The virgin bride giving birth to a god figure is a recurring motif in human mythology across cultures. Perhaps it speaks to our desire for an elevated savior figure—someone we can look up to, turn to, and call upon for help.
Virginity, too, has been assigned enormous value in many cultures, particularly in relation to women and marriage. Within this framework, it makes sense that Mary, the ultimate mother, would be “virginized” in order to elevate the significance of Jesus’s birth.
But whether or not one believes in a literal virgin birth, I was less interested in the theological question than in the humans at the center of the story.
Taking the biblical narrative at face value, Mary was a very young woman—perhaps only thirteen or fourteen—engaged to be married when she was told that she would give birth to the savior of her people.
What would it have felt like to receive such news?
She might have been frightened, overwhelmed, and yet deeply honored—set apart by God for a purpose unlike any other. Her relationship with Spirit might have deepened as she began to understand what was happening within her.
And what of Joseph?
Behind Mary, he stands in the doorway, concerned. Perhaps he is skeptical. Perhaps he believes her but is simply overwhelmed by what lies ahead. How does one raise a child who is destined to save the world? How does one provide for the Messiah?
This painting offers a glimpse into the lives of Mary and Joseph before Jesus was born—not as icons or theological figures, but as two young people confronted with an extraordinary and bewildering future.
At its heart, the painting asks us to imagine Mary not as an untouchable symbol of purity, but as a young woman experiencing something enormous, intimate, frightening, and sacred.
The virgin bride giving birth to a god figure is a recurring motif in human mythology across cultures. Perhaps it speaks to our desire for an elevated savior figure—someone we can look up to, turn to, and call upon for help.
Virginity, too, has been assigned enormous value in many cultures, particularly in relation to women and marriage. Within this framework, it makes sense that Mary, the ultimate mother, would be “virginized” in order to elevate the significance of Jesus’s birth.
But whether or not one believes in a literal virgin birth, I was less interested in the theological question than in the humans at the center of the story.
Taking the biblical narrative at face value, Mary was a very young woman—perhaps only thirteen or fourteen—engaged to be married when she was told that she would give birth to the savior of her people.
What would it have felt like to receive such news?
She might have been frightened, overwhelmed, and yet deeply honored—set apart by God for a purpose unlike any other. Her relationship with Spirit might have deepened as she began to understand what was happening within her.
And what of Joseph?
Behind Mary, he stands in the doorway, concerned. Perhaps he is skeptical. Perhaps he believes her but is simply overwhelmed by what lies ahead. How does one raise a child who is destined to save the world? How does one provide for the Messiah?
This painting offers a glimpse into the lives of Mary and Joseph before Jesus was born—not as icons or theological figures, but as two young people confronted with an extraordinary and bewildering future.
At its heart, the painting asks us to imagine Mary not as an untouchable symbol of purity, but as a young woman experiencing something enormous, intimate, frightening, and sacred.