Opening Space for Conversation
n many queer male communities,
talking about Jesus smells a bit like sleeping with the
enemy. I would like to think that I understand the queer
academic allergy to listening to Christian discourse
about sexualities or the nature of God. After all,
invoking God, it seems, is the ultimate power move—the
ultimate unanswerable argument. If heterosexism has
divine sanction, then queer males are off to hell in a
hand basket, right? Some queer men conclude that it’s
much better to focus on how God is used as a weapon
against us, continuously expose why this happens, and
then set aside all the rhetoric and get on with thinking
intentionally about our own bodies and identities.
God—or any conception of the transcendent realm—is
better left to private imagining. Anything else seems to
smack of universals, of grand, scientifically validated stories that supposedly
explain the whole universe (metanarratives).
Contemporary culture, claims scholar Jean-Francois
Lyotard, experiences “incredulity” toward such grand
visions of reality. This is understandable, especially
when so many of these visions leave no room for our
experiences as queer men? Yet, here I am, writing an
essay about Jesus, the central figure in our culture’s
major “metanarrative,” as though queer men should pay
attention to him!
I am certainly not the first to
suggest that Jesus can be—and is—the ally of queer
people. I write as a Christian, a queer man who wants to
be a friend of Jesus; I want to stay affiliated with the
Church, even (and especially) if some Christians are
heterosexist homophobes. I fear, though, that most of my
queer brothers will dismiss this essay with justifiable
anger: “Of course Jesus has nothing to do with San
Francisco. Next!”
I grew up in a Christian home for
most of my life. I prayed the “sinner’s prayer” at five
years old with my Dad on the way to kindergarten, the
day after my birthday. I think I’d lied about something
and gotten caught by my dad. So, as I sat with tears
streaming down my face, he asked me, “Bobby, do you want
to know why you do bad things?” I really did
(which might figure when I was trying to avoid being
disciplined again!). But I was totally unprepared for
what happened next. Somehow, I understood what my dad
was saying to me about Jesus dying to take away my sin
and give me new life with God, though I’m quite sure, as
I look back, that the language was probably beyond my
comprehension at Kindergarten age! I started bawling,
and as I prayed to Jesus for forgiveness of sin, it
wasn’t guilt that I felt lift from my shoulders—it was
fear. You have to understand: my step-dad and I never
really got along—I was sometimes petrified with fear of
him—but during that prayer, I experienced Jesus’ love
for me, and his complete welcome.
People like Richard Dawkins claim
that children cannot have true experiences of conversion
because their parents have indoctrinated them. All I
know is that after my prayer, the constant fear in my
life was never quite so crippling. Despite all the
grown-up sceptics who pooh-pooh’ed my conversion, I
never expected the kind of mystical experience I had
that day with my step-dad. Afterward, when I was scared
or frightened, I would sing songs to Jesus because I
knew that he loved me even when I doubted my dad’s love.
Later, when I was a teenager, I would forget the welcome
of this simple Christ as I battled with a Christ who
seemed to ask me to change my sexual orientation. I
often thanked God the Father
several times a week for not killing me outright
whenever I came crashing down from the bliss of sexual
fantasy about boys.
After attending Bible College for a
year and a half (while living in dorms with beautiful
men!), I was suspended because of issues surrounding my
sexuality; I couldn’t put off dealing with it any
longer. I enrolled in counselling to change my
orientation, and also saw a secular social worker once
or twice a month. From the age of nineteen until the age
of twenty-two, I snapped like a yo-yo between what my
emotions and body told me and what my conservative
theology dictated. It was a brutal struggle, but in the
end, I concluded that Scripture didn’t say anything
about homosexuality being sinful, per se. Despite the
so-called “clobber verses” (e.g. “Man shall not lie with
man, for it is an abomination”)that most of us have
heard before, I found that a contextual reading of the
Bible does not support homophobia any more than it does
the oppression of women or ethnic minorities... (continue reading)
2 COMMENTS ON THIS ESSAY:
I keep wanting to correct the tiny typos that I see...especially the last sentence: "The peace of Christ be yours." LOL. Minor thing!
Fantastic essay! I think one of the most exciting ideas suggested by your essay is the idea of adopting a subversive masculinity, a masculinity of which Jesus (at least in this characterization) is a superb example. I also appreciated the inclusion of a critique of our postmodern disdain for metanarratives. While I think this disdain arises quite naturally out of the radical critiques and the sheer volume of alternative readings of "important" texts that have accompanied poststructuralism and deconstruction, I also think there are radical possibilities (and even something of a practical imperative) to be found in reconstructing metanarratives on a wider, more inclusive foundation, by weaving together the millions of personal narratives that structure our daily existences, as queer men, as masculine, as feminists, as people of color, as people with disabilities, etc. - that out of this melting pot or mosaic or what have you, certain patterns begin to emerge and it is these patterns that offer us an opportunity to write our own story, our own grand narrative and lend our movement direction, sweeping up the whole of humanity in its march forward. This is just a flowery way of suggesting that the problem lies not with these grand narratives, but with their exclusivity. I also thought your approach to forgiveness was refreshing. I think what I've found missing in some of the essays was a failure to question or seek forgiveness for our own transgressions against one another or understand our attackers. On the surface this doesn't sound very radical, until you realize that we ourselves are the attackers at times and that change begins with ourselves. Wow, that was a lot more than I was going to write. Anyway: Thank You!