WHAT ARE THE FRUITS OF THE SPIRIT?
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“By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” Gal 5:22-23a
In 2019, I decided to do what every millennial in need of a new hobby does: start a podcast. Specifically, I wanted to create a storytelling podcast about journeys of faith, and I wanted to center the spiritual narratives of queer and trans people of color. I wanted this focus because the experiences of QTPOC are not well-represented within Christian circles. I made a list of initial guests and got the equipment. All I needed was a name. I thought of the many times I or my friends have been told by non-affirming family members and peers that we have “no fruit” in us as Christians, simply because of our queer and trans identities; that is, we cannot possibly be faithful followers of Christ because of we are “living in sin.” I wanted this podcast to serve as a rebuttal to that narrative, to say that there is plenty of fruit in our spiritual lives.
I thought of the verse above from Paul’s Letter to the Galatians about the “fruit of the spirit” and knew I had found the name for the podcast—after all, LGBTQ+ folks have historically been called “fruity” in a derogatory way, and it’s a term I have come to reclaim for myself. I am fruity, I am flamboyant and I revel in the joys that my queerness brings me. There is nothing sinful in being the person God made me, and I take comfort in knowing that my queerness is truly a gift from God. I see others in my life proudly reclaiming language that has previously harmed them as a way to disarm those painful words. LGBTQ+ folks are some of the most spiritually alive people I know. In spite of all the hatred, violence, and disappointment we face, we find ways to turn our pain into growth, and not allow such experiences to stamp out our kindness. I wanted to write this essay on the fruits of the Spirit, because I see so many of them at work in the lives of my LGBTQ+ siblings.
Before I jump in, I think it’s important to name the ever-present divide between flesh (or the body) and spirit that is present throughout Paul’s letters. We see this in the verses that precede Paul’s description of the fruits of the Spirit: “Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh” (Gal 5:16-17). The fruits of the Spirit are seen in opposition to the “works of the flesh” that Paul names as things like “fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing” (Gal 5:19-21). We are told to strive to give up the things of the body so that we may attain the things of the soul.
This binary—flesh is bad, spirit is good—has informed so much of the Church’s theology around the body in ways that are actually harmful. It has paved the way for a deeply negative attitude towards sex, shame, purity culture, spiritual bypassing of social justice concerns, and the identification of LGBTQ+ folks solely by what they do with their bodies and not their holistic selves as children of God. One way that I have really come to better frame Paul’s words around the flesh is reading Archbishop Rowan Williams' perspective on them. In a sermon on the Incarnation, he wrote, “God’s way is to be incarnate, fleshed out, in Jesus and in the friends of Jesus. Our way too is toward and into the flesh, not away from it: the love of bodies is the condition for learning, sharing, and growing—for becoming ‘spirit’ in St. Paul’s sense.” (1) He also says that when Paul refers to the “works of the flesh,” he is referring to what the prophet Ezekiel called having a “heart of stone”; that is, acting from a place that is not compassionate or loving, that is self-centered and cold. In Ezekiel 36:26 we read, “A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” Flesh here is not seen as corrupting, but rather as a quality that leads to communion with God and neighbor, a heart that breaks at the sight of injustice. Experiencing that heartbreak leads to the development of the fruits of the spirit, to the nurturing of love, gentleness, faithfulness, and so on. We will not develop them if our hearts are closed off, cold, hardened by malice or apathy. So when I read Paul speaking about the flesh, I replace it in my mind with having a heart of stone, and the Spirit leading to having a heart of flesh.
So, what are the fruits of the spirit? I will write about each of these using examples both from my personal life and from LGBTQ+ history and culture.
Love. If you’ve been to a Christian wedding, you have no doubt heard Paul’s words on love from 1 Corinthians: “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant …” (1 Cor 13:4). The love spoken of here is not a sappy, romantic love; but rather, a love that is rooted in Jesus’ commandment to love each other as he loves us, with a love that is deep and self-sacrificing. It is a love that crosses lines drawn in the sand and welcomes all people in, especially those who are forgotten and maligned by society, as Jesus did. I think here of the stories of nurses working in hospitals in New York or San Francisco during the HIV/AIDS crisis of the 1980s and 90s, who rose to the occasion to take care of gay men and trans folks suffering with AIDS complications with compassion and tenderness. I think also of the recent former rector of St. Luke and the Epiphany here in Philadelphia, the Rev. Rodger Broadley, who during the same crisis performed funerals for AIDS victims when other faith communities chose not to. Homophobia and the stigma attached to having HIV/AIDS meant that patients were often abandoned by their families and left to die alone, and these folks showed up to minister in love.
