We Were Always Here: Reading the Bible with Queer Eyes

I have never considered myself a Christian, and that has shaped my relationship with scripture in profound ways. I did not grow up reading the Bible as sacred, but I did grow up surrounded by its influence. Scripture was something to be wary of, something that others used to justify harm. Yet even in those early encounters, I could sense that there was something more beneath the surface. Even before college, I was someone who studied the Bible; not as a believer but as a scholar, as a ceremonial magician, and as someone trying to understand the moral architecture of the world I live in. What began as a cautious academic interest has become a deeper engagement as I realized how much of modern power, gender, and ethics has been shaped by how people read or misread scripture. I also discovered that the Bible contains more queerness, more ambiguity, more resistance than I had been led to believe. These elements were not new inventions or outsider interpretations, they were already in the text, simply not framed as central by dominant theological voices. A queer lens does not distort the Bible; it reveals what has always been there, waiting to be seen. It is not a clear or consistent moral code. It is a deeply human collection of stories, poems, laws, and questions.

That shift in understanding was shaped by several key texts I have engaged over the past few weeks, as part of my coursework but also as part of a growing personal inquiry. These readings were assigned, yes, but they are ideas I want to continue to live with, return to, and carry into my ministry. Unprotected Texts: The Bible’s Surprising Contradictions About Sex and Desire by Dr. Jennifer Wright Knust challenges the idea that the Bible offers a singular, coherent sexual ethic. Transforming: The Bible and the Lives of Transgender Christians by Austen Hartke explores how transgender people find not only affirmation, but deep spiritual meaning in scripture when it is read through lived experience. Queer Virtue: What LGBTQ People Know About Life and Love and How It Can Revitalize Christianity by the Rev. Elizabeth M. Edman reframes queerness as a sacred ethic of authenticity and truth-telling, one that runs parallel to the heart of Christian teaching. Outside the Lines: How Embracing Queerness Will Transform Your Faith by the Rev. Mihee Kim-Kort blends memoir, theology, and cultural analysis to reveal a God who exists not within binaries, but beyond them. Each of these authors engages scripture differently, and their methods vary, but all of them resist the rigid categories so often imposed on both religion and identity. They are not asking what the Bible says in isolation. They are asking how scripture invites us to wrestle, witness, and wonder. In reading them side by side, I found not only a new relationship to the text, but a deeper understanding of my own call to ministry.

Across these works, a few shared themes emerge that continue to shape my theological imagination. First is the deep insistence that queerness is not in opposition to faith, but is instead profoundly aligned with the sacred. The authors show that themes of ambiguity, boundary-crossing, transformation, and truth-telling are not just hallmarks of queer experience, but are also embedded throughout the biblical narrative. From prophets who speak uncomfortable truths, to characters who change names, roles, or gendered expectations, scripture itself resists rigidity. This recognition shifts queerness from something to be justified or tolerated into something that reveals the sacred more clearly. Rather than queering the Bible by adding something foreign, these writers argue that we are peeling back layers that have obscured what was always there. They present queerness not as an outsider’s lens, but as a way of seeing with clearer eyes. Queerness, in this sense, is a practice of spiritual honesty and ethical fidelity.

Another theme that binds these works together is their understanding of scripture as a living, evolving body of wisdom. They do not treat the Bible as a static text with one authoritative interpretation, but as a layered conversation, shaped over time by power, context, and the communities that read it. Dr. Jennifer Wright Knust names the distortions imposed by centuries of patriarchal and colonial assumptions. The Rev. Elizabeth Edman builds on this by framing queerness as a virtue that calls us back to integrity and courage. Austen Hartke and the Rev. Mihee Kim-Kort both emphasize the importance of lived experience, showing that the sacred emerges not only in the words of scripture, but in the bodies and lives of those who engage it. Together, these authors demonstrate that justice-centered reading requires both critique and care, both deconstruction and reconstruction. Their methods vary, but they are united by a commitment to truth, complexity, and the sacred possibilities that emerge when we read with our whole selves.

Dr. Jennifer Wright Knust’s Unprotected Texts approaches scripture through a rigorous academic lens, challenging long-held assumptions about what the Bible actually says regarding sex, desire, and morality. By analyzing passages from Leviticus, the letters of Paul, and the Gospels, Knust reveals how deeply context-dependent and historically contingent these texts are. She exposes how layers of interpretation, rooted in patriarchy, colonialism, and theological bias, have shaped what many now mistakenly consider clear, biblical mandates. Rather than offering fixed rules, the Bible presents a wide range of views on sexuality, marriage, and gender roles, often contradicting itself or reflecting the needs of a particular time and culture. For Knust, the sacredness of scripture lies not in its consistency, but in its complexity and capacity for re-interpretation. The Rev. Elizabeth M. Edman’s Queer Virtue builds on this deconstruction with theological urgency, arguing that queerness is not a threat to Christianity but a core ethical and spiritual resource. Edman insists that queer people, by virtue of living in truth and challenging unjust systems, embody the radical integrity that Jesus modeled. Her book critiques the institutional church not for being too rigid, but for forgetting how to be truly faithful. Like Knust, she rejects certainty in favor of complexity, but she grounds that complexity in bold, public ethical witness.

