Dear Beloved Community,
A Wild and Holy Space
Last weekend, Scott and I attended the Wild Goose Festival in Harmony, North Carolina. I soaked in the hourly talks on queer theology, the future of the church, eucontamination (ask me about this) and the urgent call to confront White Christian Nationalism. Scott volunteered with the hospitality team, shuttling people around in a golf cart he had decorated with our Pride pom-poms and rainbow and trans flags. He blared gay anthems and got into only a little trouble with another driver who was jealous because people always requested the party shuttle.  Â
Each evening, we shared our food and wine with new people who happened to be walking past our tent site. We connected with folks of all ages and backgrounds, moving at an unhurried pace. One night, we sang old hymns in a crowded tent that reminded me of an old-school revival—honest, spirited, and full of heart. Then, not long after, we found ourselves at a silent disco, dancing past midnight.
During the day, we walked around in matching outfits, parading around with our rainbow parasols (good business idea because almost everyone asked where we got them). At night, we handed out glow-stick bracelets to strangers we’ll likely never see again. We went extra each evening with a themed outfit. (For the record, there aren’t official theme nights at Wild Goose—at least not yet.) Since we were camping on-site, there was nowhere else to be except there in that space, meeting people, making friends, and being fully present.
Later in the week, I joined my monthly call with other queer clergy. We were asked to share something that’s bringing us joy right now. I talked about how I’m finding hope through connection. There is something powerful about being with people who are struggling, but still showing up and speaking honestly about what they’re feeling and how they’re coping with the attacks on our existence.
I treasure these rare moments when I get to show up as my full, authentic self. Queer and Christian. No explanations. No qualifiers. For so many of us, those two identities have been treated like they can’t belong together. Often, the church doesn’t know what to do with our queerness, and the queer community doesn’t know what to do with our faith.
But living out our faith as LGBTQ people is a radical act. It is an act of justice, mercy, and love. And I believe that it is precisely in that intersection, in that vulnerable and powerful liminal space, that queer joy is born.
Queer joy is a sacred thing. It isn’t the same as happiness, and it doesn’t cancel out discomfort. It is what rises up when we stop pretending and start showing up as our whole selves. That’s what I felt at Wild Goose. That’s what I feel in our New Day community. And that’s what I hope we continue to cultivate—spaces where no one has to divide themselves just to belong.
Blessings,
Pastor Brian