Born Again Queer: A History of Evangelical Gay Activism and the Making of Antigay Christianity

by William Stell

A groundbreaking history of evangelicalism and homosexuality in the United States

Evangelicals claim that their opposition to homosexuality is an inherent feature of their faith, rooted in their unchanging beliefs about the Bible. Most scholars, journalists, and observers have accepted this account; in Born Again Queer, William Stell upends it. Arguing that the antigay majority in evangelicalism has been less dominant and more vulnerable than previously thought, Stell describes a network of authors, ministers, and professors—all veterans of major evangelical institutions—who worked in the 1970s and 1980s to persuade Christians that their churches should affirm the relationships and ministries of gay and lesbian members. By the late 1970s, some even thought that these activists might shape the future of evangelicalism.

Of course, that speculation proved mistaken, and the antigay evangelical majority eventually overpowered the gay-affirming minority. Stell’s history of the rise and fall of evangelical gay activism shines a light on this largely forgotten chapter in American evangelicalism. Drawing on extensive archival research and interviews, Stell documents the work of four prominent the founder of a predominantly LGBTQ+ denomination called the Metropolitan Community Churches, the leader of a gay advocacy organization called Evangelicals Concerned, and the evangelical feminist coauthors of the influential book Is the Homosexual My Neighbor? By recovering the successes of evangelical gay activists and the struggles of their opponents, Stell’s account transforms how we think about evangelicalism, how we talk about the culture wars, and how we approach both religion in queer movements and queer activism in religious movements.

Genres: History, Nonfiction, Religion, LGBT, Faith

336 pages, Hardcover

Published May 12, 2026

Reviews

[Alex Strohschein · Rating 4 out of 5]

A few months ago Matthew Vines (who has a cameo at the end of this book), author of God and the Gay Christian: The Biblical Case in Support of Same-Sex Relationships, confessed that he had issues with queer theory. He critiqued queer theory for its insistence on “queering” or “subverting” the “norm”; rather, Vines maintained that what is normal is not inherently in need of subversion - that social norms may be good and their reform unnecessary. In this way, as the host Justin Brierly remarked, Vines sounded like he was making a conservative argument as a gay, affirming Christian. Thus, Vines is in many ways an heir to the figures featured in William Stell’s new book Born Again Queer: A History of Evangelical Gay Activism and the Making of Antigay Christianity.

When we typically think of Christian individuals and groups espousing reforming, liberal views on LGBTQ+ issues we tend to think of people like the pioneering gay Episcopal bishop Gene Robinson or the theologian Marcella Althaus-Reid, author of Indecent Theology: Theological Perversions in Sex, Gender and Politics. Many of these individuals and groups profess beliefs that are incompatible with evangelical beliefs, finding their natural home in the Protestant Mainline or on the outskirts of orthodoxy. Indeed, some gay Christians express frustration that some liberal churches seem so obsessed with affirming their sexuality that they leave little room for actual Christian doctrine.

The individuals profiled by Stell - Troy Perry, Ralph Blair, Letha Dawson Scanzoni, and Virginia Ramey Mollenkott - were all (with the exception of Scanzoni) gay activists who largely held to evangelical theology while also insisting that God and the Bible blessed same-sex relationships (at least modern-day versions based on dignified mutuality rather than the predatory pederasty of antiquity).

The chapters throughout the book are short and Stell begins with setting the context for the emergence of evangelical gay activism. In the aftermath of World War II, the wider culture at this time still viewed homosexuality negatively, linking it to the “other,” including communism. But during the 1960s, culture became more accepting of gay people. Early Christian conversations around homosexuality were largely based on psychiatry, such as in Christianity Today (CT), evangelicalism’s flagship magazine, but even in 1964, the respected German theologian Helmut Thielicke suggested committed same-sex partnerships might be appropriate for homosexuals who could not bear celibacy or heterosexuality (40-41). This led CT to focus more on exegesis and theology, including gender complementarity, to craft its stance against homosexuality. Gender complementarity seemed to offer firmer justification for opposing gay relationships as older interpretations of biblical texts (such as linking the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah exclusively to homosexuality) became less credible, even among evangelical scholars. Another strategy used by conservative evangelicals was to claim that their interpretations were the “clear” or “plain” reading of Scripture which served to shut down dissent and alternative hermeneutics (59-60). At around the same time, evangelicalism as a whole became more conservative as the emergent political Religious Right permeated older evangelical institutions (7). As culture became increasingly accepting of gay relationships through the 1980s - 1990s, conservatives insisted that evangelicalism and homosexuality was incompatible; all gay Christians were simply liberal. Chiding the respected sociologist James Davison Hunter, Stell writes:

