Exclusive: The Foreword to "Queer and Christian"

A Sneak Peak for my Substack Subscribers

Dear Friends,

I can hardly believe it, but the release of Queer and Christian: Reclaiming Our Bible, Our Faith, and Our Place at the Table is just around the corner! After months of pouring my heart and soul into this project, I’m thrilled to finally share it with you.

This book is more than just words on a page—it’s a testament to the power of love, resilience, and faith in the face of adversity. It’s a reflection of my own journey and the journeys of countless others who have wrestled with what it means to be both queer and Christian. My hope is that Queer and Christian will be a source of comfort, inspiration, and empowerment for everyone who reads it, whether you identify as LGBTQ+ or as an ally, whether you’re exploring faith for the first time or have been on this path for years.

Now, as we get closer to the release date, I need your help to make sure this book reaches as many people as possible. The best way you can support me and this message is by pre-ordering your copy today. Pre-orders are incredibly important in the publishing world—they show that there’s a demand for the book, which can lead to greater visibility and more opportunities for it to make an impact.

But that’s not all! In this special post, I’m excited to share with you the foreword written by someone who has been a hero and mentor to me, Bishop Gene Robinson. Bishop Robinson has been a trailblazer for LGBTQ+ people of faith, and his courage and wisdom have paved the way for so many of us to live our truth. To have his support and to include his words in this book is an incredible honor.

Bishop Robinson’s foreword is a powerful and moving reflection on the importance of this moment for the church and for LGBTQ+ Christians everywhere. I’m so grateful to him for his friendship, his leadership, and his unwavering commitment to justice.

Without further ado, I’m honored to share with you the foreword by Bishop Gene Robinson:

Anselm of Canterbury, medieval scholar and theologian of the 11^th century, famously described a worthy Christian life as “faith seeking understanding.  A friend and mentor of mine, Miguel de la Torre, professor of social ethics and Latino studies at Iliff Theological Seminary, maintains that this understanding of our faith (and ultimately, faith in the One who is our salvation) always comes from the margins, from the fringes of society and institutional religion. “Faith seeking understanding” is usually led by believers who challenge nearly every aspect of orthodoxy, not by those who are subservient to it.  Humble, oppressed, and marginalized people, who live a “faith seeking understanding” and ask lots of questions, seem drawn to the teachings of this itinerant preacher from Nazareth, who also asked a lot of questions and challenged orthodoxy in his own day.  In Jesus’s time, they were often prostitutes, tax collectors, foreigners, and women, who had the outrageously optimistic notion that he was speaking to them when he said “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28).  Jesus loved them all, treating them with the dignity rightly afforded to any beloved child of God.  He invited them to take their places at the table set for them since the beginning of time by the God of all that is.  Somewhere deep inside each of them was the miraculous suspicion that they had always belonged there.

Jesus outraged the religious powers-that-be, of course, and challenged traditional and popular understandings of what constituted good and right behavior.  These people on the fringes of religion and society, who longed for justice and dreamt of freedom and sometimes believed that they deserved a place at the table, knew and loved Jesus.  He saw — actually saw — them.  And he loved them.  Oh, how he loved them!  The way he treated them was transformative.  Jesus was willing to bend, and sometimes break a rule if it violated his commitment to love first and ask questions later.  His teaching that the Sabbath was made for man [sic] and not man for the Sabbath applied to all of life, to every rule and orthodoxy, not just to the Sabbath.  Jesus' whole life seemed to proclaim:  Love always trumps rules.  And in the end, love wins.

You might even say that these marginalized, “lowly,” would-be disciples were “queer!”  Or at least that’s what Brandan Robertson contends in his remarkable new book, Queer and Christian: Reclaiming the Bible, Our Faith, and Our Place at the Table.  It is a must-read for anyone both Christian and LGBTQ+.

As a man “of a certain age,” I remember how the word “queer” was used to shame, demean, and hurt those of us who didn’t fit in, even at an early age.  To this very day, the sound of that word puts me immediately on my guard, threatens me with emotional and physical danger, and still nearly takes my breath away.  So when this young theologian uses “queer” to describe “Christian,” even as a gay man, I am suspicious.  When he uses it as an adjective for God, I need to be won over to the notion that that is right and helpful.  This book convinced me of both. 

As one of a new generation of scholars and theologians, Robertson begins by giving us a brief description of his life — from born again, traditional evangelical to an out-and-proud, queer Christian, living a new life embodied as “faith seeking understanding.”  In the end, the story of our own salvation is the most important story any of us can tell.  Our salvation is not of being “sinners in the hands of an angry God,” but rather in the hands of a God whose love for us is beyond our wildest imagining.  Robertson shares the good news of how he went in search of God and wound up discovering himself!  After describing how he journeyed to such a new life, he goes on to tell us what this has meant for his understanding of The Bible, its application in matters of human sexuality, and finally, its implications for navigating a Christian life in a modern, infinitely complex world.  Doing all that is a stunning goal for anyone to attempt, and this book would be a remarkable, successful achievement for anyone, never mind someone so young.

Robertson’s discussion of scripture and the passages that have been weaponized against LGBTQ+ people is thorough, accessible, and helpful.  His words remind us that before we argue the truth and meaning of any one passage of scripture, we must first have a conversation about the nature of this book (actually this library of books, written over many years by many people):  Are these words dictated by God, or are they human attempts to describe what they came to understand as their encounters with the holy, indeed, their encounters with the Living God.  Until we can agree on what this “book” actually is, we won’t have much in the way of productive dialogue about its contents.

The stories of our salvation by a loving God will be more effective in convincing people of God’s love for them, of course, than all the quoted scripture and tortured theology we can construct.  The best evangelism is in exhibiting a life so full of joy and so convinced of God’s forgiving and life-giving love that others will want to know how we came to be so joyful, so at peace with ourselves, and so committed to justice in the world.  And that’s the opportunity we will have to share with them the Good News of Jesus Christ and a God who will not be boxed into any theology or orthodoxy, including those articulated by Christians.

Queer and Christian will be treasured by those who want to reconcile their sexuality with their faith — and who want not just to reconcile with, but to celebrate the reclamation of Holy Scripture and Christian identity as queer people of faith.

The journey to understanding a new and reimagined “queer” Christianity begins with noticing the difference between being a member of the Church and being a follower of Jesus.  Within a couple of centuries after Jesus’s resurrection and ascension (and especially after the Church crawled into bed with the Emperor Constantine), the Church became more about doctrine, discipline, and orthodoxy, and less about following a radically inclusive, outrageously love-centered Jesus.  The queering of Christianity, says Robertson, is “about challenging every aspect of Christian theology and ethics that doesn’t align with Jesus’ ethics of love and inclusion, inviting us to reimagine a way of being followers of Jesus beyond traditional Christianity.”  The holy (and queer) Christian life is always a life on the margins.

As an elder in the LGBTQ+ community (and who came out before this young author was born!), you might think I’d be worried about the future of LGBTQ+ people of faith.  On the contrary.  Brandan Robertson’s book leads me to believe that all will be well and that laying claim to our queerness — as Christians — will change Christianity and the world.  

Read it.  Enjoy it.  Live it!

 

Bishop Gene Robinson, Washington, DC

Retired Episcopal Bishop of New Hampshire, the first openly gay and partnered bishop in historic Christianity

Thank you all for your continued support. I can’t wait for you to read this book and to hear your thoughts. Let’s make Queer and Christian a movement—together.

With deep gratitude and excitement,

Brandan