Jun 19, 2016
Dad’s Day – “Daddy!”
6-20-16
Father’s Day. A bit of an ersatz holiday started, actually in fits and starts, about a century ago, mostly as an answer to the more successful, and sentimental, Mother’s Day. Calvin Coolidge was one of several presidents and officials to resist any formalization – on grounds that would be antithetical to our contemporary standards: fearing it would become too commercialized. It was only President Johnson who issued the first proclamation, in the 1960s; and President Nixon a few years later signed the observance of Father’s Day into law.
We need a law to honor our fathers? Well, manufacturers of socks and ugly neckties did. Do we have stronger impulses to honor our distaff parental units? Perhaps so, instinctively, aided and abetted by Hallmark and florists.
This weekend we can suspend the cynicism, however. I honor and miss my father. He has been gone more than 15 years yet I still reach for the phone, sometimes, to share something with him. When I finish writing a book, or discover a piece of classical music, my first impulse is to think what he would say about it.
This is proper. The “scarlet thread” is not solely of Redemption in our lives: we are, or should consider ourselves, members of a continuum that is stronger than blood. Family traditions, the fabric of memories, shared experiences – these are truer resemblances than overbites or freckles.
You will expect me to enlarge the topic to our Heavenly Father, and so I shall.
It is a cliché, or a chestnut, to say that, regarding God Almighty, every day should be Father’s Day. But like most clichés it is true. The sheer magnificence of God can sometimes be overwhelming… similar to when we try to think of the size of the universe. How big, how far… and what is beyond the farthest reaches we can imagine? How old is the universe? Forget the Big Bang… what came before the Big Bang (or, to use the Bible’s parlance, Creation)?
The Lord is one God but present through the Trinity; manifested in one Incarnation but with uncountable attributes; the One True God, the “I Am,” yet with endless aspects; and so forth. The “God of the Old Testament” is often an appellation for a God of Vengeance and Justice. The “God of the New Testament” is described as a God of Love and Mercy. Yet, of course, these attributes – and more – are consistent, frequent, and immutable. Not changeable; just faceted.
Then there is “Abba.” Don’t worry. I am not going to discuss the Swedish pop group ABBA. Many Christians use “Abba” in addressing God, relying, whether consciously or not, upon three passages in the New Testament:
“And [Jesus] said, Abba, Father, all things (are) possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not My will, but Yours, be done” (Mark 14:36).
“And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father” (Galatians 4:6).
“For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of bondage to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs – heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him” (Romans 8:15).
A little etymology for a moment. These are the only times in the New Testament that “Abba” appears. It is an ancient Aramaic word for Father, adopted and adapted into Hebrew, probably through the Syriac or Chaldee tongues. The Greek texts use it, always follow by “Pater,” father, emphasizing the respect implied in addressing a father, or Father God. In turn the Romans made the word “Pater” their own – the Greek and Latin root giving us “paternal,” paternity,” and so forth. It exists, of course, in Arabic too, and survives in forms like “Abu” in kunya (honorific) names; for instance, the President of the Palestinian State Mahmoud Abbas has the honorific “Abu” Mazen – father of Mazen. “Abba” is possibly the root of Ab-raham, Ahab, Joab, et al. In English it lives in descendent words like “Abbot.”
It is everywhere, once you start looking. Just like our Heavenly Father.
In recent Christianity, “Abba” has been taught and urged upon worshipers as a form of “Father” that actually means something close to “Daddy.” Most recent scholarship debunks that interpretation, asserting that Abba – especially “Abba, Father” as Jesus prayed and Paul wrote – is, by doubling down, a term of heightened respect, not familiarity.
To be formal one last moment, it appears that Abba, especially in prayer, is neither symbolic nor diminutive. Not baby-talk (like Mama, a common utterance in many cultures) as some Christians maintain – a primal vocative. “Father” is a translation; “Abba” is a transliteration. These scholars even tell us that “Abba,” when people in prayer cry it out, is irreverent.
But. Words are tools. Most of us are not linguists or semanticists. And, frankly, if people intensely are praying, we can dispense with a nit-pick about a term being obscure, or irreverent, or deeply sincere. God reads our hearts, anyway.
I have witnessed, and been in the place myself, where someone is under intense spiritual anguish. Conviction, guilt, helplessness, yearning, need. Or joy unspeakable, thanksgiving, praise. People with addictions. Challenges of health or finances. Wives distraught over their marriages; fathers worried about their children; teens fighting bondage.
You pray. You remember biblical models. You seek the prayer-language of angels. And then you get to the point where you just want to say – to cry out! – “Abba!!!”
Yes, “Daddy.” We want to run to Him, hug and be hugged, feel forgiven, and know that we are loved. That’s what Daddys do.
Happy Father’s Day. And say hi to Dad for me when you pray.
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This relevant song is not Christian, but very spiritual – those family threads I wrote about. Steve Goodman, who also wrote “City of New Orleans,” sings about his father who died and inspired this emotional song. This is only for people who have had fathers; everyone else may pass it by.
Click: My Old Man
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Great post, Rick, and Happy Father’s Day! This reminds me of the first time I called out to God using the word “Abba” to call upon the Father. I was reading an article one Sunday afternoon and was just horrified by the contents…a small child being used as a sex slave. I felt ill and could’t imagine something like this taking place in America. I had no other words to speak, just “Abba.” Since that time over 40 years ago, I do call upon my “Abba.” and like you said, it does give me the same peace as when I needed my Daddy as a little girl. I feel his closeness and imagine I am sitting on his lap within his great arms of comfort and protection. A great reminder of his care for his children.
Thank you, Rick. I enjoyed this a lot.
Thanks, Rick. I miss my “old man,” too. He’s been gone 18 years, and like you, I long to share so many things with him–large and small.
Happy Father’s Day, buddy.
Rick, how appropriate this was for Fathers’s day! But may I add it was the song, My Old Man that was so touching! My dad did not smoke a cigar and was a Christain, still I could identify with the touching sentiment and love coming from Mr Goodman. We, and I mean those of us from the 60’s referred at times to the term ” my old lady” and my “old man”. It’s not my point here to go into whether we were irreverent or not. What I do want to say is there is a reverence noted by Steve and a revelation of someone who is no longer there. Nice selection of song! Oh and BTW, thank you for introducing me to Steven. I thought at first he may be a member of the Happy Goodman family.
Ha! Well, not THE Happy Goodman Family (besides his faith, his, um, size, revealed that!) but he clearly had A happy Goodman family. Steve wrote “City of New Orleans,” that classic parody song (“the perfect country music song”) – “You Never Even Called Me By My Name,” that incorporates virtually of the country themes — momma, trucks, trains, dead dogs, prison, etc. A hoot! He was a VERY funny and VERY talented musician who died young, of, I think, brain cancer. Sad. I appreciate your note and, yes, it was more the song than my message? A college friend wrote this morning and said (excuse me): “You SOB. You have me sitting here crying like a baby.” Well, Steve’s song made me cry too. And, as you say “Old Man” is surely affectionate, not irreverent. We never used the term in my family but, as I wrote in the blog, the song is only for people who have had fathers. All others need not apply.