The following is a translated and edited transcript of a French podcast published in January 2025 by Jonathan Pageau and Jean-Philippe Marceau.¹

J-P: Hello everyone, welcome to this new episode of The Symbolic Life with Jonathan Pageau and Jean-Philippe Marceau. I was very much looking forward to recording today’s episode because it's a subject I don’t understand. It’s been a long time since we talked about something I didn’t understand to this extent.

Specifically, I want to talk about Mary and intercession. What made me want to talk about this is a book I read a few weeks ago titled Jesus and the Jewish Roots of Mary by a Catholic theologian named Brant Pitre.² He draws many typologies between prefigurations of Mary in the Old Testament and Mary in the New Testament. Some of these prefigurations I had never heard of, and I’ll mention them to see what you think, Jonathan.

But what I think would be especially interesting for us is to see, beyond the symbolic links between the Old and New Testaments concerning Mary, what the symbolic impact is outside the Bible, in the world in general. I don’t see many people doing that.

We’ve talked about it before; there’s a renewal of interest by theologians in typology within the Bible, more so than, say, 40 or 50 years ago. But I still don’t see many people applying typology outside the Bible. You and your brother, and the whole symbolic world community, do so, but I haven’t heard people trying it with Marian symbolism, at least not the aspects I want to talk about today.

So, let’s start with the typology I find most intriguing and understand the least: Mary as a new Rachel (Pitre, ch. 7). I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of that typology. It’s fairly well known that Joseph in the Old Testament is a prefiguration of Jesus; we’ve probably talked about that on the podcast. But around that prefiguration, you can also bring in Mary-Rachel and John-Benjamin.

Recall Joseph is the firstborn son of Rachel and that her second son is Benjamin, who are Jacob’s favorite children. Importantly, she gave birth to Benjamin in sorrow; his first name in Hebrew was even Ben-Oni “son of my sorrow”, which Jacob changed to Benjamin, meaning “son of my right hand.” The idea is that Rachel gives birth to Benjamin in pain and then dies in childbirth. She was buried where she died, near Bethlehem. This is significant because the other matriarchs and patriarchs were buried elsewhere; she’s the only one buried apart from her husband and the others, on the road near Bethlehem.

Later, in Jeremiah 31 there’s a prophecy about her. During the exile of the Jews to Babylon, Jeremiah says that as the Jews passed through Bethlehem, they stopped to pray at Rachel’s tomb. The text says that Rachel prayed and lamented, and then it says that God heard her weeping and will eventually bring Israel back from the Babylonian exile.

This led to a Jewish tradition that continues today, and even some Muslims do it, of going to pray at Rachel’s tomb for her to intercede for them. She is seen as the intercessor for Israel, the greatest intercessor.

Now, the point is that all these things can be seen as prefigurations of Mary.

Jonathan: The text from Jeremiah is quoted in the story of the massacre of the innocents when Herod kills the infants; it’s that text that is quoted: “Rachel weeps for her children.”

J-P: Yes, when Mary is in Bethlehem, it’s clearly linked to Rachel.

The fact that Christians later ask Mary to intercede for them is also a typological reference to Rachel.

At the foot of the cross, Mary gives birth in sorrow to her second son the Apostle John, and through John, to the whole Church. When Jesus says, “Behold, your son,” and “Behold, your mother,” it’s an image of how the Church was born at the foot of the cross. So Mary gives birth to the Church just as Rachel gave birth to Benjamin in sorrow.

Here’s something I’d never heard: the Apostle John being the “beloved disciple” gets an additional explanation. Benjamin was favored by his father and by Joseph.

Jonathan: Also, according to tradition, John was the youngest of the apostles, which is why he’s often depicted as a young man.

J-P: This also helps understand why John was specially honored at the Last Supper, resting on Christ’s chest. When Joseph receives his brothers at Pharaoh’s court, he gives special honors to Benjamin, just as Jesus does with John. So, there’s this whole typology between Mary and Rachel, and John and Benjamin.

Now, onto the aspect I find mysterious in all this. On a human level, I can understand why a mother’s tears — the fact that a mother gives birth in pain — makes her an intercessor to the Father. But I have trouble understanding the metaphysical significance of this symbolism. In the Bible, I can see the typology, and I can understand it on a human level, but often in symbolism, especially for fundamentals like Jesus and Mary, there’s a metaphysical reality behind it. I have a few ideas, but I’ve already talked a lot. I was wondering if you had any thoughts floating around what I’ve just said.

