Queer Theology and a Synodal Catholic Church

The Catholic synodal journey

According to Massimo Faggioli, “Francis did not introduce this path to synodality as an innovation, but in continuity with the tradition of the previous 50 years.” ³ The Second Vatican Council in the 1960s developed some significant teachings that serve as a foundation for Pope Francis’s understanding of synodality. The first is its baptismal orientation, which calls upon all lay Catholics to take active participation in the life of the Church. ⁴ The second, which I consider to be the most important to a synodal Church, is the notion of the sensus fidelium, which bestows upon the laity a special inerrant competence to discern the movement of the Holy Spirit through their life and through the Church. According to the Council’s constitution on the Church, Lumen Gentium,

The entire body of the faithful, anointed as they are by the Holy One, cannot err in matters of belief. They manifest this special property by means of the whole people’s supernatural discernment in matters of faith when “from the bishops down to the last of the lay faithful” they show universal agreement in matters of faith and morals. ⁵

Thus, the notion of sensus fidelium calls the Church toward collegiality and co-responsibility for the teaching and governance of the Church. ⁶ The third, which had already been developed through previous councils and teachings, is the concept of magisterial authority. The council reaffirmed the infallibility of the bishops and the pope by stating,

Although the individual bishops do not enjoy the prerogative of infallibility, they nevertheless proclaim Christ’s doctrine infallibly whenever, even though dispersed throughout the world, but maintaining the bond of communion among themselves and with the successor of Peter, and authentically teaching matters of faith and morals, they agree about a judgment as one that is to be definitively held. ⁷

Taken together, and placed in the historical context of the Council, these teachings represent a new balance between the traditional authority of the magisterium, whose task of interpreting God’s revelation was preserved by the Council, ⁸ and the newly recognized participatory role of the lay faithful that flows from their baptism and sensus fidelium. From a queer perspective, this is a transgression against some of the long-held traditional norms of the Church. In the words of John O’Malley, “The symbolism of the change was potent: the first reality of the Church is horizontal and consists of all the baptized, without distinction of rank. Only then comes the vertical reality, hierarchy.” ⁹

Crucially, the inerrancy of both the magisterium and the sensus fidelium, as developed by the Council, each depends on the concept of communion. The conciliar documents explicitly state that the whole body of bishops/pope and the whole laity, dispersed throughout the world, must reach a consensus in order to proclaim a teaching infallibly. Herein lies a significant set of questions that were left unanswered by the Council and pertain to the oft-discussed development of doctrine: What happens if the magisterium, in communion, declares an infallible teaching (e.g. that sexual activity between people of the same sex is intrinsically disordered and cannot be approved of) ¹⁰ at a certain point in history but, at a later point in history, the bishops no longer have consensus over the teaching (e.g. during the 2014 synod on the family, the paragraphs restating doctrine on homosexuality did not attain the necessary votes to pass, indicating the bishops are no longer in universal agreement)? ¹¹ And what happens if the consensus of the bishops and the pope is ever at odds with the consensus of the sensus fidelium (e.g. there is a growing global support among the laity in favor of same-sex unions, which may very well reach consensus in the near future)? ¹² These cases cast doubt on claims to infallibility which would now appear to be contingent upon the Church’s historical and ever-growing understanding of human nature. ¹³

Space does not allow for an exploration of the relationship between synodality, infallibility, and the development of doctrine, so I must relegate this to future research, but—for the purpose of this article—I note that this question about magisterial infallibility in light of historical development of human knowledge is the root cause of the resistance to Pope Francis’s efforts toward synodality among many US bishops. Synodal collegiality opens up Church dialogue to different perspectives that will surely transform it in many ways. As such, synodality carries with it a significant potential for development of doctrines, practices, and norms often considered infallible and immutable. ¹⁴ Since Pope Francis began to roll out his reforms, his critics in the United States and throughout the globe have challenged synodality on such grounds of infallibility and immutability, ¹⁵ prompting the pope’s critique of their intransigence during the aforementioned meeting in Portugal.

I argue that these critiques to synodality represent a refusal to accept the most innovative doctrines of the Second Vatican Council that emphasize baptism and the sensus fidelium in favor of a traditionalist view that clings to pre-conciliar notions of magisterial authority. ¹⁶ Many of these critics welcome some of the cultural prudential updates of the Second Vatican Council (e.g. presiding over mass in the vernacular, changing the configuration of liturgy, and even some aspects of interreligious dialogue) but reject the components of Vatican II that would transform the Church at its core. The popular Biblical metaphor of “pouring old wine into new wineskins” (cf. Mk 2:22) captures this trend whereby outdated pre-Conciliar theology exclusively emphasizing magisterial authority and immutability of doctrine supersedes the move toward universal collegiality and transformation. Here, traditionalists cling to outdated norms that deny the lay faithful any real collegial role in the Church.

