The Weakness of My Father

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” - I Corinthians 13:11

The Weakness of my father was unbelievable to me. As a young boy, I idolized my father. I really believed he was the biggest and strongest man on earth. A vivid memory haunts and elevates me simultaneously: I remember talking to my kindergarten teacher about my dad and how strong he was; I told her he could pick up a house with his bare hands, he was that strong.

Of course, that is silliness to an adult, but to a child, it's my salvation. That is to say, the strength and fortitude of my father were something inspiring as much as it is comforting. He's the foundation of my strength and safety. He comforts me, corrects me, teaches me, and of course, comes down to my level to communicate and lifts me up when I fall. If he can pick me up with his bare hands, then he can pick up a house. When I did right he gave me encouragement and when I did wrong, he bestowed forgiveness.

Then I saw weakness. As I approached year 8 and well into year 9, my father grew sick. He had Hepatitis C and it turns out he got it from the one-and-only time he shared a needle with his friend Pat. They did heroin together, he forgot his kit, so he shared a needle. He got it from Pat, who was murdered before the disease could show its face.

When my father was diagnosed, it was February 9th of 1989, the day my brother was born. At the time it was a new disease, a mystery of sorts, and it didn’t even have a name. A dark nameless mystery that was threatening his wellness, his family, and his life. It made him weak, because it attacks the liver. A type of sickness that has small and seemingly normal manifestations, like a small cold, a little lethargy, and mild–seemingly mundane–compromises to his lifestyle.

Once the disease had a label and we understood what was deteriorating his health, we understood the consequences; he was going to die, because he was stuck with this terrible little incurable demon we couldn’t see. We could only feel it and see its effects. A seemingly incurable sneaky little sickness that started slowly and then unraveled the fabric of what we thought was “normal” in what felt like a few terrible moments stretched out over 5 years.

The disease, as I said above, attacks the liver. The liver purifies the blood. Without purity, the whole body suffers. It takes its time as it works through the body. The uncleanliness goes to the kidneys, bones, lungs, brain, and heart. You name it, this little demon takes everything with it; first slowly, then suddenly. As the body falls weak, so do the will and the soul. Despair sets in. Hope for the future turns into hope for the next day.

The despair he quite often kept to himself was multiplied by the family he would leave behind. That horrible little demon bested him; we were left waiting for the finality of it all and the sadness of a lurking question filled the atmosphere and it was overwhelming: What is next?

Well my father got a transplant in 1994. It was the only known therapy with any hopeful results back then. A farmer in Oregon died in a car accident and his liver went to my dad. I’ll never forget that day. But the damage was done. Judgment of my father was in my heart. And around 2002, he started getting sick again. When he grew weak again, that judgment was made fully manifest and what was an already unharmonious relationship turned into a tormented Vagnerian cacophony of arguments, frustration, and madness. I was so pissed at him for being so weak to die again. To let this little demon get him one more time. I wanted him to stand up to it. To fight and win.

He died July 17, 2008. He lost the fight to that creepy little demon.

Before his death, I was given some incredible advice that changed my life: do not judge your father. Remember the parts you like and love, be grateful to him and honor him for what he gave to you, and forgive him for the parts you don’t like.

This advice saved my life and it was given to my by someone I love so much and without hesitation can say he saved and changed my life in more ways than I can count, Father John Hardenbrook. Because of these demands he placed on me, I had a peaceful and beautiful relationship with my sick-and-dying father for the last 2 years of his life. We kissed each other hello and goodbye, we spoke regularly on the phone and enjoyed a true friendship that would have been unknown to me if I remained in judgment of his condition. And though the little demon manifested in his life because of something he did as a young man, it was why he was weak. My father was a strong wonderful man who loved me, comforted me, and was my friend. He provided advice when I needed it, he was encouraging, and he always forgave me. He was a good father to me. I miss him.

Recently I heard of a rumor involving someone I deeply love. Someone who was like a father to me for the last 16 years or so. It’s not a good rumor either; it’s truly terrible and terribly unbelievable. This rumor was involving a priest. A priest in the Orthodox Church and a man understood to be of outstanding character, a moral fortress. And yet, he fell weak.

