An Archetype of Fatherhood

There is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man.

Job 1:8

   We need to connect with examples of fatherhood who have finished the race. One of the very earliest such examples in recorded history, and one of the most significant archetypes of fatherhood in the Scriptures, is Job.

   We're all familiar with Job as an example of patient suffering under incredible trials. He's famous for that. But we often overlook the fact that he is also a consummate example of fatherhood. In him are the essential attributes men need to rediscover if they are to free themselves from the shackles of our feminized culture.

   Job lived near the dawn of civilized humanity. The book named after him, according to many Christian and Hebrew scholars, is the oldest in the entire Bible.

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He is remembered indeed venerated in sacred and secular circles alike as a man of enormous staying power; in fact, "the patience of Job" is a phrase that has become a part of our everyday language.

   The crucially important characteristics revealed about Job in chapter 29 of the book bearing his name form a good description of what responsible fatherhood is all about. Here is that chapter:

Job further continued his discourse, and said:

“Oh, that I were as in months past,

As in the days when God watched over me;

When His lamp shone upon my head,

And when by His light I walked through darkness;

Just as I was in the days of my prime,

When the friendly counsel of God was over my tent;

When the Almighty was yet with me,

When my children were around me;

When my steps were bathed with cream,

And the rock poured out rivers of oil for me!

“When I went out to the gate by the city,

When I took my seat in the open square,

The young men saw me and hid,

And the aged arose and stood;

The princes refrained from talking,

And put their hand on their mouth;

The voice of nobles was hushed,

And their tongue stuck to the roof of their mouth.

When the ear heard, then it blessed me,

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And when the eye saw, then it approved me;

Because I delivered the poor who cried out,

The fatherless and the one who had no helper.

The blessing of a perishing man came upon me,

And I caused the widow’s heart to sing for joy.

I put on righteousness, and it clothed me;

My justice was like a robe and a turban.

I was eyes to the blind,

And I was feet to the lame.

I was a father to the poor,

And I searched out the case that I did not know.

I broke the fangs of the wicked,

And plucked the victim from his teeth.

“Then I said, ‘I shall die in my nest,

And multiply my days as the sand.

My root is spread out to the waters,

And the dew lies all night on my branch.

My glory is fresh within me,

And my bow is renewed in my hand.’

“Men listened to me and waited,

And kept silence for my counsel.

After my words they did not speak again,

And my speech settled on them as dew.

They waited for me as for the rain,

And they opened their mouth wide as for the spring rain.

If I mocked at them, they did not believe it,

And the light of my countenance they did not cast down.

I chose the way for them, and sat as chief;

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So I dwelt as a king in the army,

As one who comforts mourners.

   I have identified nine traits exhibited by Job in this chapter. Let's look at each one individually and see how it fits into the model for fatherhood.

1. A Sense of Continuity with the Past

   Job was a man who had a sense of continuity with the past. He valued the past, but not as one who pines for "the good old days" in order to keep from dealing with present realities. Rather, he valued the past because of the truth it taught him about God, about people, and about himself. It helped him put current events in a proper perspective. Through remembering how God had dealt with him in the past, in "the days when God watched over me" (v.2), Job was able to endure his present suffering.

   What a contrast to modern American males. We, too, are undergoing a certain amount of present suffering. But unlike Job, we act as if we had no past from which to learn. In fact, we often seem to exercise a not-so-subtle contempt for the past. We may be awed by the enduring triumphs of art, architecture, and craftsmanship of ancient times, but we brush off as absurd the thought that yesterday's ideas about fathers, their families, or their God could be of any possible help to us "enlightened" moderns. Many of us come from religious perspectives in which the history of the Church between the first century and contemporary times is

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seen as irrelevant to what we believe and practice. Most Americans can hardly even recall the first names of their grandparents, if they ever knew them at all.

