In light of the Easter celebrations taking place around the world, this is a worthwhile moment to reflect on the figure of Christ from an angle that has rarely been explored: the lens of masculinities.
I mention this because, in a world where patriarchy continues to define what “being a man” means — strong, invulnerable, an unquestioned provider, and always in control — it is provocative to look back at a figure who, over two thousand years ago, embodied a radically different way of inhabiting masculinity: Jesus.
Christ’s figure can be understood as a disruptive and critical stance against the hegemonic masculinity of his era — defined by the Roman Empire and heir to the great patriarchal civilizations. That same logic of domination, militarism, warfare, and control over bodies and territories persists even today.
Jesus did not conform to the Judeo-Hellenistic-Roman model of his time, where being a man involved public honor, dominion over subordinates, emotional self-control, and the repudiation of everything linked to passivity or the “feminine.” Patterns that, largely, continue to be replicated in the present day.
The example of the crucifixion is particularly telling: what Roman society considered the most humiliating death — reserved for slaves and rebels — a total loss of control and a shameful exposure of the body, became for Jesus a supreme act of self-giving and love. In this way, he showed that vulnerability is not equivalent to weakness.
Nor does Jesus conform to the traditional, victorious “macho” stereotype. He is capable of weeping, of touching the “impure” without dread of contamination, of engaging in dialogue with women on equal terms, of washing the feet of his disciples, and of rejecting the sword as a response to violence. By adopting these stances, he proposed an alternative, anti-patriarchal masculinity — one that prioritizes care, horizontal bonds, and the refusal of coercive power.
As theologian Hugo Cáceres Guimet notes, “When we speak of Jesus’ masculinity, we are indicating that the distinctive traits of his behavior in the Gospel stories allow scholars to identify the model of male conduct that the Master put forward: a model notably distant from the hegemonic masculinity of the first century.” This is a very thought-provoking interpretation of the figure of Christ.
In other words, Christ deconstructs the command of male domination while holding onto ethical force and moral courage. His authority isn’t about physical power or social status; it’s about service and the capacity to empathize with others, men and women alike. He forcefully drives the merchants from the temple, indeed, yet not to impose his personal dominance, but to protect the dignity of the excluded.
Jesus does not engage in the status competition with Pharisees or Romans on their own terms; instead, he offers a different game: the Kingdom’s game, where the last become first and where power manifests itself through foot-washing and bread-sharing. This is a radical invitation for contemporary men: to cease measuring themselves by their capacity to dominate and to begin valuing themselves by their capacity to care, to accompany, and to embrace vulnerability in relation with others.
It’s true that the Church, for centuries, has pushed aside these teachings of Christ and used them to subordinate women and to colonize peoples and lands. It’s also true that, since Constantine’s time — when Christianity became the ideology of the Roman Empire — patriarchy and domination were strengthened through corrupt and abusive church structures. But that is exactly what Jesus came to challenge and overturn.
With all that said, the figure of Christ can help us not only to reread his story from a different angle, but also to allow both believers and non-believers to leave behind a masculinity of death (one that keeps generating wars, disasters, and all sorts of domination) so that we can open ourselves up to caring for life and build a more just and sustainable world.