Collegiality in our contemporary global Church entails embracing the uncertainty that comes when we seriously engage with diverse epistemological viewpoints that may transform the Church. Embracing the synodal journey involves relinquishing the emphasis on the infallibility and immutability of the (Eurocentric) Church and surrendering to what Pope Francis calls “the God of surprises.” ¹⁷ It means walking together as the People of God along a journey without knowing where God will guide us. ¹⁸ Such journeys, like pilgrimages, are transformative. Grzegorz Strzelczyk argues,

in its very essence, synodality is associated with the possibility of an epiphany of the Holy Spirit. In other words: Every gathering in which the synodality of the Church is realized is (at least potentially) an epiphany of the Holy Spirit. Moreover, expectation of this epiphany should be the reason for such a gathering. ¹⁹

Spiritual epiphanies are challenging because they often involve questioning and transgressing against some of the theological norms that inform and sometimes prevent us from growth. In the context of synodality, such an epiphanic account of the Church calls for a community that shares authority as it learns from each other along the journey. Amanda C. Osheim explains,

Francis’s metaphor for authority in the church and his vision of synodality are rooted theologically in the presence of the Holy Spirit throughout the church; rather than dividing the church into those empowered to teach and those rendered docile to teaching, through the Spirit all church members are both learners and teachers. ²⁰

Norms offer us security while synodality promises epiphanies; therefore, an epistemic readiness to transformation of the norms that often offer a sense of safety or protection presupposes a synodal journey. Herein lies the potential for a queer intervention.

Synthesizing all these principles, the life of the synodal Church involves a genuine process of joint communal discernment on matters of faith and morals. The Church, as a global community, is to engage in the process of listening and consultation with each other, under the guidance of the hierarchy, to determine where God is calling the Church to go. ²¹ In the words of Pope Francis,

A synodal Church is a Church which listens, which realizes that listening “is more than simply hearing.” It is a mutual listening in which everyone has something to learn. The faithful people, the college of bishops, the Bishop of Rome: all listening to each other, and all listening to the Holy Spirit, the “Spirit of truth,” in order to know what he “says to the Churches.” ²²

For this synodal vision to become a reality, Catholics must adopt a critical lens that is able to examine the underlying norms preventing the Church—especially its leaders in the United States—from embracing the collegial Spirit of synodality. More importantly, embarking on a synodal journey means accepting that the process will take the Church to places it could not foresee. It means embracing uncertainty along the journey and a willingness to be challenged in previously unimagined ways. For this reason, I propose a Catholic account of queer theology, which can aid this discernment by exploring how the theological principles that undergird our tradition have been constructed throughout the centuries, have been influenced by the many cultural mores of the time, and often need to be challenged.

Queer theology and the challenge to theological normativity

According to Nikki Sullivan, defining queerness is “a decidedly un-queer thing to do.” ²³ Nonetheless, as a project, there are some central components of queerness that separate it from other philosophical and theological projects. Two of these components, which are significant to my proposal, are Michel Foucault’s concept of discourse and Judith Butler’s theory of performativity, both of which operate from a social constructionist framework. ²⁴ These foundational concepts are central to the field of queer theory, which informs the emerging field of queer theology.

First, Foucault defines discourse as “practices that systematically form the objects of which they speak.” ²⁵ Discursive power, therefore, relates to the ability to wield language (or any other mechanism) to create so-called knowledge that sustains the effects of this power. ²⁶ Discourse, therefore, is a form of normalizing power because the creation of “knowledge” influences how others live their lives. In other words, a person or organization who crafts what is commonly understood and accepted as “knowledge” has the ability to influence those who accept it. Religion and theology often operate discursively. Religious leader, such as Catholic bishops, can craft theological doctrine (i.e. knowledge) that sustains and informs the Catholic community. Furthermore, this theology can influence how Catholics see themselves, their society, and their behavior. For example, a bishop who theologically conceptualizes homosexual sexual activity as sinful can influence an encoding of this idea into Catholic doctrine, which would then promulgate through various Catholic institutional mechanisms throughout the world. A young lesbian in a Catholic school can learn such “knowledge” and internalize it, thus believing that she is somehow intrinsically disordered and in need of certain interventions (e.g. confession and sexual abstinence). In this case, discourse about homosexual sex produces “knowledge” which, in turn, produces a lived reality informed by norms.

Crucially, however, discursive power can be wielded by anybody with a working mind and the ability to communicate a particular idea (through whatever means, including modeling a particular behavior). Therefore, any Catholic is able to craft a theological idea, communicate it, and also exert influence on people. This means that discursive power is pervasive and permeates all of society through the exchange of idea. To return to the example about homosexual sexual activity, it is possible for a theologian, a priest, or a queer Catholic to discursively share a theological idea that endorses homosexual sexual activity. If the same young lesbian learns this “knowledge” and internalizes it, she can then believe that her sexual expression may be blessed by God. While it is true that some individuals (e.g. bishops) have access to mechanisms that facilitate the spread of theological ideas (e.g. Catholic schools, parishes, and other institutions), it is also true that in this day and age, anyone with free access to the Internet can promulgate a point of view and exercise discursive power. This probably explains why so many Catholics disagree with magisterial doctrine on homosexuality: They probably were discursively influenced by other theological ideas, scientific “knowledge,” ²⁷ or by the life witness of LGBTQ + Catholics.

