You better not be some kind of aural slouch when it comes to worshiping in the Lutheran tradition, particularly when we come around to the Bible readings, of which there are four “assigned” by some ecumenical coven of liturgical gurus hidden deep in the bowels of Christendom for each Sunday, beginning with the cleverly-named ‘First Lesson’, followed by a chunk of a Psalm, then, surprise, the ‘Second Lesson’ and then hoorah the Gospel reading. For the liturgical illiterate, the first reading is usually something out of the Old Testament (with respect, ‘the Hebrew Scriptures’), which is also where the Psalms are to be found. The second reading is something from the New Testament, but not anything from the four gospels, the reading of which is reserved for, you guessed it, the Gospel Reading (for which we also stand and give a holy hip-hip-hooray for Jesus). Now, these readings may or may not have anything to do with each other. Or two of them might be connected while a third travels its own route, as in, recently, the second lesson has been a Cliff’s Notes read through of Romans. I pity the poor worshiper who actually tries to make sense of them as a whole, ‘What the hell’s going on?’ I’ve thought about axing a couple of them over the years, but decided I needed to trust the work of our liturgical wizards; toss it all out there, maybe something will stick. And besides, they provide a near infinite number of sermon themes. Give me four readings to choose from and I can preach about anything.

Which, let it be known, is a problem, because most of us preacher types can get lost to the wonderful universe of our own minds, thinking our grandiloquent thoughts. Left to our own devices, we are brilliant at theologically justifying whatever it is we feel like. Left alone, we are bedazzled by our own bull. That’s why we gotta hang around the company of preachers; we stay in tune and sort of accountable for our preaching. So for about a decade I’ve been part of a weekly pastors’ coffee klatch and lectionary debate. They keep me accountable through challenge. And vice versa.

It was my turn to vice versa last week in the midst of a rousing debate of Peter’s Wiley Coyote routine when he saw Jesus walking across the water in the middle of a storm; so excited became he that he jumped out of the boat and was four steps across the sea before he realized it, which, of course, by then was too late: a mad scramble to Jesus with a heavenly xylophone bonkety-bonking in the background. It was a loud and dandy argument, but I got tired of the male pronouns for the divine, thus shooting off my mouth after yet another ‘God. . .he’: ‘Hesheorit.’

The interrupted pontificator: ‘What?’

‘God. . .he, she, or it. Hesheorit.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’ with a roll of the eyes.

Of course we all know that God is beyond gender, but language matters—language defines. You use only male references to God, and in spite of whatever intellectual move you make, you end up with a de facto male God, the ‘Father of our Lord Jesus Christ’. I hope my pals are more careful in their sermons than they are in the heat of the debates; but if we’re not called on it, few of us preachers can pick up our blind spots. I got into a whole jag where I was just slovenly about pronoun use, and since nobody called me on it, I continued it too long. So: Hesheorit, even in my sermons.

I know, bubba: it’s the whiney sensitivity of friggin political correctness. But I’ll only accept the charge of (minimal) sensitivity, because it’s a spiritual matter to my mind: people are deformed by deformed images of God. And I gotta observe that God the Father ain’t gettin’ very good press these days; you know, that Higher Father to whom Georgie Jr. announced his accountability just before starting the war on Iraq; the loving Daddy demonstrated by the RC ‘fathers’ while accosting their children (and the ‘Holy Father’s’ unwillingness to take action against them); the ‘Fathergod’ of the Right who justifies misogynistic male domination of women’s bodies; the ghastly father of Mel Gibson’s passion movie who, enraged and insulted by us sinners, turns his violent abuse on his own son (‘yahoo! Jesus died for me’ being essentially ‘I’m glad Dad beat up my brother instead of me’). Yeah, to whom do the victims of this god turn?

Besides, what god does my daughter see at work in her womb creating her daughter Ryan? What god does she look to to see her own life as she mothers this child? ‘The father of our Lord Jesus Christ’? Gimme a break. I know enough about women to understand that while we may inhabit the same space, we do not live in the same world (a lá an ancient prayer, ‘I thank you, God, that you have not created me a woman’). So it seems that simple justice if not also compassion requires me to attend to that. For if God is beyond gender, we are free to talk about him as her, and, indeed, should as much as possible. Hence: Hesheorit.

God the Mother. The birthing one; the nurturing one; the life-giving one; the fertile one, growing creation. God the Mother to whom the children can turn who are more worried about today’s food than yesterday’s sin. God who sings her children lullabies and coos at them while cleaning the shit from their bottom and delights simply in their being, divine ecstasy breaking out when the smile is returned. God the Mother. God the Wife (the Bible never gives marital advice written by women, just men like Paul). God, whose heart is a feminine tenderness (and mystique, eh?), caring not a whit about her own honor but tending to the life of her children, marking not their perfection, but their growth. It’s good to worship God the Mother.

So long as we never forget who holds the real power.