Introduction
Part of what drew me to Jesus as a young, closeted gay boy was the way that he seemed to subvert every idea of what my church and my family taught me a “man” should be. Raised in a culture of toxic masculinity, my understanding of what it meant to be a man was to be rugged, dominant, hyper-sexual, and athletic, none of which I was. Quite stereotypically, I was shy, soft, passive, artistic, and had little interest in sexual things throughout much of my childhood and into my teenage years. Despite my pastors embodying this type of rugged masculinity, when they spoke of Jesus, he often sounded more like me than he did like them. Jesus was gentle, soft-spoken, and caring. One of the worship songs we often sang beautifully declared, “Jesus, Lamb of God, worthy is your name.” This image in particular, Jesus, the soft, gentle, sacrificial Lamb of God resonated deeply. If this was what Jesus was like, then I could certainly be like Jesus.
Of course, all of Jesus’ gentleness as the slain Lamb of God was tempered by my churches favorite image of Jesus, one that aligned with their idea of masculinity more neatly- that of a conquering warrior Lamb- the one who was coming back soon to destroy all the non-Christians, defeat Satan, and establish the Kingdom of God once and for all. Ironically, both the image of Jesus as the Lamb of God and Jesus as the conquering king primarily come from the Book of Revelation, and somehow the author of Revelation seeks to harmonize the image of Jesus from the Gospel accounts as the gentle teacher with his desire for and vision of Jesus fulfilling traditional Jewish Messianic hopes by overturning the oppressive Roman Empire and establishing a Kingdom of justice and equity on earth as in heaven. As a young boy, I too resonated with this image of Jesus as warrior, fueled by a desire to be rescued from the brokenness and evil of this world and set free from the vices of Satan- namely, my own repressed queerness- which I believed would surely condemn my soul to the Lake of Fire also described by John at the end of Revelation.
Throughout Christian history, the image of Jesus as the Lamb of God- both as the Lamb who was slain from the foundations of the world and the conquering Lamb who sets the world to rights- has been used as an icon by various groups of Christians. From being used as the emblem of imperial power in the Middle Ages[1] to being viewed as an image that offers a critique of both Greco-Roman and modern standards of masculinity[2], the image of Jesus as the Lamb of God has tremendous power and potential to shape Christian theology in unique and important ways. In this paper, I will seek to draw out the inherent queerness of the image of the Lamb of God in Revelation through exploring it through the lens of masculinity studies, queer theology, and liberation theology in an attempt to demonstrate the liberative possibilities the Lamb holds for LGBTQ+ Christians.
The Foolish Lamb of God Who Was Slain
We are first introduced to the Lamb of God in Revelation during John’s vision of heaven in chapter five. After glimpsing the throne room of God, filled with all sorts of winged, horned, multi-eyed creatures, John witnesses as scroll in the hand of God that is unable to be opened except by he who is “worthy”[3], but no such person is found in all the universe, which causes John to break out in sobs of sadness. But in a dramatic moment, the Elders declare that there is one who is worthy, and in truly theatrical fashion, John looks up and says:
“Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing at the center of the throne.”[4]
One can almost hear the words of John the Baptist echoed from the Gospel of John, “Behold, the Lamb of God!”[5]as the spotlight centers on this enthroned Lamb, looking as if it had been slain. This detail offers us our first opportunity to explore the queerness of this image. It is well established that in the ancient Roman world, one’s gender identity was defined not by one’s genitals, per se, but by one’s role in sexual intercourse and one’s social class. A Roman citizen-man was seen to be at the top of the “masculinity hierarchy” by nature of his social class as well as because he was assumed to be the “penetrator” in the sexual relationship, and his body was understood to be “impenetrable.” To be a manly man was to be one who could not be penetrated. To this point, Christopher A. Frilingos notes, “…the body of the mature Roman male was presented as inviolable… Penetration, for the elite Romans, at least, equaled domination, making sexuality and gender expressions of mastery.”[6]
To penetrate was to be a true man, one of power and dominance, and to be penetrated was to render one less than a man or else downright feminine and thus despisable. As Philo quite strikingly remarks, “the female is nothing else than an imperfect male”[7], and thus is inferior. But because this construction of masculinity had to do more than with one’s genitals but also with one’s social status and the role one played in the society in general, this understanding of masculinity and femineity spilled over beyond biological women to also include slaves, children, lower class Roman men, and criminals. In other words, penetration meant more than sexual penetration, but also “mental penetration”- ones perceived intellectual capabilities, “social penetration”- one’s ability and right to exploit other people for both economic gain and physical pleasure, and “physical penetration”- the ability of a body to be beaten, cut, pierced, or ultimately killed by the Empire. The penetration grid allowed Roman citizen men to sexually penetrate women, young boys, and even male slaves as a demonstration of their masculinity and an illustration of the inferiority, passivity, and imperfection of those being penetrated.