Second, Butler’s theory of performativity argues that several components of our identity, namely gender, are taught to us as children and then reified by our behavior. In other words, performativity refers to a cycle whereby a concept is taught to us through socialization, and we then make the concept more real by performing it in our lives. For example, Butler applies this concept to gender: People born with vaginas are taught that they are women and are told to act “like a lady”; and by performing “like a lady,” they are solidifying a conception of “womanhood.” For this reason, Butler categorizes gender as “an identity instituted through a stylized repetition of acts.” ²⁸ This theory is a constructionist theory that believes there is no essence to womanhood—there is no “woman-ness”—that exists a priori to a woman’s performance of gender. Obviously, such discourse does a good job at hiding its constructionist origin, but it nonetheless operates as a normalizing force. ²⁹ This is why Butler calls their theory “performative” because the performance of a particular concept reifies the otherwise abstract concept itself.

Crucially, performativity, for Butler, represents an exercise of discursive power that, because it can be wielded by anyone, can be turned on its head. For this reason, Butler argues that, to combat the oppressive gender norms in our society, one must engage in subversive performances that can performatively destabilize oppressive notions of gender. ³⁰ Such performances can be multifaceted through gender expressions via clothing, profession, mannerisms, online presence, and so on. By subverting the gender expectations constructed and imposed by society, people who visibly transgress against gender (e.g. through cross-dressing or wearing gender non-conforming clothing) are shocking the system and catalyzing self-reflection on the origin of “gender” as a concept. This can, in turn, destabilize the concept of gender and make room for diverse creative expressions of our constructed “self.”

Foucault’s theory of discursive knowledge and Butler’s theory of performativity imply that many components of our contemporary knowledge have been socially constructed by persons who give meaning to basic observable components of our society through word and deed. Performativity and discourse produce knowledge, but such production is based on historical cultural conditions, thus making the formulation of knowledge a social construction. These theories are the foundation for queerness because they destabilize what is taken for granted as “true,” thus also calling into question the norms this so-called “knowledge” subsequently produces. Queerness, therefore, as destabilization, is not simply a superficial questioning or transgressing against cultural customs, but rather a critical examination of the underlying knowledge that produces them. In a sense, by challenging knowledge, queerness aims to produce a state of uncertainty that can then be liberating for those who are oppressed by certain “truths” promulgated through social or theological norms. Herein lies the connection between queerness and synodality, since the latter involves a willingness to collegially examine our theological knowledge and an openness to epiphanies.

Regarding sexuality, queer theory seeks to destabilize and eventually transgress against sexual “knowledge” and norms that are discursively imposed upon us and reinforced through performativity. The word “queer” traditionally meant “weird,” which implies that queerness stands in opposition to what is considered “normal” and challenges said norms. Queer theory, therefore, wields discursive power by performatively proposing new alternatives to sexual expression in society. Crucially, this “queer methodology” has been employed to challenge and transgress against other norms beyond the realm of sexuality. The verb “queering” refers to a challenge of a certain concept or field at the level of normativity. For example, queering theology means challenging the underlying norms that inform theological reflection, and queering the Bible means challenging some of the underlying norms that inform Biblical exegesis. Queerness, therefore, draws from a particular queer epistemology that challenges normative oppression by crafting a hermeneutic through which one can interpret, question, and performatively transgress against normativity in any field.

The formal genesis of queer theology is found in the work of Marcella Althaus-Reid. Her classical work, Indecent Theology, contains a critique of liberation theology’s negligence of those marginalized by the marginalized. Althaus-Reid observes that, while liberation theology aptly advocates for the rights of the poor, it ignores those marginalized by the poor themselves through normative oppression, specifically sexual normative oppression. ³¹ For this reason, she proposes a queer theological project that examines some of the oppressive norms undergirding the marginalization of the sexually despised.

Althaus-Reid opens her book by “provocatively” calling theologians to write theology without wearing underwear so that their theology becomes infused with the smell of their genitals. ³² This image is provocative because it transgresses a presupposed norm: that theology must be sanitized from explicit sexual discourse. In truly queer fashion, Althaus Reid’s Indecent Theology contains further “inflammatory” images such as Our Lady of Guadalupe’s vulva, “God the Faggot,” God the sadomasochist, and shrinking penises (among others). ³³ These images are provocative and inflammatory precisely because they are indecent, which means they operate outside of what society has discursively and performatively constructed as “decent” or acceptable. The concept of “decency” is based on a set of socially produced “knowledge” about what is “proper,” thus inviting a queer challenge to this scheme. Althaus-Reid’s indecent theology, therefore, gives voice to what has normatively been excluded and called unacceptable. It problematizes the very act of “decenting” or “normalizing” that so often excludes queer people, poor women, and other populations. Queer theology, therefore, represents a transgression, both methodologically (performatively) and substantially (discursively), against oppressive theological norms. Althaus-Reid’s Indecent Theology models, in form and substance, the process of queering theology.

