This blog forms part of a series examining how different faith traditions embrace or reject the Divine Feminine in their teachings and representation of The Divine.
In this blog, I reflect upon my own very masculine spiritual journey across Abrahamic traditions.
I look back at my childhood as a Christian and my conversion to Islam in my early 20s. I also discuss my interfaith exploration of the Jewish and Christian world as a post-Orthodox Liberal Muslim.
In part two, I explore how the Divine Feminine is viewed across the Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity and Islam).
In part three, I look at the representation of God and the Divine Feminine amongst the Dharmic faiths (Hinduism, Sikhism, Buddhism and Jainism).
In part four, I highlight why the inclusion of the Divine Feminine is critically important, not simply in promoting spiritual inclusion, but embracing wider gender equality in sacred and secular spaces.
As a British-Italian, born and raised in the UK, my life has been marked by Abrahamic tradition. And this has come with stark similarities (and a few differences) across faiths.
Growing up as an Anglican Christian (with Catholic family on both sides to varying degrees), I wasn’t particularly aware of religious patriarchy. Although: it definitely did exist!
From early childhood, my idea of God was however definitely viewed through a very masculine lens. And this continued with me throughout my spiritual journey as an adult.
Childhood Christianity: a very masculine world
Going to church most Sundays and attending a Catholic school (for non-religious reasons), God/Jesus was/were somewhat present in my life.
As a child, I accepted the Trinity – or thought I did. Unsure of what I really believed; I can safely say that my childhood did include female figures.
My mother (brought up Catholic and later becoming Anglican) was my first female role model in faith.
She taught me the importance of spirituality over ritual observance – how turning up to church every Sunday didn’t simply make you a fantastic person/Christian.
During school time, I then observed more reverence to the Virgin Mary in Catholic tradition, which was part of, but definitely distinct, from my own Anglican faith.
I was of course aware of the importance of the Virgin Mary – undoubtedly a very female presence. And I enjoyed putting flowers on the grotto at school – whilst confused as to why I wasn’t in a pretty white (First Communion) dress!
Yet, as a child, I didn’t understand/much see the differences between Catholic and Anglican traditions. And as an Anglican, the Virgin Mary didn’t play a big part in my life.
Now an adult, I believe that the Virgin Mary (in both Christian and Islamic tradition) is presented in a way very typical of a male-led society. Of course…
On the other hand, when it came to God and Jesus, I was clearly presented with a very obviously masculine sense of divinity.
God The Father was not human in origin. Yet, he was taught through a masculine narrative: always referred to as Him/He and Our Father.
Presented as a powerful, mighty Creator in the Old Testament, in Western Christian culture this is a stereotypically masculine portrayal of divinity.
Jesus, in a similarly male (yet very different) fashion was a form of a living breathing human male – the Son of God walking the Earth. In words and imagery/iconography.
Again, he was very masculine – just like his (all male) disciples.
Unbeknown to me as a child, it was this very idea of masculinity and mortality that led me to later convert to another religion. One which was definitely outwardly more patriarchal!
From Christianity to Orthodox Islam: stepping into deep patriarchy
As a semi-practising Christian and now in my early twenties, I began to explore faith and look for my own path. And a key reason for this shift was Jesus.
Believing that Jesus was a very important human being [male], yet totally separate to God (the genderless Divine), I knew I didn’t want to step away from his teachings.
And so, it was this (amongst other things), that eventually led me to Islam.
Following a quite intense spiritual journey across Tunisia and Birmingham (the latter much closer to home!), I converted to Islam whilst at university.
I’d found the sense of monotheism that I was looking for.
In Islamic teachings, God is One. A superior force. The Creator of the Universe, who never presents in human form – and is never depicted through imagery.
Jesus, on the other hand, is presented as a human Prophet (and male), who cannot be divine and must not be worshipped.
These teachings gelled with me. And so, this liberal young woman, who hadn’t much practised Anglicism, quickly darted towards Orthodox Islam.
And in this tradition, there was no room for discussion of the “gender” of God.
Allah was genderless and to ascribe human qualities to God is seen as akin to blasphemy. Just as is any form of perceived idol worship.
We were fervently taught to separate the divine and the mortal.
And so, while Prophet Muhammad (and all the other Prophets – including Jesus) were all male, God is very distinct.
In terms of women, there are some very important female figures in Islamic tradition. Certain classical scholars do also view Mary (mother of Jesus) as a Prophet.
In terms of Allah however, if we needed guidance as to “who” or “what God/Allah is”, we could look to his 99 Names – compiled through verses in the Qur’an.
And so, I took solace and meaning from these (and still do!).
