Reflecting on Religion and Being Queer

By Al Preston

---

            In the US, religion and queerness seem entirely incompatible. Specifically, many Christian sects and Catholics have taken up a very homophobic and transphobic stance. Sometimes sex and gender in and of themselves are a target for religious hatred and extreme moral policing.

            However, that is not universally true. Queer churches have fought hard to make space for themselves in traditionally bigoted religions.

            Faith is extremely important to people. Even those who are atheist, whether they wish to acknowledge it or not, believe in something even if that belief consists of intense disbelief. The universal questions like ‘how did we get here?’ are answered by belief but that can get a little philosophical.

            Religion can offer comforting answers to those questions; ‘Why are we here?’ ‘What is our purpose?’ ‘What happens when we die?’

            Having answers to those questions can help people get through their day and their life. They can offer a guiding light to how they are supposed to behave and treat others. Churches offer people a community and somewhere they know they will be safe. Many provide public services like food and shelter to those struggling.

            For many queer folks, coming out as queer separates them from a community they once loved and who once loved them. Political views and moral high horses have made some religious entirely reject faithful members just because they are LGBT+. Thus sacrificing any messages of unconditional love and welcoming all who enter from their faith.

            Once faced with this rejection, many queer folks choose to abandon their religion. Some of those who do, miss it at times. I fall into that category. Sometimes, I miss having faith in something or the community my church (Methodist) gave me. Outside of my queerness, I abandoned religion because I could not ignore hypocrisy in their teachings or stop the philosophical questions of; ‘if God is both good and all knowing, why must we suffer?’ ‘If God is all knowing, do we have free will?’ ‘How could violence against the oppressed be justified in a faith whose savior was one of the oppressed?’

            I wish, some days, that I could believe in heaven or a God. In the idea that I was put on this earth for a reason and that some all-knowing being loves me regardless of who I am. However, I asked myself too many questions, not to mention the way methodists fought over LGBT+ issues.

            My mother often talked about how church would make her feel some kind of divine calling. Some kind of warmth and comfort from the God she fully believed in. I never felt that in the church we attended when I was a child.

            Although, I did feel it once. Or at least a kind of approximate version. During my undergraduate studies, I took a class about religion in America. For that class, I had to go to the service of a faith not my own or one I grew up with. My roommate at the time was trying to rediscover their Jewish heritage and took my assignment as the opportunity for them to attend a service at the local synagogue.

            They talked to the synagogue, we were happily welcomed, and that service was unlike anything I’d experienced in my own church. To preface, this was a reform Jewish church, for those that aren’t familiar, that just means that they are more liberal politically and more willing to welcome LGBT+ folks and even non-Jewish guests like me.

            I was familiar with the methodist denomination I grew up with. Massive chapels, filled pews, everything in English, boring sermons, a bunch of dads singing so loud.

            That was not what the synagogue was like. Of course, this is not every Jewish service, but this was what I remember. While the bulletin was familiar, it told us what was coming and had some of the songs printed in it. The fact that most of the songs and prayers were in Hebrew was not.

            It wasn’t my place to pray along with everyone else, I have no Jewish heritage whatsoever, but I watched everyone and tried my best to be respectful. The sermon was about grappling with science and faith, how science is a welcome and important part of faith. It branched off from the reading of the Taroh and the specific story read for the service.

            As the others prayed, I actually felt that feeling my mother often described. Like God was in the room, watching over us. Like something divine and good was occurring.

            I will never pursue that feeling. For one and more importantly, I have no Jewish heritage. Secondly, and far less important, I don’t think faith is for me. Although, it was rather nice to experience that feeling.

            For other queer folks who manage to find another faith, they may discover that same feeling in whatever faith they land on. Which can be hard as well—to let go of one belief and move onto another. To work through the guilt and shame that may linger after losing their previous religion. Finding a faith that gives someone that same sense of safety, comfort, and community isn’t easy.

It seems a lot like shopping for a therapist. You do a few sessions and then decide if you like it or, if you have to, find something else that suits your needs.

Some choose to stay—to fight to belong—in their faith. This is the option that I think few people choose. It also appears to be the hardest. Obvious bigotry and hatred are something those people often have to face. However, queer folks persist in Mormonism, as Southern Baptists, as Evangelical Christians. There are queer Muslims and Jewish folks. Transgender and gay Hindus and gay Buddhist monks.

Queer folks are here, there, and everywhere. What we would call ‘queer’ has existed in every culture, time period, and location. How welcome those people are depends on a combination of time, place, and culture.

Not everything is so cut and dry, of course. Take the Hjdra of India for example. Some of them worship a Hindu goddess and perform Hindu rituals but consider themselves Muslim. Those we in the US would call queer, those who play with gender and sexuality, tend to challenge what is considered natural or ‘normal’.

To some, being queer is far more related to religion than most would care to admit. They are both systems of belief and community. At times, those two sets of beliefs are contradictory, in others they algin nearly perfectly.

I know that this post has been a bit more ‘off the cuff’ as it was. For a more academic discussion of this topic, we will have a book review of Queer Religiosities by Melissa Wilcox. I personally have many feelings, most unprocessed, about religion and queerness.

Clearly, I’ve read a lot, and I’ve read about straight cisgender religious leaders fighting for queer folks simply because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve read and met queer religious leaders. I’ve read and met those who have given up on religion entirely, just like myself. I’ve watched queer friends bounce from religion to religion, hoping to find something similar to what they were pushed out of.

Pittsburgh has such an astounding collection of all these people. Like many others, I will continue to search for where I can have that feeling of faith, even if that’s not within a church or religion.

I fully believe that there is somewhere for everyone. You just have to find it.