As queer theology continues to evolve (and become popular) in the global academy, the scope of queer theology has generated significant debate among contemporary scholars because the method of transgression against normativity encompasses a wide range of potential applications. How far should we question and transgress against “knowledge”? Are there some “truths” (including theological ones) we should accept a priori? Do material and historical conditions ever yield a set of moral imperatives to be accepted prior to the act of queering (even if such meaning is constructed) or should we consider all morality to be a construct subject to queer transgression? In the context of Christianity, which inherently subscribes to certain truths and norms, queer theologians must make some choices about a priori commitments as they engage in the project of queering. This is particularly true when engaging a queer project from a denominational standpoint, such as Catholicism.

The debate about the scope of queer theology is illustrated in the differing perspectives of Patrick S. Cheng and Linn Marie Tonstad, whose queer theologies seek to transgress against oppressive norms but to a different extent. Patrick S. Cheng proposes a queer systematic theology of God as radical love. In his so-named book, Radical Love, he illustrates the many ways the Christian story is inherently transgressive. Centering queer theology as a project of the LGBTQIA + community, ³⁴ Cheng offers examples of the many ways God transgresses norms and erases boundaries, even natural ones, through the unfolding of God’s salvific plan. Similarly, he proposes ways in which central elements of the Christian tradition, such as the Bible, the scholastic tradition, and the sacraments, can be re-interpreted through a queer lens. Taking a page from Robert Goss, ³⁵ Cheng infuses Christianity with various queer symbols such as drag, sexual expression, and gender transition. ³⁶ The concept of representation is central to his theology: Cheng seeks to highlight how queerness is already represented in the Christian story. By doing so, he is favoring a particular a priori adherence to central components of the tradition such as trinitarian theology, sacraments, and eschatology.

Tonstad’s queer theology is explicitly critical of Cheng for not going far enough in the transgression against normativity. ³⁷ For Tonstad, queer theology is more than a representation project that seeks to see queerness reflected in the traditionally accepted Christian story (e.g. she criticizes the use of Trinitarian theology to justify queerness). ³⁸ According to her, this is not truly radical. Instead, she argues that queer theology must transgress against the often-subconscious operating knowledge that yields oppressive norms. Tonstad criticizes Cheng and other theologians who seek to justify queerness by employing traditional symbols from the Catholic and other Christian traditions. According to her, this amounts to a form of queer apologetics that will ultimately preserve some of the more pervasive knowledge and norms that force queer people to seek to justify themselves in the first place. By seeking such apologetic justification, these so-called queer theologians (in Tonstad’s view) are reifying the underlying knowledge and norms. According to her, apologetic queer theology accepts basic assumptions about the universality of some of the central Christian norms which, in and of themselves, are a construct that must also be challenged. ³⁹ In her article “Everything Queer, Nothing Radica?,” she transgresses against the theological “truths” of “good and evil,” which—she believes—sustains all normative oppression.

In response to queer apologetics, Tonstad argues,

Instead of distinguishing between the sinful and the virtuous, we should place ourselves on the side of the sinful, accepting that we need to arrange socio-economic and political orders in ways that benefit all of us, without requiring people to be virtuous, good, or respectable in order to be the beneficiaries of shared social goods. ⁴⁰

This entails a rejection, or at least a destabilization, of the very categories of “good and evil” that serve as the basis for normative oppression. In her words,

Our problem as homosexuals is not primarily that we, in particular, have been placed on the side of the sinful, threatening other. It is the distinction between the good and the bad to begin with, the virtuous and the filthy, the deserving and the undeserving. So let us place ourselves with the filthy, underserving, sinners; let us stay with the Sodomites and accept the fixity of Lot’s wife—the fixity of feminism, which does not get over gender—rather than, like Abraham or Lot, bargaining with God about the number of the righteous that outweighs a city of sinners as we seek to escape into the hills to repeat the order of the fathers. ⁴¹

At this level, queer theology transgresses against righteousness by destabilizing its source of normative power. Drawing from the Christian traditional story of Sodom and Gomorrah, Tonstad constructs a “sodomitical theology” that proudly claims the sinfulness of human sexuality and seeks to disrupt this fundamental norm that undergirds Christianity. She articulates a theology of solidarity among sinners (in all of their diversity) as a way to combat normalizing forces that seek uniformity and conformity with righteousness. Drawing from Foucault and Butler, Tonstad is discursively reconstituting the moral meaning associated with “sin” and “sodomy” and performatively transgressing against normativity. She argues, “Identification with the Sodomite, the archetypal sinner, can avoid reproducing the distinction between the bad and the good that generates condemnation of queerness in many Christian contexts in the first place.” ⁴²

Both these perspectives represent a different scope of queer theology. Cheng evidently has some a priori commitments to several central tenets of Christianity, including some traditional Biblical narratives, prior to the act of queering. Tonstad appears to make less a priori commitments, as evidenced in her transgression against the conceptualization of good and evil. My own position, with regard to this spectrum, falls in the middle. To an extent, I appreciate Cheng’s queering of the Christian tradition because, from a pragmatic standpoint, it promotes more buy-in from Christians into the methodology of queering. However, I agree with Tonstad that a representation project does not go far enough to fully call itself queer, especially considering that the foundational figures of queer theory, including Butler, criticized the representation movement. ⁴³

