Abba’s
Children
©
by the Reverend Dr. Byron E. Shafer
(Rutgers,
June 18, 2000; Trinity Sunday, Year
B;
Father’s Day)
John
3:1–10 (NT, p. 96); Romans
8:12–17 (NT, p. 164)
I’d
known it intellectually for a number of years—from the time
of my first seminary course in New Testament, way back in 1960.
But it was not until thirteen years later that it registered deeply in my
soul and psyche.
It
happened in 1973. ’Twas a crisp,
clear autumn morning, and Margaret and I were sitting on a park bench in
Jerusalem watching our sons Steve, age 6, and Jimmy, age 4, playing alongside a
group of Israeli children. These
latter, of course, were jabbering excitedly in Hebrew.
Steve
ran up to me, skipping and hopping, eyes wide open in anticipation, tugging at
my arm, and calling out: “Daddy,
daddy, I want to go down the monster slide!”
In a flash, Steve had grabbed my hand and was pulling me up off my bench
and toward the center of the park, where stood a fearsome 20-foot-high monster
head from whose mouths children disgorged themselves down slick, shiny tongues
of metal slide into the waiting arms of their parents.
Before
I knew it, Steve had stationed me at the foot of one of those tongues and was
racing up some steps into one of the beast’s yawning mouths.
He seemed supremely secure in his sense that after a few
stomach-wrenching moments of thrills and chills, he would once again come safely
to rest in his father’s welcoming arms.
Up
he went, and down he came, screaming and laughing all the way!
And then, when he reached the bottom, I caught him in my arms, embraced
him, and twirled around, cherishing the bond of trust and love we felt between
us and rejoicing that Steve possessed such a sense of security in the promise of
my embrace that he was able to face this set of fears and monsters in his life
with confidence, indeed exuberance.
Only
a few seconds into this moment of my fatherly reverie, Steve began rapping his
fists against my chest and exclaimed: “Daddy,
daddy, again, again!” And
wriggling free from my arms, he ran off, and up.
As
Steve ran off, I stepped aside to make room for another father, an Israeli, so
he could take his post at the foot of the slide while his son hurtled down the
monster’s tongue into his waiting arms. And
as they hugged, I thought to myself, “It is universal, this need for a child
to find security in a parent’s embrace!”
And as I was holding onto this thought, I heard the Israeli child call
out in Hebrew, using the very same expression my son had used:
“Abba, abba, ‘ôd pa‘am, ‘ôd pa‘am!”—“Daddy, daddy,
again, again!” Abba, abba, daddy,
daddy, abba, abba.
As
I said, I’d known intellectually for a number of years—from the time of my
first seminary course in New Testament way back in 1960—that Jesus had opened
a number of his prayers to God by using Abba, that familial term of intimate
trust and affection—not “av,” the more formal Aramaic word for
“father,” but “abba,” “daddy,”—a term of such tender intimacy that
other Jews did not presume to use it for addressing God.
I
knew intellectually that Jesus had used Abba, but it was not until thirteen
years later, while standing at the foot of the monster slide in Jerusalem, that
the meaning of Jesus’s use of Abba registered deeply in my soul and psyche.
When
Jesus left the last supper with his disciples in the Upper Room and on the eve
of his death went forth to a period of agonized praying in the Garden of
Gethsemane (Mk.
14:32–36), he
was, of course, an adult facing something far more sinister than any
multiple-mouthed monster of childhood play.
The evil he was confronting was altogether real, and in no way imaginary.
But
likewise real and in no way imaginary were the figurative arms of God stretching
out toward him from the other side of the cross.
And so, when Jesus prayed to God that night, he was able to say, “Abba,
abba, …” “Dearest daddy, whom I love and trust, the one who’s there to
welcome me on the other side of every threat and fear, the one who’s there to
restore me with the warm embrace of love and eternal life, …”
Yes,
it is the warm embrace of Abba, of God, at the end of each of life’s slides
down a monster’s tongue that enables us children of God to regroup and then to
run off again to face life’s next fearsome challenge, confident that, as
always, Abba will be there, and exuberant in the security that comes from that
certainty.
In
this morning’s Second Lesson, from Romans 8, the apostle Paul meditates on
Christians’ use of the word Abba for addressing God.
Perhaps Paul does so because the Christians in Rome, those to whom he’s
writing, call out “Abba” as part of their worship, or else because they
begin the Lord’s Prayer by saying, “Abba, hallowed be Your name,” the form
of this prayer suggested by the Gospel of Luke.
In either case, these Christians are calling out to God in the language
that a child uses to address his or her beloved “daddy.”
In
this lesson, Paul is suggesting to the Christians in Rome that we are able to
address God as Abba and Christ as Brother only because of God’s Spirit within
us, the Spirit we have received in baptism, the Spirit made known to us on the
Day of Pentecost. For it is the
Spirit who enables persons to understand and appreciate the nature of our
relationship with God, the God made known in Christ.
It is the Spirit who enables us to understand and appreciate our true
identity—we are Abba’s daughters and sons, we are Christ’s sisters and
brothers. For it is by the Spirit
received in baptism that we are born again, which is to say born from above
(John 3:3–8),
into the family of God. We are born
again as Abba’s children and Christ’s siblings.
It is by the Spirit of Christ received in baptism that we are able to
renounce sin and to be transformed so as no longer to be “children of the
world,” but to be instead “children of God.”
It is by the Spirit of Christ received in baptism that we are able to
break free from the control of fear and to be released from it for lives of
love. It is by the Spirit of Christ
received in baptism that we come to
know that God is not a monster, but is instead our loving abba.
Last
Sunday on Religion on the Line I received a call from a man who identifies
himself as “George the Atheist.” As
usual, he came on sour. “What
good does it do,” he said, “to turn to God.
You saw what happened in Williamsburgh several days ago to the
granddaughter and great-granddaughter of the Satmar Rebbe.
God burned them to death with the very candles their religious devotion
had led them to light.”
"God
burned them to death …" You
see, for George the God of religion is a monster, so George chooses not to
believe in God.
But
here’s the truth of the matter. By
the Spirit of Christ received in baptism God makes known to us that God is not
the monster at the top of life’s downward slides, but is instead the abba who
awaits us at the end of them with the widespread arms of healing love that
restore us to wholeness.
God
does not create evil in the world. Rather
it is God who comforts and sustains us in the face of that evil.
It
is the warm embrace of Abba God at the end of each of life’s slides down a
monster’s tongue that enables us children of God to regroup and then to run
off again with fresh enthusiasm to face life’s next fearsome challenge.
May
the Spirit of Christ grant us all such a sense of security in the promise of
Abba’s healing and restorative embrace that we may rise to face every set of
fears and monsters in our lives confident that, as always, Abba will be there,
and exuberant in that certainty.
Let us pray:
Return to Sermon Archive