a father with his children, he is reminding us that loving relationships involve more than affection or authority. They require encouragement, comfort, instruction, accountability, and the willingness to help others grow into responsible freedom. These responsibilities extend beyond biological families into the family of faith, where we are called to care for people who may share none of our ancestry. And perhaps that gives us two questions worth carrying into our own lives. Am I helping the people entrusted to my care become wiser, freer, and more capable of loving others? And am I remembering with gratitude the people whose lives helped make my own possible? A loving family looks both forward and backward, honoring those who came before while preparing those who will follow. And at its best, it teaches us how to love the larger human family as well.

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