He is my Abba

I was four years old on my first day of LKG (Lower Kindergarten) in India. My mom got me dressed in my new uniform and praying with me before the Roopakkoodu, our home altar. Since my dad kept his bike across the river at a neighbor’s house, we crossed over in our little family Vallam (canoe). There was no bridge or boat jetty back then, so we were accustomed to the slow, steady rhythm of crossing the water each day.  

When I arrived at my classroom, I remember the sad faces of children left behind for the first time. It was a half-day, and as soon as the bell rang, we all ran outside to meet our parents. I climbed on the front of my dad’s bike as we rode home. I asked innocently the homework question the teacher gave us: “What are your parents’ official names?” With a gentle laugh, he told me their names. Until then, I always referred to my parents as Achachan (father) and Mamma. Even among my siblings, we were called by our pet names. It was the first time I realized names carry both intimacy and identity.

Every evening during prayer, I loved to curl up in my father’s lap as we prayed before the Roopakkoodu. But I never comprehended the gravity of the word Father. As a child, I only knew my earthly father who I could see and touch. My true Father, the one who created me, is transcendent, yet closer than my own breath. Growing up, I always I thought I was praying to God, but I never truly thought of Him as my Father, the One who calls me His beloved daughter. Even when I was taught to recite the Our Father, I did not think about the immense weight behind those words.

It was during college that I tried to form an authentic relationship with GOD through the help of my best friends. Over the past few years as I gradually developed my faith, I contemplate often on the words from Our Father prayer. Beginning with “Our Father, who art in heaven”, I realized that GOD is resting in every part of our body, His temple, restored by His Son’s sacrificial love. When I am reciting that prayer, I feel like the two sons from the prodigal story. Similarly, like the younger son who ran away from his father, I want to seek redemption and run back to my Heavenly Father for HIS forgiveness. Also, like the older son, I find myself carrying a lot of resentment and just want to be held, knowing I am not alone. Whenever, I feel overwhelmed in my emotions, I reiterate the words “Jesus, Rest in Me”. It feels as if I am breathing in His name and Ruah (Breath of GOD) as I say those words.  

The east Syrian chant, Bar Mariam portrays the same truth. It is traditionally sung in Aramaic as part of the east Syrian liturgical rite during the Holy Qurbana in Syrian wedding.

The hymn proclaims what a gift JESUS, our savior is who came forth from GOD. It signifies the submissiveness and humility of Jesus to which He obeys GOD, and His union with the people. That is why it’s commonly sung at weddings to resemble the union of man and woman, but also the covenant that we make with GOD and His Church.

My brother once shared about his experience at World Youth Day in Fatima, Portugal. During one of the vigil nights, pilgrims from every nation gathered to pray the rosary, each in their own languages. I couldn’t help imagine how intimating it must have been. But I was also able to picture the submission of every pilgrim’s voice, being lifted together to praise and glorify THE LORD OUR HEAVENLY FATHER. The ultimate gift that He gave to us before departing from earth as part of our covenant with him.

Over the years in my life on this earth, I feel blessed to able to lead myself and helping others grow in their prayer life. Because that is the ultimate intimacy we could strive to have. From the Breath of Ruah to the melody of Bar Mariam, I believe the message is inseparable:

We are HIS Children, and He is our Father, Our Abba.