Earlier this month I attended an Ecumenical Pride Service hosted by West End United Methodist Church here in Nashville. I sang along with a joyful choir, listened to passionate speakers, and celebrated the power of so many people reclaiming a place of faith. During the opening procession, pastors from local affirming churches passed out LGBTQIA+ flags, which we waved throughout the service. Ironically, this colorful flag waving reminded me of a favorite aspect of the (non-affirming) church I grew up in: the ribbon dancers.
Yes, I’m talking about waving around sticks with really, really long ribbons attached to them. Like the rhythmic gymnasts in the Olympics, only instead of trained athletes, my church had a group of middle-aged women who performed choreographed dances for the congregation during Sunday services.
Did anyone else grow up with ribbon dancing in church? I haven’t seen anything like it since, so maybe it’s not a thing anymore. Or maybe it never was and this group of ladies just decided to make it a thing. Either way, I loved it. Between listening to some old man talk and watching a bunch of doing-their-best dancers enthusiastically twirl brightly-colored ribbons, who wouldn’t choose the dancers? It should totally be a thing!
As a bi person of faith, I’ve been told that being queer and Christian isn’t a thing. I’ve been asked how I can be both. I answer with this: the same way so, so, so many people are queer and Christian.
Fear wants us to think that queerness and Christianity belong on two different sides of an hourglass. Fear says that the path between the two larger ends is narrow, that the center is a place of transition, and that everyone ultimately lands on one side or the other. (Preferably on your side.)
This. Is. Not. True.
The middle is spacious. There are many of us here. We are all very different. We have found power here. And we are staying here.
If you google books by queer Christians, you’ll see the list is huge and growing fast. For this post, I’ve picked three that I read this year. They are all indie-published, which I tend to prioritize on this blog because 1) I figure you don’t need me to tell you about the books already all over the internet and 2) I like indie books! These books exemplify just three methods—three “how”s—that I use to be both queer and Christian. Three ways out of many.
The first book is Stumbling: A Sassy Memoir about Coming Out of Evangelicalism by Brandon Flanery. This book caught my interest because in my online-dating phase, I had a profile on believr, the queer Christian dating app that Flanery co-founded. (It has since been discontinued.) The conversations I shared with people on that app gave me the courage I needed to pick up both my queerness and my faith and take off running.
One of the many ways to be queer and Christian is to know a bunch of Bible stuff and queer theology and how it all fits together. I am not that person and Stumbling is not that book. Instead, Stumbling is about coming to terms with the existence of questions, accepting that some questions can never be firmly answered in the moment they are asked, and embracing questions as opportunities rather than threats.
I can be queer and Christian without the weight of arguments and answers. I love talking about questions and exploring ideas, but I don’t feel the need to convince anyone of what my soul know is true. If your church doesn’t think dancing with ribbons counts as worship, then go find one that does. I promise you, it’s out there.
The second book is Two Words: Why Hearing “I’m Gay” Changed My Straight Christian Life by Emily Timbol. This is an older book that I found down an internet rabbit hole somehow, but I like this memoir because it explores the gray area that exists among straight-majority religious spaces. It’s so easy to paint people on “the other side” as all one thing. But in reality, humans are varied and it is because of the variety among both straight and queer people that the church has progressed and continues to do so. In my favorite part of the book, a pastor admits to the narrator that he simply doesn’t know what he’s doing and the narrator responds to his ignorance with compassion and grace.
I can be queer and Christian because I’ve become comfortable with letting people be imperfect (within the context of physical safety and healthy boundaries). Sometimes, people simply don’t understand. Sometimes, you don’t understand other people. Thankfully, we don’t need to be good dancers to dance with ribbons. We might be struggling with our coordination and timing, and maybe we’re getting our ribbons all tangled. But we can practice and we can get better.
The third book I’d like to put forth is A Seat at the Table: Stories of Faith, Healing, & Rebirth by Dawn Bennett. This book shares interviews from ten people connected to a church run specifically by and for the queer community in Nashville called The Table. I attended The Table for almost a year before it closed. (A story for another day.) The interviews highlight the many different ways people live out their faith and their gender and sexuality, and I love that Bennett did not edit any of the interviewees’ responses.
I can be queer and Christian by letting those two aspects of myself exist without the impulse to edit them. We all need to get better at asking questions that allow people (and ourselves) to respond in our own words: What does that mean to you? What is your definition of that? What has been your experience? We need to ask questions that clear the stage and leave enough space for people to wildly whip about really long ribbons.
During Pride, we get to see all the different ways to be queer. At any time of year, we can drive around Tennessee and see the many, many (seriously, why so many?!) churches representing all the different ways to be Christian.
Multiply all the different ways to be queer and all the different ways to be Christian, and then try to answer the question, “How can you be queer and a Christian?”
Nobody can answer that question because there are too many ways!
Personally, I am more interested in the following questions: How does one get into ribbon dancing? Where does one buy a 19.5-foot ribbon on a stick and a pastel, scoop-neck, long-sleeve leotard with a matching, ankle-length, flowy skirt? Are there ribbon dancing classes? And, if so, would anyone like to take a ribbon dancing class with me?
I know lots of cool churches. We have a year to practice before they put on the next Pride service. Ribbon dancing in church can totally become a thing if we make it a thing. Just throwing that out there. (Like the rainbow ribbon I’ll be throwing really high in ribbon dancing class. With enough practice, I might even be able to catch it!)
This is an old photo from my first time volunteering with Sonoma Pride back in California. An attendee was walking around with a snake around his neck and when I asked if I could pet it, he handed it to me. It was such a friendly snake! Getting a pet snake is now on my bucket list. Right after learning ribbon dancing.
Amy C. Lutz 