Queer Body of Christ
At the beginning of college, I was a baby gay still trying to figure out what it meant to be a queer person of faith. I walked into the commuter lounge one day and lunchtime conversation is off to a start. The commuter lounge culture we established left the table open to all kinds of thought-provoking conversations. If humans successfully develop artificial intelligence, can AIs be saved? Or, which one of the Zelda games reigns supreme? From pop culture to faith, from history to philosophy, students brought their different majors, experiences, and interests to the commuter lounge table. This day, however, LGBTQ people were the topic of discussion. I sat quietly listening to the discussion.
“Homosexuals practice a sinful lifestyle. You cannot come to communion without repenting. I would never take communion with someone gay because they are in open rebellion against God”
I’m pretty sure he had already taken communion with queer people whether he was aware of it or not. It was strange being the object of a conversation as if I were completely invisible.
I couldn’t shake those words of exclusion in the commuter lounge. I didn’t participate in communion for four years after that conversation. I didn’t want to let one person have that kind of control over me but I also wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a part of that kind of faith.
If it was so easy for people to be gatekeepers of the communion table, why would I even want to practice the sacrament? Does it even mean anything anymore?
I didn’t want him to succeed in making me feel unworthy, so that’s why I kept answering my call to enter theological education. Still, my uncertainty about communion made me feel guilty as I began my first field education placement in a church. How can I be a leader in the church if I don’t even know what I believe about community, communion, sacraments, and grace?
God called me to the table anyway.
I was sitting in the front row on the first Sunday of the month. Pastor Victor asked me to join him in distributing the sacrament. I had no idea he would ask me and I had never participated in administering communion before. I still hadn’t made up my mind about what I theologically believed, but I got up anyway. Tears streamed down my face as I said to each one of the congregants, “the body of Christ broken for you” and offered them the bread. I felt overwhelmed with grace. I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t form a coherent theology, and I didn’t think about what that guy had said in the commuter lounge all those years ago.