In recent years, Hunter showed, many Christians had been just as worried about the “gay agenda” within their own denominations, such as advocacy for gay and lesbian ordination, as they were worried about developments outside of their denominations. Ironically, Hunter’s own culture wars thesis, with its framework of polarization, facilitated the neglect of this observation. In the minds of many, religious conservatism stood on one side of the battlefield, secular liberalism stood on the other, and the war was as straightforward as that. This construct proved quite useful to religious people who embraced causes deemed “conservative,” allowing them to speak as if any properly religious person would be on their side. Meanwhile, some who supported causes deemed “liberal” were content to denounce conservatism and religion simultaneously. In this climate, it would become easy to miss not only that the sides and their dividing lines were never so simple, but that many battle leaders of antigay evangelicalism knew this and obfuscated it (222).

Troy Perry came from pentecostal roots and after a failed marriage he openly came out as gay. He founded the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC), a denomination whose membership was largely (though never entirely) composed of gay men and women and which drew from across traditions, including Roman Catholic (87). Seen as a beacon of hope for its congregants, it was often perfunctorily written off as “a gay church”; Stell notes that to this day, it has been barred from admittance to the ecumenical National Council of Churches (I understand that it would have been tangential, but I heard Stell give a talk at AAR/SBL about the MCC’s presence in Africa which doesn’t make it into this book but which is fascinating, 88-89).

Ralph Blair, the founder of Evangelicals Concerned (EC), was arguably the most conservative. A psychotherapist and dedicated student of Scripture and church history who attended several evangelical schools, he would on occasion critique the wider gay culture’s affirmations of promiscuity (including, sometimes, MCC publications) that Blair saw at odds with sincere Christian living (even if the offending MCC was a branch Perry did not lead, Perry and Blair never had high regard for each other, 128, 132, 141). Blair also condemned liberation theology (130-31).

Letha Dawson Scanzoni and Virginia Ramey Mollenkott were two prolific writers and early evangelical feminists who co-authored Is the Homosexual My Neighbor? A Positive Christian Response. Released by Harper & Row in 1978 (during the peak of evangelical gay activism) and largely based on the work of John J. MacNeil (who would later be expelled from the Jesuits), it was one of the first books to examine homosexuality that was widely read by evangelicals. Scanzoni and Mollenkott were castigated for their affirming advocacy; their detractors charged them with being compromised by culture (221). Elisabeth Elliott (who Mollenkott apparently insinuates engaged in lesbian activity) dishonestly accused Mollenkott of being a “humanist” in order to invoke fears of “secular humanism” even though when Mollenkott had called herself a humanist she had placed the adjective “Christian” before it (151, 217). Evidence of Is the Homosexual My Neighbor?’s impact can be seen in its inclusion in Eternity magazine’s list of Top 22 most influential books of 1978. Stell gives a perceptive close-reading of the list; 22 titles seems like an arbitrary number but this allowed Don Williams’ antigay book to just make the cut, joining Richard Lovelace’s Homosexuality and the Church as two traditional books against Scanzoni and Mollenkott’s affirming title (175-76).

