If you’ve ever watched Manifest, there’s a moment that might catch you off guard, not the callings or the plane returning from nowhere, but when someone refers to God as “She.” It’s subtle. One word. But it lingers.
We’re so used to hearing “He” when people speak about God. It’s been ingrained in scriptures, sermons, and everyday language for generations. So when a character says “She,” it doesn’t just shift the sentence; it shifts your frame of reference. I paused. Rewound. Listened again. And then I sat with it.
It’s not just for effect. It’s an invitation. A quiet one.
Across so many traditions, even the ones that rarely speak of it, there’s always been room for the divine feminine. The nurturing force. The intuitive whisper. The fierce protector. In parts of the Bible, God is described as a mother hen, gathering her chicks. In African spirituality, divinity doesn’t come in a single image, it flows through balance. And for anyone who’s ever felt held by something unseen, there’s a softness to that presence that defies titles and genders.
In Manifest, the mystery is central. The show never pins down who or what is behind the callings. It resists giving answers, choosing instead to deepen the questions. Maybe calling God “She” is one more way to break open our certainty, so we consider something different. Maybe the divine doesn’t look like us at all. Or maybe it looks like all of us.
I’m not a theologian. I’m someone who works with systems, with communities, with tech meant to serve people’s real lives. I come from a world of wiring, logic, and structure. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in something greater. And the older I get, the more I realize that belief is less about rules and more about presence. Not loud. Not showy. Just quiet guidance. Grace, even when it’s tough. That, to me, is divine. And sometimes, that presence? Feels a lot like a woman, strong, unseen, and always working in the background.
So when Manifest calls God “She,” I get it. Not because I think God must be female, but because I know how important it is to reimagine, to open the door for something bigger than the traditions we’ve been handed. It’s not about being right. It’s about being willing to see God, whatever or whoever that is, in a new way.
Because maybe God isn’t who we picture. Maybe God is the feeling we can’t explain. The strength we borrow when we think we’ve run out. The reason we keep going. Maybe the divine doesn’t care what name we use, as long as we listen.
And maybe “She” is one way of doing just that.
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