Article Coming Out and the Bible Interpretation: A Journal of Bible and Theology 2020, Vol. 74(3) 265–274 © The Author(s) 2020 Article reuse guidelines: sagepub.com/journals-permissions DOI: 10.1177/0020964320921964 journals.sagepub.com/home/int https://doi.org/ Mona West Metropolitan Community Churches, USA Abstract Mona West shares her journey with the Bible as a feminist and a lesbian to articulate an approach to reading the Bible that claims it as a text to be trusted by queer people of faith. Drawing parallels with the ancient practice of lectio divina, she develops a method for praying the Scriptures using the process of coming out. Keywords Bible; Coming out; Feminist; Lectio Divina; Prayer; Queer; Spirituality Introduction My journey with the Bible as a woman raised (1950s) and educated (1970s—1980s) in the Southern Baptist denomination who later came out as a lesbian and now trusts the Bible with my spiritual formation, is indicative of the journeys many LGBTQIA1 people of faith have made with Scripture as they have reconciled their sexuality with their spirituality. Growing up as a Southern Baptist, I discovered a love for the Bible at an early age. I learned the books of the Bible and memorized Scripture in Vacation Bible School. I participated in “sword drills” by learning and finding passages with lightning speed. That love continued when I went to a Baptist college and took my first Old Testament class. The stories of the Old Testament fascinated me, and the language of the Psalms captured my heart. My sophomore year in college I came out to myself as a lesbian. That same year, I can remember sitting in the pew of First Baptist Church and hearing a sermon condemning homosexuality based on Romans 1:26–27. I spent the next eight years of my life trying to reconcile my love of God and the Bible with my sexual orientation. In that struggle I went to seminary and completed a Master of Divinity and began doctoral work in Old Testament studies. During my time at seminary in the 1980s my feminist consciousness was raised. My struggle as a lesbian to keep my love of the Bible alive also included how to relate to the Bible as a feminist. 1 The term Queer is used throughout this essay as a term inclusive of the acronym LGBTQIA—lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, and allies—and it is also used in a verbal sense “to queer” or resist, subvert homophobic and heteronormative interpretations of Scripture. Corresponding author: Mona West, Metropolitan Community Churches, Austin, TX, USA. Email: revmonawest@mccchurch.net 266 Interpretation: A Journal of Bible and Theology 74(3) Feminist biblical hermeneutics were key in helping me not only place problematic passages that seemed to condemn women in their broader historical context but identify those passages that emphasize the role and importance of women in biblical history. Later, those same hermeneutics would be foundational in my work to develop a queer biblical hermeneutic. While my struggle to read the Bible as a woman became less painful (or in some cases more painful, when dealing with what Phyllis Trible has called “texts of terror”2) because of feminist biblical hermeneutics, my struggle to read the Bible as a lesbian continued. Remaining in the closet as a lesbian while coming out as a feminist limited my ability to engage Scripture with all of my being. During the last year of my doctoral studies I came to the understanding that my sexuality and my spirituality were essential parts of myself, gifts from God, and I did not have to choose one over the other. That reconciling work gave me the courage to begin to come out privately to some of my colleagues and friends. It wasn’t until I came out publicly, which meant leaving my teaching position at a Baptist college, and beginning my journey with Metropolitan Community Churches, a denomination with a primary outreach to queer people of faith, that my relationship with Scripture deepened. When I came out as a queer biblical scholar, I took what I had learned from feminist biblical hermeneutics and applied it to Scripture in an effort to articulate an approach for queer people of faith that would allow us not only to defend ourselves from homophobic interpretations of the Bible but read and interpret the Bible through the unique lens of our LGBT experience.3 As I grew into this role of a queer biblical scholar who believed in the transformational power of Scripture, I turned to spiritual practices. I began to trust the Bible with my spiritual formation through the practice of praying the Scriptures, or sacred reading. For me that meant allowing the unique word that God has spoken into my lesbian existence to encounter and be shaped by the Word in Scripture.4 Because of my love of Scripture and my belief in its love for me, I have dedicated my professional life as a queer biblical scholar