When A Rose Is Not A Rose
Nothing smells quite like freshly ground coffee. The aroma makes it taste even better, don’t you think? I do my best thinking along side a cup; early in the morning. Which was a good thing this morning as I realized I inadvertently used a word last posting assuming you would know what I meant. Not an unusual word but a choice that might leave some scratching their heads. Allow me to take a short side trip.
Unless you’re an English major you probably haven’t used the word “metaphor” in conversation since getting out of school. When we speak of something spiritual—that which we cannot see, taste, touch, hear—whether it refers to a being or an experience, the only way we can have such a conversation is to use ‘words’ that are descriptive. The problem with spiritual matters is: how do you describe something you can’t see, hear, or touch? Answer: we use words that compare the ‘spiritual’ with those things that we experience as concrete, material, or, if not, at least common to our knowledge.
I’m not an English major but let me attempt to distinguish between a metaphor and a simile—I’m going to get mail on this one. A simile is descriptive and uses ‘as’ or ‘like’. You might say, “My love is like a red, red rose.” But an entirely different level of comparison happens if you say, “My love is a red, red rose.” The comparison is deeper, relies on an assumed shared experience, and asks us to accept one thing as being another. Such a comparison is called a metaphor.
When I ask someone to give me a quality or description of God a common response is, “God is love”. And, even though love is not something you can put under a microscope or grow in a laboratory, enough of us have experienced love of one kind or another so we have a common understanding of the meaning we are attempting to convey. We understand the mystery of love, or at least have waded into it far enough to have grasped the concept, and therefore to compare that to God carries a reasonable and intelligent understanding about “God”.
In the writings of Judaism there are many names for and descriptions of God. Among these are, “God is my fortress” or “God is my rock”. Some even become local to a limited setting, “The Lion of Judah” or “The rose of Sharon”. That’s not to say that God is literally a fortress, a rock, a flower, or a lion. The word is drawing a comparison of a quality that has been experienced or that has a deeper meaning so others who share this common experience would likely nod in agreement, “Yes, that is how I see God.” Such metaphorical, poetic if you will, usage helps us attach concrete images to that which can only be imagined. Since I cannot open your mind to look inside, words are as close as I can get to verifying that you comprehend what I mean when I say “God”.
Communication hits a snag when one of us decides that the metaphor we are using is more than a description and must be taken literally. The metaphor that God is our heavenly Father is not intended to declare that God is male or female yet some will stake their faith on the understanding that God is a masculine Being. Perhaps that is why Moses forbids any graven images lest we take too literally and make concrete the metaphors and images we use to understand what cannot be fathomed by our finite minds. When we limit God to the dimensions of a single or even a collection of metaphors we box God in, we define God as having limits.
I can see you need another cup. Stick with me on this for it’s about to take a serious turn. I’ll be right back.
Unless you’re an English major you probably haven’t used the word “metaphor” in conversation since getting out of school. When we speak of something spiritual—that which we cannot see, taste, touch, hear—whether it refers to a being or an experience, the only way we can have such a conversation is to use ‘words’ that are descriptive. The problem with spiritual matters is: how do you describe something you can’t see, hear, or touch? Answer: we use words that compare the ‘spiritual’ with those things that we experience as concrete, material, or, if not, at least common to our knowledge.
I’m not an English major but let me attempt to distinguish between a metaphor and a simile—I’m going to get mail on this one. A simile is descriptive and uses ‘as’ or ‘like’. You might say, “My love is like a red, red rose.” But an entirely different level of comparison happens if you say, “My love is a red, red rose.” The comparison is deeper, relies on an assumed shared experience, and asks us to accept one thing as being another. Such a comparison is called a metaphor.
When I ask someone to give me a quality or description of God a common response is, “God is love”. And, even though love is not something you can put under a microscope or grow in a laboratory, enough of us have experienced love of one kind or another so we have a common understanding of the meaning we are attempting to convey. We understand the mystery of love, or at least have waded into it far enough to have grasped the concept, and therefore to compare that to God carries a reasonable and intelligent understanding about “God”.
In the writings of Judaism there are many names for and descriptions of God. Among these are, “God is my fortress” or “God is my rock”. Some even become local to a limited setting, “The Lion of Judah” or “The rose of Sharon”. That’s not to say that God is literally a fortress, a rock, a flower, or a lion. The word is drawing a comparison of a quality that has been experienced or that has a deeper meaning so others who share this common experience would likely nod in agreement, “Yes, that is how I see God.” Such metaphorical, poetic if you will, usage helps us attach concrete images to that which can only be imagined. Since I cannot open your mind to look inside, words are as close as I can get to verifying that you comprehend what I mean when I say “God”.
Communication hits a snag when one of us decides that the metaphor we are using is more than a description and must be taken literally. The metaphor that God is our heavenly Father is not intended to declare that God is male or female yet some will stake their faith on the understanding that God is a masculine Being. Perhaps that is why Moses forbids any graven images lest we take too literally and make concrete the metaphors and images we use to understand what cannot be fathomed by our finite minds. When we limit God to the dimensions of a single or even a collection of metaphors we box God in, we define God as having limits.
I can see you need another cup. Stick with me on this for it’s about to take a serious turn. I’ll be right back.
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