In 1990, NBC reporter Thomas Cassidy was dying of AIDS alongside thousands of other New Yorkers. In a interview seven months before his death, when asked about his mortality, Cassidy said, “I think Heaven is one big gay bar.” Here’s what I think Jesus is like in a gay bar:
He takes forever to get ready, asking Mary Magdalene, who’s been ready to leave for an hour and is sick of his shit, “should I wear the sexy pirate shirt or the bubblegum tank top?” She just tells him to please get ready so they can get to the bar before last call. He chooses the bubblegum tank top because pink is his mother’s favorite color and he is nothing if not a mama’s boy. When they get to the bar, he greets Judas with kisses on both cheeks and a “Babe, it’s been sooooo long!”
They drink lemon drops and shoot tequila like it’s holy, cleansing them from the inside out. They dance to the gospel hymns of pop divas Whitney Houston and Britney Spears surrounded by sweaty, glittering bodies. He does not wash feet but he always has makeup wipes for the drag queens once they are done collecting their tithes from the sticky bar floor. And not the shitty ones from the dollar store. No, Jesus carries the high quality blue Neutrogena make up wipes that could probably wipe away your sins if you used enough. And oh, how he picks up the hem of his skirt so he has more room to twirl and giggle and bask in this presence of his community.
Every few months, a scared young kid will stumble in, sticking to the wall as they watch the beauty of community unfold around them for the first time. Jesus always sees them and is the one to pull them to the dance floor with assurances that they are safe and worthy and gorgeous and where did you get that top it’s stunning. He is the one to adorn them with glitter and eyeliner in the bathroom under ugly fluorescent lighting. He asks about pronouns and chosen families while performing the sacred ritual of allowing someone to be heard and seen and loved for who they are. He is the one who stands before them and says, “tell me every piece of your story and who you are. Show me the good, the bad, the ugly, the heartbreaking. Show me the parts of yourself that you deem unlovable and let me love you anyways.”
It is one thing to promise unconditional love and another to be the one to hold your hair back when you take advantage of two dollar Fireball shots and make sure you get into your Uber with a comforting, “text me when you get home!” It is one thing to only come around when you feel like it and another to show up to your home with flowers when your dog dies. It is one thing to be omnipotent and all-knowing and another to admit that he doesn’t have all the answers but holy shit are we going to work through this together. Jesus does all this because he has sang this song and danced this dance for many, many centuries.
And when the police and those who use his name but not his methodology break down those sacred doors with their hate and prejudice and nastiness, Jesus leads patrons through the kitchen and out the back door. Away from nightsticks and disgusting slurs that sting more than a slap ever could. He leaves himself to the mob and nurses his wounds after the fact, knowing he and his disciples of all things queer will be back once more. Because Jesus made the gay bars and goddammit if he won’t be there to protect them.
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