Which brings us to crucifixion. From the perspective of Roman gender construction and the penetration grid, every act of penetration of the male body was an act of emasculation. Any penetration or domination of a male’s body was seen as violating and draining the man of his masculinity. As Colleen Conway notes, “In the ancient context, a crucified body was a violated or penetrated body. It was a body subjected to the power of others, and thus an emasculated body.”[8] Thus, the act of crucifixion was the ultimate act of emasculation- the Roman Empire stripping a man of all masculinity, power, and worth as a consequence of his transgression against the power of the Empire. When viewed through this lens, the crucifixion of Jesus takes on new levels of depth often ignored in traditional Christian theology. The act of crucifixion was an act of humiliation, literally draining the victim of his most coveted asset from which virtually all his value and power in the Greco-Roman world came from- his masculinity. Dianne Swancutt notes, “As a Galilean Jew who the Romans nailed as a royal pretender, Jesus embodied everything the Roman man was not- dominated, penetrated, scourged, and humiliated.”[9]
Which brings us back to the Lamb of Revelation- the most important detail of this image of Jesus is not necessarily that he is a lamb, but that, in his glorified state, enthroned in the heavens, he looks as if he has been slain. In other words, in John’s apocalyptic vision and in thus also in the minds of many first century Christians, the glorified Christ eternally bears the marks of his crucifixion. This is a clear echo back to Johannine literature, John’s Gospel going out of its way to make the point that following his resurrection, Jesus still bore the marks of crucifixion.[10] In the Roman mind, this detail would render both the resurrected Jesus and the image of the lamb as a fundamentally feminized image- one drained of masculinity and still bearing the marks of imperial power. To an ideal Roman man, this would not be an image of power, but of humiliation, not one worthy of worship, but degradation- which seems to be precisely the point of the early Christian communities. Stephen Moore notes that the early Christians transformed this feminized image of a degraded Jesus into the “Colossal Christ”[11], a parody of Roman imperial notions of power and masculinity. Swancutt notes that the early Christians “resurrect[ed] their leader’s reputation and [gave] themselves status and identity. They remade their eunuch into a man.”[12]
The early Christian movement critiqued the Roman culture and empire through parody, and this is what I believe is happening in this image that John is casting in Revelation. By symbolizing the King of Kings and Lord of Lords as a wounded lamb, he is shining a light on the illegitimacy of the Roman conception of power and personhood. The Apostle Paul takes furthers this parody greatly by suggesting that the Jesus’ means that true, divine power does not come from one’s social status, class, ethnicity, or even gender[13], but one’s willingness to lower and sacrifice oneself for the good of others, just as Jesus did.[14] This would have truly been seen as “foolishness” to the Greco-Roman world, but Paul claims that indeed, this is the “power of God”.[15]
Queering the Lamb Who Was Slain
Unfortunately, the subversive critique of Roman dominance and masculinity of the early Christians quickly faded from the core of Christian theology- apparently, it truly was too foolish to think that Christianity could conquer the world through sacrificial service rather than through imperial dominance and power, which has resulted in roughly 1,800 years of Romanized “Christianity” which has marginalized women, queer people, people of color, and non-Christians. But for our purposes, I want to zero in on the liberating possibilities of the paradoxical slain Lamb of God offers to queer Christians.
First, the image of the slain lamb is fundamentally an affirmation of Divine androgyny, offering all people, but especially trans* and non-binary people a chance to see themselves reflected in the glorious image of Christ. Chris Frilingos affirms that the image of the slain lamb “contradict[s] the ideal of manliness based on domination”[16], thus presenting us was not quite a man, yet not quite woman, something more akin to a eunuch, which Halvor Moxnes notes is precisely how some ancient commentators spoke of Jesus and his disciples after his crucifixion.[17] Thus, as modern queer people gaze at the image of the slain lamb, we too are on firm ground to see a Christ that truly transcends the gender binary, who, within themselves contains a multitude of gender identities and no gender at all, yet is glorified none the less.