According to Stell, evangelical discussion of homosexuality initially based itself on psychology before moving into exegesis. Yet with gay evangelicals marshalling their own exegetical evidence in support of same-sex relationships, Stell contends conservative evangelicals were forced to rely more upon an innovative theology of gender that stressed complementarity. It is well-known that George W. Knight III is credited with the genesis of complementarian teachings in the 1970s but evangelical egalitarians (such as Christians for Biblical Equality) tend not to hold to the complementarian theology of conservative evangelicals even while maintaining traditional views on homosexuality.

Stell seems to claim that every time a major evangelical publisher like CT commented on gay Christians it represented a “chink in the armour” of evangelicalism’s stance on homosexuality. It’s true, evangelicalism is not ironclad and there are gay evangelicals past and present, but it’s odd to marshal this as evidence of the possibility that evangelicalism could have become open towards homosexuality in the 1970s and 1980s. Media is dedicated to reporting news and opining. Especially if early on gays were viewed empathetically through the lens of psychiatry, I could see outlets like CT addressing “the least of these” in order to inform their audiences. Evangelicals have often viewed deviations from heteronormativity as sad burdens and crosses to be borne and have sought pastoral advice on how to walk alongside sexual minorities.CT's columns gave them such guidance. Evangelicals denounce racism but one would still expect their media to report on news and initiatives aimed at fostering improved interracial relationships, advancing multicultural projects, etc…Does Stell think silence would have been a stronger response by conservative evangelicals? Many liberal Christians today insist that because Jesus never spoke of homosexuality he must not have considered it an issue of hugely moral significance; but does Stell take Jesus' silence in the New Testament as straightforward proof that he never opened the door to gay relationships?

As a gay historian, Stell’s tone throughout the book is largely one of admiration for the figures he has studied. At the same time, he (following others like Matthew Avery Sutton and Jared Stacy) critiques a previous generation of church historians and evangelical scholars for being too glowing towards evangelicalism and for downplaying the presence of evangelical gay activists. Stell writes:

This is not to say that evangelicals do not care about history. Quite the contrary, they care so much that they invented their own. During EC’s early years, a network of evangelical historians (led by George Marsden, Mark Noll, and Nathan Hatch) promoted the unconventional idea that “the history of evangelicalism” stretched back to and encompassed much of the American colonial period. As Michael Altman puts it, “evangelical historians wanted a useable past for their tradition,” so they gave themselves “a history as old as George Whitefield or the Puritans.” Language of “biblical” may be evangelicals’ favorite weapon, but “traditional” is not far behind. Naturally, the further back a tradition is said to go, and the more momentous events and lauded figures it is said to include, the more compelling the language of “traditional” becomes (131-32).

This is a telling quote but it also muddies Stell’s quest and critique of belief-based models. He complains that the gay activists he profiles are ostracized from evangelicalism but he also objects to evangelical historians for setting the bounds of what counts as “evangelical” because he, Altman, Sutton, and others see disjuncture between 18th century evangelicals and the “neo-evangelicals” that emerged after World War II. But do you want to know what John Wesley and Ron Sider have in common besides biblicism, crucicentrism, conversionism, and activism? They also both believed (because biblicist) that homosexuality was sinful and condemned same-sex practice. Does Stell think there are more similarities between Jonathan Edwards and John Piper or between Jonathan Edwards and John Shelby Spong? Protestants are also a bookish people; is it not reasonable to conclude that reading Richard Baxter, William Law, Charles Spurgeon, and Phoebe Palmer would not form and shape the identity of modern day evangelicals? Edwards and Piper's evangelical identities are distinguishable, but they still have enough in common for the latter to be the "spiritual descendent" of the former.