   As I have already stated, there is a reason for this. Since the Reformation, we have severed ourselves from our history. In its attempt to justify its rebellion against Rome, the Protestant movement, from which most of us come, threw out fifteen hundred years of history. This attitude of viewing the past with hostility or, at the least, indifference, has carried over to our modern post-Christian culture. I read recently that only a minority of American high school students know what World War II was about.

   Men may talk about the wisdom of Solomon, but how many of us actually look to his proverbs for instruction in raising our children? Aren't we more likely to follow the advice of the latest pop psychologist? And what of our own lifestyles and value systems? It seems that talk-show hosts and Madison Avenue advertising agencies, not Solomon or the Bible or the fathers and saints of the Church, wield the greatest influence over the men of modern America.

   Giant technological and scientific strides in the last century have lulled Americans into making the erroneous assumption that we must have also made great improvements in human relationships. Therefore, we reason, we need not look to the past for instruction on how to raise a family or how to be a man any more than we would for advice on how to gain access to the internet. We tend to believe that newer must be better.

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But even a cursory glance at the headlines of any major newspaper on any day will clearly show that in the realm of human relationships we are doing no better, in fact are probably doing far worse, than those who went before us.

   Haven't you ever wondered why marriages used to work, why family members got along reasonably well, why there wasn't a perpetual and almost frantic search for "alternative lifestyles," why the word "family" meant the same thing to everyone? It's hard to find satisfactory answers to these questions when words such as tradition and holiness have been contemptuously relegated to the realm of the irrelevant. Who knows? We might even learn a few things if we asked our aged relatives what things worked well for them, instead of shuttling them off to a retirement village or locking them up in an old-age home.

   Believers certainly did better when they maintained a link with the entirety of past generations. Could it be that Paul knew what he was talking about when he told the Christians at Thessalonica, "Stand fast and hold [to] the traditions which you were taught" (2 Thessalonians 2:15)?

   Men will never fully recapture their missing manhood, and become the responsible fathers they're supposed to be, until we repent of our modern arrogance and humbly look at the history of masculinity to see what truths it has to pass on to us. Each father's personal past and the histories of others are wonderful instructors. We isolate ourselves from the past at

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great peril. We are not islands. All of history is our history.

2. A Close Relationship with His Children

   One of the first things mentioned about Job was that he was a father. But something about Job's fathering stands in stark contrast to the way so many American men operate today. In the midst of his suffering and exile, Job said he missed the days "when my children were around me" (v.5). He obviously did not view children as an intrusion into the pursuit of his personal ambitions. On the contrary, they were a prime source of his pleasure.

   Job's concern for his children went beyond seeing that they had a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. In his mind, fathers were obliged to care for the spiritual needs of their offspring as well. Job did not leave the religious state of the children entirely up to Mrs. Job or the "Sabbath school" teacher. He saw himself as ultimately responsible for their spiritual development. He was devoted to their well-being. Look at the evidence.

   From an earlier passage in the Book of Job, we learn that he would get out of bed early in the morning to offer sacrifices on behalf of his children: "He would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings according to the number of them all. For Job said, 'It may be that my sons have sinned and cursed God in their hearts' " (Job 1:5).

   So Job prayed before the Lord on their behalf. Job

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had ten children, by the way. Not a small family, by any means. Yet he took pains to be intimately involved in securing the physical and spiritual welfare of each of his seven sons and three daughters. You'd think that with that many children he would be all "fathered" out. But he wasn't. His children were a priority with him, and he was wise enough to know that the most important thing he could do for them was to pray for them — not talk about praying for them, but actually do it. Daily. Even though he had to get up early to do it.

   Praying each morning and evening is not a habit for most American men. But in the historic Church, as it has been from the days of the psalmists, fathers have had a morning and evening rule of prayer. This has always been understood as an important ingredient of responsible fatherhood, an ingredient that has been all but lost from the Protestant experience.

3. Being a Father to the Fatherless

   Job was also actively involved in the care and guidance of children beyond the walls of his own home. "When the eye saw, then it approved me; because I delivered the poor who cried out, the fatherless and the one who had no helper" (vv. 11, 12). To him, helping the poor and the fatherless was part of what it mean to be a man.