While upholding the queer project that transgresses against underlying knowledge that sustains oppressive norms, I raise some objections against Tonstad’s queer theology and her application of it in a Christian context. As a Catholic theologian, I declare some a priori commitments to God’s salvific plan unfolding in human history. This entails a conception of human flourishing in our diverse cultural contexts. Based on this commitment, I critique Tonstad’s work for taking queerness so far that it becomes counterproductive to human flourishing and well-being. First, I believe Tonstad’s notion of “solidarity among sinner,” which destabilizes the notions of “good and evil,” is idyllic. Such a theology appears to be accessible only to those who enjoy a certain level of privilege or security. It is hard to expect, for example, a Jewish person about to be executed by a Nazi officer to form a bond of solidarity among sinners with her murderer. While I do affirm that all persons must love their enemy, it does not bode well for humanity to completely blur the binary between good and evil. One can love one’s enemies but still legitimately challenge their oppression. I believe Tonstad unnecessarily conflates these two dynamics.

Second, I consider Tonstad’s broad scope of queerness to be a slippery slope: If “queering all norms and knowledge” becomes the goal of theological reflection, then the queer project can be deployed to erase cultural differences, which are often founded of knowledge, norms, and symbols. I suspect such a theology would only be accessible to members of dominant groups who can imagine erasure of cultural difference. As a Puerto Rican, for example, it would be hard for me to imagine a transgression against my Puerto Rican culture to the point where I seek to diminish it. To preserve cultural differences, which may aid human flourishing, I argue that those who practice queer theology must first discern a set of commitments to a priori norms that should be preserved prior to engaging in a queer project.

Third, I argue that an unbridled queer project reflects some methodological contradictions. Considering that Tonstad’s work, for example, destabilizes the very concepts of “good and evil,” I wonder how she sustains any theological or argument without a conception of “goodness.” Whenever I hear a student, for example, saying “we should not judge”—which, I admit, is an oversimplified caricaturization of Tonstad’s queer theology—I point out that the use of the word should (and all of its synonyms) automatically implies a judgment. Furthermore, her proposal of a world where “good and evil” are destabilized and where there is “solidarity among sinners” is also an eschatological vision (as much as she may deny it) and also relies on the concepts of good and evil. I question what Tonstad’s criteria are for arguing that her position is better than any of the alternatives if she queers the very concept of goodness in her work. Many ethical (and even theological) methodologies can become problematic and inconsistent when taken to an extreme. ⁴⁴ Thus, I assert that theologians must be careful not to take queer theology so far so as to engage in inconsistency or contradiction. Since theology is a normalizing field, I believe it is important for queer theologians to be mindful of their scope.

So where does this leave us? I argue that a queer theology, especially from a Christian and Catholic standpoint, should adopt a historically conscious, culturally sensitive, eschatologically oriented lens prior to engaging in a transgressive act. After considering Tonstad’s critique of Cheng for not going far enough, I argue that a theologian can express these a priori commitments and convincingly carry out a genuinely queer project. In the next section, I explain how this can unfold from a Catholic standpoint.

Toward a queer Catholic theology

Contemporary Catholic theology has grown more attentive to historical consciousness since the second half of the nineteenth century. The Catholic social tradition, as well as Catholic liberation theology, focuses on the plight of the most marginalized and resists abstract systematic theological thoughts. The doctrinal genesis of Catholic social teaching, captured in the 1891 social encyclical published by Pope Leo XIII, Rerum Novarum, responded to the most urgent controversies of the time: the issues with labor that stemmed out of the Industrial Revolution. ⁴⁵ Catholic liberation theology, developed after the publication of Gustavo Gutierrez’s A Theology of Liberation in 1973, recontextualized theological thinking away from a hyper-rationalist Eurocentric perspective and lifted up the perspectives of the poor in Latin America. ⁴⁶ Both these theological trends were influential to Pope Francis, who served as a priest and bishop in Argentina prior to his election as pope. Additional theological perspectives that followed (and drew from) liberation theology similarly decentered theology and focused on insights from feminist, black, and Latinx epistemologies. These so-called “contextual theologies” ⁴⁷ reflect a commitment to relevant theology that is applicable to the lived experiences of the faithful. More importantly, these theologies address the deepest needs and longings of many persons. Drawing from this methodology, I argue that a queer Catholic theology must be grounded in a historically conscious, culturally sensitive, eschatological quest for liberation. Such a queer Catholic theology is at the service of human flourishing and the impending Kingdom of God on Earth and in heaven.

These a priori commitments, which are normative, do not circumvent queerness. Rather, they can aid a queer project by offering it the focus it needs to discern how to carry out transgression. Crucially, I observe that queer projects consist of various steps ranging from questioning to challenging to transgressing, all of which reflect different degrees of queerness. These three stages loosely correspond to the traditional Catholic language of “see, judge, act,” which create a distinction between a cognitive analysis, a dialogical argumentation of a position, and social and political activism. Queer questioning refers to a cognitive inquiry about underlying norms, queer challenging refers to a discursive epistemic argumentation against norms at a dialogical level (using language), and queer transgression involves performative liberatory activity. Here I argue that, while I believe all norms (including the a priori commitments I outlined) and the knowledge that sustains them are subject to queer questioning at any time to ensure that they do not unjustly perpetuate oppression, queer challenging and/or queer transgressing against a norm depends on whether the initial inquiry of queer questioning yields a conclusion that said norm is oppressive. Furthermore, a queer challenge of a norm may be a prudent solution in cases where one is not ready for a queer transgression against a norm. In sum, this entire process amounts to a queer discernment prior to queer transgression. This process of queer discernment, from a Catholic standpoint, would prevent the Church from assuming they know too much. It would keep Catholics constantly questioning and always willing to transgress, especially in a synodal Church.

