Contemplation is Hella Gay
Reflections on Cassidy Hall's new book Queering Contemplation
“Through engaging in the contemplative life, I've come to learn that contemplation makes me more queer—more curious, wild, weird, fierce, free, embodied, and present. And, in turn, my queerness—in terms of both my sexuality and strangeness—has given my contemplative life more spaciousness, permission, eroticism, and wonder. My queerness and my contemplative life have become a union of joy, pleasure, and infinite possibility.”
Cassidy Hall, Queering Contemplation
In the first three centuries following the death of Jesus, many early followers felt called to “leave the world behind” as they knew it and retreat into the desert, forming the basis for Christian monasticism.
These rugged individuals, now known as desert mothers and fathers, or desert elders, embraced simple lives, practiced radical hospitality, and wove meditative practices into their daily routines all with the goal of deeply communing with the presence of God.
They’re largely considered the first Christian mystics who passed on a very different way of relating to God than what would come out of the formal religious institution — the Catholic church — which was also in its infancy at that time.
Modern Christians or spiritual seekers looking for an intimate connection to Source still use many of the contemplative practices that grew out of the desert tradition, such as the centering prayer and lectio divina.These practices encourage a present connection to Spirit, built on the belief that Spirit is actively speaking and moving in our lives. And they can be incredibly comforting.
The establishment of the contemplative path was hella queer. The desert elders resisted societal norms and were transformed through this resistance — that’s queer. But over the centuries, this same path has become less and less queer.
Nowadays, the idea of retreating from society feels less like an act of resistance and more like an act of bystanding.
“Much of the contemplative work I once leaned on depended on the notion that withdrawing from the world was the best way to love it more deeply,” contemplative practitioner Cassidy Hall writes in her new book Queering Contemplation: Finding Queerness in the Roots and Future of Contemplative Spirituality. “This idea, created by voices of the contemplative status quo, ignored how showing up to our lives and communities can be an act of contemplation, liberation, or even survival (of story or self). For many, including me, contemplation begins right where we are—and going away from the world disregards our responsibility to make it a better place for all of creation.”
The “voices of the contemplative status quo,” i.e. the dominant voices of Western contemplative scholarship, are mostly straight cisgender white men. But these are far from the only individuals involved in the contemplative path. In her book, Hall pulls in perspectives from fellow queer contemplatives, as well as people of color. (For years, she’s gathered diverse perspectives on the contemplative path through her podcasts Queering Contemplation and Contemplating Now.)
For many, including me, contemplation begins right where we are—and going away from the world disregards our responsibility to make it a better place for all of creation.
Hall’s work across the book and her podcasts investigate how to queer the contemplative path — how to keep it strange, centered on resistance, and mindfully diverse. This includes a gamut of contemplative experiences, from queering boredom to queering ritual.
Why Contemplation is So Relevant for Queer Folks
There are reasons why queer folks and other marginalized communities gravitate to contemplative practices and communities across traditions. I’m thinking about movements like Angel Kyodo William’s Transformative Change or the Shelterwood Collective.
Any contemplative practice—not just those rooted in the Christian tradition but also Eastern meditation practices, Indigenous sweat lodges, and so on—can invite a more authentic connection to the Universe. It can assist in deprogramming and healing from trauma. If you believe in an active presence in the universe, contemplative practices can offer ways of accepting and being nurtured by its love.
"Through engaging in the contemplative life, I've come to learn that contemplation makes me more queer—more curious, wild, weird, fierce, free, embodied, and present,” Hall writes. “And, in turn, my queerness—in terms of both my sexuality and strangeness—has given my contemplative life more spaciousness, permission, eroticism, and wonder. My queerness and my contemplative life have become a union of joy, pleasure, and infinite possibility.”
As I read Queering Contemplation, Hall encouraged me to view contemplation just as much a mindset as a thing you participate in.
Hall points to the roots of the word, which “come from the Latin contemplatio, and the Greek theoria, theorein, both referring to a sense of what B. Alan Wallace calls complete 'devotion to revealing, clarifying, and making manifest the nature of reality.’”
This devotion isn’t reserved for specific retreats or thirty minutes on a meditation pillow. I’m just as likely to have “ahah” moments about the nature of reality at a protest, a play party, or a Burlesque show. In fact, I think especially for the queer community, public protests and performances are both powerful forces that help us manifest a reality that matches our innermost beliefs of pride and self-love.
"Contemplation can be loud as often as it can be quiet,” Hall writes, and I couldn’t agree more.
I wanted to announce my plans to build my own retreat before writing about Hall’s book because reading it inspired and transformed the kind of space I wanted to create.
I expected my retreat to offer the peace and quiet we sometimes need to hear that “still small voice” telling us we are loved and co-creating our future with us. But I was missing an important part of the queer reality, which is that sometimes it’s much easier to hear that “still small voice” when there’s music, costumes, and an audience.
I’m still contemplating what it means, then, to build a queer retreat, and I’m still looking for your ideas, as well. But I’m positive that a queer contemplative mindset is broad enough to encompass both loud communal expressions of joy and pride, as well as moments of quiet and solitude. We need both.
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