Brent Pollard
In the ancient landscape of Scripture, few passages arrest the soul quite like Hosea 3, where God commands His prophet: “Go again, love a woman who is loved by another man and is an adulteress, even as the Lord loves the children of Israel, though they turn to other gods and love cakes of raisins.” (Hosea 3.1). Here Hosea purchases her—this mysterious woman—“for fifteen shekels of silver and a homer and a lethech of barley,” then withholds marital relations for “many days” (Hosea 3.2-3).
But who is this woman? Is she the same Gomer whom Hosea married in chapter 1, or does she represent a second bride, perhaps symbolizing Judah alongside Israel in some grand drama of two sisters? Here stands one of those interpretive crossroads where the very trajectory of revelation hangs in the balance.
Two paths stretch before the careful reader. A minority of conservative scholars sees chapter 3 as a fresh symbolic act with another adulteress, sometimes linked to Judah through the “two sisters” motif found elsewhere in prophetic literature. Yet the majority view—held by the great cloud of classic conservative commentators—perceives one continuous drama with one wife, one covenant, one story of love’s persistence through the darkest valleys of unfaithfulness.
This latter reading, I would argue, best preserves the magnificent Messianic arc that governs the whole of Hosea 1-3, an arc as vast and purposeful as the eucatastrophe that crowns the most remarkable tales ever told.
The Divine Command and Its Shocking Grace
Chapter 1 opens with words that still have power to startle the modern heart: “Go, take to yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the Lord” (1:2). What kind of God would command such a thing? Only one whose love burns with such intensity that He will use even the prophet’s agony to mirror His own heart’s breaking.
Hosea obeys—for prophets know something of the weight of divine calling—and marries Gomer. Their children become living sermons, their names carving judgment into the very air that Israel breathes. Jezreel speaks of scattering that follows political bloodshed; Lo-Ruhamah means “No Mercy,” signaling heaven’s withdrawal of compassion; Lo-Ammi—“Not My People”—depicts the ultimate horror: covenant rupture, the tearing of that sacred bond that once made them the apple of God’s eye (1.4-9).
The effect is deliberately devastating. This departure is no mere moral slip, no gentle wandering from the path. Israel’s sin bears the face of spiritual adultery against the very God who chose her, loved her, called her from Egypt, and made her His own.
The Promise That Changes Everything
Yet—oh, what power lies in that simple word!—judgment is not God’s final word. Immediately after the “Not My People” sentence, Hosea hears a promise of breathtaking scope: “Yet the number of the children of Israel shall be like the sand of the sea, which cannot be measured or 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.” And the children of Judah and the children of Israel shall be gathered together, and they shall appoint for themselves one head.” (1.10-11).
Here stands the North Star by which we must navigate all that follows. The story moves inexorably toward reunion under a single Davidic ruler—toward the Messiah. This reconciliation is not merely restoration but transformation, not simply healing but resurrection unto new life.
When Love Becomes a Lawsuit, Then Wedding Song
Chapter 2 unfolds like a covenant lawsuit in the courts of eternity. The Judge indicts His faithless spouse, exposes her idols and ill-placed alliances, announces discipline that will strip away the very gifts she has misused for evil purposes (2.2-13). Justice must speak its harsh truth before mercy can whisper its tender promises.
But then the tone pivots from court to courtship. “Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her.” (2.14). The wilderness, that place of testing and purging, becomes a wedding aisle where love writes its most beautiful poetry.
Hear how the Bridegroom’s voice grows tender: “And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord.” (2.19-20).
This promise is a covenant renewal of the most glorious kind—not by human reform or religious effort, but by pure divine initiative. The righteousness will be His gift, the faithfulness His accomplishment, the steadfast love His very nature poured out upon the undeserving.
The Purchase Price of Love
Chapter 3 returns us to the sign-act, but now we see it through the lens of promise. God commands Hosea to “love a woman who is loved by another man and is an adulteress, even as the Lord loves the children of Israel” (3.1). He buys her—this woman whom love will not release—and then imposes a season of chaste separation: “You must dwell as mine for many days. You shall not play the whore, or belong to another man; so will I also be to you.” (3.3).
On the majority reading, this is Gomer once more—the same woman, the same covenant, the same costly love. The symbolism thunders with gospel truth: the bride belongs to Hosea by right of covenant, yet he pays a price to reclaim her from slavery. She dwells under his protection, yet marital intimacy waits for the appointed time. It is a perfect picture of God’s people under discipline—kept and preserved by unshakeable love, yet awaiting the full warmth of restored fellowship.
Why prefer the “one wife” interpretation over “two”? Textually, the prophecy promises not two restored marriages, but one united people under “one head” (1.11). Thematically, a single spouse clarifies the gospel shape of this ancient drama: one relationship broken by sin, one redemption purchased by love, one reunion consummated by grace. To split the sign into separate unions risks obscuring that clean line running from Israel’s infidelity to the Messiah’s unifying reign.
The Long Wait and the Coming King
Hosea himself interprets the sign with words both sobering and hopeful: “For the children of Israel shall dwell many days without king or prince, without sacrifice or pillar, without ephod or household gods” (3:4). A prolonged season follows—kingless, templeless, suspended between judgment and restoration. It is discipline, but discipline shot through with promise.
For afterward, the prophet declares, “the children of Israel shall return and seek the Lord their God, and David their king, and they shall come in fear to the Lord and to his goodness in the latter days.” (3.5). “David” here is no mere historical echo but the promised Son of David, the Root and Offspring of Jesse’s line, the King whose kingdom shall have no end.
In the New Testament’s brilliant light, that restoration dawns in Jesus Christ, who gathers the scattered, “broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility” and creates “in himself one new man in place of the two” (Ephesians 2.14-15). The apostles see clearly how Hosea’s reversal—“Those who were not my people I will call ‘my people,’ and her who was not beloved I will call ‘beloved.’” (Romans 9.25) applies to all who are called into Christ, whether Jew or Gentile. As Peter puts it with stunning directness: “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.” (1 Peter 2.10).
The bride is being made ready for the marriage supper of the Lamb (2 Corinthians 11.2; Revelation 19.7-9).
Gospel Theater in an Ancient Home
Hosea’s household, then, becomes gospel theater of the most profound sort: covenant love initiates the drama, sin wounds the heart of it, grace pursues through every shadow, redemption pays the necessary price, sanctified waiting refines the beloved, and Messianic reunion brings the story to its glorious close.
The “same woman” reading allows us to feel this story as Scripture intends—a single, unbroken through-line running from rupture to redemption, from betrayal to betrothal, under one Head who is Christ Jesus our Lord. In His nail-scarred hands, every broken covenant finds healing, every faithless heart discovers mercy, and every wayward bride learns the deep, costly joy of being loved with an everlasting love.
This is the gospel that Hosea’s pain purchased for our instruction, the good news that his obedience spelled out in living letters. One bride, one Bridegroom, one story of love that will not let us go—no matter how far we wander, no matter how deep we fall. For such is the love of the God who calls things that are not as though they were, and who makes His enemies into His beloved.
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Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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