Beyond Apologetics: A Queer Theological Revolution

In the contemporary Christian landscape, a profound conversation about sexuality, identity, and faith is unfolding. For many Christians who support queer and trans* people, the initial task seems clear: to defend these marginalized lives. We enlist in a spiritual battle known as "apologetics," attempting to carve out a window of acceptance for the queer community within the church's walls. But is defense the final destination? If we are constantly playing by the rules set by the oppressor, what are we truly winning—freedom, or merely a more refined cage?

Tonstad's work begins by surveying the "apologetic strategies" used to defend queer lives, then delves into how Queer Theory upends this entire project. Finally, it introduces the provocative and vibrant "Indecent Theology" of Marcella Althaus-Reid, charting a course that is no longer about "being accepted," but about "radically transforming" the very nature of theology.

The Arsenal of Apologetics: A Strategic Overview

In response to the condemnation faced by the queer community within many churches, supporters have developed a sophisticated "apologetics toolkit." These varied strategies share a common goal: to prove that queer lives have a legitimate place within the Christian faith.

1. The Argument from Historical Distance: This strategy asserts that when the biblical authors wrote the so-called "clobber passages," their understanding of same-sex relations was entirely different from our modern concept of "homosexuality" as an identity. Ancient societies lacked our notion of sexual orientation, making it anachronistic to apply their prohibitions directly to contemporary queer people.
2. Analogy and Higher Principles: A powerful analogy is drawn with slavery. The Bible contains passages that appear to permit slavery, yet virtually all Christians today agree that it is morally wrong. We have embraced higher principles like "justice" and "liberation." If we can apply these principles to reinterpret passages about slavery, why can't we do the same for passages concerning sexuality?
3. Rediscovering Queer Ancestors in Scripture: This approach seeks out queer-coded figures and relationships in the Bible. The love between David and Jonathan, which "surpassed the love of women"; the unwavering oath between Ruth and Naomi; and the intimacy between Jesus and John, "the disciple whom he loved," are all re-interpreted as models of same-sex devotion. Furthermore, the "eunuchs"—a term that in antiquity could encompass a spectrum of identities we might now call trans*, intersex, or nonbinary—are shown to be actively chosen by God in the book of Acts, proving that the kingdom of God has been open to gender-nonconforming lives from the beginning.
4. Challenging the Divine Heterosexual Framework: Some arguments target the core assumption itself: if God truly prohibits same-sex relationships, what is the theological significance of a divinely mandated heterosexuality? The most common answer is that the union of man and woman symbolizes the relationship between Christ and the Church. However, this argument immediately creates another problem: it implies that maleness represents God in a way that femaleness cannot, thereby idolizing a particular gender and reinforcing the church's long-standing patriarchal structures.

These strategies are undeniably well-intentioned and have been a source of great comfort and help for many. Yet, a more incisive question emerges: Is merely defending ourselves enough?

The Limits of Apologetics: Surviving in the Master's House

The fundamental problem with apologetics is that it plays the game within the oppressor's system. You strive to prove you are "worthy" of being fitted into a pre-existing mold, but you never fundamentally challenge the mold itself. Is the mold itself the problem? Why must we fit in at all?

When advocating for rights like same-sex marriage, we often resort to a "we are just like you" narrative. As U.S. Supreme Court Justice Kennedy wrote in the Obergefell v. Hodges decision, marriage embodies the "highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family." Queer people, the argument goes, respectfully ask for entry into "one of civilization's oldest institutions," hoping not to be "condemned to live in loneliness."

This sentimental language exposes the trap of liberal "inclusion." It paints a picture of the "acceptable" homosexual: one who is faithful, monogamous, spiritually inclined, and desires to form a stable family. While granting rights to some, this narrative invisibly draws a new line, pushing those who do not fit this "normal" image—the non-monogamous, those not seeking marriage, those with more fluid sexual practices—back to the margins.

This is where queer theory makes its critical intervention. Here, "queer" is not just an identity; it is a critical stance, a posture of questioning and challenging everything that is taken for granted as "normal," "natural," and "self-evident."

Queer does not ask, "Please, can we join your club?" It asks, "On what authority do you decide who gets in? Who built this club? And who wrote the rules?"

Queer challenges the power that writes the rules. It refuses to believe in a fixed "nature." The claims that gender difference is "natural" or that heterosexuality is "natural" are seen as cultural constructs designed to reinforce power structures. This strategy is known as "denaturalization," and it aims to reveal just how unstable, contradictory, and historically contingent our supposedly self-evident categories (male/female, heterosexual/homosexual) truly are.

Indecent Theology: Taking Off Theology's Underwear

If theology is no longer content with merely defending queer people but instead fully embraces this disruptive queer spirit, what would it look like?

This question brings us to the Argentinian theologian Marcella Althaus-Reid. Her "Indecent Theology" offers a vision that is as provocative as it is profoundly real.

Althaus-Reid opens with a shocking question: "Is theology the art of putting your hands under the skirts of God?"

The imagery is both visceral and offensive. It calls for a theology of flesh and blood, one that dares to touch taboos and confront the messy reality of life, rather than a "holy" discourse that is sanitized and disembodied. She even asks, "What if one sat down to write theology without wearing underwear?"

This is not, of course, a literal suggestion. She is truly asking: if theologians were to strip away all their pious pretenses and honestly confront themselves as bodied, desiring, and situated beings, what kind of earth-shattering difference would it make to the theology they produce?

For Althaus-Reid, the core issues of theology are always "sex, money, and God." Traditional theology pretends to speak only of God while avoiding the topics of sex and money, yet it is these two forces that constitute our real, lived existence. Her Indecent Theology insists on:

1. Dismantling the moral order built on a heterosexual construction of reality.
2. Honestly admitting that theology is an inseparable dance of sex, money, and God.
3. Rejecting idealized myths and beginning to tell our living stories of desire and struggle.

From this perspective, the life experiences of marginalized people are no longer a "problem" to be normalized or sanctified. On the contrary, the "indecent" lives of the marginalized become a mirror, reflecting the hypocrisy and oppressiveness of so-called "mainstream" society and theology.

The goal is no longer to prove that "we queer people can be holy too." The goal is to use our real, embodied experiences to radically overturn and transform theology itself.

Conclusion: From Asking for a Seat to Flipping the Table

The path of apologetics is a road that seeks recognition from the existing power structure. It may win breathing room for some, but it can never bring true liberation, because its very premise is to accept the legitimacy of that structure.

Queer theology, especially the Indecent Theology championed by Althaus-Reid, points in a completely different direction. It declares that God is not found in the holy temples but on the streets and in the alleys, among the lives deemed "indecent." Faith is not a set of moral codes to be followed, but a passionate encounter with a God who is desiring, messy, and real.

This leaves us with one final question to ponder:

What if our theology stopped striving to build an abstract ideal of "what a person ought to be" and instead was willing to get down on its knees and fearlessly speak the truth of "what we actually are"? What kind of different, vibrant landscape would that bring to our faith?

This is a revolution that moves from asking for a seat at the table to flipping the table over entirely. And that, perhaps, is the most precious gift that queer theology can offer to Christianity today.