So grateful for Ken Sehested’s ongoing work and witness over at prayerandpolitiks.org. This is from his intro to Queer Theology 101. Ken is not new to this. He is true to this.

Years ago I represented the Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists on the board of the Institute for Welcoming Resources, an ecumenical coalition of networks within multiple Protestant bodies advocating for the full inclusion of the LGBTQ community within the life of the church. On the way home from one of those meetings, I began a mental outline of what would become my sermon on Epiphany Sunday. Below is an excerpt (with some revisions).
 
On the plane coming home I began composing a new sermon or essay—Queer Theology 101—dealing with the unpredictability, the “foolishness,” the queerness of God in choosing covenant partners and the destabilizing effect on all existing political arrangements and established orthodoxies.
 
While queer theology flows from the historically particular experience of the  LGBTQ community, it is not only for them. I don’t think this is a cultural co-opting but rather an enrichment of theological insight nourishing the whole community.
 
The queer theology I envision points to the insistence of the Apostles Peter and Paul that Gentiles were to be welcomed into the household of faith. I can assure you that that the question was as controversial then as the question of queer folkx in the church over the past decades.
 
Queer theology references Jesus’ selection of the unclean Samaritan as a model of faith in the coming Reign of God; of pagan astrologers as the first to recognize the significance of that bright star announcing Mary’s birth pangs; of Ruth’s inclusion in Jesus’ genealogy, even though she was a Moabite, a stranger to the household of faith; of a black Baptist preacher, from Georgia of all places—Martin Luther King Jr.—who would come to be recognized among the leading figures in our republic’s pantheon of heroes and the church’s prophetic tradition. The Bible, and history, is chocked full of such queerness.
 
This is the heart of Epiphany’s announcement. Though the news is good, especially for those who have had no place at the table of bounty, those currently managing and policing the table sense the terror of this message. And they will resist it, with vicious propaganda, virulent threats and public intimidation, even with bloody violence.
 
News of Jesus’ birth, as T.S. Eliot wrote in his “Magi” poem, will be “hard and bitter agony” for some. And we could find (and have found) ourselves in the middle of such a tumultuous backlash.
 
As one of my theology professors, James Cone, was fond of saying, to understand the goodness of the Gospel news we must inquire as to when, why, and for whom such news is troublesome and unwelcome.
 
It is no accident that history is littered with marginalized, disenfranchised and excluded people. Powerful interests, often hidden from public view, are at work in maintaining established order. Disrupting this order will be considered a disruption of the “peace” and be met with demands that public authority reassert “law and order.”
 
Those captivated by the vision of a different Order will always chaff at the present disorder. Don’t let the bright lights and bustling headlines distract. Our job is to keep our sight on that distant horizon which, ironically enough, trains our eyes to spot the Spirit’s efflorescent work here and now—even as we speak!—with buds breaking through resistant ground and in the most unlikeliest of places, where God’s odd, irregular, unexpected, overlooked ones are at work.
 
Then, casting caution to the wind, join them.