Just as a mother finds pleasure in taking her little child on her

When Alphonsus Liguori said, “Just as a mother finds pleasure in taking her little child on her lap, there to feed and caress him, in like manner our loving God shows His fondness for His beloved souls who have given themselves entirely to Him and have placed all their hope in His goodness,” he revealed one of the most tender and profound truths of the spiritual life — that divine love is not cold or distant, but intimate, nurturing, and deeply personal. In this sacred comparison, Liguori, one of the great spiritual masters of the Church, lifts the veil between heaven and earth, showing that the love of God is not the love of a ruler toward subjects, but the love of a mother toward her child — infinite, gentle, and full of mercy.

In the wisdom of the ancients, all true love was seen as a reflection of the divine. Liguori’s words echo this eternal understanding. Just as a mother’s lap is a place of warmth and refuge for her child, so too the soul that turns wholly toward God finds rest in His embrace. The image is powerful because it speaks to the deepest instinct of the human heart — the yearning to be held, to be known, to be safe. In likening God’s affection to that of a mother’s, Liguori breaks through the coldness of dogma and reminds the faithful that God’s nature is not only mighty, but tender; not only just, but compassionate. This is the mystery of divine love: that the Creator stoops down to the creature, not in pity, but in delight.

The origin of this quote comes from Liguori’s reflections on the boundless mercy of God, found in his spiritual writings and devotions. As a priest and theologian of the 18th century, St. Alphonsus Liguori was known for his emphasis on the personal relationship between the soul and the Divine, rejecting the notion that holiness was reserved for the few or the austere. His heart burned with the conviction that God yearns for His children as a mother yearns for her child — that every soul, no matter how frail or fallen, can return to His arms if only it places its trust in Him. Through this metaphor, he calls humanity not to fear God, but to trust in His goodness with the simplicity of a child climbing into its mother’s lap.

Consider, for a moment, the story of St. Monica, the mother of St. Augustine. For years, she wept and prayed for her wayward son, who had turned from God and pursued worldly pleasures. Yet, like the loving parent Liguori describes, she never ceased to believe that divine mercy would reach him. Her prayers were like a mother’s embrace stretched across distance and time. In the end, her faith was rewarded — Augustine returned to God, becoming one of the greatest saints in history. Through her, we see the living mirror of Liguori’s vision: that the love of a mother reveals the love of God, patient, steadfast, and triumphant over despair.

Liguori’s teaching also speaks to the nature of trust and surrender. The child on its mother’s lap does not worry about tomorrow, nor fear being unloved. It rests without question, secure in the constancy of affection. So, too, must the soul learn to rest in God — not with the anxious striving of one who must earn love, but with the peace of one who already possesses it. To “place all one’s hope in His goodness” is to let go of self-reliance and allow oneself to be carried by the unseen arms of grace. The ancients would call this the perfection of faith, when the heart ceases to wrestle and learns instead to trust.

There is also a hidden strength in this gentleness. For though a mother’s love seems soft, it is also the most enduring force in the world. Empires fall, mountains erode, but the love of a mother endures — fierce, forgiving, and unbreakable. Liguori teaches that this same unyielding affection dwells in the heart of God. He does not abandon His children, even when they turn away. Like the mother who waits by the door for her lost child to return, God waits not with anger, but with longing. His love does not weaken with time or sin; it only yearns more deeply for the return of the beloved.

So, my listener, take this teaching as a sacred balm for the weary soul: you are loved not because you are perfect, but because you are His. When you fall, do not fear to rise; when you are lost, do not fear to call out. Approach the Divine not as a judge to be feared, but as a parent who delights in your return. Sit, as a child might, upon the lap of mercy, and let the warmth of love heal your spirit. Pray not with eloquence, but with trust. For the heart that rests in God’s goodness is like the child that sleeps in its mother’s arms — untouched by fear, surrounded by peace.

And remember, as Alphonsus Liguori reminds all who listen: the greatest act of faith is not found in striving, but in surrender; not in proving one’s worth, but in resting in love. For just as the mother’s arms never tire of holding her child, so the heart of God will never tire of holding you.