In a world where religion and LGBTQ+ issues often appear at odds, there is a growing movement of queer Christians seeking to redefine the narrative and foster inclusivity within faith communities.

Reckon had the privilege of speaking with Mel Garman, a remarkable individual who embodies this transformative spirit.

Garman, a 31-year-old queer social worker and writer for OurBible—a queer-affirming Bible and devotional app, about the tension between queerness and religion.

Growing up, the social worker was introduced to Christianity when her doctor evangelized her mother, leading Garman to start going to church services with her mother. She also describes herself as a divorcee, an ex-evangelical and neurodivergent and currently lives with her wife in Pennsylvania with their two dogs and two foster teenagers.

In addition to her writing for OurBible and her impressive Twitter skills, she also makes queer Christian stickers and other art, which she sells on Redbubble.

Here’s the transcript of her conversation with Faith, Sex and Politics reporter Anna Beahm.

Reckon: You’ve written a lot about being a queer person of faith. Did those identities ever feel like they were opposing each other?

Garman: I had these two sides of me that didn’t know they could be congruent for so long. Yeah. I had the side of me that had like a mixed faith family and then I had one foot fully in this world where I believed evangelical Christianity with all my heart. It was just always like this big conflict. I always believed my dad, who was Jewish, was going to hell and obviously that was very complicated.

Then, I married a man at 22. We knew each other for less than a year after we met on Christian Mingle. We were married for five years, became non monogamous, and I realized I really liked women.

I knew that I had crushes on girls in middle school, but I ignored it like there’s this part of me I’m just pushing away. I felt this big, existential conflict forever. I was the person having premarital sex and going to parties, but I also went to church on Sundays. I also had to figure out who I had to be in all these different environments. It was exhausting. So it’s fun to be congruent now and live a fully congruent life.

R: How did you find peace with those “two sides” of yourself?

G: I got my bachelor’s degree in social work from the University of Valley Forge. It’s a Pentecostal university. I was there during the dawn of the Trump era.

I was studying social work and I would go back and forth between my mandated Bible classes and my social work classes. In the social work classes, I learned about feminist theory and how to work with people, with clients of different races. Then in the Bible classes, you know, I would learn theology that would conflict with these things.

My social work teachers were not what you and I might consider progressive, but they helped me move my needle a bit ideologically. Social work has been like a lot of my main vehicle, I would say, like reconciling my faith and who I am.

R: What has surprised you most about people’s responses, positive or negative, to you sharing your story?

G: I mean, obviously a lot of the stereotypical responses, you know, did not surprise me. I originally came out as bi, and although bisexuality is a standalone identity, it is not a stepping stone. Then I ended up coming out as gay. I’m also not polyamorous anymore. I think what surprised me was finding people who affirm like polyamorous relationships and queer relationships, and also finding people who didn’t, and it’s like mm-hmm. Or people who like, are universalists but they’re not queer affirming or like people in that really awkward middle area.

Like the math is not math-ing. Or you you affirm queer people, but like, you still believe in eternal conscious torment theology. Um, I don’t know. It’s just really fascinating to me how there’s people who have this weird mishmash of beliefs that they piece together

R: how do you reconcile your charismatic faith or your charismatic expressions of faith, like speaking in tongues, dancing, things like that with your queerness?

G: They feel one and the same. I can honestly say I don’t feel shame anymore. When I have sex with my wife, it feels like a beautiful thing.

I believe this, the material is spiritual. Jesus cried blood, he sweat blood. He wrote in the dirt. He did all these really human material things. For me, any sex that is mutual and consensual is inherently spiritual. It’s not that sex is the peak of spirituality, but I just see it all as spiritual. I think my idea of spirituality has become more universalized than I ever even expected it to. I feel like I look at people in a whole new different way.

R: What does pride mean to you as a queer person of faith?

G: “Let anyone who boasts, boast in the Lord.” Pride is a spiritual act. I’m proud to be who I am. I’m proud that there is like this way of living that I can be in the world and not have to fracture myself or splinter myself into different parcels and pieces

They’re all a part of me. Like I’m all many things at once. Every single one of us has many things at once. Knowing that compels me to see people in that equally complex way.

So even when I meet those people who believe in hell, but they’re queer affirming or whatever, or they believe like queer people can only have sex in the context of marriage, it confuses me. But as a social worker, I believe everyone deserves basic human rights, regardless of their beliefs.

R: What advice would you give to someone who is experiencing this spiritual conflict?

G: I would just give them permission to believe in a God of their wildest dreams. Think of the most good God you could ever dream of, and then just dare to believe it. Dare to believe that you’re fully loved. Believe all those really cliche lyrics about believing in a god of love.”

R: Do you still have your redbubble shop? Tell me about the username “holyqueerit.”

G: I’m queer. I love the Holy Spirit, you know? That’s it.