Dear Friends,
But for the uplifting grace of God, how can our hearts not be heavy when reflecting on the past few weeks. Everywhere we look—violence, violence, and more violence. From the thousands slain in the Ukraine to the Gaza-Israel conflict, to the Ascension Catholic Church & School, to the Evergreen High School shooting in Colorado, and, most recently, the assassination of political activist Charlie Kirk. We are living in a violent age, and the same fissures rupturing culture are rupturing the Church.
It’s challenging to adequately articulate the present moment, so allow me a literary device: While the narrative of the piece below (told from the second-person point of view) is essentially fiction, the circumstances surrounding it are not; specifically, the school and lecturer mentioned. There will be an October sequel with the everyman “you” of our story becoming the first person “I” when following up on the story in a few weeks. You’ll understand it better as you read or listen to “The Queering of Jesus,” which are difficult words to write let alone ponder. But “contending for the faith,” we press on.
As always…
I am Grateful for You!
D. Paul
The Church’s One Foundation is Jesus Christ Her Lord!
The Queering of Jesus
Congratulations! You’ve recently graduated from an evangelical Christian university, magna cum laude, with a double major in religion and biblical studies. Your love for Christ has been a safeguard against the “passing pleasures” of youth and any ambition contrary to the will of God for your life, which is to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Several prestigious seminaries offer you a scholarship, one among them no more than a stone's throw from your house.
You’re an only child. Your father died earlier this year leaving the family few resources, and your mother is in early Alzheimer's. Pressed by these circumstances, you choose to live at home and accept the scholarship from the local seminary. You know they are expressively liberal in staff and curricula, the president and his husband (or is it his wife, you wonder) setting a heightened “progressive tone” theologically, but, Hey, you say to yourself, how bad can things be. I can handle it.
Week one your advisor “strongly suggests” you attend an upcoming “TED talk” style lecture, particularly considering your more conservative background. Mentioning few details, he says, “You might find it an eye-opener to the more limited perspective of your previous school,” adding, in way of punctuation, a little Mona-Lisa-like smile, which abruptly ends the conversation.
That night, after you’ve served dinner and said prayers with your mother, you check out the school website for more information on the lecture, and up pops the program in bold print:
CTS Talks: Rev. Brandan Robertson Revolution Not Reformation: Why Christian Faith Needs to Reclaim Queerness. Date: October 2, 2025
Some of the copy that follows reads:
“Drawing from Rev. Robertson’s book ‘Queer and Christian: Reclaiming the Bible, Our Faith, and Our Place at the Table,’ this talk will explore why queerness isn’t just something to be tolerated within Christianity—it is a sacred and necessary part of our faith’s future. Rooted in queer theology, we will dismantle exclusionary interpretations of scripture and reclaim the radical message of Jesus: that God’s table is expansive, affirming, and centered on those historically pushed to the margins. Queerness is not an obstacle to faith, but an invitation into deeper truth, authenticity, and liberation. This is a call to move beyond mere inclusion toward a bold reimagining of Christian faith as inherently queer, revolutionary, and transformative.”
After a prayer for the Rev. Robertson followed by a long sigh, you decide to order his book on Amazon.com, whose publicity informs you: “Ostracized at school, Brandan thought he had finally found his community when he joined the local church. But he soon realized that they were as intolerant as his peers at school had been―if not more so. After agonizing years of repressing his true identity, he discovered that God’s table had always had a place for him. Jesus’ love knows no bounds, embracing everyone unconditionally.”
You can’t help wondering: Wasn’t the rich young ruler who asked, ‘What good thing must I do to get eternal life?’ (Matthew 19:16 NIV) given a conditional response by Jesus when he was told to ‘…go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.’ (Matthew 19:21 NIV). Wasn’t the adulterous woman who was brought to Jesus by the scribes and Pharisees wishing to stone her told by Jesus to ‘…go and sin no more.’ (John 8:11). Didn’t Christ time and again use that little conjunctive word, ‘if,’ meaning ‘on condition of,’ in the teaching his disciples: ‘If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.’ (Mathew 16:24 NKJV). Didn’t Jesus’s cousin and forerunner, John the Baptist, tell his listeners to ‘repent’ as a pre-condition to being baptized and receiving the ‘kingdom of God.’
