The Femininity of God
our respective perfections and God's infinite perfection
Last year, I read Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen1 and was deeply moved by the author’s reflections on both the famous Rembrandt painting and the parable that inspired it.
Fr. Nouwen wrote about every detail of the painting—the younger son’s tattered clothing; the older son’s rod-straight stance; the mysterious, shadowy figure in the background. But one detail he dwelled on for nearly half a chapter is the father’s hands.
The hands, if you look closely at the painting, don’t “match” the way we would expect them to. They don’t look like they belong to the same person. The left hand is strong and muscular, and it’s clearly the appendage of someone who does hard labor. It has a firm hold. The right hand is soft and tender, much more delicate in nature. It caresses instead of grips.
As Nouwen writes, “the Father is not simply a great patriarch. He is mother as well as father. He touches the son with a masculine hand and a feminine hand. He holds, and she caresses. He confirms and she consoles. He is, indeed, God, in whom both manhood and womanhood, fatherhood and motherhood, are fully present.”
It’s as if one hand of the father is protecting the son’s vulnerable feelings and tender heart, while the other is reinforcing his strength in returning, and the capability he still has pulsing through his veins.