Stell is particularly dismissive of the “Bebbington Quadrilateral” because he deems it inadequate. The Quadrilateral (drawn from the work of David Bebbington) takes four beliefs as definitive of evangelicalism - biblicism, crucicentrism, conversionism, and activism. Stell claims that the figures he profiles in Born Again Queer espoused these beliefs but that their excommunication from evangelicalism renders the Quadrilateral faulty as a marker of evangelical bona fides. He essentially critiques it because it doesn’t include the gay evangelicals he profiles even as across church history up until fairly recently (the 1960s) no major Christian group condoned homosexuality. I would simply argue that evangelicals would largely regard affirmation of homosexuality as a rejection of “biblicism” because their interpretation of its passages related to same-sex practice is one of condemnation; Blair and Mollenkott would disagree based on their exegesis, but theirs would be the minority interpretation among evangelicals both historically and globally. "Biblicism" can be admittedly vague, but I would argue one evangelicals see it as their guide for Christian living; Scripture requires interpretation and conservatives and gay evangelicals interpreted passages pertaining to homosexuality differently yet the evangelical consensus for centuries had been to prohibit same-sex practice. No wonder Stell critiques the term “traditional”; because the gay evangelicals he admires inherently are innovators seeking to reform the historical Christian sexual ethic.

Mindful of Stell’s commentary on evangelicals’ use of the terms “biblical” and “traditional,” as the very subtitle of his book proclaims, to refuse to affirm same-sex behaviour is to be “antigay” as well as “homophobic.” This is charged language and one wonders how fair it is? By and large, in the battle over abortion the two sides are widely referred to as “pro-life” and “pro-choice.” Would it be fair for pro-lifers to describe their opponents as “anti-life” or “pro-death?” I expect that Stell might say refusing to affirm homosexuality is inherently to be antigay just the same as to disavow the equality of black skin is inherently to be racist. We would have to disagree (I blame identity politics).

CT tasked Tim Stafford with writing a review of Is the Homosexual My Neighbor? Snell notes that Stafford’s review is more diplomatic than other conservative views but that he ultimately still espouses antigay sentiments. I suppose that I am emulating Stafford when I commend Born Again Queer as an astute work of historical scholarship that showcases how in the 1970s - 1980s some gay Christians remained deeply committed to evangelical beliefs even as they diverged from the evangelical establishment over the validity and morality of same-sex relationships.

It is fascinating to look back on arguments about homosexuality and evangelicalism in the 1970s - 1980s from the vantage point of today. I remember debating people online (never a good use of time) in the early 2000s about homosexuality back when liberals dogmatically professed a belief in the (still-elusive) “gay gene” but we rarely seem to discuss homosexuality’s origins anymore. What’s more, same-sex marriage is the law of the land in much of the West and transgenderism now seems to be evangelicalism’s main target (and in this, ironically, they find allies among gay conservatives). But there’s also a kind of “development of doctrine” that also challenges affirming interpretations of the Bible - the “redemptive-historical hermeneutic” most notably seen in William Webb’s Slaves, Women, and Homosexuals: Exploring the Hermeneutics of Cultural Analysis. I think Stell could have provided a wider scope of gay evangelicals in relation to the wider gay movement at the time, but this is a valuable book to read and ponder.

[Steven H · Rating 5 out of 5]

A VERY HELPFUL AND INFORMATIVE BOOK ABOUT EVANGELICALS AND LGBTQ ISSUES

William Stell teaches Religious Studies at New York University. He wrote in the Introduction to this 2026 book, “This is a history of something that a lot of people assume did not exist. Even trickier, it is a history of something that a lot of people say CANNOT exist. To them, the title of this book is no mere novelty: it is an affront. Many evangelicals today are offended by the implication that gay activism had a place within their movement. Meanwhile, many LGBTQ people are offended by the implication that some evangelicals might have been something other than absolute enemies. Even those who are not offended may still be suspicious… Many assumed that the subjects of this book were celibate. They were not. Many assumed that they were not connected to any well-known evangelical institutions. They were. Many assumed that these … evangelical GAY activists … could not possibly have made a significant impact on evangelicalism, could not possibly has posed any perceivable threat to evangelical leaders. They did. My rather simple response to offended evangelicals (including more than a few scholars) is that their own predecessors testify against them: numerous antigay evangelical leaders in the late 1970s anxiously attacked these people who, according to antigay evangelicals today, do not exist.” (Pg. 1-2)

