The Slow Way: Contemplative Life—Strange, Mysterious, Queer

Those unlearning the ways of an anxious culture are leaning into queerness as a metaphor for approaching the sacred: We are leaning into “possibilities beyond”...We’re learning a new path.

for the frantic strivers, serial doers, and weary achievers

This past Wednesday night my crew of middle and high school students met for our usual pizza dinner together. Then, instead of moving on to our usual youth group plan, we headed to the chapel to join 150 people for a children’s book launch party. 

“Wait, what’s the name of it?” August asked me in the car as we were talking about Jonathan Merrit’s new picture book. Jonathan goes to our church and is well loved. 

“It’s called My Guncle and Me,” I said.

“What?” This was Brooks. 

“Guncle,” I said.

“What’s a guncle?” Brooks again.

“A gay uncle, you guys. You haven’t heard this word?” August and Brooks both shrugged their shoulders.

“So, wait. Why does anyone need to establish that their uncle is gay in their name? Why would that matter?” August was concerned about this too.

“Honey, I guess it’s a Millennial thing?” I said. “It’s different for you guys, but my generation? It was so hard to be out for so long, that gay guys needed to embrace their queerness however they could. Being a ‘guncle’ is just like a way to say they’re not ashamed.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

They were still a little miffed that this is a necessary word at all. I love Gen Z. 

The story of the book is one of Henry, a little boy who feels like he definitely doesn’t belong, like he’s different. When his “most fabulous relative” comes to stay for the weekend, they go out for waffles and talk about Henry’s feelings, his loneliness, and his goodness. Henry learns from his guncle that we can be proud of ourselves and courageous about showing who we are. He learns that we are loved by God and we don’t have to apologize for being, say, a kid who likes to dig for worms and really loves math. 

I sat in the sanctuary and gazed around the room, full of gay men who had shown up at church to support Jonathan. I haven’t gotten to talk about it much, but it was so important for me when writing Blessed Are The Rest of Us to include the story of how friendship and community and the movement of the Holy Spirit in my life changed my understanding and reading of scriptures when it came to being in churches that fully welcome our Queer siblings. And how I was part of leading my San Francisco church in 2015 to becoming an LGBTQ+ affirming congregation. (A very painful and beautiful process.)

That’s also why we commute twice a week to a church in New York. I want my kids to grow up with a belief that everyone is welcome at the table of God. And I want them in a church that’s vibrant, where Queer folks are leading, a church that loves Jesus and wrestles with scripture. I know that kind of church is a unicorn. So, when you find it, you drive 45 minutes twice a week. (At least we do.) 

This Tuesday, May 21 marks the release of another book that’s been sitting with me: Queering Contemplation: Finding Queerness in the Roots and Future of Contemplative Spirituality. Of course, you all know I’m always seeking books about contemplation, but when I saw this title on a random sticker left on a table at the Festival of Faith and Writing last month, I knew I had to find this book. 

As a cisgender, straight woman, I have endless amounts to learn from Queer spiritual teachers. And this book by Cassidy Hall is opening up new aspects to the contemplative life that is challenging me in wonderful ways.

Author Cassidy Hall defines queerness as “an invitation into possibilities beyond what exists.” Cassidy takes her experience of queerness—a calling into question of normativity, a pushing back on “definitions that imply there are ‘acceptable’ expressions or practices” of experiencing the Divine. 

“Like queerness,” Cassidy writes, “mysticism cannot live in the false certitude of a definition.” 

Throughout the book, she is inviting readers to consider what gifts the queer experience of faith might bring the greater community of the faithful. In this way queerness is a metaphor, a rejection of there only being one way toward encountering the Spirit. There is a rare way toward the presence of God, and queer contemplation is inviting us to that path. Which brings us back to Henry in My Guncle and Me: there’s not one good way to be a kid. Some kids dig for worms and love math. 

