Faith
And He was saying, “Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what You will.”
Mark 14:36
STORY
July 18, 1965. Struck by a missile, a jet plane piloted by Jeremiah Denton came crashing to the ground in a ball of flames, setting the stage for seven and a half years of captivity in Hoa Lo Prison in Hanoi, Vietnam, better known as the Hanoi Hilton. There, along with seven hundred other Navy and Air Force airmen, he suffered isolation, malnutrition, disease, and torture. Denton, like the others, endured the trauma by maintaining a sense of fellowship, even though incarcerated in solitary confinement, it was sustained by coded taps through the prison walls. Each airman was especially encouraged by a reassurance from his comrades to continue to have faith in God.
Denton recounted his ordeal of confinement in the Hanoi Hilton in a must-read book titled When Hell Was in Session. Of the many stories he recounts, one remains with me as none other. On his way to the latrine, Ed Davis passed word that he had a gift for Denton. There, in the latrine, he found a cross woven from strips taken from a broom. Denton wrote, “I was deeply touched by the cross; it was my only really personal possession.” The officer kept it hidden in the pages of his propaganda pamphlet, thinking that would be the most unlikely place to be inspected by the guards. An unfortunate assumption as one day the guards inspected his cell, discovering and confiscating the forbidden cross. A guard threw the cross upon the filthy cement floor, stomped it with his boot, and then threw it into the open sewer.
A Vietnamese woman was sent to reorganize the tossed cell, as the culprit stood outside, bayonet pricking his neck. Denton, returning to his cell, outraged, began to rip apart the propaganda pamphlet, only to feel a lump among the pages. There, woven out of straw, was a beautiful cross. The lady, with great personal risk, recreated Denton’s symbol of faith and hope. The cross was a reminder of his personal relationship with God, and she knew, a universal expression of hope. The members of the camp came to call the cross and the accompanying story as “Denton’s Cross.”
DEVOTION
In the Garden of Gethsemane we learn that Jesus spoke the word “Abba,” which in the Aramaic means “Daddy.” It was the desperate plea of a child to a parent. It was a cry for solace and comfort. It came from excruciating agony, tears mingled in blood. It was the final act of a child recognizing one’s father.
Jesus spoke these words with the deepest anguish possible. He was betrayed. He was rejected. He was abandoned. And he was facing torture by scourging and execution on an unmerciful cross. So, in such emotional torment, he cried out to his Father in heaven with the most intimate word possible “Abba.”
In our years of living, we will often find ourselves in the Garden of Gethsemane. We will see the problems of life coming upon us as a mob of people. We will have our own Judas, betrayed because of someone’s ungodly actions toward us. We will feel alone because family and friends have forsaken us, like the eleven who slept. There will be no place for us to turn for solace except to our heavenly parent.
The actor Denzel Washington is known to speak openly about his Christian faith. Washington considered becoming a pastor as he once stated, “A part of me still says, ‘Maybe, Denzel, you’re supposed to preach. Maybe you’re still compromising.’ I’ve had an opportunity to play great men and, through their words, to preach. I take what talent I’ve been given seriously, and I want to use it for good.” His devotion to God and his desire to be a spiritual leader is reflected in the commencement address that he delivered in 2015 at Dillard University, a historically black college in New Orleans. In that address he told the graduating seniors, “I pray that you put your slippers way under your bed tonight, so that when you wake up in the morning you have to get on your knees to reach them. And while your down there, say thank you.”
Let us be certain that in our own personal Hanoi Hilton, we can always find reassurance when we are able to say “Abba.”