He continues, “Who were these evangelical gay activists? [This book] concentrates on four individuals: Rev. Troy Perry, founder of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches (MCC)… Ralph Blair, founder of a religious organization engaged in gay advocacy called Evangelicals Concerned… Dr. Virginia Ramey Mollenkott and Letha Dawson Scanzoni, leaders in the evangelical feminist movement and coauthors of the groundbreaking book ‘Is the Homosexual My Neighbor? Another Christian View.’ Together, these four individuals shepherded an evangelical gay activist network. Their shared task was to persuade Christians in the United States that gay and lesbian Christians should be welcomed as equal members of their churches, which entailed endorsing their partnerships and allowing them to pursue ordained ministry. Throughout the book I refer to this view as ‘gay-affirming’ and to the views of its opponents as ‘antigay.’ … All four of these individuals claimed the label ‘evangelical,’ and all four spent ample time in congregations and other communities that claimed that label. All four had in common an evangelical (and more specifically Fundamentalist) college education.” (Pg, 3-4)

He goes on, “As these evangelical gay activists were making inroads, prominent antigay evangelicals labored to deny and distort the considerable resemblances they shared with them. In time, those denials and distortions not only buried the history of evangelical gay activism but rendered the term itself, ‘evangelical gay activism,’ illegible. This book recovers that history and analyzes the construction of that illegibility. In the process [it] demonstrates that evangelical positions on homosexuality in the 1970s and 1980s were contested and shifting, such that evangelicalism’s antigay majority was much less dominant and much more vulnerable than both academic and popular accounts have acknowledged.” (Pg. 5)

He adds, “That antigay majority became especially vulnerable as evangelical gay activism peaked in the late 1970s. At the very same time… Organizations associated with the Christian Right contributed to a much-discussed antigay turn within evangelicalism and throughout the nation. Less discussed is the rise of the ex-gay movement, which emerged in the late 1970s and enjoyed the embrace of many evangelical leaders by the early 1980s… While touting the ex-gay movement’s purported successes, evangelicals could safely ignore or else easily dismiss the arguments of evangelical gay activists. In addition, the AIDS epidemic began decimating gay communities in the early 1980s… as evangelical leaders publicly associated AIDS with the sinfulness of homosexuality, evangelical communities became even less receptive to the pleas of evangelical gay activists… their cause still [had] little chance of thriving beyond the 1970s. And yet, the modest victories they won, and the fears they aroused, have much to teach us.” (Pg. 5-6)

He reports, “Over the course of the 1960s… a small but growing number of Protestant ministers and theologians began to speak up on behalf of gay people. They encouraged dialogue within their congregations, pleaded for Christlike compassion, and endorsed decriminalization. (In the mid-1960s, 49 states of the District of Columbia had sodomy laws.) Some of these Christians even proposed an ethical reconsideration: perhaps churches should affirm or at least tolerate same-sex relationships, provided that both partners had proven unable to cope in heterosexual relationships, and provided that they practice monogamy. By the mid-1960s, Christianity Today was acknowledging these Christian voices, though without substantially engaging their theological arguments or biblical exegesis… Instead, Christianity Today increasingly incorporated psychiatric language of pathology, arguing that gay people could, with proper treatment, rectify their ‘stunted’ development and learn to cope in heterosexual relationships.” (Pg. 32)

He notes that ‘two Christianity Today articles offered conflicting answers to the question of whether Leviticus 18:22 remained a binding commandment for Christians, with one author claiming that his interpretation was … ‘clear’ and the other author claiming that his interpretation was ‘plain.’ … Christianity Today portrayed the arguments of gay-affirming Christians as hopelessly complicated… [performing] fantastic exegetical somersaults… the magazine depicted the growing number of gay-affirming Christians as enemies of the faith who had to be excommunicated.” (Pg. 48-49) “[The] magazine conceded that the Christian Right rhetoric could be heavy-handed… Even so, in the early 1980s, Christianity Today provided a platform for the Christian Right’s agenda.” (Pg. 55) Still, “On occasion, Christianity Today openly admitted that interpreting biblical texts is frequently more complex than plain and more ambiguous than clear.” (Pg. 58)

