On Religion, Jesus Christ, and Lovers

Because the Western world is so steeped in Christianity, I think many of us, no matter what our religion, have located somewhere in our minds a distinct conception of Jesus. Lately, I’ve been working to assimilate fragments of various South and East Asian traditions (i.e. Buddhism, Hinduism, Confucianism, Daoism) into some sort of cohesive philosophy that can help me live in this world with sympathetic resonance. In doing so, of course, I’ve had to evaluate my (somewhat) Catholic upbringing and consider its place (if any) in my present existence. I’m still groping with whether I think Christ was mythological or real, fabricated or a true sentient being. But the potential fictionality of Jesus isn’t necessarily of primary significance to me right now, I think, because I am more interested in Christ as a character. So often we peg our gods as transcendent beings, entirely separate from the material world rather than innately a part of it. Here is my question, though: why does this have to be so? What about the homosexual men who masturbate to images of the Savior, who see him fundamentally as a lover? Or what about the women who watch Gibson’s passion film, sympathize with the figure of Mary, and thusly relate to Jesus and care for him as a mother? Or what about the teenage girls who wear miraculous medals with Christ stamped on their surface, like some sort of friendship necklace meant to publicly declare comradeship? 

I just reread a paper I wrote last semester for my religion class, “Masculinity in Christianity.” The assignment, in short, was to select a drawing or painting or sculpture of Jesus that in some way appealed to our sensibilities, to dictate why we thought that was so, and to explain, in turn, what that said about our thoughts on the gendered and sexual nature of Christ . In revisiting this piece, I’ve realized that perhaps I, too, expect Jesus to act as a lover, and maybe conversely that I want for my lovers to act as Saviors. Now, before you go thinking this is completely sacrilege, please know that I’m not necessarily pulling an Alan Strang here (For those of you who don’t know, Alan is the young man in Equus who has a concurrent religious/sexual fascination with horses.) In other words, I’m not planning on explicitly eroticizing Jesus any time soon, but I am captivated with the idea of him assuming a role that exists somewhere between friendship and flat-out romance. Here is my essay reprinted, for anyone who is curious to better see what I mean: 

Perhaps Rembrandt’s pen and ink drawing of Jesus healing a leper is meant to portray an effeminate Christ: he is pictured swaddled in loosely draped cloth, which camouflages, rather than accentuates, the assumed masculinity and ruggedness of his body; his hair hangs long, grazing his shoulders, in contrast to the men around him shown with cropped locks; and his posture is bent, not upright, which could suggest a deferential personality, instead of an all-dominating one. But maybe it is these very womanish qualities that can be employed in support of Christ’s manliness; maybe, in their own way, these characteristics can demonstrate a sort of “paternal gentleness,” as David Morgan puts it, that can help to define masculinity (261). Although a tender, benevolent nature may be more stereotypically associated with females, I think Christ’s unflinching humility can be viewed as manly for the simple reason that he maintained it so resolutely.

If the sketch does indeed favor a feminine Savior, it might also simultaneously suggest a “friendship with Jesus” in that it demonstrates him on a tangible, human level. According to Morgan, Warner Sallman emphasized a masculine fellowship between the sailor and Jesus in his painting Christ our Pilot to aid in fortifying young male commitment in faith, and perhaps Rembrandt’s drawing aims to do something similar. In depicting Jesus committing a divine act with such ease, it could appeal to the male sensibility of effortless strength, thereby placing a weight on Christ’s masculine nature in spite of a somewhat feminine appearance. 

It may also be important, however, to acknowledge that this image of Christ is in fact a sketch, not a well defined, fully fleshed out painting or sculpture, which could in itself suggest a sort of ambiguity towards the gendered and sexed identity of Jesus; the lack of clarity in the figures shown may be meant to evoke an uncertainty regarding the character and personality of Christ. While I think my expectations of Jesus are like the sketch in that they are not absolute or certain or fixed, his orientation towards the leper in this illustration is in itself indicative of how I presume Christ to have been. To me, what the drawing reveals is a Jesus who is compassionate and humble: he tenderly leans towards the leper, lowering himself to the sick man’s level. It is this gesture alone that embodies my imagination of the Savior because it highlights his ability to love all. I am personally less concerned with whether Jesus was heterosexual or homosexual, celibate or abstinent, and instead more interested in the idea of his all-encompassing tenderness towards people. In other words, it doesn’t matter to me exactly how Christ went about demonstrating his gender or sexuality, but rather that he had the ability to take on traits associated with both males and females, and the capacity to show love (whether it be romantic or platonic) towards both men and women. By bringing to life this scripture story from the gospel according to Mark, Rembrandt reveals a Jesus who is accessible and affable, which places him in a closer association with human males and demonstrates what I think of as a sort of quiet masculinity, as opposed to an arcane God who is incomprehensible to his people on earth.