Jesus Had Children
- nvtvptpenrose
- Oct 12
- 5 min read
Updated: Oct 14
For Part I of this series, click here. Continue to read Part II... For thousands of years, the world has been told that the man called Jesus left no lineage or children. His story was framed as one of divine sacrifice rather than human continuation. This telling became deeply rooted through centuries of control, but many still sense the gaps in the stories, and carry a knowing that truth does not disappear, it is only hidden. There are memories so old they live outside language, and are older than any calendar or chronicle. They move beneath the ribs and breathe through dreams we had forgotten to honour. This is the return of what was hidden. Jesus did not walk alone. He lived with a woman of equal radiance; Mary Magdalene, who was his mirror. Together, they held a current that was never meant to be frozen in myth or locked behind ritual and religion. It was meant to continue through children, blood, and memory. That continuation was hunted. Entire lineages were scattered and silenced. Stories were reshaped into symbols. Names were hidden behind titles. But the frequency remained. There are those today who carry it still. When the Vatican canonized scripture, it chose four gospels and discarded dozens. Among the hidden texts were the Gospel of Philip, the Gospel of Mary, and the Gospel of Thomas. Each one offered glimpses of a deeper story pointing toward a sacred union and a family kept in secret. In the Gospel of Philip, Mary Magdalene is called the “companion” of Jesus, described with language that implies both intimacy and spiritual parity. The text speaks of him kissing her and the disciples questioning her closeness. The word “companion” was translated from the Greek koinonos, a term used for spouse or spiritual consort. The early church suppressed these passages not due to vagueness but because they carried too much weight. In 2014, authors Simcha Jacobovici and Barrie Wilson published The Lost Gospel, interpreting a Syriac manuscript from the British Library as a cloaked account of Jesus and Mary Magdalene’s marriage. Their reading of the manuscript; an allegory involving Joseph and Aseneth, suggests a veiled narrative, encoded to avoid destruction. Though the interpretation remains controversial, its presence stirred something in many. This was a signal. People are remembering. Even ossuary inscriptions found near Jerusalem have stirred debate. One box is marked “Jesua, son of Joseph” beside another with “Mariamene e Mara,” a rare form of Mary associated with Magdalene. These help challenge the silence. The ground has always known more than the institutions built on top of it. After the crucifixion, Mary Magdalene disappears from the Bible. Outside the canon, however, traditions tell a different story. Oral accounts in southern France speak of a boat arriving on the coast near Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. On board were three women. Among them, Mary Magdalene, carrying a child. Her daughter was called Sarah. The Romani people venerate Sarah as “Sara la Kali,” the dark saint. Within their tradition, she is sacred, but to many scholars, this is folklore. Yet folklore often holds memory, passed in disguise. As centuries unfolded, whispers of the bloodline resurfaced. The Merovingian kings of early France were said to descend from a divine line. The term Sang Real, meaning royal blood, then became linked with the Holy Grail. For some, the Grail is a chalice, and for others, it is a womb. The vessel of continuation. A container of life. Those who guarded this knowledge were hunted. The Templars were wiped out. The Cathars were burned. The feminine was buried. Still, the memory held.
