The word privilege gets thrown into the arena of conversations when discussing the trinity of race, class, and gender. My lens as a social scientist helps form my theology, particularly a theology of inclusion for LGBTQ+ persons. But first, we must talk privilege.

Growing up, I never feared my parents would reject me or kick me out of the house for my sexuality or gender. Based on my sexuality and gender expression, I have never been afraid of an attack or worried I may not acquire a job. During routine license checks, or while purchasing alcohol, I have the luxury to present my ID without fear of outing myself or explaining who I am. I have never needed to convince someone of my relationship with God because of my sexuality and gender expression. “You’re going to hell” has never been and will never be said to me because of who I choose to love. Church General Conventions won’t meet to discuss my worthiness and humanity. Who I am and who I love are not topics of debate.

There is something wrong when everyone can’t say this. There’s something wrong with how we treat the LGBTQIA+ community and we must call it what it is.

It’s sin. It is not the way of Jesus.

Jesus preached a sermon on the mount and a sermon on a plains. During both sermons he preached blessings, yet it was the sermon on the plains where he preached woes. The blessings were reserved to those who lived on the margins of society. Blessing for the families struggling to make ends meet and blessings to the now single parent whose spouse died.

“Blessed are you when people hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man. ”

The woes, Jesus reserved for the privileged. Woe unto the big bankers and woe unto those who know when their next meal is coming. And yes, woe unto those whose gender and sexual orientation is seen as “normal” or the default.

If the Good News of Jesus is only defined as His birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension, may I suggest you dive deeper in. Widows, orphans, and single parents showed up to hear a word from Jesus. The poor, the old, and the disabled were scattered within the masses to hear their fate. Closeted men and women, queer and questioning, all made the trek for some kind of good news.  For the religious leaders, their theology was simple: You were in this condition because you sinned and God was making you suffer. Yet Jesus walked among them and called them “blessed.” In that moment, they knew the God of the universe loved them just as they were. For the blessing revealed the great pride God had thy beloved.

We can’t let the Good News of Jesus Christ only bring a smile to the face of a single parent who lost their job. We can’t welcome LGBTQ+ persons to worship and not affirm them, because there is a difference. We cheapen the Gospel when we ask a queer couple to join us in worship and give money, but don’t make space for them to serve and lead. The Good News must bring an epiphany of God’s love and grace, but it also must function to manifest justice in the world. The Gospel brings a sword to fight righteous battles against systems and social structures in the name of Jesus.

Jesus Christ, who is God in flesh made manifest, took on human form, including sexuality and gender. Yes, Jesus Christ has a sexuality and a gender identity. He entered our sin-sick world, was exposed to brutal violence, suffering, and terrible injustice. I cannot, I choose not to live in a world that oppresses and discriminates against people made in the image of God based on their sexuality or gender, or any other layering social identity. By God’s Spirit, I work alongside my friends and all in the LGBTQIA+ community to uplift their voices, to help provide healing, and to remove systemic barriers that divide them from accessing hope, safety, and abundant life.

This kind of friendship is known as allyship. Jesus Christ exudes the very blueprint of being an ally. Allyship is seen when those from privileged positions in society stand for those in marginalized and ostracized communities, and work for their full inclusion into society. As the church, we must understand what allyship is not.  Allyship is not about being nice and kind.

In a tweet from Hannah Shanks, a professor and social worker, she writes, “There is a vast gap between the Church of Nice and the Gospel of Jesus.” The Church of Nice and Kind says, “we should be able to do that” and “that shouldn’t be a problem.”  To put it nicely, The Church of Nice and Kind shoulds all over itself.

Allyship is not posting trendy hashtags with pictures from rallies. We cannot ordain ourselves as an ally; that is incredibly dangerous. Self-anointed allyship leaves little to no room for growth and claims to know it all. Self-baptized allies speak before listening, have more answers than questions, and reject that they’ve done any wrongdoing, even if their intent was not the impact they wanted.  Allyship cannot be held in the power of the privileged or it ceases to be allyship and further perpetrates the oppressor controlling the oppressed. We must be working for everyone’s full inclusion like our lives depend on it … because sometimes, their lives do depend on it.

Here’s what allyship is. Allyship understands the Gospel of Jesus Christ says, “we will with God’s help!” Hannah Shanks concluded her tweet by explaining the Gospel shatters a roof to lower a sick friend to the feet of the Savior. The Gospel knows it is not true community until all of us, everyone … yes, even you, are there. It is then and only then that we are whole.

I am not an ally. However, every day I pursue allyship. My pursuit of allyship is tested most when I am with my cisgender and heterosexual friends. When a slur is said I have the option to “keep the peace” and make the oppressors comfortable–or I can disrupt their bigotry and let them know that words like that will not be said around me again. This is much harder said than done, but this is the commitment that I make when pursuing allyship. I must be willing to leave people, conversations, and friendships that do not promote the dignity and humanity of all of God’s people. This also extends to institutions. As someone who pursues allyship, I actively choose not to participate, give money to, or lead in a system or institution where all are not accepted and included for who they are, and who they love.

Allyship is earned, not given and it can be taken away by those who deem our words and actions fall short, and that’s okay. Mistakes and apologies are made by true allies, because a true ally knows they can’t get it right all the time. Allyship must be affirmed in us by those in the community we are working alongside. It’s not enough post pictures with trendy hashtags for the cause. I recognize I have work to do in order to be an inclusive person and to be a part of inclusive spaces, with one of those spaces being the church. Jesus summed up the moral law as “love God and love your neighbor.” On love of God and neighbor, Jesus tells us on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

God, who was and is the beginning and end, is also and always love. God is love. Love is not the new law, yet love was and is the eternal law. Allyship is the new code in which the law of God’s love reaches out to pull people in.

During the month of June, here in America and in other parts of the world, we celebrate Pride. Pride is the declaration and affirmation of those who are in the LGBTQIA+ community. It is the month where light intentionally shines on them, and their self-worth; their humanity, fight for equality, and their representation and visibility are beautifully illuminated. We, who worship an inclusive God, have a responsibility to make sure our siblings in this community are affirmed in the church, and society, well past the end of Pride.

It is essential our theology works for everybody.

Always and in all ways.