I started this year with a specific Word of the Year, a tradition in Christian women’s circles dating back to the heyday of the “blogsphere.” I usually don’t remember mine by April, but this year was different. This year the word that came to me, or that I picked (depending on what you believe about such things), was “complicated.”
As in, letting myself be.
I refused to simplify myself any longer. I would not pretend to be straight for others’ comfort. I would not pretend to be the perfect gold-star aromantic asexual person while denying the reality of my vague sapphic attractions, while accepting that I would never be fully accepted in the lesbian community either. Aromantic and yet a romantic. A cis woman and yet deeply, intrinsically, queerly, asexually so.
I would not hide that I have nontraditionally presenting ADHD in addition to my variety pack of mental illnesses. I would give up trying to screen and test myself over and over for autism, which I probably don’t actually have but also don’t not have entirely. I would be hyperactive and exhausted, both wrapped in brain fog and begging for someone quick enough to catch up with my twice-exceptional brain that has already put the pieces together. I would live into the reality of my disabilities despite feeling unqualified to use that term. I would respect my body’s needs and differences as my own and not the object of others’ expectations.
Yesterday, my Twitter friend Billie Hoard wrote out this thread and I was blown away by how true it resonated with me and so many. I asked her if I could include it as a guest post here so you could save it, return to it, and share it with those who need to hear it.
I find I am a little bit sad today that the recital of queer suffering still seems to be the primary and most effective argument to move Christians towards affirming theology.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because of the clear and holy joy that radiates from queer Christians.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because “look at how they love one another” while lacking everywhere, is more true of the queer community as a whole, despite our infighting and fractures, than it is of the Christian community as a whole.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because God’s Holy Spirit is moving among queer Christians and who are they to deny inclusion to those the Lord God has already included.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology as a joyful embrace of God’s diverse and diversifying Creation.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because queer weddings are some of the most beautiful images of God’s love for Their Bride, the church, that anyone will ever witness.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because the sparkle in the eye of a trans girl who gets her first dress is a window into the absolute dancing Joy of the Holy Spirit as She witnesses our sanctification.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because our ace and aro siblings carry so much of God’s joy and wisdom regarding connection and being in the world.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because our non-binary siblings are some of the most free and beautiful humans on this planet of ours and the dance of their lives teaches us so so much about the Trinity and ourselves.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because without queer people the Body of Christ is incomplete and bleeding.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because trans men have so much to teach us all about what is and is not healthy in our culture’s take on masculinity. They show us the masculinity of Christ.
Christians should embrace queer affirming theology because of the glory, passion, and wholeness that our bi and pan siblings bring to this world.
Billie Hoard is a transgender lesbian wife and father, a high school teacher, an author, and a queer Anabaptist radical. A consummate generalist, she holds an MA in liberal arts, and she writes on topics ranging from fairy tales and C. S. Lewis to theology, queerness, and philosophy.
Here’s the thing about arguing for queer rights and dignity. I can give them the ACLU map of ~500 anti-LGBTQ bills in the US. They will say those bills are good, actually. I can give them book lists, but they’ll say those are made up for profit.
I can give them story after story, but it’s just anecdotes, not hard data. I can give them data from the best experts, but they will say it’s flawed and poor quality and biased. I can show them history, but they will say that’s in the past, not today.
I can explain rainbow capitalism, but they will say that’s just evidence we control society and are oppressing THEM, actually, by forcing them to see we exist. I can tell them straightphobia isn’t real. I can say that accountability is not bullying. But their hearts are hardened.
I can say religion doesn’t actually require you to oppress us, and allowing our existence is not religious persecution, but they say I’m a heretic and leading others astray because their god is cisheteropatriarchy. I can say they are called to love. They say their harm IS love.
If I don’t use religion, they say I abandoned my faith. If I do, they say I’m manipulating it to fit what I want it to say. If I use science, they will say science isn’t reliable and researchers are under pressure from liberals. If I don’t, they’ll say science is on their side.
If I rehash my trauma and every other queer person’s, it won’t be enough and I’m just an emotional, irrational, delusional victim of the conveniently amorphous and vaguely defined “culture.” If I point out the reality of our queerphobic culture, they say I’m exaggerating. If I try to give them evidence, the cycle restarts, ad nauseam.
So that’s why I block instead of educating those I can tell are unwilling to learn. It’s an unwinnable system. I’d rather spend my limited time on equipping queer people and allies. If you have genuine questions and want to learn, you are welcome here. Take a look around.
As you might assume from my content on this site, I carry a lot of labels. Some are less well-known than others, and some carry inaccurate connotations. Some I am constantly working for greater awareness of, and others I keep quieter about. These labels have been immensely helpful for me, whether they are as specific as a microlabel on the spectrum of aromantic and asexual identity or as broad as the unifying and nebulous umbrella terms that I’m not sure where all I fit within.
Naming is important to self-concept and acceptance of our identity, but there are equally important stages that we move through before and after we first say, “Hi, my name is ____ and I’m ____.” These aren’t strictly linear, but they are numbered for the sake of organization:
Today, Sarah Bessey asked her readers on her Substack about all the losses that come with deconstruction/faith evolution. It made me think of a related, often simultaneous loss when that deconstruction is part of coming out as queer:
There’s something I tell queer people when they come out and lose so much (or publicly identify as allies). Yes, you will lose belonging and comfort. Maybe your job, church, friends, family, sense of stable identity, certainty, easy acceptance into your communities, even safety. But by being vulnerable, that courage opens many doors as well. You are not alone in this. You are welcome to grieve together with others who have lost the same. You are now part of a free, inclusive, authentic family. It is so so so painful, and there is so much to mourn and lament in the rage and tears. No, it isn’t fair. Yes, it would have hurt so much less if people saw and loved the full, real you.
