Why I started calling Dad "Papa"

Most of my life, I called my father Dad. In the last few years, there were times I'd call him Papa.

A writer in the bible said something like, "you received the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry 'Abba, Father.'" I've been told that "Abba" was a tender term used by children of their father, like my saying "Daddy."

I'm one of those people who has had a hard time comprehending God's love, despite how much I know from scripture. For whatever reason, I'm more likely to be fearful, and my natural tendency is to picture God as standoffish and strict. (It has been noted by many that our perception of God is highly influenced by our perception of our own fathers. Yeah, I can see how my perceptions of my father in my youth would fit that.) Because of this, I am inclined to address God as just "God" (rather fatherless) and it feels a bit unnatural to address him as "Father." (If you don't have that problem and can't understand why I have that problem, lucky you :) )

I recognize that my perception problem is exactly that: my problem. As long as I keep imposing my view of God on God, I'll maintain my incorrect view. I need to work at aligning my perception with reality--and oh how I wish that weren't such an effort.

Several years ago, a man whose father had abused him as a child talked about his own breakthrough, about what helped him shift from viewing God as remote and uncaring to seeing God as loving and caring for him: he pictured God being there while his father abused him and pictured God weeping in compassion/sorrow for him in his terrible situation. For him, that was the beginning of his emotionally perceiving and grasping God's deep love for him. I think there was more to his transformation, but a point I picked up was that his freedom began with applying a good picture and emotions that represented reality and helped displace his incorrect child-based thinking and emotions. (He offered advice to anyone in a similar predicament: as you are out and about, if you happen to see some parent showing tenderness and love to their kid, pay attention to that, take it in--God loves you in an emotional way, too.)

The bible mentions the "Abba" thing because that's a reality that I should grasp, just like another verse that talks about me being adopted by God as an adult son and not simply being a servant. Father/son. That is hugely different from Creator/created (though that is another reality I must not ignore). Father/son opens up a connection--relationship. "Abba" underscores the intensity of it--the childlike ease of a child addressing his or her Dad.

If my Dad were CEO of some big corporation and everyone else had to schedule appointments with him and have all their PowerPoint slides in order and be on edge about their status, I shouldn't have to worry about that at all. I should be able to show up and know that I can sit sideways in my chair with legs over the armrest and just enjoy chatting with Dad. Is that really what I should be able to do with my creator? I have to believe yes because of verses like the one about "Abba."

I've heard "Abba" used in beautiful songs, said in prayers. But I doubt that most of us, in hearing or speaking or singing such are thinking the real meaning of it, "Daddy." Abba just isn't a normal part of our language and is likely to just become a pretty-sounding word for use in poetry or something. At the same time, I'm not about to say "Daddy" to God. I can't comfortably call God "Daddy, Father"--it just sounds cheap and silly to me. There was a term that sounded possible, though: "Papa." For my ear, my thinking, "Papa" has a tender quality without sounding silly. So, it seemed like the closest equivalent to Abba in my vocabulary.

Not having an immediate sense of God's love, I'll use whatever can help kick me in the right direction. I want to be able to more comfortably think of God as my Abba-Father and less as a remote, uncaring God. I recalled my own father's love for me. I knew with what ease I could chat with him and the times of tenderness we shared. I wanted to have a better image in my mind of the ease I should have in talking with God. (Don't worry, I'm not promoting any notion of limiting my view of God to only those things I found as positive in my Dad.)

So, on occasion, I called Dad "Papa" when talking to him. I got more used to using it with him. I made it a point to reserve it for times of endearment, times when there was more of a degree of connection and closeness in our interaction.

Little did I know that that word would have such value to Dad. He really liked it, I came to find out later. It was also what he called his father. There were a few times in the last days of his life when he was otherwise low in response to me that, when I called him Papa, he'd open his eyes and look at me and smile with delight, a delight in valuing our relationship. And that wasn't reserved for me--I observed that love of his for each of us in the family.

So, I've done it. I have made "Papa" more a part of the comfortable part of my mental vocabulary. Did I "use" my Dad in this? Was he part of my experiment? It does kind of look that way, huh. I knew when starting this blog entry that there was that strangeness to what I did. But I certainly didn't cheapen our relationship. And I see that good came from it for both of us.

After Dad's death, I have tried out "Papa" when talking to God. No, I'm not picturing Dad and promoting him. But I am trying to comprehend Abba, trying to comprehend the kind of relationship God wants to have with me, if I'll just relax, darn it. I am trying to get my brain to comprehend that I really am talking to a God who not only created the universe (and who is worthy, regardless of how I feel physically or emotionally, of my respect, obedience, honor, etc.) but also paid a huge price to make it possible for me to sit sideways in my chair, filthy rags and all, and find delight in my relationship with him. He's my Papa.