More than a pulpit: When a Pastor becomes a father figure
Church leader and author Timothy Femi Oladipo shares why pastors sometimes go beyond the call of duty and serve as fathers to the fatherless in their congregation
To do justice to this subject, I believe it is best to write from lived experience, and from my understanding of what pastoral fatherhood truly means from the leaves of God’s Word.
Fatherlessness does not always begin with abandonment. Sometimes, a father is absent. Sometimes, he is physically present but emotionally distant. Sometimes, a child grows up in a house with a man in it, yet without the security, tenderness, guidance or affirmation that true fathering should provide. In those spaces, the ache can run deep and linger for years. Very often, it is within those gaps that a pastor is called to become more than a preacher; he becomes a father figure.
For me, fathering did not begin in ministry. It was already part of my life long before I entered the pastorate in 1992. As a young man, I found myself caring for my younger siblings: bathing them, changing nappies, taking them to school, picking them up, and making sure they were fed. It became second nature to me. Looking back, perhaps part of what shaped that instinct was the fact that I knew what it felt like to grow up without a present fathering figure. My own father was not there, and the breakdown of my parents’ marriage affected me deeply in my formative years.
When I came to Christ, and began to understand the heart of God more fully, that instinct matured into something more intentional and biblical. I began to see in Christ the perfect Model of true fathering. Jesus does not abandon people in their brokenness. He does not withdraw because someone has failed, wandered or become “difficult”. John 13:1 says that having loved His own, He loved them ‘to the end’. That is the kind of steadfastness fathering requires.
I also see this father-heart in the story of Hosea and Gomer. In Hosea chapters 1–3, God tells Hosea to pursue and restore his unfaithful wife again and again. It is one of the clearest pictures in Scripture of a love that does not excuse wrongdoing, yet refuses to stop seeking the one who has gone astray. In the same way, Luke 15:11–32, the story often called ‘the Prodigal Son’, reveals what I see as the heart of a prodigal father: a father, lavish in love, rich in mercy and eager to restore. While the son was still a long way off, the father saw him, ran to him, embraced him and brought him home. That picture has profoundly shaped my understanding of fathering.
Pastoring, at its best, is not merely about sermons, services and structures. It is about standing in the gap where there is emotional absence, relational fracture and parental deficit. Over the years, I have pastored many people who were without fathers, estranged from their fathers, or wounded by fathers who were physically present but emotionally absent. In such moments, a pastor can become far more than a Sunday voice. He can become a stabilising presence.
Job 6:14 says:‘To him who is afflicted, kindness should be shown by his friend, even though he forsakes the fear of the Almighty.’That verse has stayed with me over the years. People in pain do not first need condemnation. They need compassion. They need someone who can sit with them, listen to them, and help steady their lives – without compromising truth.
I have seen this repeatedly over three decades of ministry. Many parents, especially mothers, have come into church with their young children needing fatherly guidance, stability and direction. There have been children of single mothers who needed both practical support and emotional covering. There were also occasions involving two teenage pregnancies, moments when the church watched closely to see how I would respond. I chose to do what a true father does: I drew those young girls close, covered them with compassion, and supported them through their journey. There have even been pastors’ children who found it difficult to speak openly with their own fathers, yet felt safer confiding in me. I say this not with pride, but with sobriety, because it reveals how great the need truly is.
I remember one woman who joined our church not long after we started King’s Chapel in 1999. She had three boys and was repeatedly struggling to pass her ACCA exams. At some point, I told her to focus on her studies and let me help carry the burden for a while. I would sometimes take the boys to school and pick them up. I fed them, helped them with their homework, and kept them settled until their mother finished work or classes and came for them in the evening. That practical support gave her the room she needed to concentrate, and she eventually passed her exams. Later, I travelled to Nigeria to speak to her husband directly about the importance of his presence in the lives of his sons. By God’s grace, he listened, left his business, and came over to rejoin his family. That experience reminded me that fathering is not always dramatic. More often, it is practical, patient and consistent.
There was also a three-month-old baby boy I had to look after, when his parents were unavailable because of immigration issues. In situations like that, the options can be painfully limited: either social services step in – or I step up. For me, the choice was clear. Over the years, I have had children stay in my home, not because it was convenient, but because fathering responds when there is a need.
That need is not limited to pleasant moments. Whether it was bad behaviour at school that required my presence, a disciplinary hearing, an inter-house sports event, or even a police matter, I have often dropped everything to be there for a child who needed a father figure. In the good, the bad and the ugly, some children do not need to be sermonised. They need someone who understands their pain, refuses to judge them hastily, will not expose their struggles to others, and yet is strong enough to correct them. Hebrews 12:6 reminds us that ‘whom the Lord loves He chastens’.
True fathering is both compassionate and corrective. Many of those children and young adults are now in their 20s and 30s, and, to this day, many still call me “Uncle”. Some have even said to me that I have been more of a father to them than their own biological father. Those words are humbling. They are not a badge of honour, but a reminder that what many people are truly longing for is not perfection, but presence.
One of the great joys of my journey is that my own children understand my heart for other people’s children. They have seen this nature in me over the years and, rather than feeling left out or jealous, they have embraced it. They know that loving others has never meant loving them less. In many ways, that reflects the heart of God, who is described in Psalm 68:5–6 as ‘a father of the fatherless’ who ‘sets the solitary in families’.
This is why I believe the Church does not simply need more leaders. It needs more fathers. Paul captured it perfectly in 1 Corinthians 4:15: ‘For though you might have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet you do not have many fathers…’ Many can teach. Few can truly father.
Anyone can become a dad biologically. But fathering is something deeper. It is intentional. It is sacrificial. It is Christlike. This office or ministry may not always be recognised or appreciated by its recipients, but a true father does not wait for his children to sing his praises before embracing his parental responsibilities. He remains present because that is what fathers do. And, in a generation marked by father wounds and relational distance, perhaps one of the greatest ministries a pastor can offer is not just a message from the pulpit, but the steady gift of fatherly presence.
Remain envisioned
TIMOTHY OLADIPO
Pastor, Bible teacher, convener of The Watchmen Prayer Network, founder of The Intentional Father Movement, and author of The Intentional Father
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