to “taking back the Word” as a liberating text for queer people of faith. It is my desire that as queer folks come out to the Bible by claiming our unique identity as readers of the text, we also engage the Bible in our spiritual formation. One way I hope to assist is to develop a method of praying the Scriptures using the coming out process. From Feminist Reading Strategies to a Queer Biblical Hermeneutic In an effort to disarm androcentric interpretations of the Bible and inspire and authorize women as readers and interpreters of the biblical text, feminist biblical scholars have identified a variety of 2 3 4 Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984). Mona West, “Reading the Bible as Queer Americans: Social Location and the Hebrew Scriptures,” Theology and Sexuality 10 (1999): 28–42; Robert Goss and Mona West, eds., Take Back the Word: A Queer Reading of the Bible (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 2000); Mona West, “The Raising of Lazarus: A Lesbian Coming Out Story,” A Feminist Companion to John, Vol. 1, ed. Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff (London: Sheffield, 2003), 143–58. Mona West, “Queer Lectio Divina,” Queering Christianity: Finding a Place at the Table for LGBTQI Christians, ed. Robert E. Shore-Goss, Thomas Bohache, and Patrick S. Cheng (Santa Barbara: Praeger, 2013), 371–79. West 267 reading strategies that seek to engage not only traditional historical critical and linguistic methodologies but identity and imagination as well.5 Revisionist and textual approaches have been used by feminist biblical scholars to identify women characters in biblical stories who have been overlooked or left out—stories such as Miriam’s leadership in Exodus, Deborah in the book of Judges, and Lydia’s role in the development of early Christianity. This approach has also corrected false translations of Hebrew and Greek words that have led to androcentric interpretations of biblical texts and distorted the significance of female characters in the biblical story. One example is the greeting in Colossians 4:15 that historically has been translated as a greeting to a man named Nympha and his house and is now recognized as a greeting to a woman named Nympha and her house. Queer biblical scholars have also used these approaches to identify examples of same gender love in the Bible—stories such as Jonathan and David, Ruth and Naomi. Greek and Hebrew translations of problematic words in what have been known as the “clobber passages” have been revisited to correct homophobic interpretations of obscure passages such as Rom 1: 26–27 and 1 Cor 6:9 which have traditionally rendered untranslatable words as prohibitions against same gender loving people. The role of the imagination has also been instrumental in feminist readings of biblical texts, leveraging the assumption that at any given time in the history reflected in the biblical narratives it would stand to reason that women would have been present for events even if they were not specifically mentioned (such as the giving of the law on Mt. Sinai). This imaginative approach seeks to “actualize biblical stories in role-play, storytelling, Bibliodrama, dance, and song” and is similar to the retelling of biblical stories in Jewish midrash.6 This approach has been used to draw connections between biblical characters that may have particular resonance for queer readers; characters such as Lydia, a seller of purple7 and eunuchs who were sexual minorities in the ancient world and functioned as mediators and go-betweens in biblical narratives such as Daniel.8 Over the last many years, emphasis on the social location of readers of biblical texts has been an important reading strategy not only for feminists, but African Americans and other groups that have been oppressed and marginalized by the misuse of Scripture. The specific identity of the reader helps to shape what happens in the interpretive encounter with the biblical text. These readers encounter the text as individuals but also as members of interpretive communities. The goal is to read the Bible through the lens of that community’s experience lifting up liberating themes while resisting oppressive dimensions of the text. For example, reading Exodus from an African American social location would make connections between the many pharaohs who have enslaved the African American community, while a reading of the larger Exodus story from a 5 6 7 8 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, But She Said: Feminist Practices of Biblical Interpretation (Boston: Beacon, 1992), 20–50. Ibid., 26. Judy Grahn, Another Mother Tongue (Boston: Beacon, 1984), 6. Grahn seeks to trace the history of gay and lesbian culture through symbols and language, noting that the color purple has a connection with ancient gay stories and traditions. Christian de la Huerta, Coming Out Spiritually (New York: Putnam, 1999), 3. In the first part of his book de la Huerta traces the spiritual history of queer people as shamans, healers, visionaries, mediators, peacekeepers, the people who walk between two worlds, and keepers of beauty. 