Jonathan: Yes, the first thing that comes to mind, just on a typological level that could add to what you’re saying, is the relationship with the Fall. One of the consequences of the Fall is that the woman will give birth in sorrow. I would say the metaphysical understanding of this is that pain is a question. Pain is a lack, something that expresses a problem. There’s a relationship between pain and intercession, or prayer. We pray for others because something is missing, there’s a question to be asked.

I think that’s the way to understand it: the compassion of the Mother of God, the compassion of Rachel who gives birth in sorrow, makes her sensitive to pain. She is sensitive to the pain of others. She is able to see suffering and intercede for that suffering because of it. That would be the best way to understand it, especially the idea of giving birth in sorrow.

J-P: That makes sense. What I’d be curious to know then is if there’s something to do with the symbolism of the head and the body that we often use. Typically, we associate Mary more with the body and Jesus with the head — the masculine with abstract form and the feminine with potential. I wondered if there was something to do with that.

Jonathan: Yes, we could understand that one of the characteristics of the body is to suffer. The body is at the mercy of the exterior world — we are constrained by external factors like cold and heat. This is the nature of the body’s suffering; it is a “passion,” in the sense of being passive in relation to reality.

There’s also another, perhaps more difficult way to express it, but there is a link between suffering and the head. If we understand suffering as being passive in relation to something else, there’s also a sense in which the body “suffers” in relation to the head. That’s why the body asks the head to alleviate its suffering. Every time you get injured, that’s what happens. Your body sends a message saying, “That hurts, stop what you’re doing.” Sometimes your will and the suffering your will causes are not aligned, and something needs to be re-established. I think that’s another way to understand the relationship between suffering and the body.

J-P: Right, I hadn’t thought of it in that detail. If you have a small problem, like with your finger, for that pain to reach your head, it requires many “intercessors”, i.e., different parts of your nervous system. Then the head can address the problem, but it doesn’t just start from the finger and go directly to the head. There’s lots of intercession.

Jonathan: And there’s a discussion between the body and the head. Let’s say I have some back pain. I can just tell my body, “It’s okay, we’ll continue.” But if my finger gets cut off, I shouldn't say, “It’s okay, we’ll continue.” We can have a tendency to do that. We see examples in our lives or others' where someone clearly should have dealt with a problem the body was screaming about but just wanted to keep imposing their will on the body, which creates bigger and bigger problems.

J-P: That reminds me of a Jewish commentary I read about Rachel, in the story from Jeremiah 31 when she weeps during the deportation to Babylon.³ It recounts how in heaven, all the patriarchs go to God to ask him to free the Israelites. But none of them succeeds — God tells them that if they knew what the Israelites did, they would agree with God’s punishment. Only Rachel prays successfully for them. Because she weeps and reminds God that she had a hard life playing second fiddle to her sister, God grants her request. It made me think of how sometimes the head just imposes things on the body, but when the body reminds the head of how much it suffers and has suffered, the head relents.

Jonathan: I think that’s a really beautiful point. When you see that, you realize the moments in the New Testament where female characters ask for a kind of flexibility. The Canaanite woman is a classic example. She expresses her pain, and at first, even Jesus is like, “No, this is not for you.” And the parable Jesus tells of the woman who goes to the judge and insists until she gets her answer. It’s a way of understanding the role of intercession as feminine, expressing pain towards the head so that the head will respond.

J-P: It’s interesting because, theologically, we don’t want to say that God changes or reacts to our prayers.

[Edit (J-P): I later stumbled upon work from C.S. Lewis that helps understand how God involves our prayer in history without changing His mind. He writes,

Can we believe that God ever really modifies His action in response to the suggestions of men? For infinite wisdom does not need telling what is best, and infinite goodness needs no urging to do it. But neither does God need any of those things that are done by finite agents, whether living or inanimate. He could, if He chose, repair our bodies miraculously without food; or give us food without the aid of farmers, bakers, and butchers; or knowledge without the aid of learned men; or convert the heathen without missionaries. Instead, He allows soils and weather and animals and the muscles, minds, and wills of men to co-operate in the execution of His will. “God,” said Pascal, “instituted prayer in order to lend to His creatures the dignity of causality.” But not only prayer; whenever we act at all He lends us that dignity. It is not really stranger, nor less strange, that my prayers should affect the course of events than that my other actions should do so. They have not advised or changed God’s mind — that is, His over-all purpose. But that purpose will be realized in different ways according to the actions, including the prayers, of His creatures.

