Beloveds,
(If you’ve been reading along for a while, you might already know this, but)
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jesus’ prayer,
the one he taught his disciples to pray.
I mostly pray it when I don’t know what else to pray,
or how to say what I mean,
or when the thing on the edge of my lips
isn’t the thing in my heart that needs hearing.
Or when there aren’t words.
I pray it when I am lost or overwhelmed or
my perspective is skewed.
I also just pray it when I am awake.
And… I often don’t know what to pray,
or how to say what I mean,
and it is often that the thing on the edge of my lips
isn’t the thing in my heart that needs hearing.
I often don’t have words.
And I’m familiar with feeling lost, overwhelmed,
and perspective-skewed,
and I’m more often awake than not,
so… I end up here a lot.
Here
I’m learning how to pray
over and over again.
I’m breathing and eating and drinking
and being parented.
And you know what keeps pulling my attention
in all these repetitions and wrestlings?
Apparently-
this is a prayer for children.
It starts with a cry out to heaven for a good dad.
I’ve heard it’s more like “dad” than “father,”
more like “daddy” than “dad.”
Even more than that- more like “dada” than “dad.”
Across the world, across time,
babies’ first sounds all ring out nearly the same-
mama, baba, dada-
abba.
I’m learning from children. I’m learning from babes.
I wrote another poem-prayer,
this one with younger and younger humans in mind.
I spent time with Abba,
reaching and resisting and laying down my head,
asking what the tiniest among us could teach me
(could teach us)
about being with God,
what Jesus has for me here in this Abba-prayer,
(for us, I reckon)
I wonder why Jesus prayed with baby-sounds.
I wonder why Jesus prays with sounds
not of understanding,
but of being
and of being loved.
I wonder if you’ll pray baby-sounds with me too?
Abba Abba
Abba Abba,
all the earth and all our tongues,
we say the same thing all at once,
as babes, we know-
Abba, Abba,
we have all the same father.
Let six-week old voice shriek it out,
sanctify it so with the confidence of fresh existence,
Abba, that is your name,
we all know it,
and we have only one
Abba.
Come, come,
where eyes have aged and glazed
with familiarity and blindness,
as babes, we knew-
come, come,
we were born of another kingdom.
Let four-week old voice quaver,
lead our longing from memory not yet faded,
Come, Abba King,
your way in this bright, cold wideness,
as we dreamed, we knew in womb,
Come.
Abba Abba,
my body aches with pain I’ve never known-
my belly, body, being, rumbles to be filled.
as babes, we know-
Abba, Abba,
you hear our every need.
Let two-week old voice trill it out,
sanctify it so with guttural pluck
still believing in enough,
Abba, this radiant world tastes like
milk and hunger.
Cradle and fill us all,
Abba.
Come, come,
I cannot yet open my eyes to this light,
a world of shadow, shapes, and so many voices-
as babes, we see with smell and tell without words-
come, come,
pick us up, be near us.
Let newborn voice gurgle,
and every adult heart remember,
whatever sorrow was before may,
by sweetest cry, be healed.
Come, Abba healer,
nothing else stand between us
but this, we are already loved.1
Come.
Abba Abba,
we assume goodness first, and shout,
and only in time and ache
learn to believe no one is coming.
as babes, we knew-
Abba, Abba,
remind us of what is truest.
Let unborn babe kick with this,
and desertland reverberate with prenatal knowing,
Abba, deliver us
from womb and wounded wounding,
to our before, our from, our always
Abba.
Abba, Abba, Abba,
your life is a home that sustains all life,
your presence is a warmth that rings all things,
your light glows veined-red in all this darkness,
Today, today, today
(What other forever do I know?)
come.
From John Mark McMillan’s song, “Nothing Stands Between Us” brought to my attention and invited to live rent-free by the indomitable Sophie Killingley.