I acknowledge that this process of queer discernment relies on a particular conception of righteousness, which can itself be tainted by oppressive norms. For this reason, I heed Tonstad’s concern about the oppression of the discourse on righteousness. However, I argue that her concerns can be assuaged with a theology of epistemic humility, which I believe queer theology can offer without destabilizing the general categories of good and evil. In other words, a Catholic queer theology does not need to go as far as destabilizing “good and evil” in order to be queer. Rather, the concepts of good and evil can be questioned (and sometimes challenged and transgressed) to reorient them toward the Kingdom of God. To do this, the Church must be prepared to listen to diverse epistemologies that can continue to aid the Church in its queer discernment of righteousness and of other norms. I also acknowledge Tonstad’s critique of Trinitarian queer theology, and I understand the issues with an apologetic queer theology, but I argue that there is nothing inherently wrong with a belief in a willful God, an eschatological vision, and a belief in goodness and evil. I believe that one can hold on to these concepts and still operate within a queer framework. Tonstad’s call for a Christian queer theology that meaningfully radicalizes Christianity can be satisfied, I believe, at the epistemological level whereby Christians are able to question norms, but not always choose to challenge or transgress them if the norms promote the flourishing of all.

When a queer project is taken to the extreme, as if queering for the sake of queering were the ultimate goal of theology and ethics, it can potentially be oppressive in and of itself through the erasure of difference and the dismantling of “good” norms that pragmatically and historically preserve human dignity and well-being. Furthermore, if taken to an extreme, queer theology could be incompatible with the Christian tradition, especially a Catholic denomination, which depends on concepts of right and wrong and of God’s salvific will.

The queer theological project I have outlined, especially the process of queer discernment and the embrace of uncertainty, intersects with Pope Francis’s synodal vision for the Church. Because synodality consists of joint communal discernment, grounded in collegiality between the Catholic hierarchy and the sensus fidelium, and because synodality is open to an epiphany of the Spirit, it often entails walking into uncertainty and questioning (possibly challenging and transgressing against) some norms long held by the Church. As such, both synodality and queer theology entail uncomfortable challenges to normativity as the Church walks together through uncertain territory guided by the Spirit.

Because synodality seeks to reconfigure the relationship between the Catholic hierarchy and the lay faithful, it inherently constitutes queering of some central traditional tenets of Catholic Christianity that favor magisterial authority and papal supremacy. Synodality represents a commitment to listening to the lived experiences of the faithful as a source of revelation via the sensus fidelium. Therefore, a new truth is introduced about the competence of the laity to dialogue along with the hierarchy on matters of theology. This opens up the Church to being challenged by diverse global epistemologies that will surely transform the Church at its core. As the Church walks the synodal way, it performatively and discursively reconstitutes the normative doctrines of the Church, which may result in development of what the Church considers to be true (i.e. its doctrines). Theologically this queer transgression is understood as an epiphany of the Spirit, who is calling the Church to respond to the Church in new ways. God’s own queer nature, ⁴⁸ mirrored in humanity’s nature as made in the Imago Dei, propels us on a journey of uncertainty as we journey together. Far from being an apologetic perspective, statements about God’s queerness (and its effects on the world) help explain how humans made in the Imago Dei possess the potential for queer reflection and transgression.

At the heart of synodal conversations are questions of sexuality, which have historically elicited passionate responses from progressive and traditionalist sectors of the Church. Considering that queer theory and theology were historically born out of the perspectives of queer persons, and considering the Catholic Church has been largely influenced by queer voices throughout history, ⁴⁹ I predict that the synodal journey will continue to be interlaced with queer perspectives. Because synodality represents a queering of the Catholic tradition, matters of sexuality have been and will continue to be sources of contention as Catholics continue to transgress against previously held doctrinal norms.

An example of a contentious synodal conversation took place at the end of 2023, when the Vatican released a document, titled Fiducia Supplicans, allowing same-sex couples to seek blessings from the Church. ⁵⁰ The document reaffirms traditional doctrine on heterosexual marriage but recognizes same-sex couples who

recognizing themselves to be destitute and in need of his help—do not claim a legitimation of their own status, but who beg that all that is true, good, and humanly valid in their lives and their relationships be enriched, healed, and elevated by the presence of the Holy Spirit. ⁵¹

These blessings are non-liturgical and cannot be tied to a civil same-sex marriage. Rather, they are spontaneous requests for God’s grace in their lives. The declaration was met with praise and resistance by bishops throughout the globe, ⁵² prompting the Vatican to issue a press release clarifying that, while bishops may articulate prudential guidelines for administering blessings, the blessings cannot be denied. ⁵³ Thus, Pope Francis and the Vatican are trying to usher in a new norm regarding the welcome of LGBTQ + persons in the Church.