For He seems to do nothing of Himself which He can possibly delegate to His creatures. He commands us to do slowly and blunderingly what He could do perfectly and in the twinkling of an eye. He allows us to neglect what He would have us do, or to fail. Perhaps we do not fully realize the problem, so to call it, of enabling finite free wills to co-exist with Omnipotence. It seems to involve at every moment almost a sort of divine abdication. We are not mere recipients or spectators. We are either privileged to share in the game or compelled to collaborate in the work, “to wield our little tridents.” Is this amazing process simply Creation going on before our eyes? This is how (no light matter) God makes something — indeed, makes gods — out of nothing.⁴

I don’t think this is a case I could make very strongly to a naturalist — even of the post-reductionist kind — but personally, because intercessory prayer lets us exert a kind of causality that relies directly on God, I’m not surprised that it works. God wants us to be in communion with him, so of course he wrote the story of the world in a way that lets us intercede to Him for others. Prayer is but a higher and purer way in which God lets us participate in His creation in general.

Further, even if in stories we must speak of God being moved by our prayers, it’s worth keeping in mind that this isn’t technically the case. It’s rather that God wrote the story of the world in such a way that we have a part to play in it, both by physical actions and by prayers. C.S. Lewis writes in another place,

We have long since agreed that if our prayers are granted at all they are granted from the foundation of the world. God and His acts are not in time. Intercourse between God and man occurs at particular moments for the man, but not for God. If there is — as the very concept of prayer presupposes — an adaptation between the free actions of men in prayer and the course of events, this adaptation is from the beginning inherent in the great single creative act. Our prayers are heard — don’t say “have been heard” or you are putting God into time — not only before we make them but before we are made ourselves.⁵

End of edit.]

Jonathan: In the story, you have no choice but to express prayer as having an effect in time. There are plenty of examples in the Old Testament where you see this dynamic, and sometimes it’s almost funny. For example, when the Israelites complain in the desert. They have no water, no food, and they complain, and it annoys God. He’s like, “I’m just going to eliminate them, I’ve had enough.” You can see the story from the other side and say, “Okay, you freed us from slavery, but now we’re in the desert with no food or water, we’re in pain, we’re suffering, give us something!” The intermediary, Moses, acts as a mediator between God, who wants to just burn them all, and the people, who are suffering and waiting for something. He finds a balance between the two. It’s interesting to understand this in terms of the body and the head.

J-P: Another example that comes to mind is the death of Lazarus. As Lazarus is dying and Mary and Martha tell Jesus, he decides to wait three days. And not only that, but after Lazarus dies, the apostles don’t want to go to Bethany to save Lazarus. They even remind Jesus that the Jews tried killing him last time he went. So it’s a negative kind of intercession by the apostles you might even say.

On the contrary, you have Mary and Martha who intercede positively. Martha comes to Jesus and says her brother is dead, and they discuss it, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Then Mary comes and weeps, then Jesus weeps, and after that, he acts.

Jonathan: Yes, that’s a super example of exactly that dynamic. It’s directly related to the idea of Israel weeping in the desert and God thinking, “You’re so annoying.” It’s funny, I hadn’t thought of that example, but it’s a great one that also resembles how Jesus reacts to the Canaanite woman at first. He’s like, “No,” but she insists, and then he says, “Okay, you’re right.” This is where you see that the stories in the Bible are truly cosmic, metaphysical stories, not just simple moral tales. They demonstrate a way that reality functions: for the head to act, there needs to be a reaction, there needs to be pain, a suffering of the body that calls for a response.

J-P: It’s also striking because I tend to think so much about intermediaries that I would have thought an intercession from Mary would have to pass through Martha and the Apostles before reaching Jesus. I tend to think of all these levels, with Mary always being below Martha and the apostles. But in this case, it seems like the person closest to pure potential is the one who gets through. The apostles even tried blocking Mary and Martha.

