Intersectionality is a word that has become a great source of hope for me. At its core, intersectionality is the recognition that our lives are not shaped by just one identity or one struggle, but by many overlapping realities. Race, gender, class, sexuality, immigration status, disability, all of these intersect, shaping how we experience the world, how we are treated, and how we survive. Intersectionality reminds us that justice cannot be partial. Liberation cannot be selective. If it leaves anyone behind, it is not yet liberation. For too long we have treated struggles as isolated, as if racism has nothing to do with economic injustice, as if transphobia has nothing to do with patriarchy, as if the marginalization of immigrants has nothing to do with nationalism. But the truth is, these forces are interconnected, and so must be our resistance. The church, if we are honest, has struggled to live into this truth. For the last sixty years, we have watched a steady decline in church participation. Sanctuaries that were once full now echo with emptiness. Programs shrink, budgets tighten, and anxiety grows. It can feel like we are standing in the valley described in Ezekiel 37, surrounded by dry bones. Bones that once lived, once moved, once had purpose, now scattered and lifeless. But God asks Ezekiel a question that echoes to us today, “Can these bones live?” Ezekiel wisely responds, “O Lord God, you know.” Because the answer is not simple. The bones cannot live if we keep doing what we have always done. The bones cannot live if we continue to center the same voices, protect the same power structures, and exclude those whom Jesus consistently drew near to. The bones cannot live if we are afraid of transformation. But the Spirit of God does something unexpected. God tells Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones, to speak life where there is none, to call forth connection where there is fragmentation. Bone to bone, sinew to sinew, flesh upon flesh, breath entering where there was only emptiness. And what if the new life of the church depends on that same kind of reassembly? What if the Spirit is calling us not to preserve what was, but to become something new by centering those who have been pushed to the margins? What if immigrants, queer people, people of color, people living in poverty, the disabled, those long excluded, are not a threat to the church’s future but the very breath of life we have been missing? Intersectionality is not just a social theory. It is a spiritual truth. Because the body of Christ has never been whole when parts of the body are cut off. This is where the story of Lazarus in John 11 speaks so powerfully to us. Jesus arrives at the tomb of his friend, who has been dead for four days. The grief is real. The loss is heavy. Jesus weeps. And yet, Jesus calls out, “Lazarus, come out.” And Lazarus does. Still wrapped in grave clothes, still bound, still not fully free, he comes out of the tomb. This is a coming out story. The courage it takes to step into the light, to emerge from what has confined you, to be seen for who you truly are. For many LGBTQ people, that moment of coming out is deeply resonant with Lazarus stepping into the open air. But the story does not end there. Because Jesus then turns to the community and says, “Unbind him, and let him go.” Lazarus cannot remove the grave clothes on his own. He cannot fully free himself. His liberation requires the participation of the community. It requires people willing to come close, to touch what others might avoid, to do the sacred and uncomfortable work of unbinding. This is intersectionality in action. Liberation is not an individual act. It is communal. It is interconnected. As Martin Luther King Jr. described, we live in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. I have seen that truth in my own life. In less than a month from now I will be having top surgery. My insurance will not cover this necessary surgery, but in their absence I have experienced the power of interconnected community in a tangible way. More than 70 people have contributed to my gofundme. This is not just financial support. That is a community saying, “We see you. We believe in your wholeness. Let us unbind you.” Each donation is an act of solidarity. Each gift is a declaration that my freedom is bound up with theirs. That my ability to live authentically is not mine alone, but something we create together. That is what the church is called to be. Not a place where people are told to fix themselves before they belong. Not a place where only certain identities are centered and celebrated. But a place where we recognize that we need each other. That our liberation is intertwined. That the Spirit breathes life into dry bones when we come together across our differences and commit to justice that includes everyone. Intersectionality invites us to ask deeper questions. Who is missing from our tables? Whose voices have we ignored? Whose bodies have we deemed unwelcome? And what would it look like to not just include them, but to center them? Because when those who have been marginalized are brought to the center, something transformative happens. We begin to see more clearly. We begin to love more fully. We begin to embody the kind of community that Jesus was always creating. The valley of dry bones is not the end of the story. The tomb of Lazarus is not the end of the story. Decline, death, and despair do not have the final word. The Spirit is still moving. The voice of Christ is still calling. And the invitation is still before us, to come out, to unbind one another, to participate in a liberation that is as expansive as God’s love. So may we have the courage to embrace intersectionality not as a threat, but as a gift. May we see in one another the interconnected web of mutuality that binds us together. And may we become a community where dry bones rise, where the bound are set free, and where new life emerges in ways we never imagined possible. Amen. Get full access to TransPreacher at transpreacher.substack.com/subscribe
