Patrem Omnipotentem (Father Almighty)
- Jon Swales
- Nov 11
- 2 min read
A siren fades in the distance.
Tea cools by the windowsill.
I reach the next line—
I believe in God, the Father Almighty.
The words familiar,
but this morning they hesitate on my tongue.
Almighty.
A word I’ve prayed, sung, preached—
a word that once thundered,
now trembles.
If God is almighty,
why the tears that never end?
Why the rooms where violence breathes?
Why the long ache of unanswered prayer?
I’ve repeated these words a million times,
as though power were the point—
as though God were the great controller,
puppeteering peace into place.
But the world does not dance that way.
I open the Scriptures again—
and find not a clenched fist,
but open hands.
El Shaddai.
The Breasted One,
the Mountain of shelter,
the God who nourishes and sustains.
In Genesis,
this God speaks to the barren and the broken:
“Be fruitful. Multiply.”
Blessing spills like milk and honey—
not command,
but comfort.
Not domination,
but delight.
This God feeds.
This God gathers.
This God blesses with the deep beneath
and the womb above.
This God shelters those who rest
in the shadow of the mountain.
(Psalm 91 murmurs somewhere in the soul.)
So I wonder—
perhaps Almighty means something else:
not control,
but constancy.
Not coercion,
but compassion.
Not the power to force,
but the strength to love without ceasing.
The might of the mother
who watches through the night,
who gives of her own body
that another might live.
The might of the Father
who runs to meet the prodigal,
who weeps for the city,
who bears the world’s wounds in his own flesh.
This is the power that holds me—
the hands that shaped the mountains
and cradle the sparrow.
The One whose voice shakes the heavens
and yet whispers,
“Do not be afraid.”
So I pray again,
a little slower this time:
I believe in God, the Father Almighty—
the Breasted God,
the Wounded One,
whose strength is tenderness,
whose rule is love,
whose might is mercy.
-Rev'd Jon Swales,
Part of the Credo Collection
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