I am becoming increasingly aware of the limitations of language when we talk about God. It has many forms, but usually sounds something like this: “Dear Heavenly Father.” I’ve often used this phrase to talk to and about God. It’s not wrong, per se, but I recognize the limiting and biased nature of it. This is the language that I have inherited through repetition and tradition. But how would others look at me if I prayed, “Dear Heavenly Mother?”

How I talk about God affects what I think about the divine and the world. There is a correlation between my perspective and my language—each serves and supports the other. By calling God “Father,” I am saying that God is like a man, including the physical and emotional properties that coincide with this image. Am I unknowingly hindering my understanding of all that God is by gendering and humanizing the nature of God?

I recently finished my second and final Hebrew class. As we studied the Hebrew Bible, I realized two things:

There is no gender-neutral noun in the Hebrew language. In other words, language forces the reader/translator to refer to God as masculine or feminine (in a human sense).

The Hebrew Bible was written in a patriarchal society so, naturally, they chose to portray God as male. This is not an attractive part of biblical history, but the ugly truth is that women were second-rate citizens in the culture of that day. An androcentric society wrote an androcentric book? Makes sense.

Thoughts matter. Language matters. Perspective matters. They are the tools by which I construct reality. If God is a man, then “he” will take on the characteristics and actions of a man. This is essentially what the Hebrew Bible suggests. God reveals “himself” to Abraham, which is the beginning of a patriarchal order. The God of fathers (Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob) becomes the Father God, solidifying the association as a significant part of the biblical narrative that even now shapes our human understanding of God.

But Genesis 1:27 raises questions about the man-shaped box I have stuffed God into. The text describes God making humanity: “in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” God created them in the image and likeness of God. Therefore, God’s image and likeness are completely expressed in both male and female; God’s gender is technically male and female.

Understanding the importance of language, I am looking for new ways to talk about God—away from the use of gender-specific terms and faith claims. I am becoming more aware of the consequences of my words. I grew up thinking God was an old, white man with a long, white beard. I thought that God was only a father. My entire faith was built on this viewpoint. Now, I am wrestling with the consequences of that narrow perspective.

As I seek new ways to describe God, I find more meaningful, inclusive language that breaks the chains of stale language and stereotypes. Instead of saying, “him” or “himself,” I can easily say “God” or “God’s self.” I can also use terms that describe who and what God is, such as Creator, Holy One, All-Powerful, and Lord.

Changing the way I talk about God isn’t easy, but I hope it will deepen the wells of my spiritual journey. When I associate God with only male language, I focus on male-oriented action and neglect the feminine qualities of the Divine Presence: giving birth to creation, nurturing, the calm soothing that only a mother can bring. The Father gives daily bread; the Mother gives us life to begin with. At best, God as “he” is incomplete.

Some Christians might think it is ridiculous, but I find it necessary to refine my language and understanding of God beyond traditional gender-specific roles. In the end, God is not human and cannot be limited to human terms. Why would I continue to use language that not only sells short who God could be, but limits the ways I can experience the divine? Why would I continue to use language that conforms to the traditional patriarchal framework?

As I pray, I seek new ways to talk to and about God. I remain quiet, still, and creatively ready to think deeply upon the Divine Presence and, then, to speak meaningfully—to transcend the language of human anatomy to a place of wonder and possibility. In doing so, I hope to find something new, exciting, refreshing, and real.

About Shea Watts

Shea Watts is from Charleston, SC, and is a second year seminarian at Chicago Theological Seminary where he is pursuing an M.Div. degree. He mostly writes music, but also writes about faith and the way it intersects and contradicts our everyday lives on his blog, The Wandering Optimist.