268 Interpretation: A Journal of Bible and Theology 74(3) Native American social location would resist the notion of taking other people’s land as a promise from God. In addition to markers of social location such as gender, race, or ethnicity, queer biblical interpreters add gender identity and sexual orientation. A common theme that has surfaced from reading the Bible through the lens of queer identity is coming out. At the beginning of the Exodus story God comes out to Moses. In the New Testament Jesus comes out to his disciples (more specifically God “outs” Jesus) in the story of the transfiguration. These feminist reading strategies have been empowering for queer people and other marginalized groups that have had the Bible used against them by the dominant culture. Not only do these strategies help with resistance to textual abuse and textual harassment, they have been a bridge for many to find themselves in the biblical narrative and to “take back the Word” for their spiritual journeys. Informational and Formational Approaches to Scripture In his book, Shaped by the Word: The Power of Scripture in Spiritual Formation, Robert Mulholland makes a distinction between reading the Bible for information and reading the Bible for formation. Both approaches have their place in one’s relationship to Scripture, and ideally the two modes of reading support one another in an encounter with the biblical text.9 Characteristics of informational reading of Scripture include: covering large amounts of text quickly; linear reading of the text; an effort to grasp or control the text; approaching the text as an object; an analytical and critical approach to the text; using a problem-solving mentality with the text.10 These characteristics are not considered negative. As a matter of fact, they have been helpful in the feminist and queer approaches to reading Scripture mentioned above. When one approaches Scripture for spiritual formation, however, a different pace and attitude toward the text is helpful so that the text might read us. Mulholland goes on to characterize a formational approach to Scripture as (1) lingering over smaller portions of the text; (2) shifting from linear surface reading to entering the depth of a biblical text, which requires a slower pace; (3) rather than seeing the text as an object to be controlled, allow the text to be the subject shaping the reader; (4) analysis and critique of the text is replaced with a humble, detached and willing approach; and (5) rather than problem solving, open to mystery.11 In my journey with Scripture, the informational approach helped me disarm abusive interpretations of Scripture that sought to condemn me as a woman and a lesbian. Those approaches helped me put those texts of terror in their historical contexts while liberating other passages and stories in Scripture that affirmed my love and longing for God as a woman and as a lesbian. An informational approach to reading the Bible paved the way for me to trust the Bible at a deeper level for my spiritual formation. This trust has manifested in engaging a formational reading of Scripture through the spiritual practice of praying the Scriptures known as lectio divina. 9 10 11 Robert Mulholland, Shaped by the Word: The Power of Scripture in Spiritual Formation (Nashville: Upper Room, 1985). Mulholland, Shaped by the Word, 49–50. Ibid., 53–57. West 269 The Listening that We Are Lectio divina is an ancient way of praying the Scriptures rooted in the Christian monastic tradition. In the sixth century St. Benedict built into his rule a requirement for the monks to spend time daily to read and meditate on Scripture. By the twelfth century a monk by the name of Guigo II outlined what is now known as the four movements or degrees of lectio divina, which are: lectio, meditatio, oratio, and comtemplatio. The interplay of informational and formational approaches to Scripture is encountered as one makes the journey through these movements. The same text is used for all four movements. Upon a first reading (lectio) one listens or is open to a word or phrase that presents itself. In the second reading or listening (meditatio) of the text the imagination is used to place oneself in the passage. Also, in this movement persons are invited to “chew” the text—to meditate or ponder all that they might know or wonder about the passage. Oratio invites the reader to express to God a feeling or action that has been evoked as a result of listening to the text. Contemplatio is a simple resting in the presence of God. The encounter with the text has brought one to a loving gaze toward God. Father