In Jesus’ culture, the male body was associated with dryness, compactness, and density. The female body was connected to coldness, wetness, and porousness. The female body, appearing to leak blood and milk in order to restore balance, was considered inefficient. The superior male body did not require such processes. A man who had a propensity toward nosebleeds, then, would have been considered a flawed, more feminine man. By tying masculinity to health, elite doctors and medical writers of the time ensured the assignment of masculinity to the upper class.*

I don’t believe in binary gender rules and value assignments, but I imagine the writers of the Gospels did. I find it interesting, then, that in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus becomes more porous, and thus more feminine, as the narrative progresses. God declares Jesus — in his ultimate porousness on the cross — divine. God names the inefficient, porous, feminine Jesus, the Christ.            

At the beginning of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus shows superhuman strength and seems unaffected by the world. He walks on water, performs miracles, forgives sins, teaches, and casts out demons in a way that astounds the witnesses, producing fear and awe.

In the fourth chapter, a storm comes while Jesus is on a boat with his disciples (Mark 4:35-41). Instead of standing in solidarity with his friends in their fear, he coolly sleeps through the turmoil. When the disciples wake him, he easily rebukes the wind with his voice alone, bringing an end to the chaos and destruction of the storm. He’s dry, compact, efficient. His flippancy implies dominating power. Even with this Godly display of power, the disciples fail to believe.

In the next chapter, a hemorrhaging woman reaches for Jesus’ cloak, believing that this would heal her (Mark 5:24-34). Her body’s boundaries had been deeply compromised for twelve years, and her aliment was worsening. Healing power flows from Jesus. Her bleeding immediately stops. Feeling the power seep from him, Jesus searches the crowd for the woman and sends her off well.

Then in the eighth chapter, Jesus cures a blind man. We know from previous stories that he could have healed the man by simply speaking. Instead, Jesus takes the man by the hand, uses his spit to heal him, and enters into a dialogue with the man to make sure he can see clearly. Healing power saturates his bodily fluids. He is showing feminine inefficiency and porousness that brings restoration to societally marginalized folks, who respond with love instead of fear and with faith instead of awe.

On his way to the cross, Jesus shares bread and wine with his friends, saying, “Take; this is my body … This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many” (Mark 14:22,24). Jesus offers love and deep communion by offering his body and blood. He empties himself into ordinary elements to offers himself as a sacrifice.

On the cross, Jesus experiences the ultimate porousness. With his boundaries fully broken down, divinity flows from him and, fully human, he dies. The writer of Mark’s gospel portrays Jesus suffering a death of extreme failure. He cries out in abandonment, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34). Yet God names Jesus’ posture beautiful, as Jesus bears pain and death in his own body. God names the crucified Jesus Christ. Because of Jesus’ inefficiency and porousness, what could be considered his femininity, we can share in God’s abundant love.

Some say the Church is dying, but I don’t agree. I see it becoming more porous. The line between online and in-person community is blurring. The walls between the church and the world are dissolving. Our faith — too often efficiently self-restricted to a Sunday morning obedience — is seeping into the nooks and crannies of our lives. Power, which was once hoarded by those who could read, those who could speak Latin, those who had the luxury of an advanced degree, grows among the people. I find it all deeply exciting.

Christ’s love cannot be contained. Just as Jesus’ body became more feminine in his ministry and life, now so is the Church. As the Church becomes more inefficient, more porous, flowing out into the world, we have the opportunity to transcend our limiting binaries. We have the opportunity to let go of control, to release our limited vision for the Church, and to know God’s freedom not through perfection, but through wholeness.

* Dale B. Martin, “Contradictions of Masculinity: Ascetic Inseminators and Menstruating Men in Greco-Roman Culture” In Generation and Degeneration: Literature and Tropes of Reproduction. Ed. Valeria Finucci and Kevin Brownlee (Durham: Duke University Press, 2001).