What It Really Means to Call God Abba
Romans 8:15 says the Spirit moves us to cry out "Abba, Father." That right was not inherited; it was paid for on the cross.
A worship song titled "Abba Padre" is now on digital platforms, and with it comes back the question of what it means to call God Abba. Romans 8:15 answers it, and its answer is a little uncomfortable.
A cry that doesn't come from affection
Paul writes: "For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, 'Abba! Father!'" (Romans 8:15, ESV). Notice the order. First the adoption. Then the cry.
Nobody comes to the Father on their own impulse. You cry out because you were first made a child. Intimacy with God is not manufactured; it is received.
«Intimacy with God is not manufactured; it is received.»
It bothers me when "Abba" is presented as the cute word Jesus used so that we would be affectionate with God. The tenderness is real, of course. But the New Testament doesn't sell closeness: it announces a right bought at the price of the cross. That is the difference between feeling affection for God and belonging to his family.
An absent dad, a Father who doesn't leave
Let's be honest. For many, the word dad is worn out. Some fathers left, others stayed but never really looked at you, and a few did harm. With that history on your back, calling God "Father" can sound like a bad joke.
Scripture doesn't ask you to erase that. It asks for something different: that you not let your experience define the word. Your dad doesn't define God's fatherhood; the cross does. There you see how much it cost him to be your Father and how far he was willing to go.
And you don't come in as an occasional guest. John says it plainly: "But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God" (John 1:12, ESV). The right. Not an affection lent for the moment.
Children, not employees
Adoption changes the arrangement. An employee works to be allowed to stay; a child already lives at home. If your relationship with God depends on your performance, you're wearing a child's uniform with a slave's mindset, and that is exhausting.
That is why the Christian faith doesn't promise prosperity as a reward for good behavior. It promises something better and rarer: a Father who doesn't wake up in a bad mood, an inheritance that doesn't crash with the market, and a freedom that doesn't depend on how your week went. Paul sums it up this way: you were adopted to live as a child and not to go back to fear (see Galatians 4:6-7).
The underlying question isn't whether God can give you what you want. It's whether you trust him to be your Father when he doesn't.
Try something small this week. When you pray, don't start by asking. Begin quietly with a single word: "Father." If it's hard, say it anyway. Adoption doesn't depend on your tone of voice, but on what Christ did for you. And if this song brings back your desire to pray, use it for that and not to fill the silence.
I'm asking you seriously: what is harder for you to believe, that God can handle your life or that he really is your Father? Tell me.
