Only a weak, small and human Jesus can be the Christ, the Savior

The book "Only a faggot Jesus can save us" was certainly controversial in the Spanish-speaking Evangelical world. Maybe that’s why I decided I needed to read it. Lucky me, this was such a smart move! This book has been a like oxygen in a time where I was suffering from the pain of rejection from my family and my old church. I feel very well portrayed by the author when he compares the stories of queer people of faith who have the courage to leave enslaving and dehumanising faith communities to wander in the desert to the story of Exodus. This book is a guide through that desert of pain, sadness, even delusional nostalgy of those “old good days”, like the Israelites who often moaned about Egypt. But in this desert there is also healing, joy and celebration. For many, like myself, this may be the first time we may be experiencing LIFE in abundance and LOVE (in as much as our old churches ironically promised to be the only place one could find these).

The provocation of the book starts from the title “Only a faggot Jesus can save us” (unfortunately, most never read more than this before starting the witch hunt against Osma). The author answers this apparent paradox in a series of small articles derived from his blog. Spoiler alert!! I shall explain part of the joke. In Spanish (and I assume in many other European languages) when people are doing races it is common to challenge your opponents by condemning the last one to be stupid, farty, dirty… or often a faggot. Well, then Jesus said that in God’s Kingdom (the new form of society he was announcing) “The last will be the first”. Thus, a Jesus who is all about service and putting the others’ needs before his own, embraces with pride this last place, and thus becomes “the faggot”. But this little joke is subversive. Many church leaders have often emphasised Jesus’ masculinity (also as a way of justifying the perpetuation of male domination at church). However, the Jesus of the Bible is too “compassionate”, “good” and “vulnerable”; in sum, all the “un-masculine attributes” one would think of a person, according to the traditional (i.e. 19^th century white Anglo-Saxon Fundamentalist) standards (pace John Pipper). Only this weak, small and human Jesus (a poor guy at the margins of the Roman Empire belonging to an oppressed ethnic group) can be the Christ, the Saviour. Any other representation of Him that makes Him lean to the side of the powerful and oppressors is un-Christian.

The author also makes some attempts to queer some Bible passages. This may be the weakest point of the book in some parts (e.g. Ruth and Naomi). Yet I must admit that these commentaries are based on other studies, so there is also a part of personal dislike for some hermeneutic approaches. In any case, some of the analyses are really thought provoking. Moreover, all the commentaries are very down-to-earth and accessible, compared to other more technical queer commentaries (which can put off the non-experts by all the obscure terminology such as “metanarratives”). I particularly liked the story of Esau and Jacob, where the focus is changed. The author puts ourselves on the place of Esau (portrayed as a ginger bear, yaaaasss!!) who was tricked to sell his most precious gift for a small temporary satisfaction, like we as LGBTQI+ people have often traded our dignity for a bit of fellowship in a toxic community.

One of the most healing parts of the book for me has been the ongoing call of the author through the book to celebrate and embrace our campness/queerness. I may had reconciled a long time ago that I was queer, yet still (even after coming out) I always tried very hard not to be identified with the “feminine gays”; I worked really hard “to act manly”. Not only my church, men’s groups, family and school had perpetrated that self-loath in me, but also the gay community is not free from that sin and oppressive hierarchy (just look at any add or app where people state “only-masculine-acting”). The author reverses this whole toxic narrative, often with a humorous tone and shows how this marginalised identity is, notwithstanding, sacramental.

In sum, a very advisable read for queer people of faith and straight allies; people tired of religiosity and repressive gender and moral norms. The chapters are super short (for the lazy readers) and very easy to follow. Those who are deconstructing and those who are trying to build up something new, they will find a balm for the soul and a giggle hidden every few pages.

Ibai Berri