Where Knust and Edman offer academic and theological frameworks, Austen Hartke and the Rev. Mihee Kim-Kort approach scripture with a pastoral sensibility that centers lived experience and spiritual survival. In Transforming: The Bible and the Lives of Transgender Christians, Hartke draws from his journey as a trans Christian to explore biblical stories through the lens of transition, identity, and divine calling. Figures such as Joseph, the Ethiopian eunuch, and Jesus are reclaimed as sacred companions for trans people navigating both faith and embodiment. Hartke does not seek to prove that trans people belong in Christianity; he begins with that truth and builds theology from there. His work is gentle, affirming, and grounded in the belief that scripture becomes most powerful when it speaks to real, embodied lives. The Rev. Mihee Kim-Kort’s Outside the Lines similarly prioritizes experience and fluidity, blending memoir, theology, and cultural analysis to explore God’s presence in ambiguity. Her reflections do not seek to resolve tension, but to dwell within it, honoring the sacredness of openness and the movement of the Spirit across boundaries. Both authors offer models for pastoral care and theological exploration that make room for difference, complexity, and healing. In their hands, scripture becomes not only a site of struggle, but also a wellspring of affirmation and belonging.

One of the most consistent and powerful messages across these texts is the deep insistence that queerness is not in opposition to faith, but is instead profoundly aligned with the sacred. These authors do not simply argue that queer people deserve a place in religious life; they show that queer experience reveals something essential about divine reality. Themes of ambiguity, boundary-crossing, transformation, and truth-telling are not only familiar to those who live queer lives, but they are also core to the biblical narrative itself. Queerness becomes a kind of lens that clarifies, rather than distorts, what is already present in scripture. The tension, change, and revelation that define queer life mirror the journey of faith at its most honest. This alignment suggests that queer people are not marginal to the tradition but are deeply embedded in its truth-telling core. These readings invite us to see queerness not as a challenge to religion, but as a sacred ethic in its own right. It is not something that must be reconciled with faith, because it already participates in the heart of what faith calls us to be.

Scripture is filled with figures who challenge expectations, disrupt norms, and live into transformation. From prophets who speak uncomfortable truths, to individuals who change names, roles, and gendered expectations, the Bible resists the tidy frameworks that many have imposed upon it. Jacob becomes Israel only after wrestling through the night. Esther hides her identity until the moment her voice can save her people. Jesus himself defies every category placed upon him, turning over tables, breaking purity codes, and appearing resurrected in forms his followers scarcely recognize. These stories are not neat, and they are not meant to be. They make space for contradiction, for change, and for truth that is revealed only through struggle. This recognition shifts queerness from something that must be justified or tolerated into something that illuminates the sacred more clearly. Queerness, in these stories, is not an outsider force. It is already present in the unfolding drama of scripture.

None of these authors treat the Bible as a static object with one authoritative meaning. Instead, they approach it as a layered conversation, one shaped by power, historical context, and the communities who return to it generation after generation. The Bible is not simply what it says; it is also what people have claimed it says, and why. Reading with this awareness does not diminish scripture’s power. In fact, it deepens our engagement by asking us to take responsibility for how we interpret and apply it. These authors remind us that the Bible has been used both to justify oppression and to inspire liberation. Its power lies in the tension between those uses and in our willingness to ask who is centered, who is silenced, and who is invited to speak anew. This view of scripture demands our active participation and our ethical imagination.

The tension between academic analysis and pastoral engagement is another dynamic at play across these texts. Dr. Jennifer Wright Knust offers a historical and textual deconstruction of biblical sexual ethics, pulling apart the assumptions that have shaped contemporary understandings. Her work is deeply scholarly, rooted in the tools of critical inquiry. In contrast, Austen Hartke and the Rev. Mihee Kim-Kort write from pastoral and embodied experience, grounding their scriptural interpretations in the lived realities of queer and trans people. The Rev. Elizabeth Edman stands at a crossroads between the two, offering theological argumentation that is both intellectually rigorous and ethically urgent. Together, these approaches illustrate the richness of queer theological work. We need the academic precision that identifies distortion. We also need the pastoral tenderness that holds space for healing. These perspectives are not at odds. They strengthen and inform each other, reminding us that the head and the heart are both essential in sacred work.

These authors demonstrate that justice-centered reading requires both critique and care, both deconstruction and reconstruction. They show that faithful engagement with scripture means asking difficult questions and refusing easy answers. Their work challenges the authority of traditional interpretations while affirming the sacred potential of queer experience. Each author brings a unique method and voice, but they are united in their commitment to truth, complexity, and the radical honesty that scripture demands. They do not ask us to sanitize the Bible or to read it through a lens of fear. Instead, they invite us to read with our whole selves, with all our questions, wounds, hopes, and insights. This is a theology that makes room. It is a theology that insists we are already part of the story.

