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The Table Is One: A Queer Christian Confession
The Table has always been here, as long as I remember, set beneath the trees, seats for everyone who comes. The Table is, in fact, many tables — lined up, one after another, stretching across the grass and around the corners, beyond sight and familiarity — but the Table is one.
I remember my first seat at the Table, snug between my parents — warm, familiar, safe. The Table was home. I belonged. Everyone was family, regardless of blood, and smiles across the broken bread enveloped me in love. I visited other seats at other tables as life went on — different settings and different seats, different smells and tastes and smiles. Yet all were part of the Table because, I was told, the Table is His and He offers everyone a seat.
Then I came out-out of the quiet, out to myself, out into the light. I wondered if I could still come to the Table. I could come, you said, just as I am, but with just one plea, that I put that part of me onto the cross and “be free”. And so I nailed it there, crucifying that unwelcome “part”, but with each new day, it returned, untouched, unchanged.
What was I doing wrong? Why couldn’t I be free? I pleaded for answers. I was told that I lacked faith. That I lacked will. That I lacked the right kind of desire. And yet, with each rebirth it grew stronger, it grew truer, over-growing those things that you told me I must be, until I accepted the resurrection: in…