Basil Pennington notes that each of us brings the listening that we are to our practice of lectio divina: God is a Word….and we therefore are essentially a listening, a listening for that Word….Everything that has been a part of our lives since the moment of our creation has had its role in shaping the listening that we are….It is as though my listening has a certain shape to it.12 Because of the informational approaches of a revisionist reading strategy and social location, queer people of faith are able to bring the listening that we are to this ancient practice of praying the Scriptures. Instead of denying our queer existence, we claim all that has shaped us when we come before the text. The first two movements of lectio divina incorporate these informational approaches as queer readers dare to listen and enter into a text they once thought condemned them. Using our imagination and claiming our social location as queer readers allows us to place ourselves in the text, to be actors in the biblical story. Because of informational approaches to Scripture we can meditate or chew on what has been problematic about the text or remember ways in which new interpretations have redeemed the text for the queer community. In the second movement of lectio divina we experience the interplay of critique and control of the text with a deepening relationship with the text as we place ourselves in it, allowing the text to read us. The interplay continues as prayers and commitments are brought to God. In oratio readers journey more deeply into their hearts, paying attention to feelings and asking the question, “What prayer or action is this text evoking in me?” In this movement readers begin to experience a shift in the interplay to a more formative approach to Scripture as one makes the journey from head to heart. The pace slows. There is a willingness to be read by the text and to be encountered by its mystery. This encounter often leads to response. That response could be one of praise or thanksgiving. It could be a vow to change a behavior or make a petition. When queer people of faith engage this movement of lectio divina, heteronormative notions of spiritual development that claim one should deny or repent from their sexuality are subverted. Rather than denial, there is a deepening of one’s true self when Scripture is trusted. After expressing 12 Basil Pennington, Lectio Divina: Renewing the Ancient Practice of Praying the Scriptures (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 12–13. 270 Interpretation: A Journal of Bible and Theology 74(3) the prayer of the heart in oratio, one simply rests in God by holding a loving gaze. The final movement of contemplatio is a simple awareness of God’s indwelling presence and one’s participation in the divine life. In tracing the journey of prayer that happens in lectio divina, it is important not to be linear with the movements of the spiritual practice. That is why the movements are often referred to as “degrees.” Lectio divina is more of a dance than a progression through successive stages. Making the Formational Journey Numerous authors have tried to describe the formational encounter that happens when one prays the Scriptures. Robert Mulholland claims that we are a word spoken forth by God to be shaped by the Word of Scripture for the sake of others. This happens through our encounter with the iconographic nature of Scripture. The Bible is a “window through which we become drawn into God’s new order of being in Christ.”13 Laurence Freeman looks to the monastic tradition, noting that in sacred reading the Word of God entered one’s flesh, there is an “inverbation” of Scripture—the Word becomes part of us, and we become part of it, resulting in an endless following of the Word.14 He turns to Origen of Alexandria, who saw reading the Bible as a way of deepening consciousness, to outline the classic levels of understanding that happen in scriptural interpretation: literal, metaphorical, moral, and mystical. These four senses of Scripture correspond with the four movements of lectio divina, lifting us “above ourselves and absorbed into the Logos itself.”15 When we pray the Scriptures, we move from the surface of the text, down into its depths, to open ourselves in vulnerability, to be read by the text. From this live encounter we are invited to respond. This call and response ultimately lead to contemplation, or mystical union, a loving communion with the Word dwelling within us. To rest in God in this way is to hold a loving gaze, to enter an interior silence with no expectation but to be lovingly present to the one who dwells in our very depths. It is in this place that the Spirit works beyond our knowing, that “we entrust ourselves to God so that God may take us beyond ourselves.”16 I have already shown the ways in which a queer reader can engage the movements of