“Abba, Father” is the heart cry for intimacy, a complete belonging, an ineffable trust in Abba’s immutable love. Christ used this term often but especially when his life on earth was drawing to a close – it was then that the cry of “Abba” held the greatest impact as he faced Calvary.
Jesus purposefully referred to his Father in terms of tremendous endearment. In the Old Testament, God was referred to as “Father” only 14 times but, in the New Testament, Jesus used this term well over 100 times. This approach to God had not been done with such a level of familiarity before and some were very uncomfortable with this casual address to Almighty God. They did not understand that Christ was introducing a new spiritual genealogy, intimately connecting us to God and acknowledging a certain degree of dependence. With this dependence comes intimacy. And intimacy takes risks. A deeper invitation is attended by risk because it requires letting go into that relational free-fall, giving ourselves fully and openly. Frankly, most of us at least have some ambivalence about intimacy. We cry out to God, but we resist the intimacy at the same time. “The reason we prefer to talk about God and read about prayer but don’t actually pray has more to do with our ambivalence about intimacy than anything else. Why does this ambivalence arise?” (Ruth Haley Barton, “Sacred Rhythms”)
It leads us to a place where we are not in control. When we give ourselves to another person in love we relinquish control. It means we give them the ability to either do great harm or great good. There are no guarantees that it will all be good, all the time and, unfortunately, that is often times our measure of intimacy. Consequently, we bring those human patterns of intimacy to our relationship with God. But don’t you see how earth-shattering it was for Christ to open the conversation up to Abba Father? The Trinity could have remained on the “Yahweh” plateau, exclusively, never breeching the chasm of a finite/infinite bond. It was Christ’s gift to us: Amid our devastation, we could now approach a God of intimacy rather than a despot of distance.
What are the tremendous benefits of this freedom in intimacy?
The closest description of what we experience on this level is the friendship we share with a “soul mate,” whereby conversation is not always necessary. Mere presence is enough: quietly sitting together, wanting to be no other place but with that person. That is far more satisfying than the noisy chatter that usually fills our social interaction. Sometimes that chatter in prayer distracts from the intimacy God desires. The example of John with Jesus helps to draw the picture: he leaning on Jesus’ breast at the Last Supper, almost as if he was disinterested in any words that were being shared. It was also depicted with Mary pouring spikenard on the feet of Jesus and quietly wiping his feet with her hair, knowing this was in preparation for burial. No words were necessary: John and Mary wanted only to be in his presence and nowhere else. That is the kind of deep connection Jesus tried to explain to his followers. The Greek word epiginosko implies intimate knowledge involving the whole person, not just the mind. Therein is the risk! In times of tremendous joy or heart-wrenching grief, Christ reveals intimacy on a new level – the Great Adoption by Abba Father and a trust that we could never know other than by divine revelation.
