ariolimaxxx

[ariolimaxxx]

[ariolimaxxx]

Extended communion ramblings:

I went to church again this morning. One of the readings was 1 Corinthians 15:10 - But by the grace of God, I am what I am. I kept thinking about that, boxed it in in pencil twice. But by the grace of God, I am queer. But by the grace of God, I am nonbinary. But by the grace of God, my relationship to God is unique, and unconventional, and sometimes lonely, but God-given and God-affirmed. I’ve been working on existing in spaces as if I belong in them.

When the offertory starts to wrap up, my brain senses the start of the communion liturgy and panics. I should kill myself on repeat, and I can only smile, because how ridiculous is it to be so afraid of communion! I go up for the blessing, fumbling with my prayer beads in my pocket. But by the grace of God, I am what I am. I am fourth in line, fourth in the circle around the altar. When the priest gets to me, I cross my arms. In that moment, I so desperately want them to know me. I want them to have seen the pin on the front of my bag when I came in, even though I know it was probably not within their range of sight. I so badly want them to notice my men’s pants, men’s belt, the binder under layers of shirt and sweater. I want them to see these things and know me. For many of us, priests are how we experience God. We see a human who seems somehow closer to Them than us, more in-the-know, and they become a sort of God on earth. I have seen God in many priests, but in this priest I see myself, too. I am in God’s image, and I am in their image.

All of this is happening in some level of me, deeper than thought, in the span of a second. Between me crossing my arms, and the priest asking “Would you like a blessing?” I nod, eager to get the attention off of me, but also desperate to bask in their notice. They lay a hand on my head, and I lean into it. Then they pray the short blessing I am always far too panicked to remember. I feel the warmth from their hand on my head even after they’ve moved along to others in the circle. Slipping my hand back into my pocket to find the prayer beads, I glance to my right and see a preschooler slurping his little plastic cup of grape juice. Another little boy waits patiently in front of him, in holey sweatpants and proper posture. Holds out the basket of empty cups for his peer to drop his in.

I am struck by this image – first, of children giving communion to children. Granted, the child with the basket wasn’t giving anything, only receiving empty cups – but he was up there with the celebrant in their vestments of green and gold, the verger in his black robes, and two teens acolytes their robes of white and red. He had a place in this eucharistic procession, standing less than 4 feet tall, in his velcro sneakers. That is the first image. There is also another, of the preschooler, who is not thinking of whether he belongs at the table. He just is. When the priest invites us up for communion, they always say “everyone is welcome, for it is Christ’s table, not ours.” And I know this little boy believes it, has probably not once thought to question it. It is not hard for me to believe that Christ wants children at his table. It is much harder for me to believe he wants me. 

When infants are baptized, their families and churches promise to be spiritual supports for the baby. When the baby is sprinkled with water, they do not earn their belonging, it is given to them. It is inherited. I grew up in a church I belonged in, but my church did not baptize babies. As an unbaptized adult, if I were to get baptized, I would need to profess my belief in God. I have to earn my belonging. For many looking to belong in the church, belief doesn’t seem like earning, because it is something that comes naturally. But my faith is more like that of an infant, and so I look at the the preschooler in awe and envy, because he got the infant baptism I’ve aged out of.

[ariolimaxxx]

At communion today, I was up getting a blessing and doing my usual thought spiral about my place in the church. But then I looked next to me and there was a preschooler loudly slurping his little cup of grape juice, and a little boy in front of him holding the basket for empty juice cups. And it just felt so profound to be at a table of children. To know that the boy slurping his juice wasn't concerned with whether he belonged at the table, because he was in a community that had never suggested otherwise. He was probably baptized into that community as a baby, and his belonging was offered to him instead of earned. It almost made me feel a bit jealous, but really it just strengthened my conviction in open communion because I refuse to believe that Jesus wouldn't have wanted a table of children, unconcerned with earning their place.

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the court jester tells of a new bard of the name Chappell of Roan

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Growing up is actually just enjoying the exact same things you enjoyed at 14 years old, but in a more gay way

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i've gotten in the habit of journaling via digital comics, so here's some snapshots of my past few weeks (it's mainly just an exploration of belonging/unbelonging):

cw for transphobia and brief intrusive thoughts about suicide

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“Then when G-d asks [Cain], ‘Where is your brother Abel?’ he arrogantly responds, ‘I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?’ In essence, the entire Bible is written as an affirmative response to this question.”

— Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, Jewish Literacy (via ourwakingsoules)

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In my experience with (affirming) Christian community, I've felt far more accepted as queer in Christian spaces than as Christian(ish) in queer spaces. And while there are absolutely reasons that queer Christians end up non-affirming church communities, I also want to emphasize that there are so many churches who genuinely love and celebrate queer people. Being a queer Christian =/= hating yourself or enabling bigotry

I think what a lot of queer people that try to ostracise queer christians don't realise, is that queer christians have also been hurt by the church. A lot of the time, more so than non-religious queers. Additionally, there's something... kind of heartbreaking, that the queer community is meant to celebrate diversity, and inclusion, but when queer christians are involved, we're excluded from both the queer community, and a lot of christian communities. And it's almost ironic, because with the church, I know my queerness isn't welcome. Whereas with the queer community, they'll talk about accepting anyone regardless of identity, but do a complete 180 the moment I mention my religion.

"We need more complex queer identities"- You can't even handle queer christians.

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Actually the Great Commission is about generating a culture of love and care between diverse interconnected global communities not about colonizing and trying to convert groups because you think their way of life is somehow lesser unless they approach the Divine from a Christian lens

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All girls these days know how to do is be lesbian, obsess over niche medieval theology, hyperfixate on Mary Mother of God and yearn.

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listening to funeral by phoebe bridgers and thinking about benji ovich and maya andersson

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WATER I WON’T TOUCH

​My partner & I only believe in good omens,

because we are young and gay and generally unbothered

when god tells us we are misbehaved.

In response, we invite hell hounds into our bed

and invest in a proper vacuum. Religion in America

is taken much too seriously. And though,

we are dying, please watch us rejoice

simply at not having killed the house plants, simply

at having cooked a meal even and through. Kayleb Rae Candrilli

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I will shout from the rooftops about queer joy all day long but there's also the queer terror of realizing somewhere in your own self-realization you reached a point of no return and will have to make a choice between the safer/more secure option of repressing everything you've realized (which is miserable and uncomfortable) or living authentically as yourself (which is fucking terrifying)

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lucy dacus via teen vogue on tiktok!

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"They'll know we are Christians" is not only a deeply relevant song at the moment, it is also scratches my brain very nicely which is why I have listened to it 32 times today

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So proud of myself for abstaining from including stained glass windows in my 11th century Catholicism fic because that would be unrealistic. Making sacrifices fr🙏

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One thing about me is I cannot write a fic without it turning into an embarrassingly self-insert religious trauma soup