My son is the middle child, with sisters on either side, and when people discover this, I inevitably hear playful expressions of pity on his behalf—some iteration of “that boy doesn’t stand a chance.” I am part of the “boy mom” era, where mothering boys is supposed to be a wild adventure—full of trucks and dirt and dinosaurs, devoid of the calm propriety (and sassy attitude) supposedly constitutive of daughters. “Boys will be boys,” as the saying goes, while girls are somehow both too much (“he doesn’t stand a chance”) and not enough (no dirt or wild adventure for them!).
This phenomenon has always bothered me. If we pity our boys for having to put up with our girls and raise boys with fewer restraints, it is no wonder that recent efforts to empower women have met with backlash from young men. As one young man put it in a Buzzfeed survey, “The issues of specifically young men are often entirely dismissed or discredited due to our historical privileges, and modern-day young men are feeling left behind because they ARE being left behind.” Another pointed to the #MeToo movement as an example of discrimination against men by “the left.”
In a time of crisis, turn to Mary as a guide
It seems there is a crisis of masculinity in this country. But naming it as such is perhaps indicative of the problem. Men—white men, especially—have always been at the top of the social hierarchy, able to define the rules and norms with impunity, told that they are the protectors and providers for their women and children. Young men are finding security in ideologies that reaffirm their dominance. A recent Washington Post article, for example, asserted that young men are being drawn into destructive political movements because recent “social movements have championed feminist causes (the Women’s March, #MeToo). Meanwhile, the economic, social and psychological problems affecting men have been largely neglected—sometimes even mocked—by progressives.”
As I grapple with what it means to raise a white son at a time when young men are being lured into a version of reality in which dominant masculinity is the answer to their—and the world’s—problems, who better to turn to than the ultimate boy mom, Mary? Surely her example of motherhood can be helpful in this moment.
Bringing up Jesus
After the birth of Jesus, Mary is often amazed and awestruck by her son—an experience shared by every new mother. As Jesus grows, however, we see a more nuanced relationship. While Jesus is growing in “wisdom and age and favor,” he is also learning to be a good human, and Mary vulnerably holds space for this growth. Two stories illustrate this point.
When Jesus is 12 years old, he is in Jerusalem with his family for Passover, but when they are supposed to leave for home, he winds up in the Temple rather than with the caravan. After three days, his parents find him “sitting in the midst of the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions, and all who heard him were astounded at his understanding and his answers.”
While Jesus views his experience as a necessary feature of his mission and wonders why they even bothered to look for him—he is “in [his] Father’s house” after all—he still breaks Mary’s heart a little. “Son, why have you treated us so?” she asks. “Your father and I have been looking for you anxiously.”
The next time we hear Mary speak is at the wedding in Cana. She tells Jesus, simply, “They have no wine.” While he procrastinates and deliberates about whether he should help, even wondering aloud what concern it is of his, Mary pushes him to action. “Do whatever he tells you,” she instructs the servants. Knowing that he is capable of helping, she does not abide his excuses.
Education in empathy
In both stories, I see a mother teaching her son to be attentive to the needs and concerns of others and to use his gifts to lift others up. A 12-year-old’s ability to talk faith with the rabbis is certainly impressive, and any mother would be proud, but Mary reminds Jesus to think not only of the impressive accolades but to consider those he left behind. A lack of wine might not seem like a problem worth a miracle, but Mary knew that the servants—the lowly—would bear brutal consequences if their masters were disappointed. By calling on Jesus, she urges him to stand in solidarity with those who are vulnerable.
In both of these stories, Mary, the mother of God, corrects her son and helps him cultivate the empathy, humility, and service-minded worldview that shows up in his ministry and later in his Passion. Rather than acquiescing to the violent and dominative structures of the Roman Empire, or the counter violence expected of a messiah of that time, Jesus went to his death with an eye toward extending the possibility of peace for all.
While boy-mom culture perpetuates individualism and permissiveness for boys, we are called to emulate Mary’s insistent efforts to call forth compassion in her son as she helps him live into the interconnectedness that we all embody through the incarnation.
True strength versus patriarchal dominance
When I look at the extremist movements luring in young men today, I am reminded of Hannah Arendt’s discussion of “negative solidarity,” where the binding force among a group is merely hatred of the present order. Such a force is a key factor in totalitarian regimes, and it is rooted in isolation. I am convinced that the structures of patriarchy are instrumental in the discontent affecting our young men today.
Patriarchy reinforces the perception that power is about domination and control, and success must be a zero-sum game; when this is the paradigm, it can feel as though one group is receiving attention at the expense of another. It can also be the case that those “on the top” feel neglected by efforts to lift up the “bottom.” Because it perpetuates the double standard of our cultural gender binary, paints girls as threats to masculine power, and leaves little space for boys to explore their own feminine-coded interests, boy-mom culture feeds into this paradigm of separation and conflict.
In her Magnificat, Mary offers an alternative to this vision as she expresses her understanding of God’s power: “He has shown might with his arm, dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart. He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly. The hungry he has filled with good things; the rich he has sent away empty.”
The strength recognized here is in the capacity for mercy, the energy to lift up the lowly, to serve those in need, and to counter oppressive world powers. Despite the masculine pronouns in the Magnificat, Mary’s perspective runs counter to the patriarchal religious paradigm we see today. Indeed, I see parallels to the boy-mom phenomenon in our church, as well, and suggest that forming faithful men in the church must be less about bolstering masculine-coded power and freedom and more about fostering the power of belonging that comes from compassion. As scripture shows us, Mary taught her son to embody this power. If indeed “boys will boys,” may we teach them to embody the compassion and humility of Christ.
This article also appears in the May 2025 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 90, No. 5, pages 15-16). Click here to subscribe to the magazine.
Image: Chapel of the Immaculate Conception, University of Dayton. Wikimedia Commons
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