   I have fond childhood memories of the way my father cared for the poor. I can remember riding with my sister in the back seat of Dad's 1940 Pontiac on

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Sunday afternoons as we took groceries to some "poor people." One hot summer day, as we were going to make yet another delivery of food, my mother commented that we really didn't have very much food for ourselves. Dad replied, "We have more than these people do." That was the end of the conversation.

   How many of the single mothers of America could use the help of a Job today? And how many of the millions of fatherless children under the age of eighteen could be saved from great harm if there were more men like Job around? Of all generations, surely ours is one that will reap the direst consequences if we allow our paternal involvements to be limited by biology alone. It needs to go beyond our own family.

   May I say a careful word here? Boys don't need "big brothers" as much as they need fathers. If a man joins one of the helper agencies to assist young men without fathers, he should be a father to them, not just a bigger kid on the block. He should try to show them as much of the fullness of fatherhood as circumstances allow.

   Biology is not what makes one truly paternal. As Clayton Barbeau writes, "The conscious sense of responsibility for the physical and spiritual well-being of others is the mark of a true father."¹ Such a father was Job.

4. A Thirst for Justice

   Part of the incredible power that draws millions of men and boys to embrace the celluloid superhero of today, the latest crop of macho men, is their thirst for

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justice. Wanting to see offenders punished and the enemy destroyed is a basic orientation put into men by God. Fathers want this justice.

   Job covered himself with this kind of justice as with a suit of clothes, and took it with him in every encounter of life. "My justice was like a robe and a turban" (v. 14), he said. Always wanting to be fair, never making a judgment without listening to both sides, knowing that condemnation without investigation is foolish, Job said, "I searched out the case that I did not know" (v. 16). But when he found injustice — watch out! If he saw evil ones preying upon the innocent, he took aggressive action: he "broke the fangs of the wicked, and plucked the victim from his teeth" (v. 17).

   "Cruel, harsh words!" comes the cry from our nice-guy society. "This Job person is uncivilized. Such a barbaric and aggressive orientation within men must go. It does not belong in politically correct modern America."

   Hostile charges against men's natural inclination to aggressively seek justice involve a play on feminized emotions. They are a sneaky, disarming attempt to strip males of their manhood — to make them feel guilty over something innately masculine. Real men get angry over injustice. The Son of God Himself ran the moneychangers out of the temple. It is essential that today's men resist guilt for thinking, acting, and feeling the way real men think, act, and feel.

   I'm not talking about having a vengeful spirit. Revenge is usually concerned with getting even for

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some personal grievance. Job desired to see injustice punished, not for his own sake, but for the sake of others. Of all the things that God allowed to come Job's way, several were the result of injustice. Thieves stole his oxen, donkeys, and camels. But there is no record of this father organizing a posse to recover his property. He had great patience regarding wrongs he personally suffered. But you had better not mess with the widows and orphans!

   Most women probably would not act as Job did. They would not "feel right" about it. And naturally so. They would be more likely to pray for mercy, because that is a basic orientation given to women from God. Please understand that I am not saying that women have no desire for justice or that men lack compassion. I'll show in a moment that Job was also a man of mercy. But when speaking about men as a whole, one must speak of the norm and not the exception. Usually a father's desire for justice is stronger than his propensity to give mercy, and the opposite is true of moms. That's why when little Johnny comes home bruised and bloody from an encounter with a neighborhood bully, it is usually Mom who seeks to comfort Johnny, while Dad is already thinking of how to see that the bully gets dealt with. When a mother's feelings of mercy become the rule of practice and dominate a father's innate sense of justice, society will lose its sharp cutting edge for what is right and wrong.

   Let me ask you this question: Would a mother have cleansed the temple of God with a whip and turned

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over the tables of the moneychangers? Today, the answer would probably be yes. But only because the father of today would be too "nice" to kick corruption in the seat of the pants. The fact is, we need both justice and mercy. Like Job, we fathers were created to seek justice in all things.

