Being queer is a gift and a calling from God.
A few weeks ago, I shared a bit of my story from the pulpit when preaching from Micah 6, and
so many of you now know that the church tradition I grew up in would not agree with that
statement at all.
Growing up, I didn’t actually hear a whole lot about the LGBTQ+ community. Some churches
have made it their mission for a very long time to loudly and vociferously condemn queer
people, and made national news doing so. But my church didn’t spend a lot of time talking
about it. Most of the time, it was as if gay people simply didn’t exist, and trans people were the
object of an occasional cruel joke.
The church I grew up in was fundamentalist, which is to say that they believed the 66 books of
the (Protestant) Bible to be inerrant, as true and infallible as though it had descended directly
from the heavens. Because of that, every aspect of human life—every mystery, every question,
every uncertainty, every paradox—could be resolved simply through reading the Bible and
doing what it “said.”
Other ways of viewing the world, even those held by the majority of Christians across the globe
and throughout history, were simply incorrect. There was a comfortable simplicity to it;
knowing that we were right and everyone else was wrong.
For the longest time, I didn’t even have the language to articulate my queerness. I just knew
that in some way I was different. And different meant wrong. I grew up feeling like I was broken
in a way that was shameful and had to be kept secret.
My acceptance of queerness began as one might accept a burden they have to carry—my
personal calling to be self-sacrificial for the sake of the gospel. But I would have traded it in an
instant to feel normal if that were possible.
But if I had never felt out of place, had never experienced the loneliness of my very existence
contradicting the worldview I had inherited, I might never have dared to expand that worldview
in other ways. I might never have questioned the ways in which my faith was used to oppress
not just queer and trans people, but Black and Indigenous people, working-class people,
women, children, and more. I might never have realized that a faith with no questions or
contradictions is no faith at all.
Queerness opened the door to a deeper connection with God and a deeper understanding of
the systems that harm our neighbors. And for that reason, I believe being gay is a part of my
calling as a minister of the gospel—the good news of liberation.
Our church celebrating Pride—marching in the parade, welcoming people to our booth at the
festival, painting our steps rainbow—is important, especially now, because it shows our
commitment to embodying that good news in a way so many churches fail to.
When so many Christians in this country tacitly or explicitly cosign violence and oppression
under the mantle of White Christian Nationalism, we have an opportunity to say: “That is not
the good news Jesus proclaimed.”
Our celebration should deepen our commitment to working for liberation for all God’s children,
remembering that Pride didn’t get its start with corporate sponsorships but with Black and
Latine transgender sex workers resisting police violence and fighting for housing in their
community. Queer liberation must mean liberation for all.
As we close out the month of June, I hope we recommit ourselves to widening the welcome
and speaking out for justice year-round. May queerness of every shade and hue open our eyes
to the brilliance of what God is creating in and through us.
—Rev. Stephen