Skip to main content

Navigating Faith: Mary, Ruth, and the Men Who Can’t Handle Either One

So, there I was—minding my peaceful, soul-nourishing business—reading Mary, Teach Me to Be Your Daughter by Megan Madden. It’s a beautiful book that dives into what we know about the Blessed Mother and how her humility, obedience, and self-denial are blueprints for godly womanhood.

But then, like clockwork, someone with a Wi-Fi signal and a superiority complex entered the chat.

“Better would be the read your bible, and pray that Jesus would teach you to be a true follower Colossians 2:6-7!!”

Sir… respectfully, no one was talking to you. Also respectfully, do you read the Bible, or do you just skim for verses to weaponize?

Let me be clear: I love Jesus. I’ve been following Him longer than some folks have had a mortgage. I believe in the authority of Scripture. And guess what? Mary is literally in it—not just as scenery, but as a central, courageous, Spirit-filled, prophetic, poetic, wildly obedient, and yes, sinless figure. The angel Gabriel called her "full of grace." The Holy Spirit overshadowed her. She said yes to God's will when nobody else could have. She carried the Word made Flesh in her literal womb. What more do you want?

Oh, but I know what it is.

If the book had been titled Ruth, Teach Me to Be Your Daughter, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Ruth is palatable. She's the girl who gets the man at the end and says things like “where you go I will go,” which people like to put on mugs and pretend she said to Boaz (spoiler: she said that to her mother-in-law, Naomi). Ruth is safe because she doesn’t make insecure men sweat.

Mary? Mary is dangerous.

Mary is the woman who sang a revolutionary song about the proud being scattered, the lowly being lifted, and the rich being sent away empty. Mary is the woman who told her Son, the literal Messiah, “They have no wine,” and then looked at the servants like, “He’s got this,” before He had even performed a miracle. Mary is the woman at the foot of the Cross while the men ran and hid.

No wonder she makes people uncomfortable.

Let’s also talk about the absolute absurdity of saying “follow Jesus!” as though Mary didn’t. She followed Him more closely than anyone else on earth. She followed Him from Bethlehem to Calvary. And if you’re following Him right now, guess who’s already way ahead of you on the path? Yeah. Mary. She taught Jesus how to walk. You think she can’t teach me how to be a woman of God?

The real issue here isn’t the book I’m reading. It’s that some people think women’s voices, especially strong Catholic ones, need to be policed, silenced, or shoved back into the “supporting role.” That somehow, talking about womanhood through the lens of the Mother of God is “unbiblical.” My guy, she literally gave us the Bible. Jesus is the Word, and she gave Him flesh.

Let’s all take a deep breath, sip some water (or wine—Mary’s got that covered), and remember: just because a woman is growing in faith doesn’t mean she’s required to consult the Bro Council of Doctrinal Gatekeeping.

And to all the ladies navigating faith, femininity, and the occasional online troll: read the books that inspire you. Reflect on the women God chose—Ruth, Esther, Deborah, Mary, and yes, even Jael with the tent peg. Because they didn’t play small.

And neither should you.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Navigating Faith: Called to Go Deeper

This morning’s daily reading from the Catholic lectionary— Jeremiah 1:4–10 —hit me hard. It’s one I’ve read before, maybe even skimmed. But today, I slowed down and took it in. Jeremiah was afraid. He thought he was too young to be used by God. Too inexperienced. Too small. And in response, God didn’t entertain the excuse. He said to him,   “Do not say, ‘I am too young.’ To whomever I send you, you shall go; whatever I command you, you shall speak. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you” (Jeremiah 1:7–8). That struck a chord in me. Later, I saw an Instagram post from a local church. In the photo, a little girl—my former friend’s daughter—was sitting in Children’s Church with her Bible and highlighter on her lap. She looked like she was studying. I don’t know if she was just following instructions or if something deeper was happening in her heart. But either way, I found myself praying for her. In that moment, I understood something: God isn't interested in how q...

Holy Saturday: Stillness, Scars, and the In-Between

Today is Holy Saturday —a sacred, quiet pause in the Christian calendar. It’s the day Jesus lay in a borrowed tomb, purchased by Joseph of Arimathea. According to the Nicene Creed , it was during this time that He descended into hell , entering the deepest places of human pain and separation so that we would never have to know that finality—if we accept Him as our Savior. “He was put to death in the body but made alive in the Spirit. After being made alive, he went and made proclamation to the imprisoned spirits…” —1 Peter 3:18–19 It’s also the day of the Easter Vigil , the most solemn and sacred liturgy in the Catholic Church. For many catechumens and candidates, this is the night of becoming Catholic. And for me, that was supposed to be today. As many of you know, I’ve been discerning Catholicism for quite some time. I love the Catholic liturgy—the beauty, the reverence, the rhythm of it. I’m active in the Church and genuinely enjoy being there. But the truth is, I haven’t discer...

Navigating Faith: Thank You, Mom and Dad—You Taught Me How to Be Catholic

I’ve said it many times before, and I’ll keep saying it: being Catholic will always be an experience in my family. That’s not just because of theology—it’s because of my story. I was raised in a traditional Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) church. My maternal grandfather was an assistant pastor at a small Pentecostal/holiness congregation, so my mom grew up in a deeply charismatic environment. Church was non-negotiable. If the doors were open, they were there. My dad’s upbringing was different—his father was a moonshiner, and while they went to church occasionally, it wasn’t regular or structured. In between those two worlds—Pentecostal intensity and Baptist formality—I was raised. But what my parents gave me, more than any creed or custom, was a gift that I now realize was extraordinary: freedom. Not just the freedom to choose my own hobbies or pick out my clothes. It was the sacred kind of freedom—the kind that allows a child to ask hard questions, explore unfamiliar paths, and wre...