Queerness Is a Calling Every Person Should Aspire To

By Brandan Robertson

“Queer” is not about who you’re having sex with (that can be a dimension of it), but “queer” as being about the self that is at odds with everything around it and has to invent and create and find a place to speak and to thrive and to live.”
—bell hooks

I’ve always been queer, but it took me a while to realize it. Even after coming out as gay, I still struggled with the language of “queer” because I grew up hearing it used as a slur. In many places, it still is. I remember the shocked look on the faces of a lecture audience in rural England when I said “queer” — as if I had uttered a curse word.

This is how the word sits with many people — even within the LGBTQIA+ community. But over the years, as I’ve wrestled with my identity, learned the history of LGBTQIA+ liberation, and developed my beliefs, I’ve come to resonate deeply with being queer, just as much as with being Christian.

In fact, for me, to be an authentic Christian — one who seeks to follow the life and teachings of Jesus — is to be queer. Let me explain.

To be queer generally means one of two things. First, it’s a catch-all phrase for the LGBTQIA+ community — those who embrace a non-heterosexual orientation and/or non-cisgender identity. Second, queer also means to disrupt arbitrary norms, making space for diverse, often marginalized, expressions to flourish.

To be queer means resisting the repression of our true selves and the forces that demand we conform to others’ ideas of who we should be. It’s a declaration of our commitment to live authentically — who God created us to be — not who society or religion says we must become.

In this sense, queerness is holy. It affirms that God doesn’t make mistakes — that our unique expression reflects God’s creativity — and refuses to blaspheme the Creator by suppressing that divine image. When seen this way, queerness is a calling every person should aspire to.

To follow Jesus is to refuse conformity, as Paul wrote: “[to] be transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Romans 12:2). This means shifting how we see ourselves and others — removing the masks we were taught to wear, the roles we were conditioned to play. In this way, queerness is deeply aligned with the way of Jesus.

bell hooks defines queerness as “being at odds with everything around it.” That feels exactly right. We live in a world shaped by systems built to benefit particular people. What’s considered “normal” is often an invention — crafted to maintain control and marginalize difference. Nothing has always been the way it is, and it shouldn’t remain the same.

Today, there’s a rising awareness of the value of diversity and pluralism by many in society (while diversity is also demonized by many). More people are becoming suspicious of those who demonize difference and cling to the status quo. The past century has shown us that the status quo is often built on lies that lead to oppression.

Our society was set up by people who established norms to benefit themselves. But as the world grows more connected and aware of diverse ways of being, movements of resistance have chipped away at this conformity and demanded a new, inclusive path. These movements are “queering” society — questioning and resisting what’s been called normal — and they’ve made the world more just and diverse.

One of the most resistant institutions to queering has been Christianity. This isn’t surprising. Religion resists change, and Christian institutions have fought nearly every cultural shift from desegregation to women’s voting rights to rock music. Those willing to reform are often labeled heretics and excluded from church power. But every so often, resistance sparks reform in the church. The Protestant Reformation, the abolitionist movement, and the fight for women’s rights have all queered Christianity by disrupting norms and pushing forward new expressions of faith.

The inclusion of queer people in Christianity is another such movement. Today, nearly every mainline Protestant denomination in the U.S. officially affirms queer people. We can serve as clergy, marry, and be fully embraced. While there are many local congregations in each denomination that resist these changes, the movement for inclusion is well underway. This is a remarkable shift.

Just last year, Pope Francis announced that Catholic priests may bless same-sex couples. A few months before, he said transgender people could be baptized and serve as godparents. Though these don’t change Catholic doctrine, they marked major steps forward that made many lay queer Catholics feel more included in their churches.

Still, there is much work to do. The truth remains that most Christians worldwide still uphold anti-queer theology. Many still preach that homosexuality is an abomination. Many still teach that women must submit to men and cannot lead.

Progressive Christians sometimes believe the church is rapidly changing, but that’s often just the view from our bubble. Most Christians still cling to rigid, patriarchal theology. And I’ve come to believe that the only way to challenge that resistance is through queering.

Not every LGBTQIA+ Christian agrees with this strategy. There are many queer Christians who would prefer to simply shift the church’s understanding of the six clobber passages and be accepted into the traditional Christian institution with its traditional sexual ethics, understanding of relationships, and devotion to conservative theology otherwise. I understand that desire; I once had it too. But I’ve come to believe it’s actually counterproductive to our flourishing as queer people.

The more I’ve studied Scripture and listened to queer stories, the more convinced I’ve become: The issue isn’t a few misinterpreted Bible verses — it’s that Christianity was institutionalized. A few hundred years after Jesus, his radical movement was merged with the Roman Empire and transformed into rules, dogma, and rigid orthodoxy.

Other perspectives were labeled heresy, punished, and driven underground. What remained became dominant: a version of Christianity that, frankly, looks nothing like Jesus.

When I became a Christian, it was because I wanted to follow Jesus — not an institution. But I was quickly taught that faithfulness to Jesus meant faithfulness to the church. I learned the doctrines and ethics of my church and saw that the more I conformed, the more I was accepted — and even celebrated.

From adopting the politics of my pastors to unquestioningly espousing conservative theology, to even dressing in ways that mirrored the evangelical subculture, I learned that through conforming and contorting myself to look, believe, vote, and act like what was seen as normative for evangelical Christians, my inclusion would be solidified.

I gained status and privilege. I was affirmed by my church and I believed that this meant I was close to God. But I felt uneasy, even early on. As I read Scripture, I struggled to see our theology or ethics reflected in Jesus’ life. Jesus lived on the margins of religious and political power. He constantly challenged the status quo and resisted exclusionary doctrine.

I came to see that neither I nor my church looked like Jesus. That realization was unsettling. Eventually, it led me to believe that queering Christianity wasn’t just permissible — it was necessary. Not only for LGBTQIA+ inclusion, but for everything and everyone.

Rather than blindly accepting church authority, I began to pursue truth wherever it led and invited others to do the same. My ministry became about queering Christianity, not just including queer people in the traditional frameworks of the church.

That meant challenging every theology and ethic that doesn’t reflect Jesus’ ethic of love. It meant reimagining how we follow Jesus — beyond traditional Christianity.

This is, I believe, the most faithful path. But it’s also the hardest. It requires us to stop seeking the affirmation of and inclusion in the old structures and instead focus on building subversive, queerly spiritual communities that reflect the Spirit of Christ.

It means being open to truth from everywhere and everyone — because all truth is God’s truth — and letting it shape our spiritual journeys.

It means getting used to being called heretics. Excluded even from some so-called affirming churches that find our vision too radical. But our goal isn’t to be welcomed because we conform — it’s to create a community that welcomes all expressions and beliefs, grounded in the love and example of Jesus in whatever form that takes.

Our goal isn’t even to be “Christians,” really. Jesus never used that word. Never spoke a Christian doctrine. Never stepped inside a Christian church. So inclusion in the traditional institutions of Christianity isn’t the point.

The point is a truly queer revolution of faith that liberates us all to show up authentically, that remains open to the voice of our still-speaking God in the most unlikely people and places, and that understands that the Kingdom of God that Jesus preached and embodied can never be contained in the rigid boundaries of any institution, but is found among the diversity, complexity, and beauty of all of our human experiences.

Editor’s note: This essay is an adaptation from Queer & Christian: Reclaiming the Bible, Our Faith, and Our Place at the Table. It has been adapted with the permission of St. Martin’s Essentials.