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For lots of people, reconciling the fact that I’m a lesbian and Christian is extraordinarily difficult. It is, for some, an irreconcilable contradiction.

If the fact that I happen to go to church crops up in conversation, they often wonder if I’m joking. ‘Yes, but really?’ they ask. ‘You’re a lesbian. An activist. A campaigner. You’ve been made a peer in the House of Lords because you’re a lesbian, an activist, a campaigner. How does God fit into that?’

It’s a good question. It is a sad reality that many news reports about religious communities today concern the ways that LGBT people are being excluded, prevented from partici­pating fully in the rites and rituals that form such a crucial part of spiritual experience. Whether we can be ordained and serve as faith leaders. Whether we can marry at all, let alone marry in a religious service. Whether trans people’s identities will be recognised and celebrated.

For far too many LGBT people, places of worship and belonging have become places to fear or avoid. Their religious community might have been historically silent on the issues of sexuality, but seemingly from nowhere, their faith leader has started protesting about same-sex marriage, or trans inclusion, or sex education in schools. A young person who begins to understand more about their sexuality or their gender identity suddenly finds that they are no longer welcome within their congregation.

That’s why this book, The Book of Queer Prophets, is so urgently needed. It tells the stories of the people behind these anecdotes and headlines, and most importantly, shows how some of these people are finding ways to reconcile these two crucial aspects of their identity.

In these pages you’ll read about the experiences of people who believe in God, like they believe in love. There is nothing contradictory for them about their love of God and their sexuality or gender identity. I am one of those people. And I am one of those people who wants to be able to experience that faith, that belief, in fellowship and communion with others. This is not an unreasonable desire.

Belief can, of course, be riddled with doubt and uncertainty, but at its most simple, belief is similar to the absolute conviction of love. It is easier to describe the absence of love; we know when it doesn’t exist. But when it does exist it defies explanation or definition. Love is. Belief is. God is. For those with such belief, being part of a fellowship of others who believe is vital. A community can strengthen and fortify faith.

It is that sense of belonging which compels some of us to speak out. Some us know that we have a responsibility to speak truth to power, to those who detest us or tolerate us. We are tired of being told that it’s not quite the right time to accept us, that our existence and welcome into the Church threatens its very fabric. We are part of a faith community, and we have something unique, sacred and vital to contribute. We are, understandably, running out of patience with the supposed ethical pragmatism that requires us to stay in the shadows.

Some, of course, don’t believe in God and watch with bewilderment this so-called ‘community’ pontificating on the lives of other people, claiming a higher authority as a justification of their intrusion. We need to hear their voices too. These are often people whose upbringings were religious, but who found themselves with many questions and too few answers. They often have important observations about how religious teaching can be warped to exclude and marginalise.

Faith leaders and communities need to acknowledge those we’ve lost, who feel left behind and whose relationship with faith teeters between ambivalence and alienation. We cannot and should not deny the hurt, pain and trauma many have felt at the hands of an institution that was meant to show them unconditional love. There is nothing holy about the systemic and individual rejection of lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans people; it is the very antithesis of the command that lies at the heart of Christianity – and so many other faith traditions – to ‘love one another, as I have loved you’.

Faith groups must also realise that such ongoing hostility towards the LGBT community is preventing many people from finding faith in the first place. Why would an individual consider stepping into their local church, when the national leader of that Church has at best said nothing positive about LGBT people, and at worst, expressed outright hostility? Such attitudes don’t just put off potential LGBT worshippers, but our friends too. It is universally acknowledged that there is a decline in Christianity in Europe. As a campaigner, I do not understand why those who are trying to reverse that trend would continue to actively exclude.

Throughout history, Prophets have delivered important messages. In Greek the word ‘prophet’ is a compound of pró (in advance) and phēmí (to tell). They deliver warnings, visions and instructions to communities who have variously listened to or ignored what they have had to say. I hope that the words of these modern-day prophets will be listened to, and I hope that people who have the power to change the experiences of LGBT people will make the necessary changes which are so overdue.

The Queer Prophets featured here are those with a voice and story that will help us build bridges. Bridges that counter and rebuff the division that continues to blight our society. They offer up themselves and their stories to present a new way of looking at what it means to exist at the intersection of LGBT and faith. These writers are queering traditional understandings of faith, sexuality and gender identity. They are fighting against the assumptions made, learned and re-learned about the possibility of an inclusive faith community.

Queer Prophets is a plea not just for understanding, but also for empathy. I, along with the other contributors, am asking you to let go of what you think you know about LGBT people and faith and be open to hearing our stories.

We might just have something to say that is integral to God’s plan, rather than a supposed anathema to it.

Ruth Hunt

December 2019