Dylan Thomas asked his dying father to “rage, rage against the dying of the light” and “to not go gentle into that goodnight.” Although not dying, just aging, I too rage. I long to go to war for the happiness and dreams of my sons. I want to swing a sword at the sin and the lies of the world that distract and mislead them. I want to drop 50 grand on each son so they can pursue their dreams. But I can’t. There is no sword to swing, no money to give. I hate it.
Yes, I know, I can pray, and my prayers for my boys may be something powerful. But they don’t feel powerful—just sad and pathetic. Faith or more of God’s Spirit might make me feel more like a warrior and less like a helpless old man. My prayers flutter heavenward more like frightened chickens than majestic eagles.
And, of course, it would probably be unwise for me to fight my son’s battles. They will only mature and grow spiritually if they fight their own battles, make their own decisions to consecrate their lives completely to Christ. So I sit in the stands like I did when they played sports, except now the stakes are high: jobs, marriage, and basic happiness—sometimes even having enough to eat. This part of being a father sucks. I hate it and tonight wish I had something to punch. My love makes me rage against this stupid, sinfully screwed-up world, full of lies and pain. I know the anger of man does not accomplish the righteousness of God, but I rage anyway.
Much of the rage comes from feeling helpless—from longing to grip a sword and feel it slice into a real enemy. After all David prayed:
He trains my hands for battle,
So that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.
Just give my target! Give me an enemy that isn’t a prince of the air! Let me defeat just a few of my sons’ enemies. Even better, I want to stand by their side like Odysseus stood with his son Telemachus when they slaughtered their enemies in Ithaca. Raging from the stands sucks and prayer feels like shadow boxing. Yes, I know we walk and probably war, by faith and not sight. But I feel like a blind man swinging his cane at a mugger. It does no good to bend the bow of bronze if we can’t see the enemy. Maybe God guides the arrows.