These names are critical to the Muslim world, as God is also never depicted in human (male/female) form in Islamic tradition.
And so, it is both these 99 Names and the Qur’anic verses that form the basis of Islamic artistic representations of God.
Decorative calligraphy presents the Arabic script (in which God is genderless), accompanied with ornate floral and geometric designs.
Now, this may appear seemingly feminine in theory but not within the wider male-dominated narrative.
Yes, in this world, Allah/God was typically referred to as “He” (never “She”) – despite being genderless.
Embracing the Abrahamic world: continuing a feminist, interfaith (and still very male-dominant) journey
Now, fast forward over a decade since my conversion. Today, I’m a very vocal Liberal Muslim.
I certainly do not shy away from acknowledging that Islam is interpreted and lived as a very patriarchal faith (practised in often very patriarchal societies).
I stand against religious patriarchy in its teachings and practices and hope for reform. And that’s exactly why I support a growing movement of Islamic feminists, such as Dr. Amina Wadud and Sherin Khankhan.
These women are re-interpreting Islam through a more egalitarian lens and advocating for gender equality in the Muslim world.
They’re addressing key issues such as female scholarship, female led-prayer and interfaith marriage.
As a Muslim woman though, it’s taken me time to fully embrace a more feminine Islam – and the great work of these women.
Why? Because of the patriarchy of Orthodox Islam…
Back in the day when I was exploring faith and had just converted to Islam, I was undertaking a Master’s degree in Human Rights.
And as part of my studies, I was fortunate enough to be able to take the module “Feminism in the Muslim World”.
This explored the wide range of secular and Islamic (theologically-based) feminist movements in the Muslim world – both in the diaspora and across North Africa and the Middle East.
It was here that I first encountered Dr Wadud and her book: “Inside the Gender Jihad: Women’s Reform in Islam”.
I very much enjoyed the book and embraced the idea of using varied pronouns to refer to God.
In theological terms, there’s no neutral pronoun in English to describe Allah. And so, Amina doesn’t shy away from equally referring to Allah as both “He” and “She”.
And I thought that was great!
Of course, this still triggers traditionalists who fervently believe that God has no gender. Patriarchal habits die hard….
However, over the years, whilst I remained a fan of Dr Wadud, I became gradually more embedded in Orthodox Islam.
And it wasn’t till later along in my journey as a Muslim – when I left Orthodoxy and embraced being a truly progressive/Liberal Muslim – that I truly understood the deep, dire need for her work.
Later interviewing Dr Wadud for Voice of Salam, learning more about other female imams and fully embracing the reality of my spiritual equality, it’s definitely been a journey!
Yet even still, whilst now a proud Muslim Liberal Feminist (akin to the pre-Muslim me!), it was only until recently that I realised just how much I’d still clung unto patriarchal norms.
Firstly, whilst stepping away from common teachings in the Muslim world (usually male-led and misogynistic), including removing my headscarf after seven years, I’d still carried the image of God as more masculine.
This reflection on God still fundamentally included little/no reference to the Divine Feminine.
Secondly, whilst exploring other faith traditions and interfaith spaces (usually also Abrahamic), I also failed to encounter (or look for) the Divine Feminine.
Although: I was crucially inspired by more egalitarian, feminist and progressive teachings.
Over the years for example, I’ve particularly loved connecting with the Jewish world – on a theological and socio-cultural level.
I’ve started attending services at liberal and reform synagogues (very much inclusive of female Rabbis!) and marking Jewish festivals.
I’ve also been a very active member of Nisa-Nashim (the Jewish-Muslim women’s network).
Nisa-Nashim itself is not a theological project – it’s about interfaith unity and dialogue. However, this wonderful movement has taught me a lot about Judaism, the Jewish world and embracing women’s leadership in faith communities.
For example, attending the René Cassin women’s seder was a fantastic experience. Just as the countless conferences and seminars bringing up to 200 Jewish and Muslim women together.
One thing’s for certain: we’ve been standing together against two shared struggles.
We’ve not just united against religiously-motivated hate (anti-Muslim hate and antisemitism) but also recognised our shared struggle against religious patriarchy.
Learning about the diversity of the Jewish world, I’ve been particularly inspired by Jewish teachings and Jewish feminists across the spectrum of the community (Liberal, Reform and Orthodox for example) who’ve carved/are carving out egalitarian spaces.
Spaces which I think are sadly lacking in the Muslim world…
However, as feminist in ideology and practice this journey has been, I’ve never really explored the concept of the Divine Feminine here either.
I felt quite familiar with the shared concept of a genderless God being referred to as “He” in Jewish prayer books and services. After all, it’s something that I’ve been used to since a child!
