The Story Of Abiabba
I am a simple farmhand. I live on the island of Malta with my wife and three children – two boys and one girl. We all work on the estate of the chief Roman official – Publius. I was once called Abibaal – son of Baal. This is the name that my parents gave me at birth. I want to tell you the story of how I came to be called a different name – the name I now carry – Abiabba.
It was early morning. A storm had ravaged the coastline during the night. I stood in the doorway of my hut on top of the hill and breathed in the damp air. I loved the smell of the sea, especially after a storm. It smelled new, clean, and today, very wet. It was like breathing in a cloud. I pulled my cloak tighter as the moisture condensed on my hands and face. I surveyed the beach, eager to see what interesting things had washed up overnight or what had been taken out to sea. Not the boys’ favourite coconut tree with the swing I hoped.
“Come see this, Elissa! Boys!” I called excitedly to my family. I had spotted a trail of cargo on the Western end of the beach. We loved it when treasures drifted up on our beach. It was like exploring lands from far away. But then, as I looked further out, I saw a ship, wrecked on the outer shoal and I could see her inhabitants beginning to make their way to shore. My excitement waned as a wave of apprehension rose up in my stomach. Some swam while others held on to pieces of wood and drifted in with the tide. By now Elissa and the boys were all watching the scene with me.
“Go help them, Abibaal,” my wife said with concern written on her face.
“Can we come Baba?” the two older ones chimed in unison.
“Yes, but go call the rest of the workers first.”
I kissed Elissa and then went in to kiss my little princess Adama. She was very ill and couldn’t even get out of bed anymore. The doctors said that she would not last much longer. That is the way of this life, I guess. It was like a cloud of darkness over the family. We prayed every day that she would be well. But nothing.
I negotiated my way down the steep path to the beach not knowing what to expect from these mariners. I said a quick prayer to Baal and waded out to begin helping the men to shore. They seemed friendly enough. I soon realized that there were soldiers, sailors and a prisoner named Paul who they treated with more respect than seemed customary for a prisoner.
By now many of the villagers were on the beach. Some were tending wounds. Others began bringing water and what food they had on hand. My boys and I set ourselves the job of getting a fire going to keep them warm.
We set everyone that was able the task of gathering wood for the fire. As Paul laid a bundle of sticks on the fire a deadly serpent struck out and bit him on the hand. We all saw it and knew that he would soon be dead. First, he would swell up though. It was a painful, ugly death but it was fate. Clearly, he was a murderer or worse. It was only a matter of time. We went about our business with one eye always on the prisoner. But nothing happened. Impossible! We had seen many die like this. They always died! He must be a god. Maybe even Baal himself!
The boys ran off to tell their friends and soon the whole village was talking about this god-man named Paul.
Even Publius himself heard about it and came to the beach to welcome Paul and the rest to the island. He allowed them to stay on the estate until they could find another ship departing in their direction.
As for me, I began to wonder if Paul could heal my Adama. Something about this man made a sliver of hope begin to rise in my heart. The more I thought about it the more I was convinced. He could heal her! Baal had answered our prayers by shipwrecking this vessel off our very beach! Hadn’t we been the ones to first see them!? It was a sign from the gods!
The next morning I got up early and wrapped Adama in a blanket and told Elissa, “Our baby will live! Come with me!” We left the boys in charge and went to find Paul in one of the huts that Publius had arranged for them.
“Good morning, is Paul awake?” I asked one of the soldiers guarding him.
“Yes, what do you want with him?”
“I want him to bless my daughter.” The guard looked slightly amused but also curious.
“Paul, there’s a villager here to you.” Paul walked out rubbing his back and smiling.
“Good morning. How can I help you?”
I launched into my prepared speech, “I believe Baal has sent you to heal my daughter. Will you please bless her?”
“Have a seat.” He gestured to a log and sat alongside us. His eyes became intense, almost ablaze, as he looked me in the eyes and said, “I have been sent to heal your daughter but not by Baal. I come in the name of Jesus Christ my Lord and saviour!” As he said it, it was like a wind blew against my face but there was no wind this morning. I think the soldiers felt it too because they looked startled.
“Who is this Jesus?” I asked.
“He is the son of God.”
“Who is this God?”
“Abba – Father”
“Will this God and His son heal my little girl?
“Yes.” And with that he stretched out his hand over my little girl’s head and closed his eyes in prayer. “Be healed in the name of Jesus.” he said with tenderness and authority. Then my Adama, my little girl, opened her eyes and looked up at me.
“Baba, I’m hungry.”
Elissa gasped and covered her mouth. We hugged our little girl and wept for joy. It was the most joyous moment of my life. We sat for hours on that log as our friends brought food for Adama and we all gathered around Paul as he told us about his Jesus and Abba and the Holy Spirit. Right then and there I knew what I had to do. I wanted to serve this God. This God who would send Paul across the sea to heal my daughter. This God who heard prayers that I did not even pray to Him! This God who had the power to heal! No longer would I be called son of Baal. I would be known as Abiabba – son of Abba!
