Redeeming Love

By Emily Faison

The book of Hosea is one I read often. I’m drawn to the vivid metaphors describing God and His people, along with the perfect parallel between God’s unfaithful people and Hosea’s unfaithful wife. Although the story of Hosea and his wife is fascinating, the glimpses of God’s character are what make Hosea a truly compelling book. In case you haven’t visited Hosea in awhile, here’s a quick refresher:

Hosea, instructed by God, marries Gomer, a prostitute, in a real-life metaphor of God’s covenantal relationship with His unfaithful people (1:2-3; 3:1). Two of Hosea and Gomer’s children are named No Mercy (Loruhamah) and Not My People (Loammi) (1:6-8). Ouch! God’s message is pretty strong. Yet, even early in Hosea, the beginning of chapter 2 gives us a peek into the future: Say to your brothers, ’You are my people,’ and to your sisters, ’You have received mercy.’ God uses name changes throughout His Word to indicate a change in character or an encounter with God. This particular name change foreshadows the rest of the book, leaving us with a powerful vision of God’s condemnation coupled with a promise of His compassion.

A Familiar Story

In the book of Hosea, we return to the familiar Old Testament tale of God’s people getting caught up in the drama of neighboring nations (7:8, 11) and ultimately turning to foreign gods. The early chapters of Hosea are devoted to the ways God’s people have “acted shamefully” (2:5) by offering sacrifices to other gods, drinking wine with abandon, and indulging in prostitution and adultery.

We’ve read this sad story before, throughout the Old Testament. Time and time again, people turn from the blessings of God to their idols: “For she did not know that I gave her corn, and wine, and oil, and multiplied her silver and gold, which they prepared for Baal” (Hosea 2:8).

Despite the blessings from the true God, the Israelites in Hosea blatantly served false gods. Hosea didn’t even attempt to soften the harsh reality of the Israelites’ actions: “My people ask counsel at their stocks, and their staff declareth unto them: for the spirit of whoredoms hath caused them to err, and they have gone a whoring from under their God” (Hosea 4:12).

In other words, instead of turning to God, the Israelites sought counsel from wooden idols, which Hosea not only compared to adultery, but to “whoring.” Whoa. It can be easy to read this passage and think highly of ourselves. Come on...when was the last time you compared yourself to a prostitute?

Bringing Hosea Home

Sadly, this unfaithfulness strikes closer to home than we like to admit. Sure, we don’t keep wooden idols in our kitchen cabinets or engage in the drunken partying the Israelites did. We wouldn’t suddenly start practicing another religion. And, surely, we aren’t the equivalent of Hosea’s unfaithful wife. But think for a moment about the ordinary aspects of daily life that gradually take over, coloring every thought and action. For me, I find it easy to be consumed by my work. It can slowly, insidiously become my top priority. It’s easy for my job and the promise of my future career to become the basis for all my decisions, the “wooden idol” from whom I seek counsel, and the central “relationship” I nurture.

Other idols quietly creep into our lives, seeking control. Consider insidious addictions to technologies like cell phones, social media, and constant entertainment. Or what about the growing fascination with sports culture? Although these activities and others like them aren’t inherently bad, addiction is a relationship that gets in the way of our relationship with God.

These “other relationships” keep us from spending time with God. They aren’t always visible on the outside. We try (not always successfully!) to keep bursts of jealousy and pride, insecurities and doubts, hidden from sight. Sometimes, we are discontented and dissatisfied, longing for things we feel God is keeping from us. It’s enough to make us want to give God the cold shoulder, stop answering His calls, sneak around, and lie.

Do these classic signs of a broken relationship sound familiar? Perhaps you hear the echo of the haunting words of Hosea 6:4: “What shall I do with you, O Ephraim? What shall I do with you, O Judah? Your love is like a morning cloud, like the dew that goes early away” (Hosea 6:4).

Changing Metaphor

By the time we come to Hosea 11 and the climax of the book, we have witnessed a long list of “charges” brought against Israel, accompanied by a long list of dire punishments. In chapters 8-10, God seems set on destroying His people. In chapter 9, God promises hunger and death to the children of Israel, telling them to “rejoice not” (9:1) because they, “shall bear no fruit: yea, though they bring forth, yet will I slay even the beloved fruit of their womb. My God will cast them away, because they did not hearken unto him: and they shall be wanderers among the nations” (9:16-17).