   For instance, how can we stand by and watch as one-and-a-half million unborn children are murdered in the wombs of American mothers each year without doing something to halt the killing? Those with unwanted pregnancies get "mercy" (which is not real mercy, because it leads women into sin and lifelong remorse) while the unborn die without justice. And interestingly, if you take the feminist women and the feminized men out of the pro-abortion movement, you don't have much left.

   In the Scriptures, we are told to be angry and sin not (Ephesians 4:26) — that is, to be angry without evil passion at the things that are destroying our faith, our homes, and our children. The fact that men were created to desire and aggressively seek justice, to want to see offenders punished and the enemy destroyed, is an essential part of the manly courage needed to take action in the world in which we live.

5. Godly Mercy

   What made Job stand for justice at all costs? Unlike many other fathers of material wealth in history, Job was also a man of mercy. His wealth did not stop his ears to the cries of people asking for help or blind his eyes to

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their plight. Job was out there making it happen.

   Job actively pursued the needy. Like the good Samaritan, he went out of his way to provide a strong, merciful hand. And all those who witnessed the unselfish demonstrations of mercy were amazed. Job said that people who knew him all approved of him. Why? "Because I delivered the poor who cried out, the fatherless and the one who had no helper" (v. 12).

   Job has much to teach us. We need to give something to anyone who asks, even if it is just a blessing. We need to stop judging the motives of the beggar and start looking for the image of God in each one of them, no matter how repulsive or obnoxious they seem to be.

   Job was the kind of man people wanted near them at the most critical time of their lives — the moment of impending death. Remember his words: "the blessing of a perishing man came upon me" (v. 13).

   Job said, "I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy" (v. 13). Mercy made wealthy Job both real and tangible to his community. It made him blameless. He was honored and respected. Nevertheless, mercy did not reign at the expense of justice. Job was merciful, and he was also just: mercy and justice meet together in responsible fatherhood.

6. Being Respected by Others

   Unlike humorist Rodney Dangerfield, Job was a man who got all the respect he could handle. His singular presence altered the behavior of those around him. No one could ignore him. This father's deeds were

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so awesome and his actions so courageous that other men met him with honor fit for a king.

   This man of God's own choosing did not, by the way, demand respect. He got it the old-fashioned way — he earned it! Job wasn't born with fully developed spiritual gifts and manly characteristics. None of us are. He labored hard to develop them, as any righteous man would do. I believe Job diligently pursued those virtues and characteristics that reflected the privilege that all men share in being created in the image of God.

   Job, through practice, had his senses trained to discern good and evil. He matured well with age. His presence exposed the foolishness of youth. "When I went out to the gate by the city, when I took my seat in the open square, the young men saw me and hid" (vv. 7-8).

   Those who desired wisdom and knowledge received this man. They welcomed him like a triumphant hero coming home from the conquest: "The aged arose and stood; the princes refrained from talking, and put their hand on their mouth; the voice of nobles was hushed, and their tongue stuck to the roof of their mouth. When the ear heard, then it blessed me, and when the eye saw, then it approved me" (vv. 8-11).

   Several years ago, some of the families in our parish received eleven Japanese girls into their homes as exchange students. At the end of their four-week stay, one man presented the girls with a specific question: "What was the most disturbing thing to you about us Americans?"

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   Their reply? "Disrespect for elders."

   I agree with them. The next question is, how do we regain this respect?

   If a man does not pursue wisdom, mercy, and justice, what is there to respect? If a father is not personally involved with the care of his kids, what is there to honor? Wives are told in the Holy Scriptures to respect their husbands. But let's be honest. Who has killed their respect? We men, that's who. We are making it almost impossible for women to respect us. I know of large numbers of Christian women who respect and honor their husbands solely out of obedience to the Lord, not because of their husbands' persistent, merciful, no-nonsense holiness. Job gained the respect of others because of his true manliness, and he also had the respect of God Himself!

