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In discussing the advance of women’s rights, Ruth Bader Ginsburg has often remarked that when we set women on a pedestal, we actually lock them in a cage.

I’ve been wondering lately whether the same could be said about God. (And even more so, Heavenly Mother.) When we consign our Heavenly Parents to a throne of glory in the distant heavens, we’re actually locking them behind human constructs of divinity. We’re building a wall of checkpoints and purity standards, then barring all we deem unholy or unclean from approaching their mercy.

Our all-to-common vision of God on a celestial pedestal gets it all backwards. To borrow a phrase from Rachel Held Evans’s latest book Inspired: our God stoops.

Our God sent Christ to work as a humble carpenter and walk in mucky streets, then die as a condemned criminal on the cross.

Our God does not hesitate to abandon a tranquil pasture and wrestle with thornbushes to aid a lost sheep.

Our God lives in our dirt and our pain and our sickness and our tears. Our God sits with us in our confusion and our questions and our doubts.

Our Heavenly Parents are neither too sacred to talk about nor too holy for “unworthy” sinners to approach.

A few months ago, a friend on Facebook (I honestly don’t remember who) posted a simple reflection that has haunted me ever since:

Why would I believe in a God who is less loving than me?

If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him? (Matthew 7:11)

If I, a loud and arrogant and selfish woman, know how to occasionally display warm, welcoming, and inclusive love — shouldn’t I be able to imagine a God who offers at least ten times that? That’s a single order of magnitude I can at least begin to comprehend. (In reality, God’s love is infinite.)

I’ve served on many a Relief Society deep-cleaning brigade for families in crisis. Would not our ever-loving God likewise embrace the clutter, disorder, and filth of our lives?

I’ve hugged many a disheveled friend sporting tanktops, bra straps peeking out. Would not our ever-loving God likewise cherish emotional connections over “modesty?”

I’ve held many a deep philosophical conversation over happy hours, where I sip lemonade while my colleagues sip beer. Would not our ever-loving God likewise delight in joining us on a bar stool to discuss the mysteries of life?

I’ve attended many a discussion, passionately and even “contentiously” debating policies and points. I’ve watched those debates lead to empathy, expanded perspectives, inspiration, and change. Would not our ever-loving God likewise engage in active listening and invite constructive dissent?

I’ve invited many an LGBT friend into my home. Would not our ever-loving God likewise welcome all with open arms into his heavenly mansions?

If even I in the service of others can manage to set aside judgment and material trappings and instead sit with kindred souls in their laughter and pain, why would I envision a God who does not do the same? Maybe the “highest law” of them all is that our Heavenly Parents care not a whit about “higher laws.” Christ did, after all, descend below all things to offer us infinite love. Are we greater than He?

As a child I learned to pray to an abstract God on a throne in the heavens, a God who scared me, a God I constantly worried condemned me for small acts of disobedience or imperfection or non-conformity. My relationship radically changed when I started envisioning my Heavenly Parents as friendly grandparents who light up every time I visit, who happily feast on my slightly burnt cookies, and who surprise-jump out of rotting piles of fall leaves to give me hugs. I believe in a God who stoops to the level of each and every soul who seeks Him.

*Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash