What If Jesus Loved John and Mary?
A Pastoral Reflection on Sacred Intimacy
What if Jesus loved John and Mary Magdalene—not only as disciples or followers, but as people with whom Jesus shared deep emotional and spiritual intimacy?
What if love itself—human, tender, complicated, and embodied—was not a distraction from divinity but one of its truest revelations?
That question makes some people uncomfortable. For centuries, the Church has taught us to separate holiness from physical touch, devotion from desire, and spirit from flesh. But when I read the Gospels, I don’t see a distant Savior standing apart from human experience. I see someone who touched, who wept, who embraced, who called people by name.
Maybe the discomfort we feel when talking about Jesus’ intimate relationships says less about who Jesus was—and more about how afraid we’ve become of our own humanity.
The Disciple Whom Jesus Loved
The Gospel of John gives us an image that has long fascinated me. At the Last Supper, “the disciple whom Jesus loved” reclines against Jesus’ chest. The Greek phrase en tō kolpō tou Iēsou literally means “in the bosom of Jesus.” The same word, kolpos, appears earlier in John to describe the Son resting “in the bosom of the Creator.”
That is not accidental. The Gospel writer intentionally mirrors divine intimacy in human form. The love between Jesus and John is described with the same tenderness used for the relationship between the Son and God.
At the cross, Jesus looks down and entrusts his mother to this same disciple, saying, “Here is your son.” That’s not just logistics—it’s belonging. Jesus is creating chosen family through love and care.
For me, that is one of the most radical things Jesus does. Holiness is not found in hierarchy but in relationship. To lean on another’s chest, to care for one another as kin—that’s sacred.
Mary Magdalene: The One Who Knew His Voice
Then there is Mary Magdalene—the first person to see the risen Christ. When Jesus says her name, “Mary,” something holy happens. Recognition. Connection. Revelation.
She responds, “Rabbouni”—not just “teacher,” but my beloved teacher. The word carries affection and devotion. And when she reaches out to hold him, Jesus says, mē mou haptou—“do not cling to me.” The phrase implies that she already was.
Mary’s instinct is not to bow or to back away—it’s to hold him close. That moment captures something so deeply human: the desire to cling to what we love, even when love calls us to let go.
Mary’s love was not possessive—it was faithful. Her response to divine intimacy was action. She became the first to proclaim resurrection, carrying the message of hope to those still afraid. The first Easter sermon wasn’t preached from a pulpit; it was born out of love.
A God Who Loves Through Flesh and Feeling
When we say Jesus was “fully human and fully divine,” we must not ignore that being human includes emotional and relational depth. The early Church’s image of a celibate, untouched Jesus served cultural and theological purposes—but it may also have limited our imagination.
God becoming flesh means that God chose to know us not just through spirit, but through skin, tears, friendship, and love.
If Jesus loved John and Mary deeply, it doesn’t diminish divinity—it reveals it. Divinity isn’t about distance. It’s about presence. It’s about showing up in the fullness of love, even when it breaks your heart.
Love Beyond Labels
It’s tempting to ask, “Was it romantic?” But maybe that’s not the right question. Maybe the point isn’t whether their relationships fit into modern categories, but whether we can recognize the holiness of love wherever it shows up.
Jesus embodied love that transcended boundaries. His tenderness toward John sanctifies same-gender affection. His relationship with Mary elevates women’s voices and agency. Both point to a truth the Church has often missed: intimacy and holiness are not opposites—they belong together.
Love that heals, love that restores dignity, love that draws people into community—these are sacred acts.
My Own Reflection
When I first started pondering this idea, I found myself thinking about the song “I Do Both Jay and Jane” by Jane Siberry. It’s about love that defies categories—a love that exists beyond the rules people try to impose.
That song captures something about the human heart that resonates with this question. It’s not about labels; it’s about authenticity. I think Jesus understood that. Love, for Jesus, was never about conformity. It was about connection—about calling out the divine image in another person and saying, “You belong.”
In my own life and ministry, I’ve come to see that kind of love as the holiest thing there is. The courage to love without apology. To see divinity reflected in someone’s eyes. To embrace the possibility that sacredness might look like two people leaning toward each other, hearts open, unafraid.
What This Means for Us
If Jesus loved deeply, then so can we. And we must.
We can love in ways that honor difference, that reach across boundaries, that make space for every person to be fully known and fully seen. We can form communities that reflect divine tenderness—where belonging isn’t earned, it’s shared.
When we love without fear, we become living reminders of God’s presence in the world.
A Closing Prayer
Loving God, who became flesh to dwell among us, teach us to see Your holiness in every expression of love that is real and life-giving. Help us to hold one another as You hold us—in compassion, truth, and courage. May we, like John and Mary, learn to love with tenderness and purpose, revealing Your presence in every act of care.
Amen.
