Flocking Together

It’s Time for Religious Queers to Form Communities away from the Church

By Johnny Gall

We all know the queer Christians with a martyr complex, the people who pride themselves on saving Christianity for “the gays.” They ramble to anyone who will listen about how they are proving you can be gay and Christian at the same time, even though most of us, especially in Boston, already know this. Their messianic complex tells them they can save the world if only they can teach Christians how to accept queer people, and queer people how to accept Christianity. I know this because I was once one of those people. I think it’s a phase one must go through to reconcile a non-inclusive faith with awakening as a queer person. I don’t begrudge anyone who needs to cling to the queer Christ complex for some time.

As a community, though, it is time we moved on from this. Queer Christians are still stuck in their martyr complex. Queer religious communities spend the bulk of their time petitioning churches to affirm queer identities. I respect this. I have been a part of this. I have worked with several groups in my own United Methodist Church to make the larger Church more inclusive. I have stood and sung in protest of harmful Church legislation. I have participated in queer congregations and denominations. I understand wanting to spare queer youth the pain of the divisive rhetoric fromchurches.

And yet, when I look at the scriptural roots of the Christian tradition, I don’t understand why queer religious communities place such import on being included in harmful churches.

The prophets of the Hebrew Bible were largely focused on securing justice for their own people, especially the poor, widows, orphans, and downtrodden. They did not petition the Temple about these concerns, nor did they introduce legislation in conquering nations. They focused on speaking the message God’s people needed to hear, giving comfort to the oppressed, and proclaiming judgment on those who had been unjust.

Paul sought no place for his people among the Roman Empire. Nor did he try to build his own empire. Rather, his epistles center on the desire to build a new community on the margins – encompassing the poor, the outcast, and the marginalized as well as the rich – and teaching them to be a community together. Unlike the power-hungry rulers of Rome, he sought not to dominate his people, but to teach them to live as equals.

The Gospels show Jesus turning over tables in the Temple rather than being party to the continued manipulation of the poor in his community. He tells the religious authorities of his day that he knows the ways they heap additional economic burdens on the poor and disabled, leaving them supposedly outcast from absolution and wellness. Never in these stories, however, do we see Jesus ask that the poor and marginalized be allowed to participate in the oppressive religious practices of his day. He built a community on the margins and empowered them, in their poverty and disability, to know that they were God’s beloveds.

This should sound familiar. However much the text may be skewed to political aims of power and control today, at its heart, the Bible is a story of the people on the margins, oppressed, and looked down upon for being different. It is a story of outcasts forming communities of their own, and of members of that circle screaming to end the oppressive power politics of the day. It is a story of those seeking justice and forming their own families. It is already our story.

[F]or those Christians who can see the beauty of God’s queer people, let them journey with us. And for those who refuse to see God’s handiwork in our rainbow community, let us leave them behind.

We have been doing this work and living this story for decades. Long before Pride marches and marriage equality, before STAR and ACT UP, before the Mattachine Society and the Daughters of Bilitis, before Stonewall, we were living these stories. We were oppressed people, living on the margins, forming communities of our own, and finding the voice to speak out for justice for ourselves and other oppressed people. We were, and are now, the poor, the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers, and the pure in heart. We were, and are, those who mourn and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. And God only knows we were persecuted for righteousness’ sake. For this, our communities and our chosen families shall always be blessed.

From the very origins of our communities, we have been doing the work of the Church better than the Church has. So why is it that so many queer Christians still feel the need to ask permission to be part of the Church, or somehow to save queerphobic Christians from themselves? Did Moses attempt to soften the heart ofthe Pharaoh? Did the prophets attempt to petition the Assyrians or the Babylonians? Did Paul attempt to negotiate with the powers of Rome? Did Jesus ask the Pharisees to create safe spaces? No. Those whose deeds are foundational to the Christian faith did not waste their time on lost causes with leaders whose hearts had been hardened. They concentrated on the good work still to be done in the world.

I hope this is not mistaken as some sort of treatise for us to leave Christian institutions, or by any means a call to dishonor those queer people who do amazing work in the institutional Church. Rather, for those Christians who can see the beauty of God’s queer people, let them journey with us. And for those who refuse to see God’s handiwork in our rainbow community, let us leave them behind. We don’t need them and we never did. We have been doing God’s work better than many of them for a long time. They may learn from us if they like, but we must not take time away from building up the oppressed and crying out for justice in order to convince them that our lives are beautiful and worthy of God’s grace.

We do not need to ask to be a part of the Church, nor do we need to rescue a church hell-bent on being hard-hearted. If we can give up these fools’ errands, perhaps we can focus more of our energy on being a better church than the Church is.

Johnny Gall originally comes from Humboldt, Tennessee. He has a bachelor’s degree from New York University and is proud to have received his master’s in Divinity from Boston University School of Theology. Johnny currently works as a case manager in homeless outreach with Pine Street Inn and is – perhaps foolishly – pursuing ordination as a minister through the United Methodist Church.