lectio divina using feminist reading strategies along with an informational and formational approach to Scripture. What would it look like to formulate a queer method of praying the Scriptures? In addition to “queering” the practice of lectio divina, by showing how a queer reader engages the four movements, can we articulate a similar method of praying the Scriptures that uses queer experience to move us through an encounter with the text that takes us from surface to depth, from head to heart, from call to response, to the very presence of God dwelling within? Coming Out as a Spiritual Process Feminists have had to find the place in their own experience where self-knowledge and knowledge of God meet in their efforts to engage the Bible in women’s spirituality. Dorothy Lee-Pollard 13 Ibid., 46, 69. 14 Laurence Freeman, Jesus the Teacher Within (New York: Continuum, 2007), 81. 15 Ibid. 16 Thelma Hall, Too Deep for Words: Rediscovering Lectio Divina (New York: Paulist 1988), 50. West 271 recognizes that feminist approaches to biblical interpretation have allowed women to enter into a dialogue with the Bible through prayer. She claims: The model which is most helpful for our understanding of the bible and spirituality from a feminist perspective is that of dialogue. Prayer is a dialogue between myself and God—whether or not any words are spoken—in which I struggle to communicate my deepest self to God and open myself to God’s selfcommunication. The Bible plays a key role in this communication of the heart: it is the channel that facilitates both self-knowledge and the intuitive knowledge of God.17 What is most important to Lee-Pollard in the articulation of a feminist spirituality in relation to the Bible is women’s lived and embodied experience allowing an intuitive and symbolic entering into the biblical narrative on a subjective level as part of the experience of prayer.18 I believe the Bible has a role to play in an articulation of queer spirituality. The word “spirituality” comes from the Latin root, spirare, which means “to breathe.” Our spirit is what animates or quickens us. It is what makes us alive. Spirituality, then, is the practice of staying consciously connected with what makes us alive: God, ourselves, and others. While spirituality is a broad word covering many types of experiences, it is also a word root in particularity. Gender, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender identity, and being a member of a particular community all impact and shape one’s spirituality. Throughout history and across different cultures, queer people have not only been spiritually inclined but respected and revered for their spiritual leadership. In his book, Coming Out Spiritually: The Next Step, Christian de la Huerta identifies ten spiritual roles that queer people have assumed throughout the course of history: catalytic transformers, outsiders, consciousness scouts, sacred clowns, keepers of beauty, caregivers, mediators, shamans and priests, the Divine androgyne, and gatekeepers.19 In her book, Our Tribe: Queer Folks, God, Jesus and the Bible, Nancy Wilson has attempted to “out the Bible” by using playfulness and imagination to read between the lines of biblical stories to identify characters for whom queer readers would have resonances based on our spiritual ancestry. She emphasizes the role of eunuchs as mediators and go-betweens and names Mary, Martha, and Lazarus as Jesus’s family of choice.20 Coming out is a vital process for queer people to claim their spirituality and to read and pray the Scriptures. Before World War II “coming out” was an initiatory event in which a person was introduced to gay society. It wasn’t until the late 1960s that coming out began to be associated with hiding one’s sexual orientation, most commonly referred to as being “in the closet.” Therapists and theologians have noted that coming out is a multi-stage process that involves letting go of a falsely constructed heterosexual life image, mourning that loss, and learning to live into a new identity. The anxiety and fear of being rejected by family and friends, employers, the church, and society, and the very real threat of death or violence keep many people in the closet. Others stay in the closet because they have become accustomed to whatever small measure of heterosexual privilege 17 18 19 20 Dorothy Lee-Pollard, “Feminism and Spirituality: The Role of the Bible in Women’s Spirituality,” The Way 32 (1992): 30. Ibid., 24 de la Huerta, Coming Out Spiritually, 1–44. Nancy Wilson, Our Tribe: Queer Folks, God, Jesus and the Bible (San Francisco: Harper, 1995), 120–48. 