I’m honored to introduce you to my friend and former coworker Bekah McNeel. Bekah is an author, journalist, and podcaster (check out our episode together here!) who works tirelessly for those on the margins to have their voices heard and to bring about real change through the power of storytelling. I asked her if she would be willing to share with us her perspective on raising kids in affirming theology and modeling allyship as a parent. Read her wisdom here and then read her book,Bringing Up Kids When Church Lets You Down: A Guide for Parents Questioning Their Faith, which covers many more topics relevant to this community.
Last week when I wrote here about Barbara Brown Taylor’s EF podcast episode, I had no idea that this week’s episode was also going to be so relevant to that post, so we’re doing this two weeks in a row. I used the metaphor of a child’s toy that comes with shapes that correspond to holes in a box. So did Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes in her 2019 Evolving Faith conference talk featured in this week’s episode! It was a perfect part 2 to that topic. She follows up on that moment of recognition and grief over how tired we are of “being good instead of being alive” with a crucial question:
Who told you that you had to fit?
She describes herself as “an ill-fitting Christian. A square peg trying to fit into a round hole, each of the angles representing the diverse religious traditions that shaped my understanding of the Divine.”
Sounds familiar!
But the key is that she doesn’t end there. As Sarah and Jeff discuss at the end of the episode, Jeff says, “For some of us coming to a message like Chanequa’s, the grief of this is that we once did fit and we once really did belong. But for others of us, we’ve never fit and we’ve never belonged, perhaps because of some indelible aspect of our identity. And then there are the folks who have had both experiences.”
The new season of the Evolving Faith podcast debuted this week! I’m so excited for you all to see what this community has up its sleeve for this year. We start off with a bang from the ever-wise Barbara Brown Taylor, revisiting her talk from the 2019 EF conference.
She has this quote in there:
I’m thinking about how tired a tame Christian can get. Tired of self-censoring, tired of swallowing the questions that matter most, tired of putting more energy into being good than being alive.
That line in particular hit me hard. Thus far in my life, I have ultimately been preoccupied with that goodness. Not just the goodness in a sense of being right or moral, the way an Enneagram 1 might, but in the sense of the Enneagram 3. Is this good? Is it meeting your expectations? Is this okay? Am I doing it right? Is this what I’m supposed to be doing? Is this what you want from me? Is this what we’re scripted to do and be and say? At the root of these is the question of worthiness and earning, achieving belonging by measuring up, adhering those ever-shifting standards of what is expected and required and demanded by a society that rewards those who win at its games.
And some of the games, a few, I can be so good at. I play until I am exhausted. So tired, as Taylor says, of all my energy going into my efforts to hold back and to not be obnoxious or too much, to silence myself.
I do, sometimes, need to silence myself. To exhibit tact and self-control, an overlooked fruit of the spirit. I do need to listen more and center myself less, to plug in to empathy and pass the mic. But I don’t think that’s what this is about.
This is the goodness-instead-of-being-fully-alive decision point. The part where we choose to grit our teeth and nod along, prioritizing approval over authenticity. To “lop off any part of ourselves that falls outside the lines,” as Taylor says in her talk. We try to force belonging and it becomes fitting in, fitting into the box at any cost, even when we have to leave some parts behind.
Of course, there will always be some parts of ourselves that get more airtime in certain spaces or relationships. But what is it costing us when we have to hide entire parts of who we are in our churches, homes, families, friendships, workplaces, and communities because the standard of goodness is a different shape than the shape we occupy?
We are tired. So tired. It’s not always our choice, and for that, we grieve. We grieve for when it is the only choice, and for when it is the best bad option available to us. We grieve for when others can’t see our belovedness and for when we can’t bring ourselves to face it in the mirror.
Taylor says grief sets us on a path to “embrace the full terrain of living.” Fullness beyond goodness. Fullness beyond looking around for confirmation we’re doing it right. Fullness beyond holding back in fear and inauthenticity for the sake of fitting a hole in a box like a child’s toy, made for simple shapes to be granted entry. Stars in the star spot, big hearts in the big heart spot, even ordinary squares in the spot for ordinary squares. And perhaps we’re something else entirely, not simple or familiar to those making the rules of the box.
Or, for a more lively metaphor: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could thrive like wildflowers, decadently ourselves in whatever ways we have the capacity, instead of pruning ourselves back into neat little rows of acceptability and shame and control and the kind of goodness set by those trying to sell us our belovedness in numbers?
There are the numbers of control all around us, from our bodies to our bank accounts, from our square footage to our rank on the ladder, from follower count to test scores. No wonder we are so, so tired. Measuring tape at every turn, held up to determine the size of our lives, whether our shape fits the box’s hole, whether the dimensions we are growing in are acceptable.
You’re not crazy. It’s not just in your head. It’s not all your fault. And sometimes you may not have a choice. But together we can dream of the fields across the terrain where we can throw on our brightest colors, grow in abundance, thrive, and put our energies into being our full selves, fully alive and free.
Yes, as our friend, comforter, creator, divine parent, provider, protector, lover, healer, Lord, and shepherd… God cares about our sexuality and bodies.
Invisible Cake Society 