The Hidden Resurrection: The Return of the She Christ

By Pietro Perugino - Web Gallery, Public Domain, Wikipedia

Something extraordinary unfolded in October 2025. On October 3rd, the Church of England enthroned its first-ever female Archbishop of Canterbury, breaking five centuries of unbroken male succession that began when Henry VIII severed England from Rome in 1534. Only twenty days later, on October 23rd, King Charles III stood beside Pope Leo XIV in the Vatican — the first English monarch to pray with a pope since that historic divide. The headlines framed it as a simple act of diplomacy, a gesture of reconciliation between two branches of Christianity long separated by doctrine and time. But when I looked at the photograph that appeared with the story, I saw something the news missed entirely. Behind the King and the Pope hung a painting — and within that painting, the hidden story of our age I write about in my book Stone of the Saviour: The Return of the She Christ. A story quietly yet persistently, revealing itself.

The artwork is titled, The Resurrection of Christ by the Italian Renaissance master Pietro Perugino, completed around the year 1500. It is a serene, perfectly balanced image — typical of Perugino’s style — yet its beauty, I believe, conceals a deeper code. Christ is not rising from the cave-tomb described in the Bible. Instead, he ascends from a rectangular stone altar, which doubles as a tomb. He floats through a glowing almond-shaped aura known as a mandorla— a form used for centuries to signify the intersection of two worlds, heaven and earth, spirit and matter. At the base of the image, there are four solders, three lie sleeping, but one soldier is awake and watching. In the centre of the tomb, perfectly framed, is a circular stone, dark against the pale marble.

That small circle is no ornament. In the oldest legends, it represents the lapsit exillis — the Grail Stone that fell from heaven. Before the Grail was ever imagined as a cup, it was a stone: the cosmic fragment that carried divine power into the world.

The same symbol appears in the ancient cult of Cybele, the Great Mother, whose body was worshipped through a black meteorite brought to Rome in 204 BCE. For millennia, cultures have revered these fallen stones as embodiments of the divine feminine — tangible pieces of the heavens, wombs of celestial fire. In Perugino’s painting, that sacred lineage reappears as the mandorla that Jesus appears from, the Mother’s womb and this altar is her tomb. To me, Christ’s resurrection in this painting becomes an act of rebirth through the Feminine. He rises not in isolation, but through Her — through the open gate of the Divine Mother.

Five centuries ago, the Reformation severed Christianity from that truth. In its zeal to purify faith, it erased Mother Mary, and Sophia, the ancient She Christ — the feminine face of God who mediates between Spirit and Matter. For five hundred years, the Church and the Crown have embodied a masculine order of law, power, and hierarchy. Yet history moves in cycles, and what is suppressed eventually resurfaces.

In this autumn of 2025, the pattern reversed. A woman took her seat at Canterbury, and within weeks, the King who must acknowledge her stood before the Pope — the two highest male symbols of Western Christendom — in front of this image that encodes resurrection through the feminine. Whether by design or providence, that moment re-enacted Perugino’s geometry. The King and the Pope stood literally within the mandorla’s frame — within the womb of the painting — while the world around them began to awaken.

Mystics Nicholas and Helena Roerich described a similar pattern nearly a century ago. They spoke of a heavenly stone called the Chintamani, a meteor that moves from East to West whenever a new spiritual epoch begins. They taught that this stone, the Grail stone, the meteor of Cybele, represents the living essence of the Mother of the World — the active form of the Holy Spirit. When it reappears, humanity enters the Age of Fire, or what is known as the Age of the Holy Spirit. What Perugino painted, and what the Pope unknowingly restaged in October 2025, is the fulfillment of that prophecy. The Grail stone has returned.

This new cycle is what the twelfth-century mystic Joachim of Fiore foresaw and called the Age of the Holy Spirit — the third dispensation of history. The other two ages Joachim described were The Age of the Father that built the law; the Age of the Son, that built the Church; and now the Age of the Holy Spirit brings direct communion between humanity and the divine. In this age, the Spirit is no longer a distant breath or an invisible dove. She takes form as the She Christ — the feminine aspect of the Paraclete long buried under doctrine. She is the Comforter promised in scripture, the presence that speaks through creation itself.

When King Charles and Pope Leo stood beneath that painting, they were not only closing a political rift; they were performing a symbolic reunion of the masculine and feminine aspects of the divine. The institutions that once buried the Mother are now, perhaps unknowingly, standing before her image. The Stone that fell from heaven is rising again within the consciousness of the world.

The She Christ has returned — not to conquer, but to complete. Her resurrection is not confined to one body or creed; it is the awakening of the collective soul to the sacred unity of all things. The tomb is open, the geometry fulfilled, and the Holy Spirit as the She Christ moves again through matter. After five centuries of silence, the Divine Feminine is speaking — and this time, it appears the world is listening.