Whatever Happened to Jesus’ Dad?

This is an article I wrote in February of 2023. My dad died in November of 2023.

“Now beside the cross of Jesus stood His mother, His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. So when Jesus saw His mother, and the disciple whom He loved standing nearby, He said to His mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then He said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own household.” — John 19:25–27

As I have walked through the deep and dark valley, the question that comes back like a wave of the ocean over and over again is “Why?” Why me? Why this? Why now? But mostly, it is the question that my six year old son has asked over and over again more clearly and eloquently than I have ever figured out how:

“I read in my Bible that Jesus healed people. If Jesus can raise people from the dead and heal the sick, why does that not happen for me? How do I get that to happen for pawpaw?”

I am fairly sure that the ultimate underlying question in my own soul is: does God really love me? And if so, why does He let this happen?

If He really loved me, wouldn’t He do something, anything, about this dreadful situation? Why won’t He just remove me from the valley? Why won’t He heal my dad? My uncle, my grandmother, my husbands’ grandmother, our dog? Why doesn’t he resolve the multiple large and small levels of trials we have faced over the past half of a decade? Why would He allow so many horrible things to happen to me, all at once?

I know all the “church” answers. Believe me, I’ve heard them ALL. Some of them provide me with a measure of encouragement. Some leave me neutrally resigned that you would have to walk in my shoes to understand my path (I’ll come back to this one later because it is much easier to ruffle up within myself about some responses I have received than it is to show grace). Some leave me feeling more discouraged than I felt before. I pray nothing that I write here will act as the latter in your heart.

In the very last hours of Jesus’ life here on earth, He does the honorable task of asking His close friend, John, to care for His mother. Over the years, I have heard that this is such a testament to Christ’s love for John and for His mother. I have read about how this must indicate that Jesus’ father, Joseph, almost certainly died, leaving his wife, Mary, a widow. She was left a widow in a day and time that being a widow would mean almost sure poverty and fear. My focus has always been on the nobility and the care Jesus provided but one day, probably mid-2022, while deep in the valley, it hit me:

Jesus lost His daddy, too!

We don’t know how. We don’t know when. We don’t know why. I ponder this fact often now. It washes over my wounds like water on a sore — stinging, burning truth clarifying my pain. Jesus’ daddy died! This is a soothing thought to me because those who have been through something KNOW how to comfort those who are in that valley. The One I am trusting to see me through this valley has been in the exact same one. Jesus truly is the God of ALL comfort.

Jesus knows what it feels like to watch my daddy die. He, too, has been there. He has walked this path. He has chosen again to walk it daily with me. I wonder in my soul how hard it is for Jesus to do this for His beloved ones again and again, generation after generation. Does seeing me ache for my father remind Him over and over of the ache He felt for His own?

But this whole concept raises a question that begs to be answered: Why didn’t Jesus just raise His dad from the dead? Why didn’t He heal whatever caused his earthly father’s death? I don’t understand. He used His powers to raise other people and to heal the sick. Why not His own dad? Why would He let his mom see Him on the cross, dying alone, His dad not there to comfort and provide for her? Why would He live His life with the hole of loss my heart has begun to feel when He, with all the power of the God-head in His grasp, could have chosen another way?

Honestly, I have no idea why. I will never truly understand why on this side of heaven. But I do know that, given Jesus’ power, allowing His own father to die is yet another example of how Jesus CHOSE to suffer just like us and accept the full effects of this sinful world on our behalf. Jesus could have saved His own dad. We know He is that powerful. He raised other people from the dead and healed those who were extremely sick. Why not His own dad?

I wrestle with this idea — the why — in my analytical brain. I have never really focused on all the ways that Jesus suffered for and with us beyond going to the cross. I think it is important to take a bit of time to think of all the ways that Jesus chose to feel real human pain while on this earth when He, with the power of the Godhead at His beckoning call, could have stepped into His own situations and intervened.

Jesus chose to suffer:

Physically — He felt the physical pain of hunger while fasting in the wilderness (Matthew 4). He felt exhaustion during His ministry (Mark 6:31). He felt the limitations of having a physical body. He felt the extreme pain of death on the cross, something He even begged God to take from Him if there were any other way (Luke 22:42).

Mentally — His own friends betrayed Him (John 18, Matthew 26). He felt extreme anger towards those abusing His own (Matthew 23:33). He tamed His own ability to slaughter the religious leaders who were cheating and oppressing people (John 2:13–17).

Emotionally — He chose to wait and allow His close friend Lazarus to die before going to heal him (John 11:1–46). He wept (John 11:35) — I will come back to this in a bit. Jesus felt great compassion for the woman who had been ravaged with female illness her entire life (Matthew 9:20–22) and the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1–11).

Spiritually — Jesus experienced complete separation from God (Matthew 27:46) on the cross. He was tempted as we are (Matthew 4). His friends abandoned the gospel He came to preach.

Jesus chose to be like us in every way, including in the way of loss, of pain. That is love. Immense and unimaginable love. Jesus loves me enough to choose to suffer in the same way that I now suffer.

Mary and Martha knew Jesus’ power (John 11). They sent word to Him in plenty of time for Jesus to come raise their brother, Lazarus, from the dead, or even just say the word from where He was and heal Lazarus. They did everything “right” and yet their brother died. Jesus knew, both by being an all-knowing God and by the words of His friends that Lazarus was extremely sick and was dying. Why didn’t He run straight to Bethany to heal His friend? Why did He linger? Why didn’t He speak His healing word across time and space and prevent all the pain and terror and trauma Mary and Martha would go through? Why didn’t Jesus prevent His own pain, weeping over the grave of His friend who had died (v. 35)? Why did He choose actions that resulted in Mary and Martha feeling He was absent from their pain?

And what about His own dad? As God Himself, I know Jesus knew that his dad was dying, at risk — however that actually happened. I know He had the power to step in and prevent, heal, restore. There is so much pain He could have prevented His own mother from having to feel. There is so much pain He surely could have prevented Himself from having to feel. How terrible it must have been for both His earthly father to die and His heavenly Father to turn His back on Him. Why wouldn’t He step in to ease His own pains?

Every question begs more questions as I stand with Martha saying, “Lord, if You had been here, my [dad] would not [be dying].” One day, when I enter eternity, I can run to Jesus as Martha did or wait in tears until He comes to embrace me as Mary did and then I will ask Him every one of these questions, and more. Maybe the answers are not mine to know in this world.

At this point, I struggle to present any answer to the question “why didn’t Jesus save His own dad’s life?” besides “love.” The love that God the Father felt towards us to give His only Son (John 3:16) and the love of Jesus to obediently follow through (Revelation 1:5). It was love that drove Jesus to choose to suffer exactly as I do. It was love that drove Jesus to struggle on this earth and now walk with me as I struggle. It was love that drove Jesus to die the most horrific death on the cross so that He can walk alongside my father as he dies a most horrific death from ALS. My dad and I serve a Savior who can understand the horrificness of dying itself and hold dad in His loving arms every moment along the painful way as He soothingly says, “I know, dear child. I know.”

Because of the love that drove Jesus to choose to suffer as we do, when I come to Him and cry, “I miss my dad,” or “the grief of seeing my dad like this is more than I can bear,” or “I feel as though my heart is being ripped into a thousand pieces from the depths of my chest,” Jesus says “yes, I know, My dear child. I understand.” More importantly, Jesus CHOSE to understand. Jesus chose to understand and now He can walk with me every step of the way. He truly is “the God of all comfort” (2 Corinthians 1:3–5).

That sure is a lot of love.