Joy. A very common misconception about Christians (perhaps religious people in general) is that we are sticks in the mud, that we live lives of strict temperance and don’t allow ourselves to enjoy pleasure. But Jesus said that he came so that we may have life and have it abundantly (John 10:10), and this includes joy. The kind of joy that comes from knowing Jesus is different from the joy that capitalism offers: it’s an everlasting joy that comes from being in nourishing relationships with others, in rooting our worth in God’s love and not in our status or possessions. LGBTQ+ folks know something about this kind of joy. Pride parades, which have become celebrations of LGBTQ+ culture, originated as protests against discrimination and police violence. As a community we have had to reclaim our sacredness and dignity, and that has resulted in a joy that cannot be dampened or taken away.
Peace. As a spiritual director who works exclusively with LGBTQ+ folks, a pattern that comes up quite a bit among my clients is a feeling of anxiety when it comes to rediscovering their relationship with God and the church—which is understandable, given the track record of abusive treatment our community has suffered at the hands of religion. Some of them have shared with me that they worry about being able to bring their full self to such a relationship, or there is a fear in the back of their minds that God will call them to give up their queerness. I remind them that God doesn’t want them to shut parts of themselves off, but God wants us exactly as we are. My clients’ immediate reaction to this is one of relief and peace, a confirmation of their own intuitive understanding that who they are is the person God has called them to be. Jesus tells us in John 14:27, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” The peace that Jesus gives us is the revelation that God loves us, unconditionally. LGBTQ+ folks manifest this peace not only in affirming each other’s identities, but also in working for a more just, more loving world through activism.
Patience. Patience does not come to us easily, especially because our capitalist society prizes instant gratification. It’s therefore countercultural to be patient and wait. Patience is also about extending grace and forbearance with difficult folks and situations in our lives. I think the common misconception of patience is that it is simply waiting and not doing anything to address an unjust situation, trusting that it will somehow work out. A Christian understanding of patience, though, takes the long view of things—seeing God’s hand in all of salvation history throughout the Bible and knowing that righteousness will ultimately prevail. This patience gives us the courage we need to continue working and striving for justice. A brilliant example of this from queer Episcopal history is the beloved Rev. Pauli Murray, who spent much of her (2) life organizing against racism and sexism. After being denied from Harvard University simply because of her gender, Pauli went on to organize with the NAACP and work as a lawyer focusing on civil rights cases, and later became the first Black woman to be ordained a priest in the Episcopal Church in 1977. She labored tirelessly in her endeavors and, although she did not always win, she wrote, “I have lived to see the thesis upon which I was operating vindicated. And what I very often say is that I’ve lived to see my lost causes found.” This is patience.
Kindness. One can think of kindness as an expression of the selfless love described earlier. A person who is kind treats people with compassion and respect, regardless of whether they get something out of it. We see this in Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan, who took care of a man beaten by thieves and left for dead by the side of the road, tending to his wounds and putting him up in an inn while he recovered. The Samaritan didn’t think, “Oh if I take care of this man, I’ll be rewarded,” but simply saw another human being in desperate need and stopped to help, and with no regard for the cultural understanding that non-Samaritans and Samaritans should not even speak to each other. When I think of kindness, I think of the concept of “chosen family” that exists among LGBTQ+ people around the world. Seeing as so many of us have been rejected by family and faith communities, LGBTQ+ folks have had to develop our own circles of care and support, made up of trusted friends, mentors, lovers, and others who love us exactly as we are. In many places, this has found expression in the system of “houses,” communities of primarily Black and Brown queer and trans folks who lived together, looked out for one another, and supported each other when others did not.
