The paschal mystery hurts, even when we know how the story ends.
We know that goodness defeats hatred.
We know that marginalization bows to inclusion.
We know that torment is transfigured.
We know that life and love always win.
Even so, the miraculous events of the empty tomb would be impossible without all that precedes it. Yes, Jesus lives. But first, Jesus had to endure humiliation and exclusion and pain.
Jesus knew the betrayal and rejection of so-called friends.
Jesus endured physical and mental and psychological and spiritual abuse.
Jesus suffered at the hands of unjust political and religious leaders.
I think this is why so many members of the LGBTQ community resonate with the Stations of the Cross. For some, these are the everyday realities of those who love differently.
Blessed Basil Moreau, a priest serving in the vitriolic aftermath of the French revolution, wrote, “Human life is like a great Way of the Cross. We do not have to go to the chapel or church to go through the different stations. The Way of the Cross is everywhere, and we travel it every day, even in spite of ourselves and without being aware of it.” The stories and lived experiences of those who identify as both Catholic and a member of the LGBTQ community speak to this reality.
I think of Adam, who was fired from his longtime position as a parish liturgist and musician. I think of Casey, who taught for years in a Catholic school but was suddenly and let go without explanation. I think of Eva, who served as a volunteer in a Catholic organization and was outed and humiliated by someone she trusted. I think of Jessie, who hid his sexuality from seminary formators and is now a closeted priest.
I wrote Search Me: A Way of the Cross in Solidarity with the LGBTQ Community to share some of these sacred stories and more. As the introduction notes:
Search Me acknowledges shared human experience as a means to grow in relationship with God. Each station begins with a prayer for self-awareness and a specific event from Jesus’s Passion before offering a reflection from the Roman Catholic LGBTQ community to help better acknowledge the lived reality of the paschal mystery.
So often we view the events of Jesus’ passion and death in isolation, relegating them to 2,000 years ago in a place far from our own. If we are honest with ourselves, however, we can see these events take place every day in our homes, communities, churches, and world. I am continually moved by the witness of my friends contained in these pages:
“I think of all the people in my life who love me, accept me, and want the best for me. That’s God’s love working through them. How else would God work?” (from the Fourth Station – Jesus Meets His Mother)
“I grow increasingly frustrated when people try to diminish God’s ability to work in me because of my sexuality. I pray that the Church might someday value the spiritual insight that I bring as a member of the community.” (from the Fifth Station – Simon Helps Jesus Carry His Cross)
“Being gay has given me a deeper sense of empathy for people and groups who choose (and keep choosing) to be a part of the church despite the obstacles placed in their way.” (from the Tenth Station – Jesus Is Stripped of His Clothes)
“I wish the Church would espouse an environment that welcomes me and my eventual partner and sanctifies our desire to raise a family within it. I wish others would view my entire self as made in the image of God, rather than something that goes against God.” (from the Eleventh Station – Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross)
“I love working for the Church. It is my vocation. Living my vocation should not require burying an important part of myself.” (from the Fourteenth Station – Jesus Is Buried)
All these reflections are written by people who have been deeply hurt by the church yet refuse to leave, and I think that is the reality of the paschal mystery. Pain isn’t eliminated but transfigured to something new, something hopeful.
This is the beauty of theological mystery, where we recognize that some things—like God—are infinitely knowable. No matter how much we learn, there is more to know. I hope and pray that the church might remain open to the mystery of God, the mystery of the Incarnation, and the mystery of paschal suffering transfigured through the lived witness of our LGBTQ sisters and brothers.
As I journey through this holy season of Lent, I remain confident in God’s work through me and God’s work through all who work to build God’s kingdom here on earth, even amid opposition. I take comfort knowing that life and love always prevail, even when it doesn’t seem like it in the moment. This is the reality of the season of Lent and our entire Christian life, a reality made present every day in the lives of those who choose to love, especially our LGBTQ sisters and brothers who remain integral, prophetic parts of an imperfect yet beloved community.
