There are many metaphors the Bible uses to help the finite mind conceptualize an infinite God. His ways are not our ways, and his thoughts are greater than ours. With that in mind, our biblical authors often employ points of comparison so we can better understand this Being who would otherwise be completely beyond our grasp.
He is our Father. That is how Jesus teaches us to address him in prayer (Mat. 6:9). The paternal image is a favorite, especially among New Testament writers.
In what might be the most beloved of Psalms, God comes to us as a shepherd, who leads us by still waters and through dark shadowy places. Isaiah 64:8 presents him as a potter—a careful artist who creates with precision. Jesus calls God a vinedresser (John 15:1), pruning dead branches so the rest of the vine might bear fruit. In a bizarre mixing of metaphors, the first three chapters of Hosea picture the divine-human relationship as that of a husband and wife, while later in the book (chapter 11), the same relationship is set in the context of father-son.
And those are only human images. Amos likens God to a lion. Then John, in Revelation 5, adds a new dimension, giving us a strange picture of some lion-lamb hybrid with seven horns and eyes. In response to that, you might think John, rather than joining in the singing of a new song, instead threw up at the sight, wondering what sort of morally bankrupt Soviet lab would have produced such a ghastly beast.
Then come the inanimate metaphors. God is a rock (Psalm 19:4). He is also a fire (Deuteronomy 4:24). Moses calls him a “Banner” (Exodus 17:15). In Psalm 84:11, he is both a sun and a shield. He is two letters of the Greek alphabet (Revelation 21:6). And in Psalm 18:2, David can’t make up his mind: A fortress? A horn? A shield? A deliverer? Which is it?
The reason we don’t get confused when we read these is because we understand how metaphors work. Concrete points of comparison help us make sense of an infinite God. No one argues that God is a literal rock, but the metaphor does its job. A rock is hard and sturdy, not easily moved; it is a sure foundation on which you can build. God is kind of like that—an immoveable force and a sure foundation for one to build one’s life. And no one argues that God is literal fire, but again the metaphor does its job. What both God and fire have in common is that they burn away that which is bad and purify what is good.
Even the mixed metaphors do their job too. No one proposes a search for the Soviet lab producing bizarre animals. Rather, John knows something about the value of lambs in the ancient Jewish sacrificial system, and how the image of a Lion was connected with King David and his line. The metaphors present us with Jesus, the perfect Lamb of God who is at the same time the one who rules as King of kings. We know what metaphors are, we know how they work, and we recognize when they do their job. They help us conceive the inconceivable.
So, in light of this, I was rather surprised once when there was significant objection to the idea of considering God as a “Mother.” In a Bible study, I asked people to offer adjectives of God—doubtless, many of which we derive from the Bible’s use of metaphors. The answers were predictable: Holy, just, kind, gracious, jealous, and so forth. About a dozen other things were added before one faithful elderly saint bravely announced, “You know, one of the things I often find very comforting is seeing God as our Mother.”
The room was mixed. Some were nodding in agreement, as if they too had experienced a divine Mother’s warm embrace in the cold of night. Others had the look of contemplation on their faces; it was clear this was the first time they had been presented with this idea. But the loudest voice in the room was offered by a mother herself—someone deeply insulted at the suggestion that God would be spoken of as a woman. Words like “heresy” were thrown around, along with calls for my resignation and for the elderly saint’s repentance.
Now on the one hand, we can’t help but recognize that the biblical authors unapologetically refer to God in third-person masculine pronouns. Doubling down on this, Jesus consistently calls God “Father.” It is also painfully clear (and I mean that quite literally: cf. Luke 2:21!) that Jesus was born a male. On the other hand, considering the wide range of metaphors given to help finite minds comprehend an infinite God, and considering the nearly universal experience of children having moms, why shouldn’t scripture, such as Isaiah 66, give us a vision of God as a doting mother?
In bringing the book to a close, Isaiah 66 returns to themes introduced in chapter 1. The first few chapters of Isaiah operate almost as an extended oracle of doom against Jerusalem. She (the city) was intended to have a reputation as one to whom the hungry could come to find food, the threatened could come to find safety, the outcast could come to find welcome. But instead of being for the nations what a good mother would be for her children, she had become a prostitute.
God, however, is not satisfied to leave her in that state. Isaiah 66 pictures God redeeming the city where he once put his name. Verses 10-12 talk about this redemption in the language of motherhood; a beautiful image of tender intimacy experienced in motherly care.
God promises that you will “nurse and be satisfied from her” (that is, Jerusalem’s) “consoling breast,” and “drink deeply with delight from her glorious abundance” (66:11). God is intent on redeeming the city, so that her reputation will be that of a mother who meets the deepest needs of the helpless. Further, “you shall be carried upon her hip” (66:12): a vision of safety and protection. Good mothers will pick their children off the floor if a danger presents itself. A helpless infant is easy prey for a wild animal—not so dangerous if a mama bear inserts herself between her child and the predator (see Hosea 13:8 for more on this ferocious maternal image of God). The picture of a child carried on the hip is one of security, and no less intimate is a child being “bounced upon her knees” (66:12). Is there any sound quite like that of a giggling baby? Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart together could not recreate a more beautiful tune. A mother bouncing her infant on her knee is an experience of pure joy and delight, an intimate moment of profound love shared between mother and baby, where all the cares of the world simply melt away.
This, so promises God, is how he will redeem the city. She will be for you what a good mother is for her children. No longer will Jerusalem be a prostitute. Rather, she will be a doting mother who provides nourishment and satisfaction, safety and security, joy and delight.
But this is only true in the sense that the city is meant to be a direct reflection of who God is. In a rather beautiful and unexpected twist, in Isaiah 66:13 God himself absorbs all of the maternal images of nursing, protecting, and playing into his very being. Those images—drinking with delight, carried on the hip, and bounced on the knee—all of them could fall under the broader umbrella of “Comfort,” and in a surprise move, God himself becomes the source of comfort: “As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.”
Grammatically speaking, recognizing prepositions is just as important as understanding metaphors. You will not be comforted by Jerusalem, but in it. Jerusalem will be the venue where God himself will act in the role of a mother, providing comfort in the form of meeting the immediate needs of the helpless, protecting the vulnerable by scooping them up on the hip, and welcoming the outcast with shared joy and delight. In a word, God is for us what a good mother is for her children. This is not instead of the rather paternal images of God, but in addition to them, along with every other metaphor used to describe God. When a real human mother expresses the depth of love and intimacy toward her baby, she is only reenacting what is already true of God himself.
Or to put it another way, “As inimitable as a human mother’s ferocious love for her child is, and indeed it may seem like the fiercest force in all of creation, even this is surpassed by God’s relentless and inexorable maternal love and compassion…”
(Jacqueline E Lapsley “‘Look! The Child and I Are as Signs and Portents in Israel’: Children in Isaiah”, in The Child in the Bible, p.94).
We should only be uncomfortable seeing God as a doting mother if we are equally insulted calling God a “Rock.” In fact, there is something more beautiful, more intimate in recognizing the maternal nature of God over against some of the inanimate metaphors we often employ without question. He dotes on us, sharing intimate love with us, inviting us to receive his comfort. He meets our needs with nourishment and satisfaction. He protects us, giving us safety and security from threats. He takes joy and delight in our presence. And his love for us is deep, profound, and ferocious. Indeed, God loves us with a greater love than the best of mothers could hope to offer to their own children.
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