Below is my column in today’s edition of the Grand Haven Tribune.
Queer theology comes out of the same sources of Liberation Theology. In the middle of the twentieth century, theologians in Latin America (first within the Roman Catholic Church but then spreading to other protestant denominations), started questioning some of the assumptions of mainline theology. In particular, it noted how Scripture is often read (and theology is often done) from the perspective of those with privilege, wealth, and power in society. However, when those same texts are read by the marginalized, they tend to be understood quite differently. In particular, the socio-economic and political liberation of the poor can be seen as a dominant theme in Scripture, running through the Deuteronomic code of the Torah all the way to the teachings of Jesus himself.
Liberation theology since then has developed several sub-streams, including black theology in the United States, Dalit theology in India, and Palestinian liberation theology. (The bishop of my diocese, the Rt. Rev. Prince Singh, did significant work in his doctoral program on the Dalit class in India. You can hear him discuss some of this in a couple of podcasts produced by our denomination: sjegh.com/caste and sjegh.com/caste2). In the late twentieth century, Marcella Althaus-Reid drew from the liberation theology she had learned growing up in Argentina and began working in and developing both feminist and queer theology.
The basic argument of queer theology is similar to the original argument of liberation theology. Liberation theology had argued that Scripture and theology is too often done from a place of economic privilege and so ignores the way that power and socio-economic class misuse Biblical texts to further oppression and protect the powerful. Similarly, much of mainstream theology reads Scripture and does theology from a heterosexist perspective which assumes a heterosexual and cisgender identity. Because of that, it has often missed the way Scripture speaks to and for those of other sexual orientations and gender identities.
Some of the best known queer theologians, in addition to Althaus-Reid, if you want to explore this further, include Bishop Hugh Montefiore (Anglican Bishop of Kingston and Birmingham), John J. McNeil (and openly gay Roman Catholic priest, psychotherapist, and theologian who was expelled from his Jesuit order), and Shannon TL Kearns (the first openly transgender man to be ordained into the old Catholic priesthood and the co-founder of the website QueerTheology.com).
When Queer theology begins to explore the experience of Holy Week, several powerful points come to the fore that are often missed by mainstream theology. On Palm Sunday, when Christ rides into the city on a donkey instead of an imperial horse (which is what would have been expected for a triumphal king), he identifies with the poor, oppressed, and outcast. He refuses to participate in the systems of the empire and instead lays claim to non-violent reign. From this perspective, Palm Sunday pushes to ask if we are those who cheer the empire or those who stand with the oppressed and who actively resist their oppression. The call to resistance is seen when, after riding into the city, Christ actively resisted oppression by flipping tables in the marketplace of the temple.
When we look at Holy Thursday, this is the night that we remember Christ’s command that we wash one another’s feet. It is also the night we remember the institution of Holy Communion. Queer theology looks at Holy Thursday and reminds us that love – not judgment and exclusion – are at the core of the Christian faith. Jesus washed everyone’s feet, even the feet of Judas, his betrayer. The washing of feet is a truly intimate and humble act. For many LGBTQ people, physical touch and intimacy can be scary until you have claimed your identity. We are reminded that the grace of the sacrament of communion is a gift we receive because of God’s love for us, not because we fit into the boxes other people put us in. At the end of the liturgy, it is tradition to strip the altar as a reminder that Christ underwent a brutal and humiliating stripping and torture. Christ does this in solidarity with all of those who suffer, but queer theology sees this particularly as an act of solidarity with those who are the subject of homophobic and transphobic violence.
We come to Good Friday and remember Christ’s death on the cross. Queer theology reminds us that Jesus was killed by religious and political extremism that saw his extravagant love as a threat to their power. We can name doubt and fear on this day, remembering that even Jesus’ closest friends ran away. Knowing that he welcomed them back with love on Easter should give us room to know that if we also run away for a season in our lives, that does not have to be the end of our story.
On Holy Saturday, the church traditionally rests in stillness as Christ’s body lies dead and buried in the tomb. We are reminded on Holy Saturday that Jesus followers turned from their failure and reclaimed the body of their friend for burial—a painful echo of the victims of AIDS whose loved ones often had to fight for the right of their bodies to be honored. We are also invited, as a church, to acknowledge that no matter our theological hope in resurrection, death and suffering are still a very present reality today. Queer theology notices that sometimes when we risk, we also meet pain. When someone comes out, or wears clothes that match their gender identity for the first time, or speaks up against the anti-gay perspective of their church … and instead of being celebrated, they are rejected … or worse. When this happens Holy Saturday reminds us that even if it feels like death and hate is winning, love is at work.
When we finally arrive at Easter Sunday, Queer theology invites us to recognize the subversive nature of the resurrection narrative. Women were the first witnesses to the resurrection—and their voice and belief was at first dismissed by the dominant male disciples. The reality that those on the margins, those who were excluded by society and religion, were the first to bring the good news pushes mainstream Christians to look to our Queer siblings and to ask what good news of God’s love and grace they might offer to us.
As you walk this sacred time over the next few days, perhaps consider your own perspective, the lenses and privilege you might bring to the narrative. Perhaps queer theology can help you experience God’s grace anew. And if you are a part of the queer community, I hope you also know how very much this week is for you. Because it is in this sacred week that Jesus Christ insists you are beloved exactly as you are. And even though religion and politics killed Jesus, he stands with you resurrected, inviting you to claim your place as God’s beloved child no matter what misguided religion or politics might say.
The Rev. Dr. Jared C. Cramer, Tribune community columnist, serves as rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Grand Haven. Information about his parish can be found at www.sjegh.com.