“Christian mysticism has consistently been a place of belonging for misfits, outcasts, and weirdos,” Cassidy Hall writes. “The mystics have fallen in love with trees, written love poems to the Divine, and voiced prophecy into movements of justice . . . Mysticism, in its continual transcendence of definition, expression, and expectation, shows itself to be radically queer and ever evolving. And it invites us to join that continuance.” 

“Everybody can be a mystic,” Therese Taylor-Stinson said to Hall on her podcast Contemplating Now. “The root of mystic is myst, which is the same root in mystery . . . The only difference between a contemplative or mystic and the ‘normal’ person who might be living with uncertainty is that mystics embrace it.” 

I love this idea that mysticism is for everyone. We practice mysticism whenever we embrace that we don’t know everything, that God is present and also beyond our thinking and our experiencing, and that we can pursue the mysterious presence of eternal Love. 

There are no levels of defined spirituality that make us mystics. It’s our embrace of mystery. It’s our embrace of living in a way that doesn’t necessarily track with the “normal” ways of being. In that sense, in Cassidy’s definition of queerness, those of us who are unlearning the ways of an anxious culture are leaning into queerness as a metaphor for approaching the sacred: We are leaning into “possibilities beyond” what we’ve been taught exist. We’re learning a new path. 

Who better to teach us than the ones who have been forced by our cultural taboos, our faith traditions, and our social norms to walk an unpaved path toward God? What a joy to learn from the Queer community what it means to encounter the sacred in places that were once cut off from us. 

This is a journey for all of us: into mystery, into transformative discovery—into all that is rare. 

A Slow Practice

Today I’m sharing a prayer from Thomas Merton that Cassidy Hall printed and slipped into the early copy of Queering Contemplation she sent my way. It’s a prayer I’d love for us to pray together right now, but also hold close to us this week. It’s a prayer about community, about receiving one another, about love.  

Take a deep breath in with me. And out.

“Oh God, we are one with You. You have made us one with You. You have taught us that if we are open to one another, You will dwell in us. Help us to preserve this openness and to fight for it with all our hearts. Help us to realize that there can be no understanding where there is mutual rejection. Oh God, in accepting one another wholeheartedly, fully, completely, we accept You, and we thank You, and we adore You, and we love You with our whole being, because our being is Your being, our spirit is rooted in Your spirit. Fill us then with love, and let us be bound together with love as we go our diverse ways, united in this one spirit which makes You present in the world, and which makes You witness to the ultimate reality that is love. Love has overcome. Love is victorious. Amen.” 

- Thomas Merton,  The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton

Spend some time imagining what it might look like in your life to “be bound together with love” even “as we go our diverse ways.” 

Close with a silent commitment. 

A Few Things

• Our Blessed Are The Rest of Us bookclub for paid subscribers started this past Monday and will continue for the next five Mondays. It’s not too late to join us if you’re a paid subscriber or you’re thinking about becoming a paid subscriber! Click on this link to learn more. 

• I know I’ve been asking this a lot, but an Amazon review makes a big difference long term for the sales of my book. There are a lot of you out there reading this post, and only 18 reviews out there on Amazon! That means most of you haven’t reviewed Blessed. (No shame! Just an opportunity. Ha!) If this substack is important to you (especially if you appreciate that it’s free) this is a way you can show your appreciation, a way that means A WHOLE LOT to me. Also, BIG THANKS to all 18 of you who have already taken the time to rate and review Blessed!

• This week I was a guest on the Lady Preacher podcast with Rev. Kelsey Beebe. It was a delight. Listen here.

• If you missed my sermon this past Mothers Day on Mothering as a Verb, it’s available on YouTube at Good Shepherd New York. I’d love for you to tune in!

• And, of course, The Slow Way Podcast is back in action. This past week was a conversation between my husband Chris and me, about his experience of my book. I love this conversation, and love getting to share him with you all. 

• As always, a reminder that Blessed Are The Rest of Us is available at 40% off the price of other booksellers at Baker Bookhouse. Just use the code SLOWWAY at checkout.