Reclaiming Holy Rage

I was raised in a fundamental evangelical Christian world.

And for a good chunk of my formative years, I loved it.

It was my full identity, my purpose, my way of coping with the intensity of emotion held by a teenager with chronic depression.

And then, over time, the questions started shining through the cracks.

I find it both meaningful and logical that one of my first areas of religious confusion was around homosexuality. (If only I could have realized then that I was not just a good ally, but in fact, very very bisexual.)

I couldn’t wrap my head around what would make it so terrifying and wrong for people to be gay. And the adults in my life didn’t have good enough answers.

Over time, these questions spread throughout all kinds of themes, including my ever expanding understanding of queerness. I remember being in college and being shown a documentary about trans people, and how so many classmates (I went to a Christian college) expressed overt disgust.

It made me incredibly angry, and also confused…what didn’t make sense about this to these classmates? It seemed pretty straightforward—how you experience yourself internally may not always match your body, how you present, how the world sees you…and how liberating and sacred to be able to live as your full, authentic self without the false constraints of an unchanging binary?

These are only a couple examples of the complex and at times weary path I traveled from a Christian identity to fully deconstructing my former religious programming. I feel grateful to be able to be on this side of things.

And also, no matter my own amount of exploration and learning, of building community with people who value queerness and liberation and the depth of real love, I still live in a world that largely mirrors the smaller one I grew up in.

And so, I am often confronted with my own rage.

The harmful ideologies and actions that come from the government, the larger world around us, and even my own family bring up so many feelings, and anger is absolutely one of them.

I’ve observed this anger feeling unique. There is something inherent in this rage that I don’t always feel in other expressions of anger…and recently, the word “holy” came to mind, and it resonated with the rage I feel when confronted with others’ anti-LGBTQ+ views.

It surprised me when this word came to mind. As many other people who have deconstructed might feel, the word “holy” can feel triggering, activating, scary, harmful.

But what does it actually mean?

What is holiness when not being truncated, bastardized, emptied out by fundamental religions?

To be holy is to be sacred.

It is to be valuable and important in an inherent and undeniable way.

To be holy is to be beautiful. Complex.

It helps us connect with something in ourselves that is divine, full of color and life, that is part of us and part of our connection with each other and with the elements.

I get why “holy” is often used on religious institutions.

And yet, I don’t think the way they use it paints the full picture (at least, many of those under the Christian/Catholic umbrella, as that’s the bulk of what my experience is based on).

I grew up being told that I was evil, sinful, that my own desires and feelings can’t be trusted.

I was taught that what was holy was outside of me. It was beautiful and sacred but only something that I could be given if I sacrificed and minimized myself.

What grief I feel now thinking about that black-and-white image of something that is actually so colorful and vast (and part of me, not just outside of me!).

So, how does this connect back to the rage I feel?

The rage I feel toward anti-queerness is sacred. It is based on a deep, inherent Knowing that queerness is vital to how we experience ourselves, our communities. It’s how we can lovingly and vibrantly interact with the earth and the other species we share the world with.

It is not something to fear or hate or attempt to change.

Queerness is a praxis. It not only informs liberation, it is liberation. For straight people and queer people both, queerness reminds us of our complexity, our infiniteness, and the varied ways we get to show up for each other and ourselves.

That is holy.

And so my rage I feel in the presence of hatred toward queerness is also holy.

Our holy rage can help us reconnect with our inherent value and the beauty of knowing that “truth” is not binary but instead nuanced and vast, and harmful religious ideologies do not have a monopoly on it.

Honoring our sacred anger reminds us of how crucial it is to not move away from discomfort or uncertainty but rather move toward the unfamiliarity and question marks.

And naming my rage as holy allows it to sit in its rightful place in my body, to be named and held as a reclamation of my own—and our own—inherent divinity.

Queerness is sacred. And if that’s an “agenda” that someone takes issue with, I will continue to claim that agenda proudly.

I will honor my rage without reservation. I will let it inform how I move through the world and advocate for my queer family.

Every queer person deserves to be safe and fulfilled and loved.

And in the face of hatred toward sacred queerness, I will not hide my holy rage.