The androgynous lamb is a divine affirmation of the complexity of gender identity and an image of the proper posture that queer, non-binary, and trans* people should take in the world- standing proudly, boldly, and firmly in the light of God, knowing that though their identities and very existence is a critique and even threat to the patriarchal structures of our modern world, they hold ultimately hold the power and the keys to liberation from that system. In a culture and religion that promotes arbitrary standards and traits as “essential” to defining ones manliness or womanhood, the lamb encourages Christians to step beyond such distinctions and to embrace the paradox of the Gospel- that in Christ, all of our culturally defined identities fall to the wayside and we are freed to be authentically ourselves, even if that authenticity brings us into contradiction with our culture or religious traditions standards, for the same was true of Jesus.
Zeroing in on the wounds of the Lamb also offers us a unique opportunity to reflect upon the impact of queerphobia on LGBTQ+ people. Jesus was crucified, at least in part, because of the threat that his very identity and sense of purpose posed to the oppressive systems and structures of his culture- not least of which was his cultures conflation with sex, gender, and social status. Rome regularly crucified would-be Jewish insurrectionist Messiahs to destroy the morale of the colonized Jewish population and remind them who held the power, now and forever. But the way Jesus’ disciples responded to his crucifixion was unique in the first century- by claiming that the crucifixion was not actually evidence of the Empires power of Jesus but was an affirmation of Jesus’ power and perhaps even manliness. (Based on the notion of “sacrificial death” which was slowly becoming popular in Greco-Roman society) Stephen Moore argues that we should understand “passive resistance as a legitimate masculine stance”[18]and if we are to take his view as our lens, the androgynous reading of the Lamb is transformed into a re-masculinized image of triumph over the suffering that Jesus was subjected to by the Roman Empire.
While I am a bit skeptical of this reading of this image of the Lamb in Revelation 5, it does still offer a profound interpretative possibility for queer readers: through the wounds we’ve faced because of our queerness, when we step out into the light of authenticity together, we unlock the power to topple even the most powerful oppressive systems and structures. To use Carl Jung’s designation of “wounded healer” (later made popular in Christian circles by a queer author, Henri Nouwen[19]), most queer people will bear the marks of the repressive closet throughout our lives, yet instead of allowing that experience to be one that limits us, we often utilize those wounds as profound pieces of art and storytelling that bring healing to our ourselves and others. One needn’t look far to find the preponderance of queer writing, drag, music, and other art that, for instance, draws on the painful teachings of conservative religion, repurposing the visages of those traditions as tools for celebration of our queerness.[20] Indeed, as the Lamb of God that was slain stands, wounded and glorious, as an image of power and victory, queer people owning our religious wounds and repurposing them as tools of healing can tap into tremendous power.
The Transformation from Slain Lamb to Son of Man
A study of the Lamb of God in Revelation would be incomplete if it stopped at the image of the “meek” Lamb that was slain. Indeed, the Lamb continues to play a central role throughout the rest of the Book of Revelation, but makes its most prominent reappearance in chapters 14, where the Lamb appears on Mount Zion in Jerusalem, ready to make war against the Beast and to conquer the nations. It should be noted that there does seem to be a distinction in Revelation 14 between the image of the Lamb, who is the object of worship in verses 1-5 and the appearance of “one like the Son of Man” that wages war in verses 14-20. A transformation of Christ takes place from being a slain lamb to being, presumably, a powerful man.
The lamb that appears in chapter 14 does seem to reinforce Moore’s aforementioned point- that for the writer of Revelation, while the lamb may have many queer elements, it was ultimately transformed to be a subversive symbol not of peace and passivity, but a superior masculinity that would ultimately bring destruction to the oppressive systems of the Roman Empire. This lamb that transforms into the Son of Man is to be seen as embodying “ultimate masculinity”, though he endured penetration by the Empire, his “noble death” and triumphal resurrection has empowered him all the more to return the ”penetration” and domination but waging and winning a war against not only the Empire, but all forces of evil in the world once and for all.
But even here, I believe there is still an opportunity for a liberating queer reading. While I would never say that the suffering and oppression that queer people face is “noble”, I would argue that like the now glorified and powerful lamb who was slain, the queer person walks as both a crucified victim bearing the wounds of homophobia and transphobia, but also somehow as a resurrected and glorious person (once they’ve stepped out of the closet and into the light of authenticity). Freed from the weight of repression, freed from the fear of being “found out”, and in a community of beloved queers who can empathize and stand with them in their unique experience of “crucifixion”, queer folks possess a unique power attained only through their oppressive experience that makes them a threat to all the oppressive systems of patriarchy at work in our society.
