The Spirit Dwells Here

I still remember the first I was told I was going to hell. I was 15, and our youth group was ripping “For Those Tears I Died” by Marsha Stevens out of our song book because she came out as Lesbian. She was the mother of Contemporary Christian music, and now we were told, “Satan wrote that song through her.” Though I wasn’t named, that moment made it clear that someone like me, someone who was gay, could never be right with God. That message got inside me. It planted fear and shame that took years to uproot. I remember wondering if the secret I kept hidden from everyone was proof that somehow committed the "unforgivable sin."

You may have heard that phrase before. Jesus talks about it in the Gospels—blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. For many of us, it's been used like a theological hammer, warning us that our difference is an abomination. But I want to share what I’ve come to believe, especially as a queer pastor, and as someone who has walked with countless others who carry both deep faith and deep wounds.

In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus says: "Whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin." (Mark 3:29) That’s a heavy sentence. But if you read the full story, Jesus is saying this to religious leaders who had just accused him of casting out demons by the power of Satan. They were watching the healing, freeing work of God—and calling it evil. That’s what Jesus names as the real danger: when we see love, liberation, and grace—and call it wrong.

I think that’s exactly what’s happened to so many LGBTQ+ people in the church. We come out. We find joy. We start to love truthfully, to live fully, to trust that maybe—just maybe—God made us this way on purpose. And too often, someone tells us, “That’s not the Holy Spirit. That’s sin. That’s rebellion. That’s evil.”

I’ve had people say that to me. And more painfully, I’ve had people say it about me—from pulpits, behind closed doors, and online. Not because they know my story. But because the idea that God’s Spirit might dwell in a queer body was too much for them to accept.

But here’s the thing: The Spirit does dwell here. The same Spirit who hovered over the waters at creation… who fell like fire at Pentecost… who breaks down barriers and speaks every language… is still moving. Still calling. Still dancing through Pride parades and Sunday services and late-night conversations with teenagers who are terrified to come out.

And when people see that holy movement—and label it wicked? That’s what Jesus was warning about. Not that we are blasphemous, but that it’s dangerous to look at God’s liberating work in someone else and call it evil.

So no, being gay is not the unforgivable sin. Coming out is not blasphemy. Living into the truth of who you are is not a rejection of God—it might be the clearest “yes” you’ve ever spoken to the Spirit’s voice.

If you are reading this and have been told otherwise, please hear this: there is nothing about you that puts you beyond the reach of God’s grace. Nothing. And if you’ve been wounded by the church, I want to say I’m sorry. I know that pain. I carry it, too.

But I also know the Spirit who still whispers to us, even after the doors have slammed. I know the Jesus who still shows up at the margins, still eats with outsiders, still says, “For Those Tears I Died.”—not to condemn, but to recognize beauty, dignity, and belonging.

I know that God’s love is bigger than the walls we build around it. And I believe with my whole heart that the Spirit is still speaking—through queer voices, through trans joy, through every act of love that dares to shine in the face of shame.

So may we have the courage to listen. And may we never, ever mistake God’s goodness for something else.