You pause, thinking to yourself, Perhaps within this ‘bold reimagining of Christian faith as inherently queer’ there is no further need for repentance, it being too rigid, reflective of an earlier, unenlightened age. The Amazon copy certainly wants you to believe that:
“Queer & Christian is a joyful celebration of queer faith and an unyielding reclamation of the Bible. Dive into pages that offer:
-Compelling, evidence-based counterarguments to the “clobber verses” often used to condemn queerness.
-Celebrations of queer saints within the Bible―more numerous than you might believe!
Brandan Robertson stands as a beacon of love, hope, and unwavering support for anyone ready to reclaim their faith from the clutches of intolerance.”
You take a moment to scan the chapter headings, some which read: “Born Again Queer,” “Queerly Beloved,” “The Queer Saints of Scripture,” “David and Jonathan,” “Jesus and the Beloved Disciple.” You easily fill in the dots following each heading, for though you’re not a student of “queer theology,” the implications are obvious, drawing on the radical theological tropes from the last three-quarters of a century. You do a quick scan of progressive seminaries throughout the country—Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Drew, Union, Pacific School of Religion, on and on—all offering courses on “queer theology,” “queer apologetics” or a similar synonym. What was once considered an anomaly is now the norm.
You reflect for a moment on Brandon Robertson’s journey since his undergraduate days at Moody Bible Institute. Though nothing sounds “fresh” in what he is teaching, his voice is given a prophetic status by admirers, and, among his many accolades, he is known, appropriately enough, as a “TikTok” pastor with a global following.
Late into the night you continue reading online and come across the work of Marcella Althaus-Reid, an Argentine Professor of Contextual Theology at New College, the University of Edinburgh, who drew on Latin American liberation theology in interpreting the Bible, and a strong proponent of queer theology, positing in her 2002 book, Indecent Theology, “Only in the longing for a world of economic and sexual justice together, and not subordinated to one another, can the encounter with the divine take place. But this is an encounter to be found at the crossroads of desire, when one dares to leave the ideological order of the heterosexual pervasive normative. This is an encounter with indecency and with the indecency of God and Christianity.”
You continue to follow the “queer theology” thread and come across a 1967 address given by Hugh William Montefiore, entitled “Jesus, the Revelation of God,” which postulates: “If Jesus were homosexual in nature (and this is the true explanation of his celibate state) then this would be further evidence of God's self-identification with those who are unacceptable to the upholders of 'The Establishment' and social conventions,” i.e. the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual individuals and others identifying as gender fluid in one fashion or another.
You stop reading, realizing, as never before, that the queering of Jesus is the inevitable conclusion of queer theology. You look up at the simple wooden cross that has been hanging above your bed for over twenty years, placed there by your saintly mother, and those words keep repeating over and over in your mind, …let him deny himself and take up his cross…let him deny himself…let him deny himself and take up his cross.
You rise, walk down the hallway to check on your mother. She is sound asleep. Leaning against the doorway frame, you begin to quietly weep … weep for your mother … for the Church … for Brandon Robertson … for your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and, yes, for yourself. What should I do? Walk away … just get out of there?
After pulling the blanket over your mother’s shoulders, you return to your room, sit at your desk, and pick up your weathered Bible, turning to Timothy and reading aloud: For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths (2 Timothy 4:3-4, ESV). Instinctively, you turn to Peter and read, But false prophets also arose among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Master who bought them, bringing upon themselves swift destruction. And many will follow their sensuality, and because of them the way of truth will be blasphemed (2 Peter 2:1-3 ESV). You recall a memorized scripture from your youth, …to contend for the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints (Jude 1:3 ESV).
You rise, pick up a black marker off your desk, and go to the calendar hanging on the back of your door. Circling it several tines, you highlight the date—October 2. You will not be ashamed of the Gospel of Christ.
Whispering, dear Jesus, you turn the light out, lie down, and close your eyes. A peaceful rest soon follows.
Amen
