"Abba, Father!"
The word that healed my father wound
Happy Father’s Day!
To all the hard-working fathers pouring themselves into their kids’ lives:
Thank you. We need you. I’m glad you’re here.
How shall I describe my father?
I was eight years old when my family flew to Maryland to visit my cousins for a week. One afternoon, the adults piled all six of us kids into two cars and took us to a candy shop, where each of us was allowed to select one special treat.
I browsed the shelves of the brightly lit candy store, examining the colourful lollipops and drizzled chocolates displayed in shiny plastic packages.
Being a chocolate lover, I chose a bag of chocolate coins decorated with pink and white sprinkles. They looked dainty and sweet, easy to share with my cousins.
As we stepped outside, I eagerly gripped my bag of candies, salivating at the thought of milk chocolate melting on my tongue.
But then my father turned to my uncle and remarked, “Of course, my daughter would pick the most expensive thing in the store!”
My cheeks burned, and a heavy weight settled in the pit of my stomach. Were these really the most expensive candies in the store? I had no idea! That’s not why I chose them.
Funnily enough, I can’t remember what those chocolates tasted like.
“Money, Money, Money . . . Must Be Funny . . . In a Rich Man’s World”
That was just one of the many insidious ways my father shamed me for being financially dependent on him.
Fast forward to high school: I was a model student, working my butt off to score straight A’s so I could apply for scholarships in university.
But my intelligence, talent, and ambitions meant nothing to my father. In his eyes, I was nothing but an expense. A charge on his credit card. A drain on his bank account—one that he couldn’t be rid of soon enough.
When the word “tuition” started cropping up in our conversations, he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “I hope you don’t feel entitled to my money, Allana.”
I was his firstborn child. His teenage daughter. His dependent.
Who ELSE was going to support me if not you, Dad?
I never asked my father for a car, a prom dress, or a lavish graduation party. All I wanted was for him to help me through university so I could start my career debt-free.
(Yes, I know that for the average Canadian and working-class American, student loans are an inescapable reality. Most of my friends graduated with educational debt that they are diligently working to pay off. But my father made a six-figure salary my entire life. $30,000 to $40,000 was pocket change to him.)
I won multiple scholarships throughout my academic career, and I saved every penny from my minimum-wage summer jobs so I could go straight to graduate school after I finished my B.A.
But the way my father treated me, you would have thought I was the laziest, most spoiled brat to ever disgrace the face of the earth.
My father is now a millionaire, drawing two pensions from his previous employers while continuing to earn a six-figure salary at his current position.
The last time I saw him was at my grandmother’s funeral, nearly two years ago. During the reception, I introduced myself to a distant relation, who immediately remarked, “Oh! I didn’t know Allan had a daughter.”
Of course, you didn’t, ma’am.
Upon my grandmother’s death, my father received $3,000, which (I assume) was intended to be distributed equally among me and my two younger brothers.
My brothers each received $1,500.
“You’re a Good, Good Father . . .”
As you can imagine, my dad’s Scrooge-like disposition distorted my perception of God the Father.
Jesus once asked, “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake?”(Matt. 7:9-10 NIV)
. . . and all I could think was “MY father would.”
When I read Matthew 7:11 (NIV)—“If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”—I was stymied.
My father never gave anything freely. There was always a barb-wire string attached.
You’re telling me God “rejoices over me with singing” (Zeph. 3:17)?
That He “has engraved me on the palms of his hands” (Isa. 49:16)?
That He “lavishes his great love upon me” (1 John 3:1)?
Yeah, right. Give me a break.
For years, I’ve feared that God will abandon me just like my dad did.
I’ve longed for “a Father of the heavenly lights who does not change like the shifting shadows,”1 but I’m terrified he wouldn’t love me freely.
If I’m not entitled to my biological father’s financial provision, how can I expect “good and perfect gifts”2 from an Almighty Deity?
“Abba, Father!”
Thankfully, there’s a special Aramaic word that’s teaching me to see God clearly:
“The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings so that we may also share in his glory.” (Romans 8:14-17 NIV)
Abba: A Term of Intimacy
A few years ago, I learned that the Aramaic word Abba is “a term of familial intimacy that can still be heard through the Middle East as a word of address used by young children.”3
According to scholar Timothy George, “Abba may have derived originally from the first syllables uttered by an infant.”4
It’s similar to our English term “Daddy” or “Dada”—the kind of name an innocent child would give their beloved father.
Interestingly, the word Abba appears only three times in the New Testament: Galatians 4:6 (where I first became familiar with it), Romans 8:15 (cited above), and Mark 14:36.
In Romans and Galatians, Paul uses it to describe the nature of our relationship with God (more on that in a moment).
Guess who uses it Mark 14:36?
Jesus.
Going a little farther, he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour [of his crucifixion] might pass from him. “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.” (Mk. 14:35-36 NIV)
As Timothy George notes, Abba “is a cry of the heart, not a word spoken calmly with personal detachment and reserve.”5
In his darkest moment, Jesus cried out like a little child, begging his Abba to deliver him from the excruciating suffering that awaited him.
After I learned that Abba was a term of deep relational intimacy, I started using it in my prayers. If you flip through my journals from the past five years, you will often find me addressing God as “Abba” when I’m praying to him about something deeply personal or painful.
I hoped this word would heal the gouging wound my father left upon my heart; but despite my best efforts to embrace God as a loving daddy, I continued to fear his rejection and scorn.
That is, until I studied this term more closely and discovered a deeper layer.
Abba: A Term of Inheritance
In his commentary on Galatians 4:6, Timothy George explains that we “oversentimentalize” this rich and nuanced word if we reduce it to mere “baby talk.” According to George, “The word Abba appears in certain legal texts of the Mishna as a designation used by grown children in claiming the inheritance of their deceased father.”6
After reading this definition, I revisited Galatians 4:4-7 and Romans 8:14-17 (which make for a fascinating cross-textual analysis, btw—go check them out!) and realized that THIS was the missing element in my spiritual healing.
My Abba hadn’t just adopted me as his daughter—He also made me an heir to his kingdom!
Whereas my biological father wrote me out of his will, my Heavenly Father has “rescued me from the dominion of darkness” (Col. 1:13) and secured a glorious inheritance for me that nothing in this life can strip away.
“So you are no longer a slave, but God’s child; and since you are his child, God has made you also an heir.” (Gal. 4:7 NIV)
THANK YOU FOR READING DAUGHTER OF THE KING!
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