We’ve photoshopped the Mother of God.
We’ve lit her perfectly, framed her in gold.
We did her makeup, and froze her in serene compliance.
But the real Mary?
She bled.
She cried.
She fled in fear.
She felt out of her depth.
She raised a child in an occupied land.
She lost him for three days once, worried sick as can possibly be.
She buried her husband and buried her son.
She knew body odor, food insecurity, and the sleepless nights of a mother who knows her child is different and not safe in this world.
And still she said yes to God.
Not clean.
Not camera-ready.
Not with her hair done.
We need an image of Mary who makes real women know they are seen.
Not the fine art Mary that hovers just above the dirt,
but the one knee-deep in it, whispering prayers while trying to calm a fussy toddler, wondering if they’ll ever make it back home.
There must be an icon of her with bags under her eyes and baby vomit on her sleeve.
There should be an icon of her in the mess, because that’s where most women meet God.
Let’s reclaim that Mary.
Let’s acknowledge her truth:
The statues are lovely,
but She doesn’t need another statue.
She needs to be a sister to the mothers who bravely follow her.
And with this new image, let’s give permission for women to stop performing and start being.
If this reflection touched you, please share it.
Someone you know needs to meet this Mary.