From a queer theology standpoint, this new declaration on same-sex blessings leaves a lot to be desired but also contains significant promise. I lament that, discursively, same-sex couples are conceptualized as suffering, needing help, and in a state of sin—thus needing a blessing from God to aid their struggles. The document ignores the realities of many LGBTQ + persons who, through same-sex relationships, experience happiness and fulfillment. This represents a refusal to question some of the “knowledge” about same-sex couples, contained in a series of documents that pathologize these unions as disordered, ⁵⁴ all the while offering superficial welcome into the Church. Moreover, it perpetuates some of the religious oppressive norms that adversely affect LGBTQ + persons in their daily lives, as evidenced in the alarming statistics facing many LGBTQ + people (especially youth), who are often marginalized for religious reasons. ⁵⁵

Conversely, as a queer theologian committed to liberation and to an eschatological vision of the Kingdom of God on earth, I see this step by the Vatican as a significant opportunity to transgress within the Church and promote justice and inclusion for queer Catholics. I believe a blessing of a same-sex couple, however it may be phrased by any Vatican document, can give queer persons an opportunity to performatively and discursively take up space in the Church and, through their life witness, transform the Church’s “knowledge” about same-sex couples. In turn, this can alleviate some of the oppression queer persons face at the hands of theologically informed norms. Queerness does not ask for permission to exist, but rather questions, challenges, and transgresses in whatever space it occupies. A theological reform of pastoral blessings for same-sex unions creates that space, that is, that potential. I predict that a synodal welcome of queer persons through these blessings will prove transformational for the Church. ⁵⁶

Overall, the controversy surrounding Fiducia Supplicans highlights the need for queer theology in a synodal Church. A historically conscious liberatory queer theology can help the Church implement the synodal vision of Pope Francis by discursively and performatively living into God’s will through a necessary transgression against norms that thwart the Kingdom of God. Pope Francis has made it clear from the beginning of his pontificate that the Church should operate as a “field hospital” ⁵⁷ that cares for the wounded. Thus, taking a page from Althaus-Reid, I argue that his vision for synodality would greatly benefit from a theological perspective that elevates those marginalized by the marginalized, which includes those who are queer. For synodality to effectively engage the sensus fidelium of all the faithful, it must adopt a queer theological project.

Several Catholic theologians have already begun to craft queer Catholic theology grounded in historical consciousness, God’s salvific will, and an eschatological vision, further illustrating the transformative potential of queer theology. I conclude this article with an overview of the queer theology of Miguel Díaz, Craig A. Ford Jr., and Jason Steidl-Jack. First, Miguel Díaz’s book Queer God de Amor proposes a Trinitarian theology based on the mystical writings of San Juan de La Cruz. Díaz’s sanjuanista theology illustrates a dynamic of divine self-communication, grounded in our nature as made in the Imago Dei, whereby sexual and homoerotic expressions of love reveal God’s loving and transgressive nature. Díaz observes that Catholic mystics often use sexual language to describe their experiences of ecstasy; therefore, sexual activity itself can be a source of divine revelation. His Latinx theological background, which guides him to find God in la vida cotidiana—or daily lived experience, informs his quest to understand God’s self-communication through our sexual expressions. By eroticizing the trinity, as San Juan de la Cruz did, he is indecenting and disrupting the normative discourse about God that sanitizes the divine from sexual expression. ⁵⁸

Second, Craig A. Ford Jr. operates from a black and queer natural law framework to promote the flourishing of all, particularly queer people of color. In his article, “Transgender Bodies, Catholic Schools, and a Queer Natural Law Theology of Exploration,” he responds to the growing struggles of transgender and gender-queer persons in Catholic institutions. He recognizes Catholic theology as a source of oppression and seeks to retrieve the natural law tradition and reorganize it toward liberatory purpose. Applying the doctrine of natural law to the ever-lasting conversation about the nature of human beings, and referencing Aquinas and Aristotle, Ford remarks,

We are the types of beings who go about the world learning the truth— admittedly partial and imperfect—by exploring the world, experiencing it through our senses, representing that world and the things in it to ourselves by abstraction through concepts, and sharing those concepts with others through instruction, through the law, and through customs. ⁵⁹

Thus, Ford constructs a queer natural law that is historical and cultural by linking this quest to learn with the quest toward flourishing, that is, eudaimonia. ⁶⁰ In his words,

The impulse of this argument is to continue the counterhegemonic tradition of queer thought by pointing a beam of hospitality towards that which is unknown, towards that which is potentially strange and unsettling. Indeed, on the account offered here, one does not need to posit a pre-existing natural identity that one was “born with . . .”. Instead, this account emphasizes the journey towards an identity, without predetermining which identities count . . . In this way, this account can speak—and I hope helpfully speak—to all experiences: to the experiences of transgender persons, asexual persons, genderqueer persons, and questioning persons . . . if any identity is presumed, it is only that of a seeker. The rest I leave to our personal experiences. ⁶¹

