St Paul's Journal
Halifax, Nova Scotia Thanksgiving 1998
From the Rector
John Newton
In the usual scheme of things autumn is the time when we welcome newcomers to the family of St Paul'sand so far 1998 has been no exception. Aside from an influx of new parishioners, we shall offer a formal welcome to Jonathan Eayrs and Leonard Bednar and their families (not to mention Jane Turcot who has been a part of our parish family for two years now) as members of our staff team. This fall we shall also welcome a number of children into the family of the church through the sacrament of baptism.
When we speak of the church as a family, however, what do we mean? Most important of all, it means being able to call God our Father. It doesn't seem like a very radical proposition for us as we approach two thousand years of Christian history. However, in the first-century world which Jesus inhabited this was an almost totally unfamiliar way of understanding God, who was regarded as so holy and so distant that it was irreverent even to pronounce his name.
It was in that context that Jesus taught his disciples to pray, "Our Father" I suspect that at first it would have been difficult for them even to bring the words to their lips. It would have seemed blasphemous to address the Lord of heaven and earth in terms of such familiarity. What was more, biblical scholars are largely agreed that the term Jesus would have used was "Abba". The word means something like "Dad" or "Papa" and occurs elsewhere in the New Testament. In Romans 8:15-16 the apostle Paul writes,
For you did not receive a Spirit that makes you a slave to fear, but you received the
"Come, ye thankful people come"
Harvest Thanksgiving Services
Sunday, 11 October
8:00 a.m. Holy Communion
9:15 a.m. Holy Communion
& Children's Church
11:00 a.m. Holy Baptism
Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children.
This past summer I mentioned in a sermon how the meaning of that word "Abba" came to have real meaning for me. It was seventeen or eighteen years ago, when our family were vacationing in the Adirondack mountains, a hundred kilometers or so southwest of Montreal. It happened that the family occupying the cottage next to ours were recent immigrants from Israel and their first language was Hebrew. The father had a job in Montreal and on the weekdays commuted between the city and the mountains. One evening as his car drove up to the cottage I heard the screen door slam and caught a glimpse of his little daughter running out to meet him. As she ran towards the car I could hear her crying out excitedly, "Abba! Abba!"
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