The term queer in the title of this book may take some readers–especially older ones–by surprise. Once used as a derogatory slur, it has since been reclaimed as an inclusive term for people of diverse non-heterosexual and/or non-cisgender identities. The word also carries a more defiant edge than the acronym LGBTQ.

Brandan Robertson, author of Queer & Christian: Reclaiming the Bible, Our Faith, and Our Place at the Table, embraces the term queer. Beyond referring to sexual orientation, he notes that it also means “to disrupt arbitrary norms, making space for diverse and often marginalized expressions and perspectives to flourish.” This layered meaning can be unsettling, such as when Robertson refers to God as queer. (I can imagine the horror on some people’s faces as they wrestle with that sentence.)

The book is divided into four parts. I found the first part the most enlightening and moving. Robertson describes his beginnings as the son of two blue-collar parents living in suburban Maryland. A shy and sensitive child, he was perceived as different from others, endured bullying, and suffered from social anxiety. At age twelve, two neighborhood girls invited him to their large, fundamentalist church, where he came to faith due to the church’s welcoming attitude and the realization that he was loved by God. Robertson quickly learned that his church’s acceptance of him was limited, and he was expected to accept its teachings without questioning. When he began to realize he was gay, he was horrified to hear that his attraction to men was considered an abomination and a threat to God’s design for the family.

Robertson’s struggle to suppress his sexuality continued through high school and his time as a student at the Moody Bible Institute. For those who believe homosexuality is a choice, Robertson’s relentless efforts to change himself make a compelling counterargument. One of his professors assured him that “through a radical commitment to Jesus and the Bible,” the Spirit would help him overcome his same-sex attraction. He even participated in healing prayer sessions meant to “cure” him. Near the end of college, he endured an intensive conversion session that included invasive personal questions, prayers invoking demons and false gods, and prayer ministers speaking in tongues. He had an epiphany that the process was not of God–it was crazy.

The second part of Queer & Christian examines the so-called “clobber verses”—the biblical passages traditionally used to condemn queer people. Robertson explores their historical and theological context, and at the end of each chapter he offers a concise “Quick Response” that summarizes his interpretation.

Part 3, “Seeing Ourselves in Scripture,” is perhaps the most controversial section. Here Robertson reinterprets familiar biblical stories—Ruth and Naomi, David and Jonathan, Joseph’s “magic dress,” Jesus and the beloved disciple—through a queer lens. Whether or not readers agree, the section underscores how personal experience shapes the way we approach the Bible.

In the final section, Robertson turns to some practical questions queer Christians may have about navigating their sexuality and their faith, such as applying the Bible, coming out as a queer Christian, what to think about dating and marriage, and how to think about those who claim to be ex-gay. He makes a persuasive case that queer people can reconcile their sexuality and their faith and reclaim the Bible, their faith, and their place at the table.

The book’s dedication captures its heart:

Dedicated to all the queer people who have ever been on the receiving end of bigotry and abuse at the hands of someone holding a Bible. May this book help you to reclaim your power and know deep in your bones that you are beloved by God, just as you are.

Queer & Christian is published by St. Martin’s Essentials, which provided a copy for this review.