Abba

Abba

Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that have trespassed against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. (Matthew 6: 9-13)

Your neighbor really wants you to read this. Yep. In fact, your neighbor’s sighing a huge sigh of relief right now because he or she knows that harmony begins with understanding, and that understanding starts with information. So, here’s some information about your neighbor.

Now, when we say “neighbor,” we’re using the broad definition of the word. But neighbors aren’t just the people next door or the ones just around the corner. Your neighbor is anybody you meet on life’s journey. That’s the lesson Jesus gave when he told the parable of the Good Samaritan. (Luke 10:25-37) You remember, don’t you? It’s the story of a man who was beaten and robbed and left for dead on the side of the road. And as he lay dying, two religious leaders came by and both of them decided to pass by. The fellow in the ditch might have died had it not been for a compassionate traveler who carried him to the next city, got him medical attention, and paid the costs. And he didn’t even live in the neighborhood.

Not only is this parable a compelling story, but it’s God’s clear definition of a neighbor: anyone you meet on the road of life. So, let’s visit our neighbors. You know – the cute guy on the elevator or the cranky boss. It’s the forgetful senior citizen, or the homeless guy who carries his possessions in a paper bag. All of them are your neighbors, and when we enter the presence of God through prayer, they’re present as well. Prayer is the pathway for all of God’s children, and our neighbors gather with us at God’s throne.

So, let’s try to understand these neighbors: why your employer is cranky, or why the homeless guy is, well … homeless. They share some common denominators that Jesus listed in his model prayer. “Our Father” (We’re all children in need of a father); “our daily bread” (We’re all beggars in need of bread); “our debts” (We’re all sinners in need of grace); “deliver us from temptation.” (We’re all strugglers in need of strength)

In one way, we’re a lot like Ruth and Verena Cady. From their birth in 1984, they shared a lot. Like most twins, they shared a bike, a bed, a room and toys. They shared meals, stories, TV shows and birthdays. They shared the same womb before they were born and the same room afterward. But the bond between Ruthie and Verena went even further. They shared more than toys and treats. They shared a heart. Literally.

You see, their bodies were fused from the sternum to the waist. And though they had separate nervous systems and distinct personalities, they were sustained by the same three-chambered heart. Neither girl could survive without the other. Neither wanted to survive without the other. With separation not an option, cooperation became an obligation.

So, they learned to live together as neighbors. Take walking for example. When they began to attempt toddling on their own, they developed their own style. Instead of taking turns leading each other, they began to walk sideways, as if in a dance. And they danced in the same direction.

They even learned to compensate for the other’s weaknesses. Verena loved to eat. But Ruthie thought sitting at the table was boring. In fact, Ruthie may have eaten only a half cup of fruit on any given day. But that wasn’t a concern because her sister ate enough for them both. They even learned to tolerate consequences for which they weren’t responsible. When one girl was sent to a “timeout,” the innocent party tagged along.

Unfortunately, the twins died within minutes of each other on a languid summer day in 1991. But they have a lot to teach us. For instance, though we may claim to be autonomous, we really aren’t. Though we may claim to be independent, no one actually is. Like the twins, we’re dependent on each other. Oh, we don’t eat out of the same plate, but we’re sustained by the same earth. We don’t sleep in the same bed, but we sleep under the same sky. We don’t share one heart. (Or do we. Don’t we share the same hope for eternity? Don’t we have a mutual hunger to be loved and saved?) And, like the twins, don’t we share the same Father?

Perhaps that’s why the model prayer isn’t addressed to “my father,” or “your father,” but to “Our Father.” “Our Father who is in heaven.”

And, because he’s father to all, his house has many rooms. The rooms are large and the hallways are busy. As you pass through the halls, you brush shoulders with Kenyan tribesmen and Russian peasants and Norwegian farmers and any other soul who has looked into the skies and prayed, “Our Father.” Though you may not know them, and though you may not understand them, you are linked to them by virtue of the fact that you share a mutual father.

OK, but why is it so important to remember this community? Well, it’s important because before you talk to him, he wants you to be at peace with them. Remember his command earlier in the Sermon on the Mount? “When you offer your gift to God at the altar, and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there at the altar. Go and make peace with that person, then come and offer your gift.”
(Mt. 5:23-24)

In other words, Jesus envisions a person going to worship. And he sees that the person has a gift to give. Perhaps it’s an offering, maybe a song or even an act of service. But on the way to offer the gift, the person remembers an unresolved conflict. He thinks of a neighbor he’s offended. Now, the worshiper has nothing against the person, mind you, but the person has something against the worshiper. Result? Jesus’ instructions are clear: before you come to my house, go to his house. Before you give me a gift, give her an apology. Before you give me an offering, give your neighbor an olive branch. Harmony is a cherished ideal in God’s house.

And isn’t it in yours? Sure it is. For instance, parents surely get this point because they’ve been there: a couple of your children are in a cold war. They won’t speak to each other, but one decides to speak to you. He hugs your neck and says, “You’re a good Mom.” Now, as much as you welcome the compliment, you want his attention focused on resolving the conflict. “The greatest compliment you can give Mom is to make up with your big sister.”

God is a parent who wants the same from his children. Can you imagine what the world would be like if we took this command seriously? What if we determined to be at peace before we sat in the pews? The phone lines would start humming on Saturday night, maybe even earlier. “Sorry to call so late, but tomorrow I want to worship with a clear conscience and, well, I know I was rude to you this week. Can we talk about it?”

You know, it’s hard to really worship your father when you’ve been unkind to his children. It’s particularly hard when you don’t even like his kids. In fact, the apostle John says it’s impossible to worship in that state of mind. “If people say they love God, but hate their brothers and sisters, they are liars. Those who do not love their brothers and sisters whom they have seen cannot love God whom they have never seen.” (1 John 4:20)

Of course, you can’t control the response of your neighbor to your gesture of peace. Truth is, you may do everything possible to make amends and still be rejected. But at least we can do everything possible. As Paul urges, “Do your best to live in peace with everyone.”
(Rom. 12:18)

A good place to start is by reminding ourselves that we and our neighbor have a lot in common: the same hopes, the same fears, similar pain and similar joys. Remind ourselves that we’re all children in need of a father.

When Jesus used the term “Abba” in his prayer, he used the tenderest expression found in Hebrew for a child to use when calling his father. Not a distant, unapproachable father, but an “Abba,” a daddy, a papa, whose hand holds ours, whose arms carry us, whose heart weeps when we weep. And it’s in this common need for “Abba” that we find our sense of community. Because aren’t we all in need of “Abba”? One who will come when we call, extend his hand when we’re afraid, and guide us when we trust.

I know that sometimes we think we’ve outgrown the Father’s hand, or that we’re too mature to need his help. And that may be where your neighbor is right now. He or she may have struggles that only God can understand, that only God can remedy. And they may be hard to like, or difficult to live with. But be patient, just as you would want them to be patient with you.

It won’t be long before your neighbor looks up and realizes they’re on a busy street with no clue how to get home. It could be then that they may say, “Abba.” And it could be that you’ll be there to show them the father’s hand.

Grace,

               Randy