Useful theology from a Quaker-shaped Christian
It’s no secret that Christians do terrible things, or that terrible things have been done in the name of Jesus and the Christian God. As a scholar of Christian theology and racism I know that Christianity has some serious problems. But recent events in my life have brought this truth home to me in a deeply personal way, to the point where I’m questioning whether, as a queer person, being a Christian makes any sense.
Welcome, support, acknowledgment and affirmation of trans people cannot coexist with continuing ‘debate and dialogue’ on the legitimacy of trans identities. Many cis Quakers have much to discover about the lived reality of trans people, and so there should always be space for discussion fuelled by the genuine desire to learn. But there comes a point where ‘debate and dialogue’ must end, where speech that does not measure up to our collectively discerned standards of love and truth needs to be halted. Either Quakers welcome and support trans people, which includes at a minimum believing they are who they say they are, or Quakers don’t. Or Quakers are using the word ‘welcome’ in such a weak manner as to render it meaningless. To truly welcome trans people means allowing trans people to set the terms for that welcome. We cannot welcome trans people and at the same time keep space open for anti-trans rhetoric. Friends who continue to tolerate this 'debate' set themselves against the wellbeing of trans people and against the leadings of the Holy Spirit as discerned by the Yearly Meeting. Compromise cannot be made with the spirit of fear that drives the anti-trans moral panic.
On the Pembrokeshire coast is the holy well of St Gwyndaf, nestled in a ferny grove on the route to St David’s Cathedral. It’s listed in Guy Hayward and Nick Mayhew-Smith’s Britain’s Pilgrim Places (2020), and I was on holiday in the area trying to see as many sacred sites as possible. On my visit to St Gwyndaf’s, I found a collection of seashells surrounding the well opening with an invitation to take one. After pocketing the shell, I felt a bit of a fraud. I was a tourist, not a pilgrim. Despite spending a week in such a beautiful corner of Wales filled with wells, churches and standing stones, I was missing the special pilgrimage ingredient, whatever that is. Inspired by this sense of lack I booked myself on to a pilgrimage to Lindisfarne, following the St Cuthbert’s Way.
For the last two years I’ve been experimenting with a hybrid spirituality. I’ve taken the Quakerism that has formed me so strongly over the past two decades and added in some new-monasticism, “Celtic Christianity” and neo-Druidry. I’ve called this a “patchwork” and “queer” approach to faith. Now, having read Adrian Thatcher’s Vile Bodies (2023), I’m wondering if “dirty” is another appropriate word.
Jolly Quaker 