Jonathan: That’s because it’s a mistake in how we understand this question. It took me a while to grasp it, but I started to realize that you have to understand it like a king and a queen, and that it’s fractal. Mary is at the top; she is the pure potential, but the pure potential from which heaven and earth emerge is above. In Genesis 1, you see this structure: heaven and earth, and then a second heaven and a second earth are created within the earth. You have water above and water below, a firmament, and the land within. It’s the idea that the Mother of God is the highest intercession. She is like the water directly beneath heaven, and we are in her, in her body, while other intermediaries are below.

In Dante’s Divine Comedy, it’s presented this way. He doesn’t even name her. He says a lady — Saint Lucy, your patron saint — sent a message to Beatrice, who sent a message to Virgil, who came to get you. And there was another woman above who initiated all of it. Everyone who reads the text knows he’s talking about the Virgin Mary. You can understand it that way.

Of course, you have to be careful not to be too explicit in these matters, in mapping out this hierarchy of intercession. It becomes dangerous when you try to make too much of a map. You have to grasp that ultimately, it is God who answers our prayers, and we all participate in that. If I ask you to pray for me, it’s God who answers. If I ask the Virgin to pray for me, it’s also God who answers. It’s always God. But we have this beautiful image that we all participate in each other’s salvation. We just have to be careful not to map the celestial hierarchies too rigidly. That’s why Christians tend not to do it. When people try to over-map the intermediaries, they fall into a kind of strange occultism, where it becomes like talismans: for this problem, you name this angel, and so on. It’s not that we don’t have a little of that — it’s normal to say, if I’m suffering from sexual thoughts, in the Orthodox view, we pray to St. Mary of Egypt. But we just have to be careful not to make it too elaborate a system.

J-P: What you’re saying brings me to another point I wanted to discuss. You mentioned the idea of a king and queen with Jesus and Mary (Pitre, ch. 4). This is another area where there are prefigurations of Mary in the Old Testament that are very distinctive to Judaism. In almost all other cultures at the time, the queen was the king’s wife. But in the Davidic kingdom, the queen was the king’s mother. She was named in the genealogies that way, which was different from surrounding peoples. And you often have stories in the Old Testament of people asking the king’s mother to intercede to the king. This is another prefiguration of Mary.

You’ve almost explained it already, but it’s interesting because this idea of the queen being the king’s mother seems unique. I haven’t seen it explained as such in the Old Testament. But if the Jews, unlike other peoples, had the idea that God created heaven and earth in harmony, rather than a strictly descending hierarchy, that might help explain why they gave that place to the queen mother. But I admit I still don’t fully understand why they decided to do that.

Jonathan: There are very practical reasons. Where does the next king come from? You don’t necessarily know. It’s one of the reasons why Jews now have matrilineal descent. Not matriarchal, but matrilineal, because the only person you can be 100% sure is the origin of your child is the woman. It’s a bit cynical, but there’s certainly that.

But I think there’s also an aspect related to the idea that the question precedes the answer, meaning the feminine precedes the masculine because it frames the masculine. So you can see why there would be the idea that the queen is the king’s mother because she is like the body, the throne of the king.

What’s important to understand is that in Christian symbolism, we join both symbolisms together. We have the image of the Virgin as the Mother of the King, in that line of the “queen mother,” but there’s also the idea that she is the spouse of Christ. It’s more mysterious, but there is a lot of symbolism related to Mary that makes her also the spouse. For instance, in the imagery, especially in the West, of Christ crowning the Virgin, that’s more the image of the spouse, of the New Jerusalem prepared for the Messiah. But both symbols are there, which is why Mary is such a powerful symbol of the feminine: she is both mother and spouse at the same time.

J-P: Another aspect related to the mother and giving birth in sorrow that I’m trying to understand better: Mary gives birth to the Church in sorrow at the foot of the cross. But, in contrast, many Church Fathers, based on Old Testament prophecies, say that Mary gave birth to Jesus without pain, virginally (Pitre, ch. 5–6). So there’s this opposition between the birth of Jesus, which was painless, versus the birth of the Church, which was in sorrow. I feel there’s a link with how God cursed Eve after the Fall, but I don’t exactly understand the role this opposition plays.

Jonathan: Exactly, the idea is that the Virgin undoes the Fall. The way to undo it is a bit strange, but it can be both by being the opposite and by filling the form with its plenitude. Jesus, for example, undoes the Fall by dying. He willingly accepts to die, and then he is resurrected and ascends to heaven. So he is both the one who is ready to die, but that death leads to an endless life, eternal life.

