2 When the LORD first spoke through Hosea, the LORD said to Hosea, “Go, take for yourself a wife of prostitution and have children of prostitution, for the land commits great prostitution by forsaking the LORD.” 3 So he went and took Gomer daughter of Diblaim, and she conceived and bore him a son. 4 And the LORD said to him, “Name him Jezreel, for in a little while I will punish the house of Jehu for the blood of Jezreel, and I will put an end to the kingdom of the house of Israel. 5 On that day I will break the bow of Israel in the Valley of Jezreel.” 6 She conceived again and bore a daughter. Then the LORD said to him, “Name her Lo-ruhamah, for I will no longer have pity on the house of Israel or forgive them. 7 But I will have pity on the house of Judah, and I will save them by the LORD their God; I will not save them by bow or by sword or by war or by horses or by horsemen.” 8 When she had weaned Lo-ruhamah, she conceived and bore a son. 9 Then the LORD said, “Name him Lo-ammi, for you are not my people, and I am not your God.” 10 Yet the number of the people of Israel shall be like the sand of the sea, which can be neither measured nor numbered, and in the place where it was said to them, “You are not my people,” it shall be said to them, “Children of the living God.”
– Hosea 1:2–10 (NRSVue)
It may be natural for every community with a theological worldview to presume, or at least hope, that “God is on our side.” But a library as diverse as the Bible is bound to present authors who challenge that presumption, sometimes in provocative and uncomfortable ways.
The book of Hosea is a difficult read for modern interpreters. Hosea lifts up an abusive heterosexual marriage as a metaphor for God’s violent relationship with “wife” Israel and compares Israel’s social and worshipful practices to female prostitution—shaming the practice of sex work without actual concern for the humanity or potentially damaged agency of the sex worker (nor any accountability for their clients). These metaphors are revulsive. And for those attempting to oppose our own culture’s stubborn patriarchy with biblical support, the prominent place of these metaphors in sacred scripture presents a frustrating complication.
Rather than simply rejecting this prophetic text, however, I believe it is possible to disavow the metaphors while also trying to understand what the author who wielded them was trying to communicate. Perhaps we may learn from these texts in spite of their problematic packaging. If we choose to listen beyond Hosea’s hurtful rhetoric, what can we hear?
Hosea claims that the God of Israel feels betrayed. Though Israel had been the recipient of God’s favor, the prophet believed they had commodified their blessing and sold it to other deities. That transaction may have manifested, in part, through worship practices that venerated other gods. But it also likely involved political alliances or vassal covenants made with foreign kingdoms, along with their requirements for tribute. Perhaps this is why Hosea uses the language of “prostitution” instead of “adultery,” per se. Hosea sees Israel’s betrayal of their God playing out in economic spaces, and not religious practices only—or perhaps it is better to say that political and economic decisions were understood to be just as inherently religious as devotion in a temple or home.
According to Hosea, God considers Israel’s betrayal a nullification of their relationship. The prophet is instructed to give his children names that symbolize the rift: “Jezreel” (verses 4–5) indicates a withdrawal of divine support for Israel’s military endeavors (“I will break the bow of Israel in the Valley of Jezreel,” verse 5). “Lo-ruhamah” (verse 6) signifies “no mercy” for Israel, and “Lo-ammi” (verse 9) shouts that Israel is “not my people.”
These are harsh pronouncements, made even more solemn by being given to the prophet’s children to bear as their actual names. Names in the ancient world were often aspirational, as they are for many today. Therefore, giving a child the name “No-mercy” or “Not-my-people” reveals a level of prophetic desperation, even resignation. When Hosea considers the future of his people, the future his own children will inherit, all he can foresee is suffering because of divine abandonment.
Scholars generally agree that the slightly rosier outlook of Hosea 1:7 and 1:10 reflects a later editorial understanding that divine favor has transferred from Israel to Judah, a perspective penned by scribes in Judah (Israel’s neighbor to the south). These scribes do not disagree with Hosea’s general prognosis—after all, for them the downfall of the Israelite kingdom (722 BCE) had already come to pass, just as Hosea had expected. But they suppose that the blessing formerly enjoyed by Israel now belonged to them. Therefore, the version of this prophecy that has come down to us preserves a tension between despair over the disintegration of a covenant and hope for its renewal in a new time and place.