Yet suddenly, in chapter 11, God seems to relent. One translation says, “My heart churns within me; My sympathy is stirred.” Another says, “My heart recoils within me,” and the Message paraphrases, “I can’t bear to even think such thoughts. My insides churn in protest.” Our steadfast, solid, sturdy, unchanging God...having second thoughts? How can this be?

As our reading shifts to God’s perspective, we are given an “inside look” at God’s tender, parental nature, and it suddenly feels like we’re sitting in the Father’s lap, His arms around us. “When Israel was a child, then I loved him, and called my son out of Egypt. As they called them, so they went from them: they sacrificed unto Baalim, and burned incense to graven images. I taught Ephraim also to go, taking them by their arms; but they knew not that I healed them. I drew them with cords of a man, with bands of love: and I was to them as they that take off the yoke on their jaws, and I laid meat unto them” (Hosea 11:1-4).

Reread that last verse. I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love. To them, I was like one who lifts a little child to the cheek, and I bent down to feed them. This is a God who, like a loving parent, scoops us up to kiss our forehead. Keep in mind the vivid descriptions Hosea painted of the Israelites’ sinful activities, followed by lists of appropriate punishments. So why the change in attitude?

Within this shift from Hosea’s description of God’s anger to God’s compassion, we catch sight of the dizzyingly mysterious nature of God: a tension between love and justice. We know God is love, but we also understand He is holy.

• He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love (1 John 4:8).
  

• For I am the Lord that bringeth you up out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: ye shall therefore be holy, for I am holy (Leviticus 11:45).
  

• And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory (Isaiah 6:3).
  

By definition, God is love. He is also the very definition of holiness. We don’t get to invent our own definitions of love and holiness and apply those labels to God. Because God is holy, whatever He does is holy. Because God is love, whatever He does is love.

So, what happens when love and holiness seem at odds? Does one weigh heavier than the other? What happens when God’s holiness clashes with the unholiness of His beloved? We find the answer nestled in Hosea chapter 11: “I will not execute the fierceness of mine anger…I am God, and not man; the Holy One in the midst of thee. They shall walk after the Lord: he shall roar like a lion: when he shall roar, then the children shall tremble from the west (Hosea 11:9-10).

Hallelujah! God is not like us. The tension still exists: God’s fierce, holy anger still burns, and he roars like a lion. But also because He is the Holy One in our midst, He chooses not to execute His anger. God’s love and holiness complement one another in a decision that doesn’t make any sense to human reasoning. The closest earthly thing Hosea can compare to God is a roaring lion. His holiness is too big for us to understand, and we tremble. Yet, He also wants us to know Him: “For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings” (Hosea 6:6).

The Hero of the Story

From the depth of Israel’s sin to the emotional pangs of the Father—anxious, angry, and compassionate for His children, we’ve placed ourselves in this story. We’ve reflected on the deepest, darkest places of our own hearts, darkness that doesn’t always match the goodness for which we strive. But let’s pause for a minute to remember: the story isn’t about us.

It’s not about me. It’s not about you. Dark as my sin may be, that’s not the point of Hosea’s story. If our sin takes center stage, God is relegated to a secondary character, only in the story to make the “leading lady” look good. The rescue becomes little more than a get-out-of-jail-free card each time I turn away. But we aren’t the center of our own story. God is. God’s unrelenting love, unwavering passion, and ultimate holiness. His true character is the star.

God uses our sins to highlight Himself at the center, so we see Him more clearly and know Him even more. God wants His people to know Him. He promises He will rescue us, have mercy on us, chase after us, bend down and scoop us into His arms because He wants us to know Him. “And I will betroth thee unto me for ever; yea, I will betroth thee unto me in righteousness, and in judgment, and in lovingkindness, and in mercies. I will even betroth thee unto me in faithfulness: and thou shalt know the Lord” (Hosea 2:19-20).

Within the incredible story of Hosea and his wayward wife, we are reminded God promises us grace because He loves us. His unrelenting love chases after us each time we stray because He wants to draw us close so we can know Him—the Holy One in our midst who acts with redeeming love.

About the Writer: A Florida native, Emily Faison currently lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where she is an editor at Brief Media. She is the associate editor for IMages, published by IM, Inc and frequently writes for WNAC.