You see the same thing in the imagery of Mary. She undoes the curse of the Fall by giving birth without pain, because one of the curses was the pain of childbirth. That’s why tradition, in the Protoevangelium of James, places so much emphasis on the fact that she gives birth without pain and remains a virgin in childbirth. We can’t picture it too physically, but it’s important to say she undoes the Fall in that way. But also the opposite: she embodies the Fall. She accepts and says “yes” to the consequences of the Fall, accepting the pain of sin and the Fall by her own will. And because of that, she undoes the Fall in that way too. I think that’s how we can understand both aspects appearing at different moments in her story.

J-P: That makes sense.

Now for another aspect of prefiguration that relates to intercession and also helped me understand the idea of the Dormition of the Virgin: Mary as the Ark of the Covenant (Pitre, ch. 3). On a larger scale, Jesus undergoes an exodus just as Moses did. Moses had the Ark; Jesus has Mary. Moses left Egypt for the promised land after passover, whereas Jesus leaves Israel for heaven after His passover. He describes his exodus that way (Luke 22:15). And just as Moses brings the Ark to the promised land, Jesus brings the Ark, who was his mother, to heaven when she dies.

How she died, or if she died, is debated; whether she was assumed directly into heaven, etc. But that she was assumed into heaven isn’t debated in early Christianity. You also have the symbolism of the Ark as incorruptible. The wood of the Ark was literally called “incorruptible wood” in Greek, and it was covered in gold. Much of this symbolism was applied directly to Mary.

One aspect that relates to intercession and that I find interesting but still a bit mysterious is the Visitation and why something like that was necessary. There’s a passage where King David wants to bring the Ark to Jerusalem. Initially, he has it brought without following the protocol — using poles of gold — and instead has it brought on a cart by oxen. The Ark is about to fall, someone touches it, and he dies. After that, David is scared and leaves the ark at the house of Obed-Edom, a gentile, for three months, and it says God blessed Obed-Edom. Then David decides to bring the Ark back properly and everything goes well. That three-month period seems to be a direct reference to the three months Mary spent with her cousin Elizabeth, whose pregnancy was also a miraculous blessing. But I’m not sure I understand the meaning of that three-month delay concerning the Ark, beyond the internal typology in the Bible.

Jonathan: I admit I’ve never thought about that. It would be important to think about because there is definitely a link between the two. In both cases, it’s in the hill country of Judea. Elizabeth lives there, and so did Obed-Edom. The fact that the Ark is elsewhere for three months and brings a blessing is fascinating. Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for you today.

[Edit (J-P): I continued thinking about this after the podcast and discussed it with friends. We haven’t exhausted the mystery, but I think that just as Mary goes through and fixes the Fall, she goes through and fixes a smaller fall: the exile of the Ark.

The reason why the Israelites lost the Ark in the first place was that Eli the priest had not been able to discipline his sons who treated the Lord’s offering with contempt (1 Sam. 2:12–4:22) and attempted to walk into battle with the Ark without humility. They shouted confidently, only to be defeated. Eli and his sons died, and the Philistines captured the Ark. This episode shows the fall that happens when we attempt to wield the Ark and take its blessings for granted.

Similarly, the first time the Israelites try to bring the Ark back in 2 Sam. 6:1–11, everyone celebrates mightily around the ark with several instruments, which seems improper, and they are not careful to follow the protocol. In short, they lack humility. They succeed in the next attempt three months later in 2 Sam. 6:12–19, seemingly because they humbly offer sacrifices on the way and when they reach Jerusalem. Also, this time, the celebration is more measured and structured: David dances as he leads the procession to Jerusalem, amidst the people’s shouts and the sound of trumpets.

It took the Israelites a few attempts to reach this solution, but it happens in one fell swoop in the visitation. In a parallel fashion to Eli and his sons dying, Zechariah the high priest is made mute due to lack of faith, and the Ark spends three months in exile in the hill country of Judah. Then, when Elizabeth and John the baptist face the Ark, they are humble. Indeed, Elizabeth offers a sacrifice of praise. Also, in terms of celebration, we see the same successful liturgical structure as before: John — the one who will go before the lord to prepare his way — dances like David, while Elizabeth rejoices and shouts, like the crowd.

The upshot regarding the intercessory power of the Ark is humility. It is good to celebrate, but we must not think we can wield God and take miracles for granted like the corrupt sons of Eli.

