There is a variety of opinion among etymologists regarding the origins and early meaning of the word queer. According to some studies, it entered the English language in the 16th century or so and was believed to have come from the Middle Irish “cúar,” an adjective that described the curve of a rope hanging up on each end, and pulled down in the center by its own gravity. This later became “quair,” meaning simply, “not straight” and then finally developed the Scottish derivation, our word, “queer.”

Wherever and however it began, there’s no doubt this word has had a challenging and colorful history. In its long life, it has been a linguistic shape-shifter… sometimes adjective, sometimes noun or verb and back again. By the 1920s it was being used to describe a rather large range of human characteristics and behaviors, and almost always in a pejorative way. People were outed with the use of this word, and often shamed, fired, evicted, excommunicated, beaten, or murdered. But as a word, rather like love, it has risen from the ashes, and since the 1970s or so, it has been in a process of transforming language and practice in nearly every area of life. Now, queering is everywhere– and while it is still sometimes used to hurt, it also has claimed new places, respected and celebrated, in fields of study, in entertainment, and as descriptive of fluid and inclusive human identities, showing true colors: queer theory, queer studies, your queer eye for straight guy, genderqueer and, my personal favorite, queer theology. Maybe the word “queer” is beginning to actually find new and vibrant ways to be him/her/ your/my/our self in the world.

So what is queer theology, you may ask, or you may not, but I so hope you do! Because at least part of the definition of “queer” is to push the boundaries, to throw open the windows, and unlock the doors–and when that happens, adventure and learning occur. Here’s how I learned what queer theology means.

When I was young, my view of relationships and religion was sort of like Dorothy in her pre-Oz years. I existed, happily enough, in the physical and spiritual realities of no color–flat, safe pastures surrounded by strong fences–borders that did not, could not change. Life was predictable, with rules and roles that were, overall, unexamined. Reality was just this, divided into what the majority culture deemed were sensible binaries, structured categories, good or evil, white or black, men or women, single or married, gay or straight, wrong or right. God said it, I (and you, too) were supposed to believe it, God has a wonderful plan for your life, get on the straight and narrow. There is an expected role to play, directions life will go, and ways to behave. Any deviation from that was, well, deviant.

But as you know, the revolution was already stirring, and through the 60s and 70s, the voices of those silenced were beginning to be heard, bit by bit. Different, fascinating, acting up and speaking out sorts of folks started emerging from closets of all shapes and sizes–persons of color, women, the economically downtrodden, persons differently abled, and persons who identified as gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender.

By the time I was in seminary, God-talk also had come out– liberation theologies began to ask questions of long-accepted spiritual biases–what about the identities and the places and the gifts and graces and the stories and the wisdom coming from the voices of those previously silenced, hidden, excluded, persecuted? And over time, biblical studies and demands for social justice in the church and in the world broadened as theologians of color, feminist theologians, and queer theologians began reframing the scholarship and praxis of faith. And as the impact of their presence began to be realized, then the imperatives from Scripture became clearer–Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly, practice hospitality, live in peace. And though they’d been there all the time, woven into the well-known stories in the Bible, these amazing stories of others began to get some examination– stories of wily slave midwives to those in power, eunuchs who did not fit into the usual gender binaries, powerful women leaders in the early church, Jesus and the disciple whom he loved, the writer of the passionately sexual and apparently biracial partners depicted in the Song of Songs, the story of the love of David and Jonathan which the Scripture describes as deeper than the love between a man and a woman.

The responses to these fresh, new directions in biblical scholarship were similar to the religious, social, and political responses we continue to observe now as opening occurs–much relief and joy on the part of some, and virulent backlashes of fear and anger on the other. But the arc of justice was/is arcing… and then, as now, questions and voices and the changes just keep on coming…what an amazing time of transformation we have lived to see, my friends! And, how far we still have to travel together to fully achieve equality without exception.

A working definition of the word queer includes “a self-conscious embrace of all that is transgressive of societal norms, particularly in the context of sexuality and gender roles and identity.” Queer theology then seeks to fearlessly challenge exclusionary religious language and practice that seeks to deny others on the basis of sexuality and/or gender identities or expression. It re-examines Scripture and speaks to the church. Queer talk about God–and about who we are–all of us, no matter who we are becoming.

