Faith of Our Fathers

Rev. José Magalhães Furtado & Rev. Dr. Jefferson Magalhães Furtado

My father, if nothing else, is an interesting man. He retired a few years ago after a lifetime filled with more careers than seems possible. Among the many roles he held, a few stand out as larger-than-life throughout my upbringing: officer in the Brazilian Army, architect for the state telecommunications company, recording artist and touring musician, professor of theology, and, for a time, academic dean of the Methodist School of Theology in Rio de Janeiro. He also served as a district superintendent for nearly twenty years, assistant to the bishop, vice president of the telecommunications union for the state of Rio de Janeiro, radio personality, congressional staffer, and somehow, through it all, a pastor.

Even with so many of these roles overlapping—as they often did—you might imagine there wasn’t much time left for family. But what made my dad remarkable was his intentionality. He made space for us in his world. As a child, I sat in the control booths of radio stations while he broadcast his shows. As a pre-teen, I toured the country with his band and attended labor protests with his union. As a teenager, I served in the ministry life of our Annual Conference and took part in technical trainings offered through his job—often the youngest person in the room.

Yet the thing I cherish most is how he helped me and my siblings love God, God’s people, and the Church. In our house, church was non-negotiable. It was the one event that brought all the scattered pieces of our week together. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, Sundays—we were there. My mother, traveling exclusively by bus, would gather the five of us and meet my dad at the church. As a musical family, we were quickly enlisted into service: the worship team, Sunday School, prayer groups, children’s and youth ministries—wherever there was a need for willing (and not always willing) hands.

My dad’s passion for Christ began with a simple invitation. He was just 14 years old when a neighbor invited him and his brothers to Vacation Bible School. Their family lived miles from the church, and when they couldn’t ride with someone, they walked. Every week they made the trek, drawn by a God who comes not because we are deserving, but because of His wondrous love, grace, and mercy. That church embraced them—when they were disowned by their family, when they lost their father in a workplace accident, when life took unexpected and difficult turns. The church became their home and their hope.

Today, my father’s mind and memory are no longer what they once were. He no longer recognizes faces, not even ours. And yet, his faith remains—anchored, clear, unwavering. The language of faith is still his first language. He continues to trust the God who has sustained him since he was a boy, walking dusty roads to worship, discovering a love that would never let him go.

This Father’s Day, I remember not only my father, but all the fathers whose witness of faith has shaped us—men who, by grace, made the love of God real in our lives. Their voices echo in our hymns, their prayers form the foundation of our own. Their faith lives on in us. Happy Father’s Day.

Listen to some of my dad’s music on YouTube.