End of edit.]

Jonathan (continued): But regarding the relationship between the Ark and Mary, there’s a lot to say. People often forget that inside the Ark was the Law, the tablets of the Law, which is an image of the Logos integrated into the world. And Mary is exactly that. There are several related images. There’s the cloud, too. When the Ark finally arrives with David, the cloud arrives, signifying God is there. The cloud also guides the Israelites in their exodus, and with the cloud and the Ark, they defeat their enemies. In the Annunciation, when it’s said that the Spirit will overshadow Mary, it’s a direct reference to that. The glory of God descending upon the Ark is clearly related.

When the Ark is properly aligned, they win battles. This is connected to the city. Mary and the Ark are linked to the idea of the city as an extension of the Ark. That’s why there’s a link between the New Jerusalem, the Ark, the altar in Revelation, and the Virgin as a bride joining her groom. This can also help us understand certain symbolisms of Mary, like being the defender of the city of Constantinople. They had an icon of her that they would process with on the walls of the city when it was attacked, because of this connection between the Ark, the body, and the city.

J-P: That explains a lot. I hadn’t understood why there’s that devotion to Mary as a protector of the city. I find this interesting because there are many common devotions that people have practiced for a long time in the Church, which I intuitively found a bit childish for lack of understanding.

Jonathan: Here’s another example to help people grasp that the Ark of the Covenant was really known as a feminine object. Inside the Ark were the laws — the incarnate Word — but also Aaron’s rod that had budded. It’s hard to find an image more related to a kind of sexual union leading to fruitfulness. The rod that flowers is inside the Ark. It’s an image of a woman with a child inside her. So when people doubt the symbolism of the Ark being a feminine object, it’s right there in the text. And the notion that Mary brings all this together to become the central image of the place where God’s glory descends and a child is born.

J-P: I’d never heard that, it makes a lot of sense. It helps to understand very concrete things, like the devotion to Mary protecting the city, and why the Dormition (or Assumption) was a dogma that came naturally in the history of the Church — that Jesus brought the Ark back, just as David brought the Ark back.

Jonathan: It’s also really connected to the idea of the New Jerusalem. In Revelation, we have the image of a celestial Jerusalem. It shows the link between heaven and earth. This link can be manifested as heaven descending to earth, but there’s also the idea that the earth is brought up to heaven. We see that in the imagery of the Ascension. It’s all coherent. So the notion that an angel announces to Mary that the Spirit of God will descend upon her and she will become the body to manifest God in the world... it’s just so obvious that at some point an image will appear that she, too, was taken up to heaven. Because that’s the full image of the relationship; you can see it from either side.

J-P: And apparently, in Revelation, the link is more direct than we usually think. Brant Pitre mentioned that in most Bibles, it’s separated into two chapters (Pitre, ch. 3). At the end of one chapter, it mentions the Ark is in heaven, and at the very beginning of the next, it mentions that in heaven there is a great woman. The idea is that it’s the same thing.

I have one last aspect of typology we could talk about related to intercession, the one we’ve probably discussed the most and is perhaps the most obvious: Mary as the new Eve (Pitre, ch. 2). There are several aspects of this we’ve already touched on, but one interesting thing is that Jesus calls Mary “woman” in the Gospel of John, in direct reference to Eve, who is almost always called “woman” in Genesis. When Jesus says to Mary at the wedding at Cana, “Woman, my hour has not yet come,” it’s a direct reference to Eve who had offered the forbidden fruit to Adam. Here, Jesus is being “tempted” by Mary, the “mother of all the living,” to begin his ministry.

Jonathan: It’s not just tempting him to begin his ministry; it’s as if Mary is leading Jesus down a path that will lead to his death, just as Eve tempted Adam towards his death. Mary is now tempting Jesus towards his death. Jesus knows what’s happening. He’s like, “Okay, but if you do this, if you open this door for me, it means I am going to die.” That’s why the dialogue is so bizarre. She says, “They have no wine,” and Jesus says, “I’m not ready to die” (i.e., “My hour has not yet come”). What’s the connection between a lack of wine and his hour not yet coming? You realize it’s a reference to Genesis and the Fall, where Eve leads Adam to die. Here it’s the same, but it’s a reversal. She leads him to die for the salvation of all, for the salvation of the wedding, to restore the world.