This man, Like Father John, is someone I deeply love. Someone who was like a father to me for the last 16 years or so. It’s not a good rumor either; it’s truly terrible and terribly unbelievable. This rumor was involving a priest. A priest in the Orthodox Church and a man understood to be of outstanding character, a moral fortress. And yet, he fell weak.
The scandal has shocked those in the blast radius. And how could it not? He was a respected, loved, celebrated, and admired man; a man of faith, dignity, and strength. And this was my perception of him and I am certainly not alone. There was never an expectation this would ever change in any way besides perhaps magnitude. He was a man that could lift up a house.

So here we are. The evidence is irrefutable and not-at-all pleasant. I’ve accepted this. But this time I can’t live even a single day in judgment.

How on earth could I pass judgment on him?

Yes, he did a terrible thing. And the aftermath is for him to deal with rightfully so.

For years this man strengthened my faith. He taught me the Tradition and beauty of Orthodoxy. He encouraged me in my darkest and most hopeless moments, and provided counsel when I needed it most. He administered to me the Holy Sacraments and forgave me–without judgment–for anything I may have done. He directed me towards a greater and better version of myself and as a weak and pathetic creature of a man, he built me up into a husband, father, and man who loves God, his family, and his community. This was by his example, instruction, and love. He loved me as his son.

I'd like to consider him for a moment. His identity, his livelihood, his very existence and his motivation to get up in the morning was to feed his flock, tend to it, and strengthen it. He spent years in school learning to be a better priest. He dedicated his life to learning about and share the faith with others. He worked tirelessly to save the unborn, encourage the hopeless, and share kindness and friendship with those who were perhaps unlikeable and had no friends. He taught us the faith, promoted the good, and didn’t ever judge us when we showed our weakness to him. He is by all measures a good man and a benefit to those lucky enough to be in his shadow... Until he wasn’t.

I lived through the turbulent hell created by judging the weakness of my father and I will never entertain that creepy little demon of mine again.

Yes! The great and revered man fell and I have no doubt he feels like a sickly creature waiting to die, while ruminating about the shame, the community he injured, and the life that was cut short. 

The repercussions manifested through a bad act done by a good man are immeasurable. And there is no obvious way to recover from it. For those involved, for those who know, for those who are left confused, and for the perpetrator himself, my friend this shameful priest. Nonetheless, there is this haunting question: What is next?

What do we do when our Father, who we thought was strong, turns out to be weak and when his sickness becomes a spectacle and he is no longer the one who can lift up a house, but certainly one who can bring one down? How are we to think about a man who got bested by his very own creepy little demon?

My advice to anyone in this situation who stands in judgment of another person, even if he is a priest who is deservedly bowing himself in humiliation: Remember the parts you like and love, be grateful to him and honor him for what he gave to you, and forgive him for the parts you don’t like.

Judgment is another kind of sickness. 

All those screaming matches between my father and myself were due to judgment. The discord and noise were products of one who was thinking as a child. With his advice and counsel, Father John created a bridge from childhood to manhood. Love everyone and do not judge them. Forgive without reservations.

Judgment is the behavior of a selfish child. When I became a man, I put away childish things. I beg anyone who witnessed the strength of a priest turn to weakness: forgive him. Forgive your father. Have pity on him and see the tragedy for what it is, a sickness that bested someone you love.
And to my friend, I have a message: The demon bested you, but Christ bested him and all of his stupid little friends. Do not despair, because God loves you and he always will. Be encouraged by the work God has for you. Even though you don't get to know what it is tomorrow, he has a plan for your redemption. You delivered a lot of good to a lot of people including me and that wasn't lost, and it's not forgotten, and it's not impossible to do it again. He will deliver you. Seek humility and forgive yourself. I see you for much more than your weakness. I love you and I forgive you. 

As this sickness became known to everyone, the weakness of my father–the man who could lift up an entire house–became obvious and a spectacle of our family. At least to a young boy quickly turning into a man, it was a lot to accept. And I was mad as hell at him. I needed my strong immortal father and he was the source of my sadness. At least, his weakness. I was disillusioned by the scam of his strength. He couldn’t lift up a house anymore, but he could certainly bring one down. The great and revered man fell and in my eyes he was a lethargic, weak, and sickly creature waiting to die.

This weakness is due to an invisible disease that no one knew about. And I don’t know if its manifestations were known to anyone else. But his little demon was taking its time. It was working on him day-in and day-out. Who knows how it got its claws in this man.

But it was there for a while, working on him, making moves when it could, and seizing any opportunity to wiggle its way into his health, delivering a small and invisible payload of disease to his mind, then his body, then his soul. You name it, this little demon takes everything with it; first slowly, then suddenly.