7. Stability and Rootedness

   The stability of Job's lifestyle stands in vivid contrast to the anxious mobility that permeates our society. The transience of American neighborhoods prevents us from building a sense of community and keeps us from experiencing the security and identity that such stability can bring. In the words of Vance Packard, we have indeed become "a nation of strangers."

   Job desired the order and peace that permanence brings to families. He had no greener pastures to which to move. He intended to "die in [his] nest" (v.18). He set down roots that "spread out to the waters" (v. 19). He wanted to grow old in the place of his abode, where

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he would "multiply [his] days as the sand" (v. 18).

   Some people mistakenly think "real men" are continually riding off into the sunset like the Western movie hero. On the contrary. It takes a man to put down roots, to commit to one place, one community. Hear these words of encouragement from my friend Richard Ballew, a product of such an environment:

I recall when I was growing up back in a small Texas town, there were events which helped bring me identity. I knew everyone within a two-block radius. My friends were my neighbors. The people across the back alley were the Roberts — Mr. and Mrs. E.T. Roberts. They had five sons and one daughter: Everett, Matt, Wallace, Ronny, Donny, and Geneva. I knew these people; they were my close friends. I did not have to drive 40 miles to see my friends. I could walk out the back door and there they were.

   Across the street were the Hawkins, and the Rushes lived on the other side. Across the way were the MacDonalds, the Kendalls, the Venables. Because I knew all these folks I did not have any critical loss of identity when growing up. I had identity in terms of the community in which I lived. And that was very important for me, for my own security. It created in me a very "belonging" experience in my upbringing.

   Responsible fathers are secure and have a strong sense of personal worth. It's extremely difficult for

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people to build this healthy identity when they are always on the move. An unending string of moves, by the way, is one of the chief causes of the high rate of marital and family problems in the military.

   Some of the most problem-ridden families I work with are those who never stay put. They move on before they have had a chance to become a stable part of the community, on to a new town, a new neighborhood, a new church. Always changing schools and friends, their children become sadly insecure. These people are continually planning their next move. With one eye on you and one eye on the front door, they become the double-minded people the Bible describes, unstable in all their ways.

   This is a hot-button for me because, for part of my adult life, I was one of those men who kept moving from place to place. Like many others, I wanted my life to be totally committed to the Christian cause. I willingly and obediently responded to the constant pulpit challenge to "go." The sad thing is that nobody ever told me to "stop." In the first ten years of marriage I moved my family six times. Fortunately, in the early seventies, with the help of some other men in the ministry, I came to the understanding of how important it is to put down roots. By God's mercy, we've now lived in the same valley for twenty-two years.

   Let me say a word about the "greener-pastures" syndrome. Men who have moved too many times in pursuit of a better job should consider saying no to the next promotion if it means uprooting the family one

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more time. Maybe moving would be more lucrative, but staying put would be best for the family.

   Too many of us fathers have foolishly sacrificed part of our personal peace and identity on the altar of mobility. In doing so, we have forgotten something Job knew very well: responsible fathers bring order, peace, and identity to their families by the stability of rootedness.

8. Wisdom Gained by Fearing God

   The great Solomon did not have the wisdom market completely monopolized. Job had a corner on it, too. When he spoke, people listened: "Men listened to me and waited, and kept silence for my counsel. After my words they did not speak again" (vv. 21, 22).

   Truth, made clear by the insight of true wisdom, is born of God, and Job had that wisdom. He feared God, and all men who fear God have at least attained the beginning of wisdom (see Proverbs 9:10).

   When I worked in San Bernardino, California, a friend and I used to visit an elderly Black man whose name was Mr. Parker. He owned a junkyard. In the midst of all the clutter of his business stood a little shack that always gave the sense of a place of peace. A picture of Christ met our eyes as we entered the door. An old, worn, well-read Bible with pages soiled by working hands lay on a shelf.

   Mr. Parker had an unusually distinguished dark face that was crowned with a head of white hair. Somehow, his faded flannel shirt and baggy pants did

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not seem right on him. We felt he should have been dressed like a monarch or a statesman.

