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Each day this August we’ll be looking at one of the extraordinary metaphors that the Bible uses to illustrate the nature of our relationship with God.
Irish parliamentarian Boyle Roche aimed to make a statement every listener would remember for a long time:
He certainly succeeded – but not exactly for the reasons he had in mind:
“Mr. Speaker, I smell a rat. I see him floating in the air. But mark me, sir, I will nip him in the bud.”
This is what is known as a mixed metaphor – the unintentional (or sometimes deliberately comical) mingling of two or more unrelated word pictures.
Other examples include, “It’s not rocket surgery” (a mash-up of “it’s not rocket science” and “it’s not brain surgery”), “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it,” and, “The sacred cows have come home to roost.” Yikes.
Metaphors are figures of speech that describe one thing by stating it is another thing. Shakespeare wrote, “All the world’s a stage.” He didn’t mean that whenever we step outside we’re likely to stumble into footlights and curtains. But he certainly intended to convey a powerful, particular idea.
Crazy things happen when metaphors collide. But that’s no reason to give up on one of the most important gadgets in the toolbox of human communication – speaking metaphorically, of course.
On the pages of the Bible, metaphors matter. That’s because they are, hands down, the best way – perhaps the only way – to communicate essential truths about God. Think about it: How can we possibly describe what it means to be in a relationship with an all-powerful, all-knowing, invisible Deity?
Scripture presents a series of metaphors, each of which says something – but not everything – about connecting with our Creator.
They range from the very simple to the unimaginably intimate.
Isaiah and Jeremiah, for instance, declare that God is the potter and we are the clay. The apostle Peter insists that God is a master builder and we are the living stones he is using to construct a new temple, with Jesus as the cornerstone.
Christ draws a botanical picture in the Gospel of John, where he says that he is the vine and we are the branches.
Then there’s that memorable metaphor, in both Old and New Testaments, that comes from the fields. The Lord is our shepherd and we are the sheep grazing in his pasture.
It’s hard to generate a great deal of reassurance by remembering, “I am one of God’s rocks,” or to seek guidance by asking, “What should a lump of clay do today?” Most of us have a much easier time picturing the human metaphors for relating to God.
Jesus, for instance, says that we are workers in God’s harvest fields. We are soldiers serving in his ranks. We are servants in God’s household. On more than 30 occasions, the apostle Paul ratchets up the intimacy by declaring that we are Christ’s body, while he is the Head.
But the tenderness starts to become breathtaking when we ponder the Bible’s family metaphors.
The book of Hebrews states that Jesus is not ashamed to call us his siblings. And Romans 8 tells us that we are God’s adopted children – spiritual orphans invited to sit at his kitchen table for the rest of our lives. Most amazing of all, God has invited us into marriage. We are more than just workers or apprentices or sheep. We are the Bride of Christ.
No other religion on Earth has dared to suggest such dramatic pictures of the divine-human relationship.
Every day this month we’ll take a close look at a single one of these word pictures. In each case we’ll ask, “If God is this, then what does that make us? And what should we be thinking or doing today to experience the richness of what these verses are telling us?”
Before we start, let’s address the question that inevitably arises whenever we consider biblical figures of speech: Aren’t we supposed to take the Word of God literally?
The answer is yes. But also no.
Taking the Bible literally means interpreting it “according to the kind of literature the author intended.”
When Revelation 5:5 tells us that Jesus is the Lion of Judah, we shouldn’t expect the Son of God to have paws, claws, and a mane. Rather, he is endowed with character qualities we generally associate with the king of beasts: fierceness, power, and a natural intimidation of foes.
Thus we embrace the metaphor of the leonine identity of Jesus – according to the intentions of the author – without succumbing to a wooden literalism that takes every word at face value.
In Psalm 18, David recounts a moment of deep distress in which he called out to Yahweh for help. Did God respond? Yes, he did, and dramatically: “Smoke rose from his nostrils; consuming fire came from his mouth, burning coals blazed out of it. He parted the heavens and came down; dark clouds were under his feet (18:8-9).
This is Hebrew poetry at its best, not a prooftext that God has nostrils, a mouth, and feet “because the Bible says so.” David is telling us, by means of unforgettable word pictures, that God is entirely serious about defending his people.
That’s what we’ll encounter throughout this month: unforgettable pictures of how we are called to relate to God.
We’ll start our journey tomorrow!