Trauma and Theology — Why?
One thing that the three of us in the Queer Midrash group shared was the deep-seeded sense of the importance of thinking through the intersections of Trauma and Theology.
For the three of us, we have all deeply encountered the ways in which trauma can inflict personal and communal trauma. Whether external rejection or self-contempt, we have encountered the sharp sting of Theology striking against our person-hood. We do not get to ignore or shut-out the tragedy that harmful theology can inflict on people. As is true for many marginalized people, if we were to ignore such problematic theology, we must ignore our own histories and stories. It is out of these personal experiences that we are driven to deeply consider our theology. What are we saying, how might it be heard by those different than me, and, what might these words mean for lives both similar to mine but also extremely dissimilar? We all have a deep desire to learn, think, and grow in our understandings of trauma and theology. Not only on how we might be able to do trauma differently, but also how might we not do trauma. If we only sit in what’s difficult, painful, or tragic for ourselves, we can easily pick up theology that is hurtful or bulldozing to others. It is not an easy process nor are we particularly adept at it. However, it is a priority and urgency all three of us share.
A theme that often came up in our discussions was how to hold onto a multiplicity of personal realities but still remain together. To sit with our individual realities but leave space for others we encounter. Even within the queer community, there is often struggles with and against this. White gay men can easily leverage their power and privilege to take over conversations or spaces. We encountered this even within a lot of our readings. One book was by a gay male. He used language that attempted to speak for all queers, but in the process he spoke over and washed out lesbians, trans, and gender non-conforming people. Or, another book on trauma and queer relationships, written by a woman, failed to give much voice to anything other than male/male relationships. How do we give room and space for all voices and not just those that are most common? In other words, what does church and Eucharist look like for queer Christians? Do they follow similar patterns and structures or might there be tweaks in the modes and methods of operation? How might theologies around these ideas bring about healing to the wounds from past experiences of exclusion, degradation, and oppression?
Another theme our group continually discussed was how to identify, heal, and sustain ourselves within the rift and rupture of being queer and Christian. How do we call out the painful things done to and against us, but not turn into what James Alison describes as “Sacred Victims”? How do we balance a pursuit of justice with caring for ourselves? Also, how do we engage with those that deeply disagree with us? If someone sees our choices as a “damaging lifestyle choice”, what and how do we interact together? Is it just re-traumatizing to engage in such discussions or are such conversations and discussions necessary for reconciliation to ever occur? How do we balance self-care with a desire to instill change?
We also had some pondering as a group, as to how queer trauma may impact our theology. In thinking through historical examples of trauma influencing writers, we wondered what skewed perceptions or assumptions our various traumas might have on how we view God, humankind, and the relationships between? As we’ve delved into how theology can create trauma, we’ve also done a lot of thinking of how cultural trauma impacts theology. We recognize that as we fail to work through our own trauma, we will inevitably pass some of those same things on to those we teach, counsel, and befriend. Thus, this overlap of theology and trauma becomes even more important.
Another experience our group felt all term was the lack of material on our questions and stories. There just aren’t a lot of materials yet from queer voices on more systematic theological ideas such as Church, Eucharist, and the Spirit. This makes sense given that churches only began accepting our existence and presence in the mid 80s, and it was a tiny fraction of churches back then. So much of our writing the past few decades has been on proving that we exist, that we are not of Satan, and that we are, in fact, loved by God. As those questions begin to fade into the background, it will be interesting to see more queer theologians rise up and begin writing tapestries of thought on queerness intersecting with theology (and/or trauma). As our community begins to have space to breathe, what glory might come from the words of our now slowly filled lungs?
