On faith, queer-ness and prayers

A text orginally written in Swedish for http://www.queerteologi.com.

To come to terms with our faith, we must examine our faith through ourselves. We must, in some way measure ourselves and find out what we consist of. I have done it many times. First as a child in a family of religious parents and relatives, then as a teenager in a group of other teenagers who believed, but not as I did, and finally as an adult all alone with only myself as a reference to how I wanted to live.

My birth is based on faith. It is a miracle or a mistake, a sin or a blessing, for both believers and non-believers. For my religious parents, there is meaning in mine and my brother's disability and that is how I am raised. Believing that God wished me well on that summer morning when I was picked out by a Caesarean-section three months premature. That he held his hand over us when we were fighting our way in to life. That he wanted us to live.

I was brought up to believe, without doubt, that:
"Jesus loves all children, all children on earth, red and white and yellow and black - doesn't matter, he said."
Therefore, my disability was an asset, a blessing and a gift to the world so it would remain diverse.

But in the Christian tradition which I am partly raised in, and which my father and mother belonged to, but left, physical shortcomings are often seen as an evidence of sin. Either I have sinned or my disability is a penalty for my parents' sins, whatever they might be.

As an adult, during a Sunday service in a Pentecostal church in a city where I lived, the members of the congregation asked if they could pray for me, I said yes. Then I thought we would pray for my studies at the time, and for a continued blessed life in the arts. Perhaps the members, which kneeled and put their hands on me thought that my career-choice was a pity. That the acting and the performing could lead me on paths away from the straight and narrow leading to the Pearly Gates.
However, they said nothing about that and when they prayed for me, in that charismatic way I have seen and heard so many times before I felt at home and secure. In these "excesses", in this sweaty jubilation and prayer, was a style of worship that I loved.

After the intercession one of the people who prayed for me asked me if I did not want intercession for "my legs".
I was very puzzled, never had I received this question before. It stood in contrast to all I had been taught in the past. That my legs were a sign of God's diversity, yes, a blessing from him, even. The man who asked me did it based on something he thought was right. He wanted me to be healed, and he thought it would be so. He justified his question by saying he "believed that Jesus wanted us to be healthy."
I replied that I believed that Jesus wanted diversity, and then we left the subject and he continued to play Christian tapes in his car while he drove me home through the sunny spring day.

But there in the car just that spring day, something happened. Something that I came to wrestle with a long time. The faith which I wanted to be a part of would not accept me as I was. My childhood-faith full of confidence in a good and accepting God who loved everyone
"and therefore gave his only son so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life" did not match anymore.
I feel most at home in what is called the Pentecostal Curch, that's where my my mum grew up and where my grandparents had their Christian faith. I have played there and glued Jesus pictures on cardboard, amongst lots of other children, sang songs and eaten cinnamon-rolls .

I have also seen a prayer and worship so strong that the people wept and spoke foreign languages. Shooked, laughed and rejoiced. All in the name of Jesus.
I wanted to dwell in that church.
But I also knew that I had to hide myself. I could not tell them everything about myself. I would be forced to sweep a big piece of my personailty under the carpet. Such as the fact that I sometimes fall in love with women. That I could imagine sharing a life with a woman I loved as much as if I loved a man. That it is perfectly possible for me to have children with this woman or this man and that I want our love to be blessed. Then there's a no-trespassing sign.

You can not live like that for the Old Testament says "you shall not lie with a man as a man lies with a woman because this is a sin."
Still I believe that all love must come from God since God is love. Still I believe that we must respect each other and not judge sinceJesus says,
"with the measure you weigh up for others it will be measured for you"
and as long as we act in love for ourselves and our fellow humanbeings, we do the work of God.
So, how to behave then if you are initially excluded, if the way that you love is not only unacceptable but a sin so great it is a as a cancer in the body of society, according to some.

I remained silent, it's stupid I know and to some extent un-Christian because Jesus says that "the truth shall set you free".
I did not lie, I just did not tell the truth.
Kept quiet and spoke only under my breath if someone asked something about boyfriends or so. In my bisexuality, I could of course choose to show the relationships I had with men, just mention them and everything was "normal". I remained silent in youth meetings and evenings, during the exultant praise meetings and Sunday services.
I had a great time with Jesus and loved to be so vibrantly and personally saved.

However, during all of this something ate away at me. I knew I could not continue to live in this congregation, not if I lied and certainly not if I told them how it was.
Fortunately, summer came and I finished my education and moved from the congregation without the need to come out.

Back home I made the decision to never lie about something in my life that I felt was right. If it was not possible to live in that type of congregation I had done in the past if I was open about everything about me, then I was not meant to. From now on "the truth shall set you free" became my favourite Bible verse and my beacon.

Under that guiding principle I was also "forced" to be true to my faith. Everywhere and everytime my queer orientation and my faith in Jesus came hand in hand. And it confused, not least other LGBTQ-people.
That somewhere along the way, had learned that the Christians were narrow minded and quick to judge. My Christian faith was something very exotic, and my yearning for the Pentecostal sweaty and charismatic worship left people very puzzled. I explained that it was the faith I had grown up in and that this was they way I wanted to celbrate
Yet I find that I often have to defend myself and sometimes even excuse myself for my Christian faith. Emphasizing that even if other Christians feel this or that, it is not my faith. That the Christian group is not at all streamlined but made up of individuals, as much as the LGBTQ movement (which I also belong to).

The Christian Church has a history marked by persecution and terror, the early Christian congregations were forced to hide themselves and to communicate with symbols to avoid the risk of being found out about and murdered. They were forced to hide and ridiculed for what they believed.
That also happended in the earliest days of the Pentecostal Church during the 1920's. The members were called heretics and gabblers and there were psychiatric examinations to assess their health.

Thus, both the early Christian movement, the Pentecostal Church and the LGBTQ-movement share a history (and a present experience)of being persecuted and hated because they chose to follow the only thing that seems important in life, to live being true to themselves and to show love!
For me the common ground is easy to see, even if I did not stand with one foot in the LGBTQ -movement and the other in Christianity, it would probably not take me long to see these similarities

How did I do then?
Why, good, thank you. I stopped being silent. Now I come out about as often as a Christian among LGBTQ-people as I do a bisexual among Christians. Usually the reaction is positive.
But still I havent told my former congregation. I presume they would like to pray for me and I would have to say: thanks, but no thanks, I think Jesus likes diversity because he loves all the children on earth.
I can imagine how they would respond but I do not want to speak about that now.