Several years ago I was mentoring a kind young man. He was very smart, a successful college athlete, teachable, and sincere in his desire to grow spiritually. I remember him mentioning that he’d been helped by a book exploring the idea of the father wound, and was especially keen on seeing his own father wound healed. His parents were divorced and his dad did seem to be a real piece of work.
There were certain self-destructive patterns in this young man’s life; burst of growth and confidence followed by periods of regression and tragic lostness. Running perpetually in the background was his complicated relationship with his dad.
As his graduation approached, the complexity of this relationship assumed the foreground. The events and gatherings surrounding his commencement had become a contested space for his parents; what had previously been a demilitarized zone began to flare in conflict. My friend was the epicenter of the conflagration, and it was taking its toll. We spoke more and more candidly about what was going on, especially the outbursts of anger his dad was exhibiting. Still, we spoke in generalities, and I counseled him from these generalities. But things were clearly very bad.
At one point he alluded to the types of angry texts he’d been receiving from his dad in response to perceived slights or offenses. “What does he say in these texts?” I asked.
“It’s pretty bad,” he answered.
“But what is the general message? What is being communicated?” I wanted to understand the nature of these transmissions and the double-bind my friend was laboring to negotiate.
“You want to read some?” he asked. I paused for a moment. Though I have mentored many men and women over the years, it is rare to have such direct access to the personal tributaries of their lives – especially from parents. This is holy ground.
“Only if you felt ok with sharing them and thought it might help me have a better sense for what you are dealing with.” I replied. I could tell this was increasingly hard for him to convey.
“I’m ok with it,” he said. “As long as the language doesn’t bother you.”
“I’m fine with some bad language,” I said.
He pulled out his phone and fiddled with it a bit, finding the last exchange with his dad. He handed it to me and the pixelated screen tore like a gash into the Inferno. As my thumb moved from top to bottom, scrolling down message after message after fiendish message, my eyes welled with tears.
“Is this typical of him?” I asked, glancing up to meet his eyes.
“Yeah.” he said. “This is pretty much the way he’s always talked to me.”
“I know you know this,” I told him in a solemn hush, “but this is very abusive.”
“I know,” he confirmed.
Every single word – hundreds of them, discharged like rounds from an assault weapon – were targeted to kill my wonderful young friend: a malicious, menacing, profanity-polluted barrage issuing from the screen of this man’s phone; issuing from the deranged soul of this man’s own father.
The father-wound. He knew – we know – but not the half of it. We deprecatingly call these “daddy issues” to conceal that these wounds are as ubiquitous as they are mortal. “Your wound is as deep as the sea,” wrote the weeping prophet, Jeremiah, “Who can heal you?” (Lam. 2:13)
Can Advent?
Continue reading “Advent III | Everlasting Father”
Matthew Podszus 