Mary, Mother of God, Is “Gender-Bending, Queer Prophetess,” Writes Catholic Scholar

Mary, the mother of God, is a “gender-bending, queer prophetess who defied the gender conventions of her time,” writes one LGBTQ+ Catholic in an essay examining how Mary helped the author experience queer joy.

Mary plays a central role in the faith of many Catholics, the object of countless “Hail Marys” and devotions. In a Sojourners article, scholar Emma Cieslik details Mary’s role in not just Cieslik’s own faith, but in her queer identity, too. She writes that “within [Mary] rests the fulcrum of my queer Catholic joy and trauma,” continuing, “[It] wasn’t until my early 20s that I started to see her as a gender-bending, queer prophetess who defied the gender conventions of her time.”

Cieslik’s relationship with Mary was not always as close and positive. Indeed, after attending a middle school retreat in which the attendees were asked to make a sexual abstinence “purity pledge” by placing a white rose before a Marian icon, Cieslik said she felt separate from Mary:

“During this church retreat, I was taught that Mary was the ideal virgin, heterosexual mother and wife; she was sexual purity incarnate. Mary had been transformed into a symbol of pure hyper-femininity, causing me to feel alienated from a figure I saw as the only representation of female divinity.

“Over the next six years, I bent myself to become the woman I believed she was until I finally broke. . .As a result, I turned my attention back to Mary. She was still standing in the corner of every church I visited, but for years, I had avoided her gaze, afraid that she would judge me for the person I had become, for failing to transform myself into a version of her. It wasn’t until I began the Queer and Catholic: A CLGS Oral History Project at the Pacific School of Religion that I learned about Mary’s importance to queer Catholics.

“She was their mother, just as she was the mother of God. Because of who Mary was, she loved and accepted them as they were. For many LGBTQ+ theologians and laypeople, this perspective on Mary is what connects them to her and legitimizes their existence within Catholicism.”

Emma Cieslik

Cieslik cites LGBTQ+ theologians who have suggested that the Holy Family is not in fact “a prototypical heterosexual family,” nor is Mary conformed to gendered social expectations of women at the time. Rethinking Mary as a person, and also in her relationships with Jesus, Joseph, and others, helps make this saintly figure more accessible to queer people. Cieslik concludes her essay fittingly:

“’I think of the powerful potential of a Queer Mary that emboldens, empowers, and enlivens the queer community to be proud of who we are, to honor and celebrate the beauty of the families we create amidst outside threat,’ writes [Rev. Angela] Yarber. “For Yarber, it’s ultimately about trusting queer theological interpretations and their potential to create an affirming and welcoming church.

“Therefore, Mary can be understood as a queer liberator, defying heteronormative and traditional gender and sexual roles. The version of Mary that was presented to me on that middle school retreat never existed. She was the creation of cultures and institutions trying to uphold traditional gender roles, patriarchal divinity, and sexual purity. Digging into queer liberation theology has shown me how Mary shares my drive and will for the Christian faith.

“When I look at Mary tucked in the corner of every church, I do not see her in blue and white anymore. Instead, she is bathed in brilliant rainbow light, opening her arms for an embrace.”

Robert Shine (he/him), New Ways Ministry, February 13, 2024

1 reply
  1. Jennifer Van Boxel
    Jennifer Van Boxel says:

    This really resonates with me. This past Sunday, I was telling my wife that in my own personal “head canon,” St. Joseph is the patron saint of “irregular” unions. He was already in a formal marriage contract with Mary when she came to him and told him things were not going to be the way society expected them to be. She was pregnant with a child not his, and their marriage was going to be a celibate one (if we accept the doctrine of perpetual virginity). Joseph was conflicted, should he do what society expected and end the relationship? But prayer showed him another way: a loving marriage that didn’t fit the norm.

    I’m a Catholic woman, married in the church, though my spouse isn’t Catholic. After nine years, I came out to my spouse about my asexuality, which had taken a long time for me to figure out. A few months later, emboldened to share by my own openness, my spouse came out to me as trans. We remain in a happy marriage, one that was blessed by the church when neither it nor we knew this relationship was queer. Only a few people at my parish know about this, though, since I’m only just starting to be brave enough to mention “my wife” to my fellow parishioners. I’ve brought her to some potlucks, and at least once someone assumed she was my daughter. The people I have told have not responded poorly, but if ever someone does and wonders how I could remain in such a marriage and still be a “good Catholic,” I shall point to St. Joseph as my model.

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