Updated: 2 days ago
For centuries, biblical scripture has been used as both a tool of liberation and a weapon of oppression. The same texts that speak of love, justice, and mercy have also been twisted to justify slavery, colonialism, misogyny, and the oppression of LGBTQ+ people. Entire communities have been cast into the margins under the false claim that their existence is incompatible with faith.
Today, we see scripture being weaponized against trans and queer people, used to fuel policies that strip them of rights, dignity, and safety. From bans on gender-affirming care to laws restricting LGBTQ+ books and curriculum, religious rhetoric is often at the center of these attacks. But the truth is, faith has always been a source of strength for the marginalized—and when we look at scripture with justice in mind, we see not condemnation, but a call to resist oppression.
On this First Sunday of Lent, the traditional reading is Matthew 4:1–11, which recounts the Temptation of Christ in the wilderness. It’s a passage about resisting manipulation, standing firm in identity, and rejecting power that comes at the cost of integrity—themes deeply relevant to the struggles for justice today.
Matthew 4:1–11 — Resisting Oppression in the Wilderness
Jesus spent 40 days in the wilderness, fasting, vulnerable, and alone. The devil tempted Him three times, trying to manipulate Him into proving His worth, abandoning His mission, and seeking power at the expense of truth. Each of these temptations mirrors the struggles faced by marginalized people today.
The Temptation to Prove One’s Worth "If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread." (Matthew 4:3)
The devil demands that Jesus prove His divinity. Likewise, trans and queer people are often told they must justify their existence—that they must be "good enough," "palatable enough," or "respectable enough" to deserve basic human rights. But our worth is not up for debate. Jesus refuses to play this game, and so should we.
The Temptation to Seek Acceptance through Submission "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down..." (Matthew 4:6)
This temptation mirrors the false promise of conditional love that many LGBTQ+ people hear from religious institutions—“We accept you, but only if you suppress who you are.” Jesus refuses to entertain this lie. His response reminds us that true faith is about standing firm in our identity, not seeking approval from those who would harm us.
The Temptation to Compromise for Power "All this I will give you," [the devil] said, "if you will bow down and worship me." (Matthew 4:9)
This is the temptation of assimilation—to trade truth for comfort, to shrink ourselves for safety. Politicians and religious leaders try to divide marginalized communities, offering security to some if they abandon others. But justice is collective. As Jesus rejects the devil’s offer, we, too, must reject the idea that liberation can come at the cost of another’s oppression.
In each instance, Jesus resists, choosing faith, integrity, and truth over convenience, approval, or power. This is the call to all who are fighting for justice today: to stand firm, to refuse to be erased, and to resist the forces that seek to dehumanize and oppress.
Reclaiming Scripture for Liberation
Lent is not just about giving things up—it’s about choosing transformation. It’s about rejecting the systems that harm us and stepping into truth, even when the world tries to push us into silence.
For LGBTQ+ people, this means:
Rejecting the voices that demand we justify our existence.
Standing firm in our identities, even in the face of opposition.
Committing to justice for those who are still in the wilderness.
For allies, this means:
Resisting apathy. Stand in your faith. Speak up, donate, protest, and fight against laws that strip LGBTQ+ rights.
Show up for those who are vulnerable. Make sure your churches, workplaces, and communities are truly affirming.
Challenging harmful theology. The Bible has been used as a weapon against the marginalized and oppressed for far too long—it’s time to reclaim it as a force for justice.
LGBTQ+ people are pressured to conform to oppressive systems—to shrink themselves for acceptance, to fit neatly into what society deems acceptable. Politicians exploit this by pitting communities against each other—offering false security if certain marginalized groups are left behind. But queer liberation cannot come at the expense of other marginalized people. Freedom is collective.
The Temptation of Christ isn’t just an ancient story—it’s a modern blueprint for how we resist oppression, reclaim our faith, and walk toward liberation. Jesus came out of the wilderness stronger. So will we.
This Lent, let us choose resistance, renewal, and justice.
As above. So below. Amen. Take care of yourselves and take care of each other.
Updated: 2 days ago
Lent 2025 Day 4: Birthday Day Drinking
"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up." – Ecclesiastes 4:9-10
What I’ve learned during some of the darkest moments in my life is that the ones you least expect are often the ones who show up when you need someone the most.
Yesterday was my housemate Marcia's birthday, and we celebrated with breakfast and a Friday morning Bloody Mary. There aren’t many people you can call up at the last minute and say, "Let’s get breakfast," but because we live together and our schedules allow for this kind of spontaneity, there we were—drinking vodka at 9 a.m., with tomato juice and pieces of cheese (which makes it slightly more acceptable). But this isn’t about the drinks.
Marcia and I have known each other for almost fifteen years. We met through work and advocacy—I think we were fighting for Marriage Equality at the time. She was an ally back then, but today, she’s more of a comrade—willing to put herself on the line for a cause she truly believes in. For about ten years, we were more acquaintances than friends, polite and personable. But as our circles intertwined, we saw each other more at events and social gatherings. It wasn’t until 2019—just before the Rona changed the world—that we became close.