The year 1968 saw the founding by Troy Perry of the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC). (Pg. 68-69) He notes, “While scholars of religion and scholars of sexuality alike have noted Perry’s pentecostal faith and the surprising degree of conservatism (theological and otherwise) within his denomination, a fuller historical account of these matters has not yet been produced, and its connection to a larger history of evangelical gay activism has not yet been traced… despite the fact that … Perry was one of the most recognizable gay activists in the nation, leading one of the largest gay organizations in the world.” (Pg. 71)

He reports, “the Jesus Movement had its own queer history. One of its most prominent figures, Lonnie Frisbee, had clandestine gay relationships throughout much of his life. Frisbee’s ministry as an evangelist was instrumental to the growth of both Calvary Chapel under Chuck Smith and the Vineyard Movement under John Wimber. Once Frisbee’s sexual activities could no longer be hidden, he was pushed out of the movement and eventually written out of its history.” (Pg. 74)

He recounts, “the MCC sought ecumenical relationships with other Christian bodies… the Fellowship expressed interest in joining both the National Council of Churches (NCC) and the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE)… the NCC tried to contrive a theological justification for why the [MCC] should not be permitted to join… because the MCC plainly met the requirements for membership… [and] denominational representatives reminded them that the Fellowship’s bylaws made no mention of sexuality… Ultimately, the inability to justify excluding the MCC on theological grounds did not matter… most of the Eastern Orthodox denominations, numbering 9 of the NCC’s 32 bodies, announced that if the NCC so much as voted on the ELIGIBILITY of the Fellowship, they would promptly withdraw from the NCC… Today, the NCC’s vote remains indefinitely postponed.” (Pg. 88-89)

He explains, “Evangelicals Concerned (EC) fought for … recognition through various avenues… the organization distributed two quarterly newsletters, both authored by Ralph Blair… While EC’s conferences, Bible studies, and other events were intended primarily for gay evangelicals themselves, Blair’s publications sought a wider audience and advanced broader aims: to equip straight evangelicals who were supportive, to persuade those who were uncertain, and to counter antigay opponents.” (Pg. 107-108) Later, he adds, “Ex-gay language of sexual conversion---being ‘cured of’ or ‘delivered from’ homosexuality and becoming heterosexual---was a ‘sick joke,’ according to Blair. Conversion to heterosexuality ‘cannot and does not take place in anyone'… Demands for sexual conversion distorted the principles of ‘sola fide’ and ‘sola gratia’ by turning salvation into something that gay people must earn by becoming straight.” (Pg. 114) He notes, “EC was substantially defined by what Blair opposed, and evangelical gay activists often felt themselves judged by him---and judged him back… part of [Blair] positioning himself as ‘more true to the Gospel than others.’” (Pg. 140)

He points out, “[Letha] Scanzoni and [Virginia Ramey] Mollenkott had developed a knack for articulating ideas that many evangelicals considered controversial---ideas about racism, feminism… and doing so in ways that evangelicals found palatable… these two women were well-positioned to offer … ‘another Christian view’ on homosexuality to evangelicals… In evangelical periodicals’ early reviews of the book, sympathetic tolerance was just as common a response as was condemnation.” (Pg. 157) Later, he notes, “Letha Scanzoni… and others in ... EWC saw evangelical gay activism as a natural and necessary extension of evangelical feminist commitments. Their view clashed with… others in EWC who saw evangelical gay activism first and foremost as a liability.” (Pg. 249) “Despite this, lesbian women and their supporters continued to occupy a prominent place in EWC’s ministry.” (Pg. 256)

He laments, “Ron Sider, ‘Sojourners’ staff, and many EWC [Evangelical Women’s Caucus] leaders … maintained that same-sex relationships were immoral even as they supported various civil rights protections for gay people.” (Pg. 231) “In the magazine’s July 1991 issue… the editors stated that Sojourners would now refrain from taking a formal position on the morality of same-sex relationships. Instead, their pages would present both gay-affirming and antigay views, in hopes of facilitating healthy dialogue between Christians who disagree.” (Pg. 247)

He summarizes, “The question is not whether evangelicalism has always been characterized by an exceptionally severe antigay stance. It has not always been. Nor is the question whether gay activism ever existed or ever grew within evangelicalism. It did. Nor is the question whether evangelicalism could, one day, become a movement that largely affirms certain gay and lesbian relationships. It could. The question is: Can there be an evangelicalism that is not built on the bodies of queer outsiders?” (Pg. 268-269)

This very informative book will be of great interest to anyone studying Christianity and LGBTQ issues.