Likewise, going back to my childhood, I’ve also been embracing my Christian heritage and reflecting on my identity as a British-Italian woman of faith.
Attending diverse churches with friends, I’ve recently started to take comfort in the Christian concept of God as a “Divine Father” who loves and protects me.
Rejecting more Salafi interpretations who see this is blasphemous (it’s literally a metaphor!), I found that this concept gives me comfort and understanding.
It shows a loving God and links me to my Christian heritage – part of my upbringing, my culture and my life. This therefore helps ground me and give me a sense of continuity in my identity and faith.
As I’ve started to re-explore my Christian heritage, I’ve also embraced The Lord’s Prayer.
A beautiful remnant of my childhood, it’s a means to communicate with God. Yet this too is a presentation of a very masculine divine, with the opening declaring “Our Father”.
My experience of God was therefore still very masculine. Theological norms meant that I still “saw” The Divine through a masculine prism.
However, this was about to change!
On a recent trip to Wales to visit a series of churches, my journey took a new turn – to the more feminine. Grounded in a masculine sense of divinity, I began to reflect on the need to embrace the Divine Feminine.
And it’s Saint Melangell of Pennant Melangell whom I thank.
Visiting a Welsh shrine: feeling the feminine force
Keen to get a bit of fresh air on a bank holiday, I recently headed off with Matt (fellow Voice of Salam blogger) for a tour of Christian sites in Wales. And what a great trip it was!
Our first visit was to St Winefride’s Well in Holywell.
This historical site just off the English/Welsh border remains a point of pilgrimage for Catholics today and is definitely worth a visit.
The site is devoted to St. Winefride – a nun (virgin martyr) from the 7th century who was fortunate to escape sexual assault.
So, from the offset, there’s an obviously central female figure to this visit.
The tradition recalls how St. Winefride was decapitated by her violent suitor Caradog, before her head was rejoined to her body. Cardog then fell dead and the site of the decapitation listed as a healing site of miracles.
Believers now visit the site to pray and bathe in the waters.
Familiar with Catholicism (seeing myself as a sort of “cousin” to Catholicism and part Welsh myself), I enjoyed the visit and service.
However, whilst the site had an obviously central female figure, I didn’t connect to any sense of divine feminine energy. It was a trip like most other.
And so, next stop: St. Trillo’s Chapel at Rhos-on-Sea!
Just 11 feet by 8 feet, this beautiful tiny chapel is quite possibly the smallest Church in Britain!
Very small and intimate, it had a very comforting presence.
Likewise, stepping next into St. Celynin’s Church in Llangelynin in the remote foothills of Snowdonia’s Carneddau mountains, I felt a beautiful sense of solitude and peace.
And the best bit: we were going to somewhere even more remote next!
Nestled in the Berwyn mountains, I entered St. Melangell’s in Pennant Melangell.
I was visiting the earliest surviving Romanesque shrine in Northern Europe.
Serene, intimate, and warm – it was beautiful. Sitting in the shrine of St. Melangell at the back, I took refuge for a moment of solitude and prayer.
Peaceful, emotional and comforting, I soaked up the energy in her home. And on reflection, it was a very feminine energy.
For Melangell’s presence was all around – her teachings, her values and her love.
Escaping forced marriage from Ireland (again: gender-based violence), St. Melangell took refuge in the Snowdon hills, where she lived as a hermit.
One day she encountered Brochwel (the Prince of Powys) who was out hunting with his hounds. A frightened hare then took refuge under Melangell’s cloak, where she kept the creature safe.
Touched by her sense of courage and empathy for God’s Creation, Brochwel gifted Melangell the valley as a place of sanctuary.
Becoming abbess of a small community, the site became a place of pilgrimage, with Melangell remaining the patron saint of hares.
A figure of nurturing and refuge, it was this church that had touched me the most during that day. And it definitely showed.
“I knew you’d love it!” exclaimed Matt. And he was right.
It was comforting, uplifting and full of hope and positive energy. The little shrine felt like a holy welcoming, comforting womb – something which I deeply needed and appreciated.
Later when chatting about the day, Matt explained how he’d found this church more feminine, as opposed to the rather nice but more masculine St. Celynin’s.
And he was right again – they were two very different places.
Whilst I enjoyed both, it was the history and very feminine energy of St. Melangell that I found so special (the vicar was even a woman!).
And this got me thinking: I need to re-imagine the Divine. To embrace the feminine.
Find out more about embracing the Divine Feminine in the Abrahamic faiths in part 2!
Images:
Wales photos: Elizabeth Arif-Fear © and Matthew Pointon ©
This post was originally published on Voice of Salam.