Sin, Queerness, and Taoism (from July 2nd, by Esther Hwang)

By Esther Hwang

The idea of being a “sinner” hasn’t sat well with me ever since my parents told me they would not talk to me anymore if I were in a same-sex relationship. Their words were such a blow to my heart, and my relationship with God has felt severed ever since. I feel that severance all the more fiercely when I see stories of queer youth undergoing conversion therapy, forced to apologize for their innate humanness and to accept lies about their “difference” as a sin. 

In queer theory, queerness is not only a noun but a verb. “To queer” is “to resist regimes of the normal.” We say regimes because there are systems that control us, whether we are aware of them or not.

When my parents reacted to my coming out, they were unaware of the regimes that were controlling them. They were unable to imagine a future other than one of fear, shame, and exile. They were unable to hold onto trust, love, and acceptance. The only way out of their discomfort was to try to assert control over their daughter, who, to them, was pushing the limits too much.

I have always been one to push the limits, to question, and to challenge ideas. In my journey with religion, I have veered from Christianity and studied every religion I could get my hands on. In the end, I have found the least friction with Buddhist and Taoist ideologies. 

Whereas the word “sin” has been a block for me, Taoism helps me wrap my head around a universe that is infinitely more complex than any of us can wrap our tiny brains around. Whereas Christians are told to trust a higher power that can see beyond our limited perspectives, Taoism teaches that dualities are not so much opposing contradictions as interconnected aspects of a whole.

Sin can’t exist unless there’s a way to do things right. Being a good parent is inseparable from being a bad parent. And being queer is not as different from being normal as we think.

I’ve worked immensely hard in adulthood to accept myself, unlearn shame, and reparent myself in loving ways. Yet in that process, it’s easy for me to become self-righteous. I can work on myself in these ways. Why can’t everyone else? Obviously, I’m doing things right, and I would never do what they did.

But we’re all human, and it’s inevitable that I accidentally hurt others as well, even if it’s not in the specific way that my parents hurt me. I don’t know if my parents will ever work on their communication and emotional awareness in the ways that I wish they would, but the language of “messing up” rather than “sin” helps me be a little kinder to them. They messed up. I do too.

Although I still have a block in my heart when I hear someone say “we are all sinners,” the grace in my heart expands when someone says “we are all human. We may want to be perfect, but we’re all going to mess up sometimes.”