   When we visited Mr. Parker, we went to listen. Even though he was the son of slaves and had never been to school, our friend was an extremely wise man — "street smart," as we say today. He had used his ninety years on this planet to gain truth and knowledge from his observations of man and God. His exhortations and advice dropped on our ears like sounds from another world, yet they were simple enough for young men like us to understand. We always left inspired, saying to ourselves and to each other, "Why hadn't we ever thought of that?"

   So it was with Job. He said, "My speech settled on them as dew. They waited for me as for the rain, and they opened their mouth wide as for the spring rain" (v.22).

   When was the last time you heard a father praised for being laden with godly wisdom? Our need for wisdom is not even a topic of conversation anymore. More than growth stocks or grain futures, may we who are fathers set our hearts on gaining wisdom as the true treasure. Whoever loves wisdom makes those around him rejoice. Wisdom gives life. Wisdom gives strength. And wisdom brings with it a good defense because it comes from God. With the loss of responsible fatherhood, men have lost their desire for this great pearl. Job reminds us that real men seek wisdom, and men today won't recover their lost masculinity without it.

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9. Pursuit of God

   Beyond all his other character traits, Job was, first and foremost, a pursuer of God. Pursuit of God is a mark of a responsible father. That can sound foreign to us who live in a culture where religion has, for years, been the domain of women. The last few generations of American males have often seen women as the primary pursuers of God.

   A friend told me that most of his childhood years were spent under the impression that Christianity was for mothers and their children. "What else could I think?" he said. "For years my father dropped my mom, me, my brother, and my sister off at church every Sunday morning while he went back home and watched the football game. A lot of my friends had the same taxi service at their house. I learned at an early age that being a father and serving God somehow didn't go together. Religion was for moms and children."

   But Job never saw such a dichotomy between manliness and piety, for, in fact, a relationship with God the Father was the foundation of all his other manly virtues. How else can a man have absolutes by which his masculinity is defined?

   It was because of God's mercy that Job was merciful to the needy. It was because God is just that Job sought justice for the oppressed. It was because God hates evil that Job broke "the fangs of the wicked." His life, in all its masculine expression, was built around his worship of God. His pursuit of God molded him into the kind of man he was. That is why God approved Job as a

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model for true fatherhood. That is why God referred to Job as "a blameless and upright man, one who fears God and shuns evil" (Job 1:8).

   Fearing God and shunning evil set one apart. To be set apart is what the word "holy" means. The Father Himself calls men to be holy as He is holy (see Leviticus 11:45). Men today seem to feel either that they are hopelessly created utterly depraved and weak, and not able to gain righteousness, or that holiness is a liability to manhood. Nothing could be further from the truth.

   Most important of all, Job had the courage to keep his commitment to God even when times got tough. Many people have suffered, but the whole world knows no one has suffered like Job. Newspaper headlines once compared the devastation of major earthquakes in Mexico to the "trials of Job." Such is his fame. Job, caught between two kingdoms in a test of courage and loyalty, suffered the loss of everything — his children, servants, livestock, and land. Reduced to ashes, he cried out, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return there. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD" (Job 1:21).

   Fatherhood is a call to martyrdom — a call to lay down one's life for the well-being of others. What a put-down of the modern American father who so easily abandons his own home and destroys the lives of his wife and children for self-gratification, or because he can't cope with the daily pressures of leading and

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guiding his family into the riches of an ordered, stable, and holy life.

   Men, it can be done. We can change. Millions and millions of fathers have pulled it off for generations before us. If they were better men than we are, it is only because they took their gifts and talents and put them to work by the grace of God.

   Job is a real hero, a model of fatherhood for us to follow and imitate. Imagine! God said he was blameless. That's enough for me to put him on my list of real men. May such holy men as he walk the streets of our cities and our world once again!

Chapter 13  ||  Table of Contents

1. Clayton Barbeau, The Head of the Family (Chicago: Henry Regnery Co., 1961), p. xiii.