In recent years our collective consciousness has made a noticeable shift toward the divine feminine, as evidenced by the popularity of books, podcasts, and even social media posts on the subject, as well as by gender-expansive language in religious spaces that, not long ago, only permitted God to be a “he.”
Once a taboo subject outside of pagan or New Age practices, themes of the divine feminine are becoming increasingly mainstream as people of all backgrounds reckon with the longstanding misogyny that has clouded our ability to recognize and engage with the feminine face of God.
In the midst of this piqued curiosity, interest in the Virgin Mary has – perhaps unsurprisingly – risen, too. After a long history of being relegated to a figure in a Christmas nativity, the Theotokos (“God-bearer”) has finally started to see some air time of her own in mainstream Western culture. People of all spiritual persuasions are sensing that this person is more than a biblical character with only a few scenes: she could also be a guide into, an archetype for, the divine feminine. Even Catholic readers who have long had a rote familiarity with the “Mother of God” are finding themselves hungry to experience her in a more intimate and empowering way.
Because once upon a time, our ancestors had gods and goddesses onto which to project all of their human wrestling, desires, vulnerabilities, and fears. Many global peoples still do, of course. But not most of us in the Western world. Here, the intricacies of our respective ancestors’ spiritual stories and practices have all faded into one giant melting pot. We scrape hungrily for archetypes anywhere we might find them – in music and movies and celebrity gossip magazines – but always seem to come up lacking. Some of us find solidarity in the human/divine Jesus, yes, but he is male: less than half of the population can see themselves reflected back when we look at him. And even that half needs a Mother.
Whether or not we identify as particularly religious, the masculine presentation of God in our culture is impossible to escape – and we all internalize that fact, to some degree. We all, whatever gender, bear the wounds of the exclusion of the divine feminine. We all bear the wounds of an absent Mother. Opening ourselves up to the Virgin Mary can be the beginning of the process of tending to those wounded places, through questioning boundary lines and learning how and where to find the nourishment our souls have been craving. And what better time to do it then Advent and Christmas?
It’s true that biblical accounts don’t give us much to work with regarding Mary (although they might give more than you think). It’s also true that Roman Catholic Mariology cautions against elevating her on par with the Trinitarian God. But in the back alleys of the world, in everyday homes and in grandmothers’ apron pockets, devotion to Mary has always risen above the structural and into the cellular – particularly in communities that have experienced oppression and marginalization. She transcends boundaries, shrouded in shape-shifting mystery, and becomes something other than; other than a historical figure, other than a goddess, other than our imagination, other than ourselves – and yet somehow enveloping all of those things too.
Most of us are only familiar with docile, pious, demure images of an obedient, white, blue-eyed Mary; a Mary at once both matronly and youthful but frankly rather one dimensional. But it is our Eurocentric culture, not tradition, that has failed us here. Beyond the borders of our whitewashed spiritual imaginations, there is La Virgencita of Mexico, 450 Black Madonnas worldwide, the old crone who lived in Ephesus under the care of John the Apostle, and so many more faces and identities. There are her names of mystery and wonder that both intrigue us and yet give us pause. Theotokos. Co-redemptrix. Queen of Heaven. The discomfort is the point.
In my own life, I have found there is a face of Mary for any need I have at any given time. Defender, protector, guide in a storm. Nurturer, sustainer, companion in the descent. Maiden, mother, crone. Within us and outside of us, emboldening us and nurturing us. It’s all here, everything we’ve lacked. Just waiting to be called upon.
Maybe, this Christmas, it’s time to open ourselves more seriously to this woman we’ve pushed to the sidelines; this gift that God has given us to reveal something more of the divine. Maybe, this Christmas, she is poised to help us expand and balance our spiritual experience – and understand more of ourselves in the process.
In case you’re interested in further reading, my recs of books that include worthwhile food-for-Marian-thought are:
Untie the Strong Woman, Clarissa Pinkola Estes
God is a Black Woman, Christena Cleveland
The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd
Birthing the Holy, Christine Valters Paintner
The Maternal Face of God, Leonardo Boff
The Universal Christ, Richard Rohr (one chapter is devoted to Mary)
(Obviously, this is not an exhaustive list. These are just the ones that have spoken something deep to me. I look forward to finding many more as the years go by!)
You might also check out this piece I wrote for Red Letter Christians one Christmas: Mary’s Virginity Matters, but Not for the Reasons Think
Heads up that you won’t be hearing from me over the holidays (unless you’re a paid subscriber, in which case you’ll get a little virtual Christmas card from my family!), but I’ll be back and ready to go in 2024.
Wishing each of you peace and every single itty bitty smack of good,
Shannon
So good. I can recommend The Reed of God by Caryll Houselander - I am only halfway through but she has brought Mary to life for me in a new way!
I'm so glad you mentioned the Black Madonnas, etc. Mary sparks the imagination, doesn't she? It may be why we rarely talk about her prayer, The Magnificat. This is a beautiful piece.