272 Interpretation: A Journal of Bible and Theology 74(3) they may have, since often queer people can “pass” as being part of the heterosexual culture. At some point living a dual or false existence becomes exhausting and painful, and there is a growing awareness that even though we might not know what any other existence is like, we are willing to risk coming out of the closet into what we intuitively know will ultimately be freedom. Coming out involves not only the risk of rejection and the unknown, there is also loss and mourning of an identity we have constructed for ourselves, as well as the heterosexual privilege we have known. What is true of the spiritual journey is also true of the coming out journey: out of loss and letting go comes a deeper level of knowing that leads to life. Coming out is similar to the classical three-stage spiritual process of purgation, illumination, and union in this regard. Coming out is a lifelong spiritual practice. Because we live in a heterosexist society, queers will always be invited to claim our unique identity. It is a lifelong process because it involves the integration and transformation of our queer identity into the whole of our lives. To speak of coming out as a lifelong process of integration and transformation is to invoke the classic spiritual model of purgation, illumination, and union. Coming out as a spiritual practice takes us through these three stages over and over again as we “purge” ourselves of false images and expectations forced upon us by a heterosexist society; welcome “illumination” or insight that comes from living out of an identity that is more authentic to ourselves; and with every purging of a false life image and illumination from our true or authentic life image will come “union,” connection, and abiding with the Divine who is at the deepest center of ourselves. Like the Hebrews who came out of Egypt, the queer coming out process also involves the paradox of freedom. Even though we are free from what once seemed to enslave us, it takes time to live into our new identity, and often we are tempted to go back to the false security of the closet. As we live into this paradox of freedom from a faith perspective, we are invited to come out spiritually. This means claiming our spiritual history as queer people as well as claiming God in the midst of a queer community that has rejected any notion of religion based on the abuse that has been done in God’s name.21 Chris Glaser has noted that coming out is a unique sacrament for queer people of faith because of its communal nature, and because of the level of vulnerability that can open a person to the sacred in their lives. Like baptism, we die to an old life in order to be raised to a new life.22 He goes on to apply coming out as a hermeneutic for re-viewing Scripture, revisiting familiar stories through the lens of coming out. He identifies coming out themes in such stories as the Garden of Eden (coming out of innocence and shame), the book of Exodus (coming out of oppression), the book of Esther (coming out of privilege), and the Samaritan woman at the well in John (coming out as ourselves).23 Coming Out and Praying the Scriptures I believe the experience of coming out can be used as a method for praying the Scriptures that allows queer people of faith to communicate our deepest self to God and open ourselves to God’s 21 de la Huerta, Coming Out Spiritually, 126. 22 Chris Glaser, Coming Out as Sacrament (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998), 9–12. 23 Ibid., 50–75. West 273 communication. What I propose is a method much like lectio divina that has four movements: coming out to the Bible; the Bible coming out to us; coming out to God; God coming out to us. Coming Out to the Bible In this first movement we prayerfully approach a story from the Bible.24 Sitting silently before the text, in listening, we name who we bring to this prayer time with Scripture. The naming could be fear or misunderstanding of the Bible, or it may be a statement of trust, or something we want to acknowledge or declare about ourselves. One does not have to be lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender to come out to the Bible. Families, friends and allies of queer people often find themselves coming out. The process can also be applied to anyone who is coming out about something they wish to be known. We can come out about a worry or anxiety we have, or an affirmation we want to make, or a problem we are trying to solve. In this first movement we acknowledge an awareness that we want to be changed by this encounter with Scripture. We risk the vulnerability of opening ourselves to the unknown that awaits us in this encounter. We now read slowly through the story, holding the naming we have brought to this first encounter with the text. After this first reading, we sit in prayerful silence. In my initial practice of this method of praying the Scriptures, I chose the story of the Gerasene demoniac in Mark 5: 1–20. The coming out that I brought to this story was my worry about a changing job situation. The Bible Coming Out to Us In this