[Charles Michael · Rating 5 out of 5]

Born Again Queer

I must admit I was reluctant to buy this book. The word queer strikes me hard. In my youth it was a derogatory term. It was the equivalent of using the “N” word for African Americans. Yet, just as my own book An Uncertain Life: Growing up Gay and Southern Baptist was coming out so too was Dr. William Stell’s book entitled Born Again Queer. It immediately resonated with my soul. I preordered and received it just before leaving for a couple of weeks in the Canadian Rockies. I read half on the way out and finished it on the way, flying home to Florida.
One lesson I have learned from drafting my own story, and one this book confirms, is that civil rights come most slowly to those who remain silent. Alabama is a clear example. During the height of the civil rights movement, five major events took place in the state. Can you name them? Mobile, the state’s second-largest city, was not among them, and it made the least progress of Alabama’s major cities because “blacks behaved themselves.” In the conclusion, Dr. Stell writes, “…whatever the reasons behind them, the history of evangelical gay activism remains hidden from those who most need it. Some of the most vulnerable LGBTQ people have been robbed of the assurance that knowledge of predecessors can provide.” This final sentence of that paragraph (pg. 275) struck me: “…I do want all kinds of queer people, coming from all kinds of places, to know they have a history.”
I wrote my book because, as a born-again Christian, I wanted other gays from similar faith backgrounds to know they are loved by God. Stell likewise wants queer people to know they share a common history. Both messages are powerful. Why else would anti-gay people try to keep us unaware of our history and of God’s love for us?
(Answer: Anniston-Bus bombing, Montgomery: Bus Boycott, Tuscaloosa: Wallace standing in the doorof UofA, Birmingham: 16th Street Baptist Church Bombing and the Selma to Montgomery March across the Edmund Pettus Bridge)

[Wesley Ellis · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is a gift, not only to those within the fold of American evangelicalism who are trying to faithfully navigate questions of biblical authority and human sexuality—perhaps some of whom are unsettled by, or curious about, the unaffirming stances of their shepherds regarding LGBTQ identity—but also to any faithful Christian, evangelical or not, who has yet to discover the consolation that comes from knowing the history of one's predecessors.

American evangelicalism had to work, at times very hard, to construct the anti-gay and heteronormative Christianity that evangelicals too often simply take for granted. Knowing that the exclusionary stances and anti-LGBTQ interpretations of Scripture that have become synonymous with American evangelicalism—thanks in large part to the Religious Right and the AIDS epidemic—were not merely default or "common sense" understandings, but hard-fought identity markers constructed over against the efforts not only of those "liberals" outside the fold, but also especially of their fellow evangelicals, challenges some of the assumptions carried even by LGBTQ activists within Christianity. The very knowledge that there were, and indeed are, gay activists within some of the most powerful evangelical institutions will be novel to many readers.

In telling this history, William Stell has dealt a blow to those who would rather accept the dominant narrative of the Bible's simplicity and univocality in condemning same-sex relationships, as well as the presumptive assertion of the church's historical consensus on the matter. Through his detailed treatment of the construction of anti-gay Christianity, especially during the 1970s and 1980s, Stell demythologizes the struggle for queer affirmation within the church. This book is profoundly illuminating, sometimes depressing, but deeply helpful and even validating.

[Steve Watson · Rating 5 out of 5]

I spent most of the 90s deeply involved in a section of American moderate to progressive evangelical Christianity. We cared about forms of social justice, and we were wide ranging in our political views. But we also assumed that antigay views were the only real option for traditional Christians serious about out Bible.