The Lamb of God remains “as if he was slain”, forever pierced, forever rendered androgynous. Yet the power of Gospel message lies in the claim that Jesus doesn’t simply die under the weight of Roman, “nailed as a queen”[21]as Dianna Swancutt puts it. Instead, primarily through the later writings of Paul, crucifixion becomes a glorious act, one that Christians are invited to participate in to become a part of the “one new humanity”[22] that Christ is said to be creating. This act of terror and emasculation becomes the act of redemption that strips Christians of their gender, culture, class, and religion, and offers them a new identity as “one with Christ”[23], forever identified with this androgynous Messiah whose power comes not from dominance but from his willingness to offer himself, in all his queerness, for the good of others. Queer people, then, are invited to follow this example- overturning the oppressive ways of our world through creating communities of radical self-giving to one another that provide a network of mutuality and support as we work to create a new world- the Kingdom of God, if you will- amid this broken and oppressive one, just as many of the early Christian communities did.
The resurrected lamb of Revelation 14 that transforms into the Son of Man does present an image of Jesus that is not easily reconciled with the Jesus of the Gospels, but if the lambs war is not interpreted literally- this is apocalyptic literature after all- and instead is understood as the longing of an oppressed people for the systems and structures that keep them oppressed to be destroyed, the lambs war be reinterpreted as a dismantling of the “powers and principalities” that must be overturned rather than a fighting with “flesh and blood”[24], a literal violent war. In this sense, the queer warrior lamb becomes a symbol of hope for queer folks as well. We too are called to not passively sit by, basking in our own liberation, but instead are called to utilize our liberation to work to enact liberation for others. Our crucifixion and resurrection- the coming out experience- has prepared us to be able to empathize with many other oppressed people and the political, social, and cultural power we now have should be used not in service of ourselves but for collective, societal liberation.
Conclusion: Worthy is the Lamb
In this paper, I have sought to demonstrate from historical analysis that the image of the Lamb of God in Revelation is fundamentally queer- transgressive of the assumed gender and sexual norms of the Greco-Roman world of the first century. From exploring how the penetration of Jesus impacted his perceived masculinity and social status and what this meant for his followers, to exploring how picturing Jesus as eternally bearing the marks of his crucifixion can be instructive for how LGBTQ+ people bear the wounds of our closeted existence, to ultimately finding power in our queerness to wage a revolution over the powers and principalities of heteronormativity, I have sought to recreate the Agnus Dei as a symbol of healing and liberation for queer people in the same way that it was a symbol of the hope of liberation for the earliest Christians. There are obviously many questions left unanswered and so much more to explore, but for now, I will leave us with a queer affirmation of Lamb sung by the saints and angels gathered around their heavenly throne:
“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise! To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!"[25]
[1] See Murray, Peter; Murray, Linda (1998). "Agnus Dei". The Oxford Companion to Christian Art and Architecture. Oxford University Press. p. 6. ISBN 978-0-19-860216-3.
[2] See Frilingos, Christopher Sexing the Lamb
[3] Revelation 5:2
[4] Revelation 5:6
[5] John 1:29
[6] Frilingos, Spectacles of Empire, pg. 71
[7] Philo, QE 1.7; cf. also Spec. Laws 1.200–20
[8] Conway, Behold the Man, pg. 67
[9] Swancutt, Towards a Theology of Eros, pg. 84
[10] John 20:27
[11] Moore- see swancutts footnote on page 85 for reference.
[12] Swancutt, Towards a Theology of Eros, pg 85
[13] Galatians 3:28
[14] Philippians 2 Kenosis Hymn
[15] 1 Corinthians 1:18 and
[16] Frilingos, Spectacles of Empire, 77
[17] Moxnes, Halvor, “Putting Jesus in his Place”, pg 72-90
[18] Moore, Revolting Revelations, 197 n. 8
[19] Nouwen, Henri J. M. (1979-02-02). The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society. Doubleday. ISBN 978-0-385-14803-0.
[20] See the musician Semlers chart topping album “Preachers Kid”, the popular “Yass Jesus Podcast” hosted by Mean Girls Actor Daniel Franzesse and journalist Azariah Southworth, recently departed Gay Comedian Leslie Jordan’s Album of Christian Hymns “Company’s Comin’” or Drag Queen Latrice Royale’s fabulous performance of her original gospel song “Jesus Is a Biscuit, Let Him Sop You Up” on RuPaul’s Drag Race for some recent examples.
[21] Swancutt
[22] Bible refeence
[23] Bible reference
[24] Ephesians 6
[25] Paraphrase of Revelation 5:12-13