It is fascinating to consider Jesus’ teachings as queer theology. He certainly was self-consciously transgressive of societal, religious, and political norms in his life and teachings–that’s really what got him crucified. So, let’s consider this old, familiar three-in-one parable for a minute, but from a different perspective, with new eyes.

The context of this parable is a rise of criticism from the religious establishment as Jesus fraternizes with and “those” people. His response is to say: You want to know what God is like? Well, God is like this…a shepherd caring for 100 sheep and a woman with her wedding coin necklace and a father with two sons different as night and day. And then Jesus elaborates, and these status quo people must have been so offended when they heard these stories because the metaphors Jesus uses to imagine God are self-consciously transgressive–not your usual, fearful, omnipotent, great and powerful Wizard of Oz, and God-ish sort of images. God is not pictured as the big rancher who owns the sheep and sits in the dark-paneled study having brandy and cigars, no, God is the shepherd, often in those days, the hired and despised, the one who runs out into the night looking for the one sheep out seeking her own way, and God is the woman…God is a woman? Gasp, hand over heart…who loses one of the coins from her marriage necklace, her proof in that culture that she is married… and all the protection for her that goes with marriage, and the marriage necklace is not complete, so God is pictured crawling around on her hands and knees on the living room floor, looking for that one lost and left out coin, because it is all well and good that the other coins are still intact, but the circle cannot be broken –every coin must be part of the marriage chain. And God is like the old papa, the old mama, with children who run the gamut of differences, and who watches every day out on the road and says not a word of rejection or judgment, or withholding till you get it right, conform, change, or be someone else, no–before and beyond any other expectation, this one runs down the road before any words are spoken, and who falls on the child’s neck and kisses him/her and welcomes her/him home. It is a queer witness this–these images are completely scandalous–God abandoning duty, scrambling over the cliffs after a questing sheep, God hunched on the floor, looking for a coin, and God, not the dignified unapproachable figure who would never bend first and certainly would not run, with his robes, swirling like a dress hoisted up over his knees so he can run faster–running with arms open in unqualified embrace.
I’ve heard some people say, “Queer theology…Pride, whatever. Nothing there for me, I am straight.” I am beyond grateful that here at UCG, though, it is Gay and Straight, and everybody Together. It has been during Pride week, and it is every other day, too. Thank you for being that sort of family. Because I believe that But my experience is that Pride is for everyone–you don’t have to be queer to need and to offer and to celebrate the welcome. From these parables I learn that no matter, we are all sought after, recovered, named, beloved. We are all lost and found and somewhere in between. We are the shepherd and the wandering lamb, we are the frantic woman turning our houses upside down searching, we are parent and child, we are queer and straight, and all–above, beyond, and trans-cendent.

Once I read that “queer” is the most inclusive word that we have. Queer” means “out of the ordinary.” It means “curious.” It means “unexpected.” It also means “weird.” We are all some of that, just some of us more than others. And we are all more than that–much, much more. To find within the courage to explore and to learn to accept and to celebrate all the people I am and all the people you are, no matter how we look or who we love requires deep listening, hard work, a sense of humor, and open hearts to live into becoming ourselves and learning how best to love others. And what an adventure. How rich my life has been made by all the weird and wonderful people who have broken open the walls of my ignorance and limitations, and given me the courage to long to love more deeply and to learn more.

Last week one of our members called to mind a song that we sing here sometimes, “They’ll Know We’re God’s People By Our Love” that’s what queering the witness means–it means that by our love for each other, we welcome the holy mysteries and celebrate them –namely, that we, in the great wisdom of the Creator have been made different from each other, but that does not mean bad or good or better or worse, just different, and that is a cause for celebration.

I close with Anna Spencer’s beautiful words: “We are creators meant to give voice to the inexplicable, the weird, and the strange. The church is meant to be this sort of gathering… a people thrusting paradox, doubt, transformation, and delusion into plain sight. The church is meant to be a collective of explorers, wonderers, and cynics, experimenting together. Welcome sinner and saint, forgotten and famous, one and all. Welcome established artists and those who do not consider themselves as such. Welcome kings and queens, gays and lesbians, trans, and straight, and bi, and gender fluid alike. Welcome every color, style, and situation. Welcome to the banquet of the unlikely, to the wedding of humanity and divinity. Welcome to an exploration of polarities and similarities. Welcome to our unity.”

So happy Pride Sunday. The good news of today is that we are beautiful in our colors and costumes and questioning. Be glad you are you and be blessed. Amen.