I really wish we'd had a resource like William Stell's Born Again Queer back then. Stell describes the movements for queer inclusion and LGBTQ acceptance among 1970s-era evangelicals, including a fast-growing church network, a biblical gay rights advocacy organization, a feminist lesbian collective of authors and activists. In doing so, he challenges contemporary assumptions that to be evangelical necessitates being anti-queer and that to be queer needs to be associate with liberal anti-religiosity.

Stell also tells the sad story of the people and forces that resisted these inroads to gay rights in the evangelical movement, and how during the 80s and 90s, it became more committed to the ex-gay change narrative, and more vociferously anti-gay in its Bible reading, theology, and scapegoating of queer people. Noting evangelical tactics of defining its own purported faithfulness against purported outsiders and enemies, Stell wonders it if is possible that there could be evangelicalism that is not built on the bodies of queer outsiders.

I read this book grateful for the growing number of churches and followers of Jesus that celebrate the lives and faiths and loves of our queer siblings in Christ. But I read it sad that the evangelical world I found / that found me in the early 90s could have been so much larger, freer, and more loving.

[Nick · Rating 3 out of 5]

An enlightening, important history told in a frustrating narrow way. I picked this up because it counters the common narrative among religious and secular communities: that evangelicalism is not, and can not, welcome gay people. Stell shows, with passion, that this is not the case and that there were people trying to reform the mold while staying loyal to evangelism. It was interesting to read about the main subjects, who I think cover a wide range of views within evangelical gay activism. I learned a lot. For me, though, Stell focused way too much ink to biblical exegesis and rhetorical devices. I'm not evangelical, so perhaps this is normal, though I thought 'activism' had to include more than just debating the Bible. Stell makes his opinions known, as if he were the one debating the writers instead of reciting the history. It's telling that Troy Perry and MCC get their early section and then are barely mentioned again. The chapter on the reaction to AIDS was alarming short for something that shaped both gay and anti-gay views for a generation. The latter section on progressive outreach was more in line with what I thought the whole book would entail. Though I have my complaints, this book merits more attention, not because it's perfect, but because it's subject matter is deeply fascinating.

[Tara Lewis · Rating 5 out of 5]

I picked this up expecting a standard, dry academic timeline, but it completely shattered what I thought I knew about religion in America. It honestly left me deeply moved and incredibly reflective.

Stell uncovers a beautiful, almost entirely forgotten chapter from the 1970s and 80s where evangelical ministers, writers, and professors fought fiercely from within their own churches to demand the affirmation of LGBTQ+ Christians. Learning how close they came to changing the trajectory of the faith before being systematically overpowered by the antigay majority is absolutely heartbreaking.

The book is incredibly well researched, but it never loses its human soul. It honors the courage of these activists who refused to choose between their faith and their identity, while exposing how the modern culture wars were deliberately manufactured rather than inevitable. It is a stunning, essential history that completely shifts how you view faith, survival, and queer resilience.

[Austin Steelman · Rating 5 out of 5]

Absolute must-read for anyone interested in the history of American evangelicalism or LGBTQ history. Born Again Queer shows through both gay evangelical activists and their interlocutors that antigay evangelicalism was not an inevitable extension of tradition (a theory Stell aptly derides as hermeneutical determinism) but evolved alongside popular evangelical antifeminism in the 1970s. The whole book is well-written and compelling, but the chapter on progressive evangelicals' respectability politics and failure to listen to their gay evangelical one-time allies is particularly illuminating.

[Jennifer Cook Nafziger · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was raised in an environment where I believed it was impossible to be both gay and a Christian. I am glad to know that I was very wrong. Gay Christians have always existed, and at one point had a burgeoning place in the evangelical church. I was fascinated by this history.

[Allie Kay · Rating 3 out of 5]

A bit dense but still worth the read. I’m mostly grateful to this book for introducing me to Virginia Mollenkott. The conclusion especially took my breath away.