J-P: We’ve talked about this before, but the symbolism of turning water into wine isn’t just turning water into fruit juice. It’s about going through death (fermentation) with the wine to make something better than what you had before. And another moment, at the end of John’s Gospel, when Jesus again calls Mary “woman,” is at the foot of the cross. He says to John that his mother is “the woman,” and says to Mary that her son is John. This consummation through Jesus’ death on the cross creates the Church, creates the wine, so to speak.

Jonathan: Yes, that makes perfect sense. It might seem strange, but when Jesus is on the cross and acts this way, he becomes a bit like Eve’s husband, in a certain way. He gives a child to Mary. I know this can sound weird to people, and it obviously has no inappropriate implications. It’s more that Jesus is constantly pulling all the symbolic threads together. When he is raised on the cross, he becomes like her husband and gives her a child.

J-P: That’s great. To conclude, one of the reasons I wanted to talk about intercession is that I know personally people who are starting to become interested in the Church again but often struggle with social issues, like why the Church doesn’t give more place to women in the ecclesial hierarchy. I wanted to think about Mary for this because it’s not as if all the important jobs in the Church belong to priests and bishops. Mary had a more important job than the apostles, but Jesus still didn’t ordain her. Exploring this role of Mary as intercessor helps to understand that there are other important roles besides just the official jobs in the hierarchy.

Jonathan: That’s exactly it. It’s the error of feminism, to believe that the only value that exists in the world is participation in the explicit hierarchy, and that there is nothing else apart from the public side of the world — having a job, being a CEO, a boss. And we celebrate every time women get places in the explicit hierarchy.

Meanwhile, the whole aspect of the secret, of hidden influence, we don’t believe in anymore, or we don’t realize that it’s extremely important and that, in fact, the majority of sainthood is made of that. Yes, we have saints who are in the clergy, but in general, the reason they are saints has nothing to do with the fact that they were in the clergy. If anything, being in the clergy was an obstacle to their holiness.

I think that’s what we need to hold onto. We have figures in the tradition like St. Mary Magdalene, who in the Orthodox tradition we say is equal to the apostles, or St. Nino, who evangelized Georgia and is also called equal to the apostles. We have saints we call equal to the apostles, but they were not clergy. The public function of officiating the rites of the Church is not the whole Church. Even the idea of official authority is not the whole Church. That’s why when someone says we don’t give enough space to women in the Church, it’s a very deep misunderstanding of what the Church is, and of the relationship between the masculine and the feminine and the different roles we play.

J-P: As you were saying earlier, it’s an error that’s not easy to grasp — that pure potential is actually very high, like with the symbolism of the king and queen. Even for people who are already Christian, like me, I admit there were Marian dogmas I understood much less before thinking about this, because of this modern, more strictly hierarchical way of thinking where potential has to go through intermediaries to get to the top.

Jonathan: The crazy part is that in the history of the Church, women have played extremely powerful roles, and these roles are connected to the feminine. Even within the feminine context, there are women who play roles like abbesses of monasteries, which are relatively masculine roles in that context, despite not officiating rites and sacraments. In the Orthodox Church, some abbesses even have the right to carry a bishop’s staff because they are shepherdesses for their flock.

J-P: An example I always come back to is from the 19th century. Honestly, I can’t name a single male member of the clergy who did something important enough for me to remember them offhand, but everyone knows St. Thérèse of Lisieux.

Jonathan: Exactly. There are many examples. St. Thérèse is a brilliant example of feminine influence. Her influence was secret her whole life. Nobody knew her. It was only after her death that suddenly her influence began to manifest. People saw the miracles, read her texts, and saw the presence she had, which had been hidden. That is a really powerful example of the hyper-important influence of the feminine in the Church.

J-P: Very well. On that note, I think that’s a good place to end. Thank you, Jonathan. Thanks, everyone, for being here, and we’ll see you in the next episode.

1.  Jonathan Pageau - français, “Le symbolisme de l’intercession,” YouTube, January 1, 2025.

2.  Brant Pitre, Jesus and the Jewish Roots of Mary (Image, 2018).

3.  Lazer Gurkow, “Why G-d Listens to Rachel,” Chabad.org, December 2017.

4.  C.S. Lewis, The World’s Last Night and Other Essays (Harper One, 2017), pp. 7–9.

5.  C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer (HarperOne, 2017), letter 9.