“Abba, Father”—
a warm and loving way to speak to God.
According to the book Insight,
Abba is an Aramaic word.
It is like saying “Papa,”
a word filled with closeness, affection, and respect.
Father, on the other hand, is Greek,
and simply means “father.”
The first time this expression appears
is in Jesus’ prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane.
(Mark 14:36)
“Abba, Father, all things are possible for you.
Take this cup away from me.
Yet not what I want, but what you want…”
As Insight explains:
“These are the passionate words of a son pleading with his beloved father,
followed immediately by a firm promise
to remain obedient no matter what happens.”
Among the four Gospels,
only Mark records this tender expression of love.
Thank you, Mark.
Later—probably after Pentecost—
the disciples also began to use this word in prayer.
It appears only twice in the letters:
Romans 8:15 and Galatians 4:6.
Of course, we can use it too.
Abba… Abba… Abba!
Try whispering it
while thinking of God.
Ah—
I really love God.
But then, a question comes to mind.
Why do we say it twice?
“Abba, Father.”
Or, “Dad, Father.”
Or, “Papa, Father.”
Why call him two times in a row?
Here is my bold little idea—
with no proof, at least for now.
Could this be one of the places
where the divine name YHWH
was removed from the New Testament
sometime after the second century?
In other words,
was the Greek word translated as “Father”
originally “Jehovah”?
So that it was really saying:
“Father—Jehovah.”
“Papa—Jehovah.”
That is how we pray, after all.
‐‐‐‐‐
When I read the Bible with an open and honest heart,
and quietly listen to what it tells me about the relationship
between Jesus Christ and the heavenly Father,
my heart begins to tremble.
It is because I can feel
the beautiful bond of love between a father and a son.
I find myself thinking,
“How wonderful…”
with a little envy,
and a great deal of admiration.
I cannot find the philosophy of the Trinity there.
And, to be honest,
I do not want such noise mixed in.
Seen from history, this teaching is an impurity—
something that slipped into Christianity
through Greek philosophy and pagan thought
around the fourth century.
I do not trust people who treat this “noise,”
this “impurity,”
as if it were a lofty and precious Christian philosophy,
and speak of it with a satisfied look on their faces.
Why?
Because they have missed the very heart of the Bible—
the expression of God’s love.
“For God so loved the world
that he gave his only Son,
so that everyone who believes in him
may not perish
but may have eternal life.”
(John 3:16)
The complicated argument that
the “Father” and the “Son” are different persons (personae),
yet equal,
and somehow different sides of “one God,”
is simply too much.
When nonsense is forced through,
truth quietly steps aside.
The word persona also means a mask worn by an actor.
And so, an image appears in my mind:
One actor,
sometimes wearing the mask of the “Father,”
sometimes the mask of the “Son,”
and at other times, a third mask called the “Holy Spirit.”
Now imagine the scene of Jesus’ baptism,
where the “Son” is baptized in water,
and the “Father” speaks from heaven—
as if one person were playing two roles.
“When Jesus was baptized,
he immediately came up from the water,
and suddenly the heavens were opened to him.
He saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove
and coming upon him.
And a voice from heaven said,
‘This is my Son, the Beloved,
with whom I am well pleased.’”
(Matthew 3:16–17)
Is there any real emotion there,
if it is all just one person acting?
Doesn’t it feel flat—
almost embarrassing?
When we are told,
“See how much the Father loves the Son,”
don’t we immediately think,
“But isn’t he just loving himself?”
And even if someone says,
“He did it that way to teach humans,”
doesn’t it make you want to reply,
“No thank you. I don’t need such a clumsy play”?
Isn’t that kind of “love”
cheap and artificial?
Worse still,
doesn’t God begin to look like a narcissist,
or someone with a split personality?
Ah—enough of this false teaching.
I want no part of it.
Let us return
to a pure and fragrant Christianity.
Let us savor the words “Abba, Father”—
words spoken by a child
who deeply loves, trusts, and respects his father.
And let us dare to pray ourselves,
like little children:
“Abba!!”
When we do,
we will surely begin to see him—
the Father of lights.
And beside us,
Jesus Christ,
praying together with us.
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