There’s something about mutual tragedy that forces you into vulnerability. We were both going through painful breakups, and as the saying goes, misery loves company. What I learned is that two fiercely independent people struggle with vulnerability—until life forces them to let their guards down.
I remember the hilarious awkwardness of trying to comfort her when we were both wrecked by the loss of a relationship. Should I hug her? A reassuring hand on the shoulder? We were both navigating uncharted waters. But once you cross a certain barrier, you stop seeing just the image of strength someone projects—you see the human underneath it all, struggling to hold everything together.
I will forever be grateful for her. She showed up when I needed someone to cry to, complain to, and send drunken texts to while I was on the other side of the world watching my mother die. She was a voice of reason when I was drowning in grief, struggling to find motivation, questioning my passion for life, work, and my own purpose. And when my world turned upside down and I started law school, she offered me a place to stay—giving me stability when everything else felt unstable.
She has been one of my biggest supporters, harshest critics, and best friends. I am thankful for her every day.
A Lenten Reflection on Friendship:
Lent isn’t just about giving things up—it’s about reflecting on what truly matters, recognizing the people who have lifted us up, and committing to being better for those who love us.
The verse from Ecclesiastes reminds us that we aren’t meant to go through life alone. We all fall. We all break. And when we do, the people who show up—the ones who offer a home, a hand, a drink, a moment of laughter in the midst of pain—those people are sacred.
This Lent, I’m reflecting on who has shown up for me and how I can be a better friend in return. Because in the end, it’s not the ones who say all the right things—it’s the ones who show up, again and again, without needing to be asked.
So, Happy Birthday, Marcia! Congratulations on another trip around the sun. She has also deemed that she will be called "Prime" until her next birthday. Make it so.
Updated: 4 days ago
When the World is Ending, Who Do You Want Beside You?
"Ah, it's been a year now
Think I've figured out how
How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out..."
JP Saxe & Julia Michaels ask in "If The World Was Ending" whether their ex would come over if everything was falling apart. It’s a romanticized, tragic “last chance” kind of love.
And honestly? I’ve thought about that question before. If the world was ending, would I want her to come over?
Absolutely not.
She didn’t respect me, my boundaries, or my heart when it mattered. Why would I want her to be the last person I saw? Why would I invite back someone who emotionally manipulated me into thinking I was the problem? Someone who—when I was at my lowest, grieving the loss of my mother—couldn’t even muster an ounce of decency, compassion, or respect?
That’s not love. That’s not even basic humanity.
She was never capable of offering me the care I deserved. I see that now. And yet, for too long, I still held onto the pain she left me with, turning it over in my mind like I could somehow make sense of it.
But here’s the thing: Some things don’t deserve to be revisited.
We romanticize what broke us. We glorify co-dependency, narcissistic cycles, and relationships that crushed us—just because the good moments felt intense. But were they really that good? Or was it just all we knew at the time?
Because sometimes, we don’t just grieve people—we grieve the idea of them. The potential we saw in them. The love we thought we had. But romanticizing an unhealthy relationship doesn’t make it love. Love isn’t about holding onto someone who didn’t hold onto you. Love isn’t about mistaking intensity for intimacy, chaos for chemistry, or co-dependency for connection.
"I know, you know, we know
You weren't down for forever and it's fine
I know, you know, we know
We weren't meant for each other and it's fine..."
And that’s the truth. Some people just aren’t meant for each other. And that’s fine. But what’s not fine is revisiting the places that broke us, reopening wounds that have barely healed, or believing that being treated badly was somehow proof of passion. It wasn’t. It was just proof that I deserved better.
Lent is about releasing what no longer serves you. It’s about recognizing the places where we’ve been stuck and choosing to move forward instead. And I have moved forward. I don’t hold space for resentment anymore—I don’t need it. I don’t wish them misery or happiness. I wish them distance. Because the only people I want beside me when the world is ending are the ones who have always treated my heart with care. The ones who have loved me well.
Grief and healing look different for everyone. I’ve carried my share of loss, but I’ve also learned how to honor my grief without letting it define me. I’ve learned that closure doesn’t come from someone else—it comes from deciding that you no longer need answers from people who were never going to give you the truth.
So no, I wouldn’t want that ex to come over if the world was ending. Because when the world feels like it’s falling apart, you want the people who hold you together.
And I already have those people—my family, my friends, the ones who have always taken care of my heart. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
"When people show you who they are, believe them." – Maya Angelou
Lenten Reflection
As I move through these 40 days of reflection, I’m letting go of the things—and the people—that no longer have a place in my heart. Because healing isn’t just about moving on. It’s about moving forward.
And I am.
So, no. I don’t want her to come over if the world is ending. I want the people who have always chosen me. And I thank them for that, every single day.
Be well, stay safe, and take care of your heart.