When these books are read together, something remarkable happens. They speak across differences in tone, method, background, and intended audience, yet they form a shared chorus that resonates with clarity and strength. Dr. Jennifer Wright Knust clears away the debris of misinterpretation, pulling back centuries of theological buildup that has hardened scripture into something it was never meant to be. Austen Hartke builds safe ground in the open space she leaves behind, cultivating a sanctuary where trans lives are not merely included but are honored as central to the ongoing sacred story. The Rev. Elizabeth M. Edman challenges the institutional church to embrace moral clarity, not by rejecting queerness, but by rooting its ethics in the radical truth-telling queerness demands. The Rev. Mihee Kim-Kort reminds us that mystery, rather than certainty, is the ground in which God moves most freely. These authors do not agree on every point, and their divergences are part of their strength. They model the kind of theological dialogue that is dynamic, respectful, and transformative. Their collective wisdom lies in their refusal to flatten scripture into a single message or moral. Instead, they honor the Bible’s contradictions, its poetry, its discomfort, its deep promise.

One of the most meaningful ideas that emerges from these texts is that scripture, when read queerly, becomes a place of permission and possibility. It becomes a space where transition is not a threat to divine order, but a sacred rhythm woven into creation. It is a space where bodies long treated as unclean or improper are revealed as holy, worthy of reverence, and fully capable of bearing divine presence. In these readings, the Bible becomes a companion in the journey of becoming, not a gatekeeper blocking the path. This way of reading does not erase pain or the harm that has been done in the name of scripture. Instead, it holds space for that pain while refusing to make it the final word. These authors offer a theology of survival that does not require hiding or shrinking to belong. They also offer a theology of emergence, in which joy and dignity are not incidental but essential. They insist that queer and trans people deserve more than tolerance or vague inclusion. We deserve spiritual depth, shared truth, and the freedom to bring our whole selves to the sacred text.

I do not need to become a Christian to love what these books have revealed to me. I do not need to claim the Bible as my exclusive inheritance in order to honor what it can teach and how it can move through the world. I can walk alongside those who call it holy with full integrity, knowing that my position as a respectful outsider allows me to see with a different kind of clarity. These texts have helped me see the Bible not as a relic to be feared or a rulebook to be obeyed, but as a living conversation, one that stretches across generations and speaks differently depending on who is listening. What I have found in these readings is a new kind of relationship with scripture, one based on ethical curiosity, embodied insight, and the transformative power of story. I have learned that sacred texts are not made holy by being untouchable, but by being engaged with our full humanity. When we read courageously, when we ask difficult questions, and when we refuse to be erased, scripture opens. It pulses with the rhythms of those it was not written for but who still find themselves within it. That is what makes it holy. That is what makes it matter.

As powerful and transformative as these texts are, they are not without limitations. While each book makes crucial interventions in how we understand scripture and queerness, there are areas where deeper engagement is still needed. For example, while all four authors critique dominant interpretations shaped by whiteness, only Mihee Kim-Kort consistently weaves racial identity and postcolonial critique into her theological reflection. The frameworks of Hartke and Edman, while deeply affirming of trans and queer lives, sometimes lean heavily on narratives of inclusion and affirmation without fully interrogating how capitalism, racism, and ableism also shape religious belonging. Knust’s scholarship is meticulous and incisive, but she writes from a primarily historical-critical lens that can feel detached from the lived emotional and spiritual weight scripture carries for many queer and trans people. Furthermore, while embodiment and transition are celebrated, there is limited attention to disability and neurodivergence as equally sacred lenses through which to read and inhabit scripture. These gaps do not undermine the value of the work, but they do point to the necessity of continued conversation. Queer theology, like scripture itself, must remain open-ended and evolving. The next layer of engagement must ask not only how queerness reshapes our reading of the Bible, but how overlapping systems of oppression and identity further complicate and deepen that reading. These authors open the door. It is up to us to walk through and keep widening the path.

I write this for those who have been told there is no room for them in sacred texts, no space for their bodies, their questions, their love, or their becoming. I write this for those who were handed a Bible like a locked door, told they must conform or be cast out. I write this to say: there is room. There has always been room. Even if the gatekeepers told you otherwise, the stories themselves have always held space for wrestlers, wanderers, midwives, eunuchs, lovers, prophets, and those who refused to be named by anyone but God. You do not need to twist yourself to fit the story. You do not need to edit your life to match someone else’s translation. You are already part of it, and if we listen closely, past the noise of centuries of distortion, we might find that the Bible has been whispering our names all along. Not to shame us, not to erase us, and not even to save us, but to accompany us. To remind us that we were never outside the lines. We were always sacred. We were always whole. We were always here.