Advent Devotion 3: December 7, 2022 The Queer Nativity:
Neon Lights, Drag Queens, and Divinity Among us By Ms. Penny Cost For many Queer folks, the Advent of Winter is not an anticipation of peace, an embrace of hope, a lingering of love, nor a season of joy. Instead, Advent is a yearly reminder of a cycle fraught with fear: fear of being seen, fear of being ignored, or worst, fear of being discarded. Like Christmas gifts that a child outgrew, queer folks, when no longer serving the purpose of heteronormativity through quiet stillness, are all too often cast aside and thrown out. Their worth is reduced to nothing in the eyes of their families. Too often, the consumerist nature of Christmas runs deeper than simple gift-giving. Relationships, bonds of blood, and years of friendships are valued with an MSRP based on what can be summarized through the picturesque nature of a Christmas card. Nurodivergence, gender nonconformity, queerness, ableness: these are all parts that are, at best subtly and at worst overtly, forced into a closet for the sake of small talk around a dinner table. Though the season is celebrated by many as a time of yuletide and warmth, a Hallmark Christmas is a luxury of privilege. If you ask any owner of an LGBTQIA2S+ bar, they will tell you that some of their most memorable nights, were ones in which they stayed open late, regardless of how sparse the crowd was, as the snow fell outside their doors. When families gather to sing around a Christmas tree, a community of outcasted strangers gather around a dimly lit bar. For one night, these strangers are a new type of family: a family that is present in their weirdness, honored by their queerness, and beloved for their wholeness. This new family will never replace the old, nor will it hide the painful wounds of rejection and harm. But it does provide a moment of ease, an ointment of peace, as the neon lights flicker and the jukebox plays. Queer Bars are often the last place where strangers can be their whole selves, regardless of how society and families attempt to fragment them. These bars are where one does not have to mask their Queerness and Transness. They are where one can feel the pain and sorrow of loneliness and abandonment yet never be alone or discarded. These bars, open when the streets are all but empty, are a safe haven, a refuge, of hope within the Season of Advent. Queer bars are the nativity scene of the birth of Divinity in our time. The Scripture of the Nativity, which we celebrate on Christmas Eve, speaks of a nonconforming family. They scour the town looking for a place where they can dwell and exist within, bearing their whole truth... their divine truth, without needing to mask or hide it. It is late at night when all establishments are closed. They are in pain. They are in fear. They are longing for a refuge. All of the hotels and motels, all of the Good Christian homes, all of the churches and cathedrals: they are closed for the Divine Queer Family. When all seems lost and the tears begin to well in their eyes, in the last moment of desperation, with a shaken breath, in prayer and anger, they call out to God, “Why have you done this to me? You tell me that I am woven together, named, and known, yet you abandoned me. You let your people abandon me. If I am to have no family, no home, and no worth... what good is it to be here?” As they walk the streets, homeless and afraid, they find a place that legislators have attempted to condemn, that the churches have named unholy, that their families have marked as only fit for the unredeemable animals of society... and yet... the owner welcomes them with open arms and gives them a seat to rest on... a place at the table. Only in this Christmas story, it is not a manger full of feces and hay... it is the small town Queer Bar. And it is brimming with Divine love and acceptance. It is anointed by God as an altar of Justice and Grace. It is cleansed by the Spirit of Drag Queens with Love and Mercy. It is inhabited by the Redeemer, Sustainer, and Liberator of the Margins. It is an unexpected Holy of Hollies where Divinity is experienced between queer strangers. It is where the Little Drummer Boy can be a twink singing Karaoke. It is where the Magi can be our elders who Survived the HIV/Aids epidemic, sharing their wisdom and strength with the next generation. It is where gold, frankincense, and myrrh can be glitter, whiskey, and Lady GaGa. It is where the choir of angels can be composed of every ancestor who has been lost to a hate crime, governmental inaction, or abandonment by those they trusted and loved. It is where the Holy Family can be our newly chosen family. The Queer Bar can be the Nativity of today.
The Queer bar is the Nativity of today. And yet, among the peace, hope, love, and joy that exists within the nativity, the threat of King Herod’s reign still remains. Recently, the harm of murder and terrorism was felt in Colorado Springs. A place where divinity dwelled and where love abounded, was marred by Herod’s homophobia and transphobia. Toxic masculinity and Christian Supremacy call for the slaughter of all that challenges its power. Just as Christ was born to lead a revolution of liberation, Queer Folks are born to lead a resurgence of Love and Justice within the world. The nativity, all places of authentic queer presence, is under attack by a King whose might and power are at risk because of the beauty and splendor of the margins. We, especially those with the most privilege among us, are called to deliberate actions of love and devotion to and with the margins. When those in power threaten the lives of the least of these, directly and indirectly by physical violence, hate speech, and unjust legislation, those who claim the identity of a Christian must rise. When King Herod makes a decree calling for queer folks to be given a millstone and ran off a cliff: we must rise. When King Herod attempts to pass legislation limiting the construction and veneration of Queer Nativity Scenes: we must rise. When King Herod sends out battalions to slaughter those in the margins because their identity, birthright, and existence challenge his reign: we must rise. We must rise in Love for the margins
We must rise with Hope for tomorrow
We must rise with Joy that defies the odds.
And we must rise knowing that Peace does not exist for one of us until it exists for each of us.
We must rise. In this coming advent season, I encourage you to find the nativity in the least expected places... to give honor to those who have been cast aside... to question your role in Herod's plot of destruction... and to find a way to utilize your privilege and voice to protect and build the Kin-dom of God here and now. You make our collective work possible by your witness for justice every day in your church, community, and Annual Conference. MFSA does not receive any financial support from the United Methodist Church's giving channels. 100% of our budget is funded through your membership dues and your generosity in giving. |