Generosity. To be generous is to give freely of what one has without thought of repayment, from the heart. This was a teaching that rich people who wanted to follow Jesus struggled with: In Matthew 19, we read about a young rich man walking away disappointed after Jesus told him that in order to get into the Kingdom of Heaven, he had to sell all he had and give the proceeds to the poor. Beyond encouraging us to lessen our dependence on material things, the fruit of generosity is another outpouring of love. I think about my friends Shakira and Lex, who, along with their friend Dom, raised close to $35k for Philadelphians in need through a mutual aid fund they established called Jawn Aid. The three of them started this fund in mid-2020 in response to the economic downturn caused by the pandemic, when many folks lost their jobs or got their hours reduced. Shakira, Lex and Dom saw a need, raised the funds, and redistributed every dollar back to the community.
Faithfulness. To be a faithful person is to hold true to one’s beliefs and convictions even in the face of adversity, pain, or hardship. It can also mean that one is reliable or loyal; for example, God is often described in Scripture as faithful because God fulfills the covenants God makes with the people: “O Lord, you are my God; I will exalt you, I will praise your name; for you have done wonderful things, plans formed of old, faithful and sure.” When I think about a faithful person, I think of the modern-day saint, Fr. Mychal Judge, a chaplain for the New York City Fire Department who died in the September 11th terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001. Fr. Mychal, who was a gay man, strove to see Christ in everyone, especially the LGBTQ community and folks experiencing homelessness. In his last moments, he was seen praying for the dead and begging for God’s intervention in the tragedy.
Gentleness. Traditionally, gentleness is interpreted in the sense of meeting critique or harm with love (2 Timothy 2:24-25). Gentleness, to me, also implies a kind of softness—holding one’s self and others with kindness and empathy in the face of the world’s cruelty and malice. One way I’ve seen gentleness modeled is in the story of Danny Stewart and his partner, Pete Mercurio, who in 2000 found a baby boy abandoned in the New York City Subway, and later adopted him as their own son. Danny had been on his way to meet Pete when he noticed the baby on the subway, initially thinking it was a baby doll. He tried to grab the attention of commuters and tourists making their way on and off the train for help, but to no avail. He called the police who then arrived to take the child to the hospital. After later being asked to testify in court as to how he found the child, Danny was offered the opportunity to adopt him. After some intense discussion between them, Danny and Pete adopted the little boy, whom they named Kevin. What struck me initially when I read this story was the people in the subway station who simply walked by Danny when he was trying to get help. What he modeled in that moment was gentleness in the face of apathy. It would have been easier for Danny and Pete to say no to adopting Kevin and going about their lives as planned, but they instead chose gentleness.
Self-Control. It’s always tempting to return an insult with another harsh word, to harm people as they harm us. For me, this is one of the most challenging parts of being a Christian, to turn the other cheek when you’ve been slapped, as Jesus told us. Self-control is being able to keep one’s calm and restrain ourselves from rash actions. One role model for me in this is the nonbinary poet Alok Vaid-Menon. Alok is known for being radically nonconformist, wearing makeup and loud outfits, and speaking unapologetically about the pain and trauma trans people experience. Strangers often leave incredibly hateful comments on Alok’s social media posts, attacking the way they look and telling them the world would be better without them in it. Alok sometimes replies to these comments with an immense amount of self-control, choosing instead to ask the stranger why their appearance bothers them so much, and wishing them well instead of ill. In reply to a recent comment, Alok wrote: “sorry you have such a narrow worldview. I can see it’s hurting you. It must be exhausting to feel as if your worth comes from winnowing yourself down to other people’s opinions of who you should be. Shame is interrupted joy. And I believe you are worth joy.” This self-control is rooted not only in love of self, but in love for others - choosing not to replicate the harm done to us.
What underlies all these virtues is the kind of radical, self-sacrificing love that Jesus embodied, which is perhaps why it's the first fruit to be named. Without love, we truly have nothing (1 Cor 13:2), and our spiritual gifts have no real meaning. But being steeped in love gives us everything, because love is the seed out of which these other gifts emerge and flourish. I used examples from LGBTQ+ culture and history because, to me, being a part of this community has transformed my understanding of what love is. Love is diligently fighting for your community’s rights, housing those who have nowhere else to go, and living your life openly, as God intended. And out of this love, we nourish the fruits of the Spirit.
Archbishop Rowan Williams, A Ray of Darkness, 1995.
There is ongoing discussion over Pauli Murray’s gender identity, and what pronouns she would have used if she were alive today. I have used she/her pronouns here as that is what Pauli used in her writings. You can read more about this here: https://www.paulimurraycenter.com/pronouns-pauli-murray