While Hosea delivers the divine pathos via problematic, misogynistic metaphors, the political theology embedded in his message deserves reflection. At root, Hosea is arguing that God’s devoted care must not be taken for granted. That message may sound simple, but it contrasts starkly with the dominant thread of Israel’s national story. For example, scripture is peppered with divine declarations of Israel’s indelible identity as God’s people (e.g., “I will take you as my people, and I will be your God,” Exodus 6:7). The national narrative also repeatedly insists on God’s immutable mercy (e.g., “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,” Exodus 34:6). And contrary to Hosea’s message about the lifting of military support, elsewhere God covenants Israel’s protection in battle (e.g., “The LORD will fight for you, and you have only to keep still,” Exodus 14:14).
Hosea’s prophetic message turns that theological heritage on its head. To any and all who would presume that God was always “on their side” and favorably bound to them, Hosea challenges that any such bond has been broken by Israel’s unfaithfulness. The presumption of a special relationship with God does not make it real—nor does it mean that a people’s policies, practices, or worship are supported by God.
Several modern analogies come to mind, but I’ll raise only two banner examples. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu regularly appeals to the biblical narrative of God’s protection for Israel and violence against Israel’s enemies to justify the military policies of his government, in Gaza and the West Bank most prominently, but also in the rhetoric surrounding the recent strikes on Iran. But we might hear the prophet Hosea responding to Netanyahu: Not so fast! Just because the majority population in the state of Israel are Jewish does not mean that their government may take divine approval and support for granted. When the state of Israel conducts itself in ways that are unethical, immoral, or in violation of human rights and dignity, then the world may be justified in hearing Hosea’s voice echo: “I will break the bow of Israel!” Netanyahu may presume to name military operations with biblical allusions (like “Operation Rising Lion,” cf. Numbers 23:24), but this does not equal divine support.
Though I respect that I am an outsider to the state of Israel and not a member of the Jewish faith, in this criticism of Netanyahu I align with many in Israel and many Jews around the world who have long opposed Netanyahu’s policies and have denounced the brutality of Israel’s military actions in these years following the horrors of October 7, 2023. I am also aware that my criticism of the government of the “Jewish state” risks anti-Semitism, anti-Judaism, and Christian supersessionism—all dangerous ideologies I denounce and do my very best to avoid. I believe that ancient Israel and Judah, and their Jewish heirs through history, had and still have a special place in God’s heart and a unique vocation as God’s people. Nevertheless, Hosea’s message calls all people to account, challenging anyone’s presumption of default divine support. I sorrowfully suspect that the damage done by modern Israel—accelerated by Netanyahu’s leadership—will lead to decades, if not generations, of instability for Israel and their neighbors. Lasting security (let alone “peace”) has never been achieved through brutality.
To turn toward my own nation and toward those who claim to share my Christian faith, Christian nationalism in the U.S. expresses exactly the kind of theological presumption that Hosea decries. Christian nationalism is nothing new. The “Doctrine of Discovery” (a presumption of divine permission to claim any and all non-Christian lands) has supported Christian colonialist projects since the fourteenth century—even being cited as legal precedent as recently as 2005 in a U.S. Supreme Court case. Upping the ante on the Doctrine of Discovery, the U.S.’s own religiously exceptionalist view of itself found blatant expression in the nineteenth-century dogma of the “Manifest Destiny” of white Christian Americans to control the continent from sea to shining sea. Far from being a relic of the past, in his 2025 inaugural address, President Donald Trump explicitly invoked Manifest Destiny to suggest that God wanted the United States to claim and colonize Mars.
When President Trump announced that the United States had preemptively bombed sites in Iran on June 21, he concluded his uncharacteristically brief speech by saying, “And I just want to thank everybody, and in particular, God. I just want to say… we love you, God, and we love our great military. Protect them. God bless the Middle East.” These remarks are not dissimilar to the invocations of many past presidents. They tie a direct line between lethal military action and a cozy, loving relationship between the United States and (the Christian) God. They are more than a prayer for the protection of our troops. They are a theological rhetoric claiming divine approval and support for our foreign policy of deadly preemptive strikes—not because the cause is upright, but simply because God is a priori on our side. The politics here are complex, and Trump is not the only offender. Nevertheless, I can’t help but hear Hosea’s voice rising above the press scrum to shout God’s disavowal: “Lo-ammi! Not-my-people!”
If Hosea is right, then those who presume upon God’s support but act in ways that defy God’s standard will find their presumption turned upside-down in divine disavowal—all the more if they have commodified and capitalized upon their theology to bolster their own privilege and power at the expense of the vulnerable and innocent. It does no good to talk about this betrayal in terms of “prostitution,” as Hosea does. But any community (or nation or government) among us that desires to partner with the goodness of God in the world will do well to sit in the discomfort of Hosea’s prophecy, letting it motivate sober introspection that leads us to reconsider our presumptions of divine alignment.