second movement, we use our imagination to connect to one of the characters in the story and invite them to come out to us. Sharing our coming out stories is life giving in the queer community. Like the repetition of the Exodus coming out story in the Old Testament, it keeps our history alive and allows for participation of future generations in this life giving, God discovering process. We may want to ask the character to share with us what they risked in their coming out, where they were vulnerable, where they had to let go and mourn, or how they navigated the paradox of freedom. As we listen for the character’s answers, we will want to keep the text before us, revisiting the narrative in a back and forth dialogue with the character and the story. In my example from the gospel of Mark, the Gerasene demoniac told me that he had to risk coming out to Jesus. He could have been rejected, or worse, Jesus could have attempted to chain him up (like all the other people from the village did). He told me that he trusted himself enough to go to Jesus even though people thought he was crazy. When I asked him about his letting go, I was surprised by his answer. He said letting go of Legion wasn’t as hard as letting go of what people thought of him. He realized that even after Jesus healed him and he was in his right mind, people were still afraid of him. Crazy or sane, they were still afraid. He went on to say that the paradox of his freedom was to continue to live among the people who were afraid of him and speak from a place of his own experience. When he did this, people’s fear turned to amazement. 24 I recommend using stories with plot and character from both the Old and New Testaments in this method of praying the Scriptures. I suggest starting with the healing stories in the gospels. 274 Interpretation: A Journal of Bible and Theology 74(3) Coming Out to God We read the story a third time asking, “What coming out has this text evoked in me that I want to share with God?” We may want to ask ourselves the same questions we asked our character in the story as we seek to communicate our deepest self to God in this movement of praying the Scripture. “How do I want to be vulnerable to God? What do I need to let go of and mourn? Where is my paradox of freedom?” As I prayed again through the story of the Gerasene demoniac, I came out to God, realizing that while I thought my job circumstances had me shackled, in reality there were no chains binding me. Like the demoniac I had the power and the strength to resist chains that would limit my freedom. It was important to use my power and agency to trust in myself, no matter the circumstances. I told God I wanted to let go of names that other people had given me that do not reflect the gifts and passions I share with the world. I told God that I did not want to shy away from my power just because it made people afraid or uncomfortable. God Coming Out to Us In this coming out movement we open to God’s self-communication. There are places in the Bible where God comes out—to Moses in the burning bush, to Elijah in the sheer silence, to Jesus at his baptism. In this movement we are not so much looking for an example of God’s coming out in the story as we are an experience of God’s presence made known to us in resting and silence. It is our readiness and willingness for the encounter that allows God to come out to us in the innermost depths of our being. This coming out is a coming in, a coming into God’s self with our self. When I arrived at this stage of the coming out process while praying the story of the Gerasene demoniac, the impression of God’s presence that came to me was, “I am always beside you in your right mind.” Conclusion As a queer person of faith, I know the Bible has power for harm and for transformation. In her preface to Take Back the Word: A Queer Reading of the Bible, Mary Ann Tolbert asked, “which word shall we take back?” and went on to point out that the Bible itself does not kill people; rather, groups of readers do so in its name.25 As a feminist, a lesbian and a biblical scholar I realize that not only is misuse of the Bible’s power dangerous, but the Bible itself can be problematic when we consider the violence, misogyny, patriarchy, and xenophobia contained in certain passages. Then there is the question of which Bible, taking into consideration the power and politics that have produced what Christians claim as our Scriptures. I balance this knowledge with my experience of praying the Scriptures and find myself in the middle of a paradox. On the one hand I know the truth about the problematic nature of Scripture and have experienced it myself. On the other hand, my spiritual life continues to be enriched as I pray the very same Scriptures. At the center of this paradox I am discovering my deepest self in God. 25 Goss and West, Take Back the Word, ix.