Big Queer Carols 2024

Big Queer Carols 2024

We have a new cat called Jenkins. Those of you who are familiar with the A13 will be able to guess his story because Jenkins Lane is the address of our local tip where he was found. When my wife walked into the pen to look at the other two cats in there, Jenkins came and sat on her lap and claimed her. I took one look at her face and resigned myself to second place in her affections for the foreseeable future. He’s got a bit of one ear missing, and he’s recovering from cat flu so sneezes frequently. But he’s a big, soft, gorgeous boy and we love him. Why am I telling you about this? 

I need something good to hold onto at the moment. The arc of history does not look like it’s bending towards justice in any noticeable way. I don’t need to explain why the world is dark right now, except to say that if you are a trans or nonbinary kid right now, or you are close to someone who is, we are praying for you and standing with you. The decision made this week is unethical and unscientific and we need to fight it in any way we can. 

But it’s an example of how when we exist as queer people, visibly and without shame, we become the argument. It’s like we’re the grit in the oyster. On the one hand, people are quick to say, “What a beautiful pearl!” but they forget to say how annoyed the oyster is by the whole process. People want to think they’re having theoretical disputes about meanings and ideas, they don’t realise the violent impact their “debates” have on real people’s minds and bodies, and they are properly annoyed oysters when the connection is pointed out. 

So does it feel ridiculous to celebrate Christmas when everything is going down the helter skelter to chaos?

First it’s worth remembering how queer and disruptive the incarnation is. 

Joseph is a righteous man. He knows what his interpretation of Scripture, his tradition and experience is telling him to do - divorce Mary. But he doesn’t want to because he loves her. So he listens to the angel God sends, and resists the pressure from his whole society to follow the way it’s always been done.

Mary knows that to obey God will cast her as a sinner. People will make assumptions about her character, her actions, her upbringing because she listens to God and obeys. Not only that, but Mary sees in her child the upending of worldly power and empire, and the returning of dignity to the marginalised and the powerless. This is not a story to give the powerful comfort. 

And these are the people who raise our Jesus. People who have learned to listen to the voice of God’s love over their interpretation of Scripture, over their religious tradition, over their cultural conditioning. The family that brought salvation into the world don’t even fit the “Biblical family” stereotype - though you can argue about whether you think Jesus had two mums, two dads or both. 

And Jesus himself - Evangelical Christianity has often made the mistake of only really preaching about Jesus’s death. But we miss something if we fast-forward to the last page of the book and ignore what he showed us with his life. Jesus lived before he died.

Jesus enjoys wine; he goes to parties that make the super-religious uncomfortable; he tells jokes and funny stories. By inhabiting a body without guilt or shame, he demonstrates that our physical enjoyment of our physical life is holy and sacred.

By loving consistently, by challenging injustice with gentleness and wisdom, Jesus reveals the violence at the heart of Empire. 

The Empire of God, he said, is like a mustard seed. Planting Mustard was forbidden because they’re impossible to remove once they’ve taken root. They make an ugly wildlife corner in your garden, attracting the birds (who eat your crops) and the cats (who eat the birds and poo everywhere), and making a mess of your nicely cultivated system of economic production. 

So prioritising the vulnerable and the needy over economic productivity is a profoundly queer act, and a profoundly gospel one.

Prioritising joy, celebration and self-care in a culture that wants us invisible is a profoundly queer act, and a profoundly gospel one.

Prioritising what is small and creative and childlike over what is large, flashy and powerful is a profoundly queer act and a profoundly gospel one.

The Roman Empire used to sell the idea that the Emperor was an incarnation of the gods. I think we need a better image. I wonder if God is a bit like a lesbian cat-momma? Especially with a rescue cat? Because in the incarnation God comes to our level. God comes small and quiet so as not to scare us. God is patient and kind if we need to hide in a box for 24hrs or we’re too scared to come close. God plays with us and enjoys our company and lets us build our confidence. God lets us explore and enjoys our curiosity. God leads us to places and people where we are loved and accepted as we are, even if we’re snotty and have bits missing off our ears, and even if we’re still working out how this post traumatic growth thing is supposed to happen. 

So let’s live this Christmas as a prophetic declaration of the kingdom that is to come, because the way things are is not the way things should be. 

Let’s find safe spaces where we can eat and drink good things with people who love us as an act of resistance against this world that wants to make us in its image.  

Let’s recharge ourselves for the struggle of 2025.

Let’s allow God to be that cat-momma for us, patient and kind, and full of love, helping us to grow past our trauma. 

Because nothing will be impossible for God. 

Rachel Humphrey, Two:23. Reflection written for Big Queer Carols 2024.