God beyond our understanding: Mother and Father to us all.

After my last post on Mothering Sunday, I realised that it might be helpful if I gave some context to the recreation of the Prodigal Son and the way in which I am using and interpreting it in the sermon. As a whole, the service is focused around the value of seeing God as Mother as well as Father, although I do note the dangers inherent in us limiting God to our human understandings of Father and Mother, when They are so much greater than we can imagine or describe. Throughout this blog, I am using They/Them when referring to God to emphasise that They are beyond our human understandings of gender. Please do share your thoughts and responses to this in the comments, either below or on Facebook.

Preachy Bit.

I suspect that throughout our lives, many of us have identified with different people in the parable of the prodigal son. We have likely seen something of ourselves in both of the sons and possibly even in the character of the father. Yet there is at least one other character in this story. One whose existence is implied but not acknowledged. If there are two sons, there must surely be a mother. Yet, in this parable, she remains invisible, silent, and voiceless. I wonder what she would have to say. Here is an account in which the mother is present. We do not name her, but she is there, and this is her story.

I was never meant to be a silent presence in our family’s story—even if the ancient texts chose to overlook me. Although our society was structured by patriarchal norms, women like me navigated those constraints with resourcefulness, forging networks, engaging in local trade, and participating in the religious and social life of our community.

When our youngest son chose to leave, it was not merely an act of rebellion but a quest for identity. Together, we hoped for his return, my husband watching the horizon, while I used my contacts to listen to any news about our son.

Years passed. I had heard of famine in the lands where he had travelled, rumours of a once rich young man reduced to swilling out the pigs, abandoned by his friends … could this be our son?

We saw him from a distance, dressed in rags and weighed down by the consequences of his decisions and a world that only celebrated wealth and success. My husband ran, robes billowing, to meet our boy on the road. I did not run but began organising to celebrate his return.

Our eldest son, returning from the fields, was filled with rage and jealousy, shouting in the courtyard, “Why does he feast while I’ve toiled like a slave?” I listened to his anger and hurt, realizing that we had been so caught up in the search for our lost son that we neglected the one who had stayed behind. I hope he will calm down and see that there is love enough for both of them. Our youngest was forgiven and welcomed back into the family.

I was never really absent from this story, but rather unacknowledged and overlooked. Being hidden for so long hurts, but I have come to realise that even without acknowledgement, my love would remain. Neither myself nor my husband gave our love or forgiveness for the praise of others. But we gave it, imperfect as it was, seeking to show something of God’s love for us all.

When reading this parable, or indeed when reading scripture generally we describe God as Father. Yet, the Bible is full of maternal images of God. Despite this, there is not a single occasion on which God is referred to as “Mother.” It's perhaps not surprising that, until recently, the people who studied and interpreted scripture have tended to be men. At the very least, it is worth stopping to consider how we use and understand this maternal imagery and what we might learn about God if we look beyond God the Father and discover God the Mother.

"The Bible’s maternal imagery for God often portrays divine protection and shelter for God’s people. Yet this imagery also carries a striking variation: a God who nudges their children toward independence and strength. Mother eagles are known to teach their young ones to fly by deliberately pushing them out of the nest but catching them before they plunge to the ground. I wonder if there is something of that in the story of the prodigal son, a child who is, if not pushed, then at least allowed to jump out the nest. And before assuming these images merely reinforce stereotypes of gentle, nurturing motherhood, take another look at Hosea 13:8, where God declares: 'Like a bear robbed of her cubs, I will attack them and rip them open.' This is no cozy, comforting portrait, but a raw reminder of divine fierceness that transcends simplistic ideals of maternal tenderness."

Lynn Japinga, a feminist theologian, writes, “Language about God should help us to understand and encounter God, but we should not confuse the reality of God with the limits of our language”(Feminism and Christianity: An Essential Guide, Abingdon: 1999, p. 64) When we describe God as Mother or Father, we are limited by our own very human understanding and experience of what a mother or father is. Human language and concepts cannot encompass the enormity of God. When we try, we often end up with idealised father or mother figures whom we cannot hope to emulate. Our idealised concepts of mother or father have been shaped by society's expectations today, as well as our cultural history and context. The mother character I have added is broadly reflective of the time and culture within which the original parable was set. She probably does not wholly encompass present-day Western European concepts of motherhood. In this version, neither she nor the father are presented as perfect examples of parenthood, but as people doing their best to love their children as God loves us.

Whatever language or imagery we use to describe God, They don’t require our acknowledgment or praise to love us completely. In our daily lives, God’s presence often fades into the background—unseen, unspoken, overlooked. Yet this silence does not diminish the abundance of divine love poured out for us. Just as the parable’s hidden figure works tirelessly for reconciliation, God’s ultimate purpose is to restore wholeness to all of creation. This is the heart of Jesus’s journey to Jerusalem: to heal the fractured family of God, to bring every member home, and to reunite us all within the embrace of God’s boundless, untamed, and liberating love.