In another article, titled “Black Queer Natural Law: On Brownness and Dis-identification,” Ford retrieves the queer brown performative queer theory of José Esteban Muñoz and synthesizes it with Aquinas’s theory of Natural Law. According to Ford, and citing Muñoz, queer brown people disidentify with society as a mechanism for survival when they realize that social structures are oppressive to them. After disidentifying, queer brown people create a sense of brown, or a vector of solidarity that then allows them to envision a utopic future where they can flourish. ⁶² Through the natural law lens, Ford argues that queer brown persons have a natural inclination toward survival and flourishing. Disidentification and the sense of brown are epistemological mechanisms that reflect such natural inclinations toward flourishing as queer and brown persons and propel us toward hope-filled action that would bring about utopia. From a liberatory perspective, Ford then links the concept of utopia to the Christian conception of the Kingdom of God, stating “In both cases, Utopia/the Reign of God exist in the eschatologically charged present that is both already and not yet, but that can nevertheless be sensed, felt, and, on the basis of such an experience, acted upon.” ⁶³ Drawing from black liberation theology, Ford summarizes,

These are actions to which queer Black people and other queer people of color are inclined because our experience of the world is expressed in and through our brownness—a brownness which, while marked by oppression and devastation, nevertheless provides the affective and epistemic link to the utopia that is disclosed by the natural law, the Reign of God. These disidentifactory acts, therefore, provide epistemic insight into the natural law precisely because they testify to the existence of a world that can come only if we refuse devastation and embrace hope. ⁶⁴

Ford’s work is similar to some of Tonstad’s insights, including her “solidarity among sinners,” which proposes a queer and brown epistemological viewpoint that inherently transgresses against normative oppression. However, he is committed to some a priori principles of natural law and human flourishing that I believe make his theology more applicable to all queer persons and to the contemporary Catholic Church.

Third, the work of Jason Steidl-Jack also stems from a historically conscious, eschatologically oriented, liberatory ecclesiological perspective. After providing an extensive overview of the queer transgressions of grassroot LGBTQ + ministry movements in the Church, Steidl-Jack constructs a Catholic queer ecclesiology based on the work of Latinx liberation theologians. More importantly, he underscores the contributions of queer epistemologies to the Church. Steidl-Jack retrieves the liberation theology of Jon Sobrino and José Comblin and infuses it with the queer virtue ethics of Elizabeth Edman to argue that there is no salvation outside of queerness. ⁶⁵ According to him,

Queer faith is good news for the Church because it opens space for personal growth and collective transformation. With LGBTQ Catholics active in the Church, the Body of Christ is not doomed to repeat the mistakes of its past. . . As the Body of Christ searches for new healthy ways of relating to LGBTQ people, it will succeed only if it watches and learns from those who have ben instruments of God’s work for generations. ⁶⁶

Since the Body of Christ, that is, the Church, is made up of the individual believers, there is an intrinsic connection between the individual epistemologies of queer Catholics and the broader Church. I accept this insight and argue that a synodal ecclesiology will help connect the localized individual experience of faith with the global Church through collegial discourse. Steidl-Jack chronicles how queer transgressions have contributed to this movement at a grassroot level.

I argue that these queer Catholic theologies adequately respond to some of the most pressing contemporary needs of queer persons. By making some a priori commitments to the cultural and historical perspectives of queer persons, including queer persons of color, these perspectives transgress against Catholicism to the extent to which the Church generates oppressive norms. However, these queer Catholic perspectives also represent a commitment to God’s salvific will and the impending Kingdom of God where all persons flourish. While Catholics must continue to observe epistemic humility regarding their understanding of flourishing and the eschaton, a conception of goodness and eudaimonia that employs a queer project will serve queer and non-queer persons well. Synodality provides an operating ecclesiological framework that facilitates a queer project while preserving the important central components of the Catholic tradition.

Conclusion

The emergence of queer theology over the past three decades has signaled a desire throughout the Catholic Church and the broader Christian community to include queer epistemologies to transgress against normative Christian theology. In this article, I argued that—from a Catholic standpoint—a queerness must be grounded in a historically conscious, culturally sensitive, eschatologically oriented, liberatory project if it is to respond to the actual needs of queer persons today. Pope Francis’s synodal vision for the Catholic church, which restructures the institutional Church toward collegiality between the hierarchy and the lay faithful, is well positioned to respond to these needs. More importantly, for this synodal vision to become a reality, it must engage in queer theology in order to question, challenge, and even transgress against some of the pre-existing Catholic norms that prevent the Church from becoming a true communion that includes queer persons.

My hope with this work is that the Catholic Church adopts an attitude of epistemic humility about the “knowledge” that sustains its doctrines and norms. Queer theology allows the Church to embrace uncertainty as it journeys together as a synodal community committed to joint communal discernment. Future research can engage the fields of aesthetics, ethics, and Catholic theology by exploring how queer transgressive performativity and discourse within the Church can bring about meaningful transformation, including through developments of doctrine, that will make the Church more inclusive of epistemological, cultural, and sexual diversity. In the meantime, queer Catholics will continue to take up space and, through our queerness, give witness of the world (dare I say “Kingdom”) that is possible if we re-examine some of the knowledge and norms that inform our daily lives.