Resurrected Pieces of the Queer Christ

I no longer have a job.

I used to work as a chaplain at a trauma hospital. I didn’t lose my job because of poor performance or lack of ability.

I lost my job for following the Queer Jesus and supporting marriage equality.

On Palm Sunday, I called my supervisor to ask if I could accept an invitation to speak at a marriage equality rally in Fort Worth, Texas the next morning. Most of the time my supervisor would grant my colleagues permission to accept invitations like this with little thought, but this time was different.

She bluntly told me I was too involved in all of these “gay issues” and my actions were causing too much negative attention from the administration to be focused on the department. She also told me that I could either come to work in the morning or speak at the rally as someone unemployed. I understood her message. I hope she understood mine. I quit.

My family was proud, but all families need money.

The Queer Christ shared a piece of his suffering with us.

On Holy Monday, I spoke at the Light the Way rally in Fort Worth at the Rainbow Lounge. I told the assembled that I was a Southern Baptist minister. People are always surprised when I say that.

I began, “The Queer Jesus knows the sufferings of our community, because the Queer Jesus has experienced the oppressions and marginalizations with us.”

I spoke about some of my family, friends, and acquaintances, often bigoted Christians who oppose gay marriage, and how we in the queer community must respond to their opposition with love, as the Queer Christ has loved us, and constantly declare, “Forgive them for they know not what they do.” Love does not hate or cease to forgive and this is the essence of love’s moral power. My heart wasn’t too far from my hate I briefly had for my supervisor.

The Queer Christ shared a piece of his forgiveness with us.

Later that evening, I spoke at the Light the Way rally in Denton, Texas, on the steps of the Denton County Courthouse. It was beautiful to look out at the hundreds gathered. The longing of the people for justice moved me. When the time came for me to speak, I reminded the crowd that it was Holy Week. I asked them to look around at all of the First Churches and see where God was not.

“These churches have lost their claim to the Queer Jesus by not being out here with us…”

I didn’t know where I was rhetorically going to go next, but the Holy Spirit took over. I was granted words to sharply condemn the wounds that the church has inflicted on the Queer Community.

“Our wounds are no different than the wounds that hateful religion inflicted on the Queer Christ. The Queer Jesus used his wounds to heal. All of us, like Christ, are gathering in this and similar spaces all over the country to use our wounds to heal a nation of injustice and bigotry. God is here. God is not silent in our struggle for love.”

Then, we marched. I heard the Queer Jesus whisper, “I am here, keep pushing,” and I knew I was exactly where I was created to be.

The Queer Christ shared a piece of his voice with us.

I spent Holy Tuesday, Holy Wednesday, and Maundy Thursday preparing an ad for the Denton Record Chronicle. Since a previous action on Ash Wednesday, where I led a group in placing pleas for open doors on the doors of all the churches in Denton, I have been working to secure pledges from churches to be open and celebrating of diverse sexual orientations and identities.

Eight churches responded. For our conservative northern pocket of Texas, this was like securing a thousand. Most of the conservative and mainline churches in our town refused to sign it. Unfortunately, on inclusivity many of our mainline sisters and brothers are no different than our Southern Baptist sisters and brothers. Regardless, I feel our eight signers are leading a local resurrection of inclusive love.

The Queer Christ shared a piece of his progress with us.

Today, on Resurrection Sunday, the Holy Spirit has created something magical. For the past six months, I have been running a house church focused on the Queer Jesus. Feeling moved by the Spirit, a few weeks ago, I asked the congregation to consider accepting an invitation to move our church to Mable Peabody’s Beauty Parlor and Chainsaw Repair, the only gay bar in Denton. Our folks excitedly said yes with little hesitation.

We have changed our name to The Church at Mable Peabody’s. We call ourselves, “A Queer Church for a Queer People in love with a Queer Jesus.” Today, we are a living resurrection of the faithful in Denton, a once closeted group of lovers of the Queer Jesus who could no longer stand the hypocrisies of the closed stained glass spaces privileged people cling so tightly to. We intend to bring forth a revolution of love. We are the resurrection.

The Queer Christ shared a piece of his resurrection with us.

When I take communion today, I will give thanks for the pieces of resurrection we have received this week as I eat the piece of the resurrected Queer Christ.