The God Who is Abba Father

Romans 8:14-17

St. John’s United Church of Christ
Greeley, Colorado
April 12, 2026
Rev. Juvenal Cervantes

Introduction

It was well past midnight. The house was quiet, the lights were off, and the world seemed asleep.

Suddenly, a small voice broke the silence.

“Dad…?”

No answer.

A little louder this time, trembling: “Dad…”

Then came the cry—fearful, urgent, real: “DAD!”

Within seconds, footsteps rushed down the hallway. The door swung open, and a father knelt beside his young daughter, who sat up in bed, tears streaming down her face.

“I had a bad dream,” she said, reaching for him.

Without hesitation, he gathered her into his arms. “I’m here,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t ask if she was allowed to call him.

She didn’t wonder if he would come.

She didn’t rehearse her words.

She simply cried out—and her father responded.

After a few minutes, her breathing slowed. Her grip loosened. Peace replaced fear.

“Can you stay?” she asked softly.

The father smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

What is your concept of God? There are many ways people think about God—Creator, Judge, King. All of these are true. But in Romans 8:14–17, we are invited into something deeper, more intimate: to know God as Abba, Father. This is not distant religion; this is close relationship.

1. Led by the Spirit, Identified as Children

“For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God.” (v.14)

Being a Christian is not just believing certain truths—it is being led. The Spirit of God actively guides, shapes, and transforms us. And this leading is evidence of our identity: we are not outsiders trying to earn approval; we are children.

Children don’t have to strive to belong. They belong because of relationship.

2. From Fear to Adoption

“The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship.” (v.15)

Paul contrasts two ways of living:

Slavery → fear

Adoption → freedom

Fear says: I must perform or I will be rejected.

Adoption says: I am already accepted, so I can live in freedom.

God didn’t just rescue us from something—He brought us into something: a family.

3. Crying “Abba, Father”

“And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’” (v.15)

“Abba” is a deeply personal word—like “Dad” or “Papa.” It carries tenderness, trust, and closeness.

This means: God is not distant. God is not cold. God invites intimacy.

Notice Paul says we cry “Abba.” This is not a formal recitation—it’s a heartfelt expression. In moments of joy, pain, confusion, or need, we can come to God with raw honesty.

4. The Spirit Confirms Our Identity

“The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.” (v.16)

Doubt often whispers: Do I really belong?

But the Spirit reassures: Yes—you are His.

This assurance is not based on feelings alone, but on the work of God within us. The Spirit speaks to our hearts, reminding us of who we are.

5. Heirs with Christ

“Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ…” (v.17)

This is astonishing: We are not just saved. We are not just forgiven. We are heirs.

Everything that belongs to Christ, we share in. This includes glory—but also suffering. The path of sonship includes both.

Application

Approach God with intimacy: Stop seeing Him only as distant. Speak to Him as Father.

Reject fear-based living: You are not a slave—you are a child.

Listen to the Spirit: Let Him lead your decisions, attitudes, and direction.

Rest in your identity: You don’t have to earn what has already been given.

Conclusion

The heart of the gospel is not just that God saves sinners—it’s that He adopts them.

You are invited to know the God who is not only sovereign… but Abba.

So today, whatever you’re carrying, whatever you’re facing—come to Him, not as a stranger, not as a servant trying to prove yourself, but as a child who belongs.

“Abba, Father.”

Jamie Buckingham tells a story in his book, Power for Living. It was a story first told by Fred Craddock while lecturing at Yale University. He told of going back one summer to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, to take a short vacation with his wife. One night they found a quiet little restaurant where they looked forward to a private meal—just the two of them.

While they were waiting for their meal, they noticed a distinguished-looking, white-haired man moving from table to table, visiting guests. Craddock whispered to his wife, “I hope he doesn’t come over here.” He didn’t want the man to intrude on their privacy. But the man did come by his table.

“Where you folks from?” he asked amicably.

“Oklahoma.”

“Splendid state, I hear, although I’ve never been there. What do you do for a living?

“I teach homiletics at the graduate seminary of Phillips University.”

“Oh, so you teach preachers, do you. Well, I’ve got a story I want to tell you.” And with that, he pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with Craddock and his wife.

Dr. Craddock said he groaned inwardly: Oh no, here comes another preacher story. It seems everyone has one.

The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Ben Hooper. I was born not far from here, across the mountains. My mother wasn’t married when I was born, so I had a hard time. When I started school, my classmates had a name for me, and it wasn’t a very nice name. I used to go off by myself at recess and during lunchtime because the taunts of my playmates cut so deeply.

“What was worse was going downtown on Saturday afternoon and feeling every eye burning a hole through you. They were all wondering just who my real father was.

“When I was about 12 years old, a new preacher came to our church. I would always go in late and slip out early. But one day the preacher said the benediction so fast I got caught and had to walk out with the crowd. I could feel every eye in church on me. Just about the time I got to the door, I felt a big hand on my shoulder. I looked up, and the preacher was looking right at me.

“Who are you, son? Whose boy are you?’

I felt the old weight come on me. It was like a big black cloud. Even the preacher was putting me down.

But as he looked down at me, studying my face, he began to smile a big smile of recognition. “Wait a minute,” he said, “I know who you are. I see the family resemblance. You are a son of God.”

With that, he slapped me across the rump and said, “Boy, you’ve got a great inheritance. Go and claim it.”

The old man looked across the table at Fred Craddock and said, “That was the most important single sentence ever said to me.” With that, he smiled, shook the hands of Craddock and his wife, and moved on to another table to greet old friends.

Suddenly, Fred Craddock remembered. On two occasions, the people of Tennessee had elected an illegitimate to be their governor. One of them was Ben Hooper.