Angie Hilker
She was a wet--nurse, a woman who did not have notoriety, prestige, or a recognizably high position in society.
Her name was Deborah.
Although she was not the biological mother, Deborah carried a maternal role in that she was to nurse and provide care for the children of Rebekah, Jacob's wife.
Deborah's life is so vague that most people don't know her name, much less who she was in Scripture. Although often overshadowed by the infamous Deborah, who was judge and warrior to the house of Israel, this Deborah in Genesis wasn't a prophet at all, or even a leading role in Scripture.
And yet, in one small verse, we see not only her name but her worth.
In the book of beginnings, Genesis tells us that,
“Now Deborah, Rebekah's nurse, died and was buried under the oak below Bethel. So it was named Allon Bacuth.” Genesis 35:8
Deborah's story seems somewhat out of place, wedged right into the center of the narrative covering Jacob's journey and arrival into Bethel (Gen 35:6-7). However, that's what makes this story---her life---all the more significant. Although there seems to be a structural parallel in the narrative regarding the burial of foreign gods amongst two more burials following her own, the seemingly small passage begs us to ask why Scripture even mentions her story.
Besides Deborah, there were only four other women in the Old Testament recorded as having died and been buried, namely Sarah (Gen. 23:19), Rachel (Gen. 35:19), Rebekah, and Leah (Gen. 49:31). Interestingly, all of the women mentioned were of nobility, while Deborah's societal status was that of a lower-class position, a nurse for the children. However, despite her function in the household and society, Scripture honors who she was by recognizing her name, role, death, and burial.
Customary in ancient Israel, Deborah, like other wet--nurses, most likely spent many years with the family, even after children had been weaned (Exod. 2:5-9; Ruth 4:16; 2 Kings 11:2). Naturally, this makes one even more curious about her role in the household, seeing as Rebekah was barren for over 20 years.
Although not much is mentioned of Deborah's background, birth, family, or even appearance, her brief story brings a powerful truth to who she might have been.
In fact, the story of her death might be the key to understanding her life.
Under the Tree of Weeping
Buried under an oak tree below Bethel, the household of Israel stood still to weep for Deborah. In their lament, they marked that moment, that sacred place, by giving it a name. They called the tree next to where she was buried, Allon Bachuth, "the Oak of Weeping," a place that the Hebrew people would remember for generations. The name of the weeping tree testifies to the importance of who she was to the family. And although Deborah's job was to provide food and fill the bellies of small children, it is evident that she also nourished their hearts.
Israel's household mourns in sadness, and their weeping under the tree echoes loudly into our own stories of loss.
Many sons and daughters have also found themselves under the weeping tree, as they have experienced the loss of a mother or like Deborah's role, a maternal figure who loved them well.
From the loss of grandmas to mothers to spiritual mothers, our heart grieves and aches for them. When death sweeps in too soon, it's hard to reconcile that loss, knowing that she isn't coming back. Death, then, can often feel more like a sting than a victory march.
It's often hard to imagine a life without Mom.
She was the woman who braided her daughter's hair, made the kids lunches for school, read them stories each night, had dance parties in the kitchen, and never pulled away first from an embrace. She's the mother who curled up next to them on the couch eating pizza, listening to hours of stories about their latest crush, school drama, and meltdowns over life, work, and school. These were the moms who stood by their children who had babies themselves, who were grandmas, spoiling grandbabies by feeding them ice cream late at night. These are also the spiritual mothers who took us in when there wasn't a mother to call our own.
God is like a Mother, who Holds us in our Weeping
When a mother leaves us, we grieve over many losses from the way she moved through a room to the sound of her voice.
C.S. Lewis explains it this way,
"With my mother's death all settled happiness, all that was tranquil and reliable, disappeared from my life. There was to be much fun, many pleasures, many stabs of Joy; but no more of the old security. It was sea and islands now; the great continent had sunk like Atlantis."
The earth just doesn't feel right without her presence filling up the space. And so we long for our mother's embrace once more and yet feel her absence. However, it’s in these times that we cling to God, who, in His grace, reveals Himself as being like a mother. Although God is not a biological being nor gives Himself the title of mother, He most certainly uses anthropomorphism as a figurative language to reveal maternal imagery of Himself. Interestingly, Scripture references 26 verses that use feminine language to depict God.
One instance of feminine language is through the word “compassion,” which comes from the Hebrew word rakhum, related to the word “womb,” or rekhem. The word compassion not only embodies an emotion but is a call for response; to nurture like a mother to her child. The word is recorded 145 times throughout the Bible. And although compassion typically references God, it is depicted and required in males and females (Eph 4:32).
So, in God’s compassion, He not only feels for us, but He acts upon and responds to His children like a mother bird protecting her chicks. The Psalmist penned, “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings, you will find refuge” (Ps 91:4). God also depicts his character as a mother bear fighting for her cubs when He declares, “Like a bear robbed of her cubs, I will attack them and rip them open,” says the Lord” (Hosea 13:8). He also presents Himself as a human mother when He says, “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you.” (Isa 66:13). Interestingly, as it connects to Deborah’s story, God also depicts Himself like a wet--nurse, giving love and provision to His children of Israel. Maybe it was through Deborah’s act of nourishment and devotion to the family of Israel that God used this imagery to describe Himself a short while later (Num 11:11-12).
Throughout Scripture, God often chose to reveal Himself in feminine language so that we might relate to Him. In this instance, we see that it is in God’s compassion for His children that He fills the empty “motherly” places that we often long for by acting like a mother bird who protects, a mother bear who will defend, a mother who will comfort, and a wet--nurse who will swaddle and nurture.
Although it often feels like a pale comparison to a conversation with mom, God, just like that of a mother, extends a love more profound than any earthly arms could hold. He constantly reminds us that He will meet us here in this place of suffering and bring comfort. In His compassion, God promises to wipe away every tear (Rev 21:4) and place them in a bottle to remember our heartache (Ps 56:8). He will blanket us in His comfort (Matt 5:4), heal our broken hearts, and bind up our wounds of profound loss (Ps 34:18; 147:3).
As some of us may be in a posture of lament right now, we remember our moms, and know that we have a God who, personified, is like a mother comforting us and holding all the fragile parts that we deem a loss.
Just as Israel’s household stood still in a moment of mourning under the Oak, God also invites you to stand here under the weeping tree in His loving embrace. There is room for your hurts and losses. Your tears are not forgotten. Your loss is not unknown. Your ache is not unseen.
Like a mother's embrace, allow God to hold you here under the weeping tree.
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