THE FEMININE GOD
Gathering the Pieces
Rediscovering the Feminine God: Part Twelve
This is the final part of this series. So what have we discovered? Well, there are some fiercely feminine portrayals of God in the Old Testament, passages where ‘Mother’ would be a far more suitable way of referring to God than ‘Father’.
Among the many names of God in the Old Testament is ‘El Shaddai’, the ‘breasted one’. The Holy Spirit is the member of the trinity most consistently described in feminine terms. Not only is the language used for the Holy Spirit in the Old Testament feminine, but in the New Testament, believers are described as being ‘born of the Spirit.’ And then there’s the interesting assertion that Jesus is the ‘wisdom of God’, connecting him with the definitely feminine ‘wisdom’ character in the Old Testament.
I don’t know about you, but the blokey filters through which I have been viewing the God of the Bible are beginning to malfunction. Suddenly, the God who seemed so male is starting to become a much more rounded character. I don’t think I will ever view God in quite the same way again.
It seems to me that a good way to view this is to say that Yahweh is neither male nor female in any predetermined kind of way but rather is the source and creator of both. We are all created in God’s image and can see ourselves reflected in the character of God. We can see both masculinity and femininity in all three persons of the trinity. God defies any definitive attempt to identify particular persons of the trinity with particular genders.
This makes sense. God the Father can also be God the Mother, the ‘breasted one’. Wisdom, who is essentially feminine according to Proverbs, is incarnated as Jesus the man, in whom we can see both femininity and masculinity. The Holy Spirit is described using feminine language but reflects male characteristics too.
This is true for us too. Whether we are male or female, we still exhibit characteristics of both genders and can be encouraged by the fact that it’s OK to be who we are.
Historically, there have been all kinds of pressures on us to conform to the cultural expectations placed on us because we are men or women. We can resist those pressures if we want.
These observations also shine an interesting light on the gender identity debate and should be deeply affirming for those whose gender identity does not fit neatly into the expected boxes.
As a woman, I am particularly encouraged by the fact that God’s femininity does not conform at all to the 1950s-esque housewife ideal that I met in some of the churches I was part of in my youth. I don’t get any sense from what I’m reading that femininity in the person of God is in any way weak or submissive. It’s strong and rooted and earthy.
It is not prim or prissy. I love what I am discovering. I want to go and stand on top of a hill and exalt the womanhood I see in the person of God. It’s fabulous, and we need more of it in the world. And more recognition and celebration of it where it is to be found.
I love the fact that the bible displays a complete lack of squeamishness about images of breasts and wombs and childbirth. Through the words of the prophets, God talks about carrying Israel before birth, about screaming in the agonies of labour. As we have already seen, El-Shaddai is ‘God the breasted one’. God, it seems, is entirely comfortable with female anatomy and the reasons for its existence.
Now, I know that this is an obvious point at one level. God created us, after all, and declared that creation to be ‘very good’. However, when you have spent your life immersed in a culture that suggests you should be a little bit ashamed of those things, it is natural to internalise some of those attitudes without even realising it.
Although our scriptures give us a picture of femininity that is grounded and earthy, and unashamedly sensual, Christian culture hasn’t and still doesn’t. Normal womanhood simply hasn’t found space much space within Christian culture.
It is rarely celebrated. Usually, it gets one of three responses. It gets ignored, sanitised — think of all those statues of Mary looking serene in her blue dress — or demonised and made the source of shame.
When that’s how womanhood is viewed, it’s not really surprising that feminine images and metaphors for God have found no place. A God with breasts? Try bringing that up at your next small group meeting. Cue much awkward clearing of throats and shuffling of feet before everyone quickly moves on to something less embarrassing.
Jesus, by contrast, wasn’t in the least bit embarrassed or awkward when women turned up in probably male-dominated gatherings and anointed his feet with tears and perfume. Neither was he embarrassed by the conversation about periods that wouldn’t stop when he met the woman with the issue of blood.
Not only was he comfortable with these things, but he quite pointedly gave the women he met dignity. He gave them acknowledgement, acceptance and honour in the context of a society that, more often than not, did none of those things.
It’s worth taking a moment to consider the story of the woman with the periods that wouldn’t stop.
In case you’re not familiar with the story, Jesus was on the way to heal the terminally ill daughter of a local synagogue ruler. In the crowd was a woman who had suffered continual vaginal bleeding for many years. She was desperate for healing and had gone to great lengths and spent every penny she had on cures that hadn’t cured her.
When we meet this woman, she has a dilemma. She knows that Jesus can heal the sick, but her bleeding makes her unclean, which makes getting close to Jesus completely socially unacceptable. If she touches Jesus, she risks making him ritually unclean as well.
Often when this story is talked about, we are told that she was deeply ashamed and embarrassed. That she wanted a no-fuss encounter where she could touch his cloak and sneak away.
But it’s more than that. Her uncleanness means that coming into contact with Jesus in this way breaks all kinds of social and religious rules and taboos. Even if touching the edge of his garment doesn’t literally make him unclean, even if she has carefully chosen a level of contact that will be strictly OK, you can bet that there will be a ‘yuck’ factor.
She is a deeply stigmatised individual. And it’s not only Jesus she will be coming in contact with, but all the people in the crowd she is going to need to get past in order to touch his garment. If anyone recognises her and works out what she’s doing, this could end very badly.
She’s desperate — so she decides to go for it. She quietly works her way through the crowd and surreptitiously touches the edge of Jesus’ clothes, with every intention of sneaking away unnoticed.
It doesn’t quite work out that way. Jesus notices that he has been touched and that something has happened.
He says, ‘power has gone out from me’ and insists on knowing who it was.
Realising that she isn’t going to be able to go unnoticed, the woman comes forward. And this is where the best bit happens. Jesus listens. Really listens. He gives her time, as one of the gospels puts it, to ‘tell her whole story’. A twelve-year saga of seeking help from doctors, suffering from treatments that didn’t work and running out of money in the process.
That’s some story. I think we can assume they were there for a while.
Now here’s the thing. Jesus chose to give this woman a lot of time despite the fact that she had a non-urgent gynaecological problem, and he was en route to the healing of the dying daughter of a respected synagogue ruler. That is appalling medical triage but a very powerful political statement. He gives her dignity. He listens to her in front of the crowd, and he praises her faith. He does not run from her ‘uncleanness’.
He doesn’t shuffle his feet awkwardly and moves on to more important things. He creates a public space for her to tell her story. And if Jesus is made ritually unclean in any way by this encounter, he walks, unclean, straight into the home of the synagogue ruler.
This woman’s illness meant that she carried the stigma of permanent uncleanness, but every woman in that crowd of childbearing age was unclean for several days every month. In the dignity he gives this one woman, he is communicating something very precious to every other woman in the crowd and every woman who hears the story. They see that for Jesus, listening to one precious, stigmatised woman takes precedence over rushing to the home of the important man and his dying daughter.
In a society where women were frequently ignored, where the feminine was consistently pushed to one side to make space for the masculine, Jesus consistently made space for women and their voices. As I continue my journey of getting to know God as feminine as well as masculine and of appreciating the feminine within myself, I will think of Jesus’ encounter with this woman and remember that I need not hide or be ashamed, for I am a daughter of El Shaddai.
To start reading this series at the beginning:
My next series, which is an exploration of the sexism in the Bible, begins here:
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