Suffering, Death, Resurrection. How Easter is a reflection of the queer experience.

Symbolism can often become little more than an empty ritual. Take Easter, for example. This weekend, many religious people will attend church — one of only two services they attend all year, the other being Christmas. The priest will likely chastise the unusually large congregation for neglecting the other fifty Sundays. For many, this act isn’t one of deep meaning but of fear, guilt, tradition, or obligation.

Yet for others, Easter is profoundly meaningful. Good Friday invites deep reflection — the belief that God came in human form to redeem a lost world. Easter Sunday celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and with it, the hope of new life and transformation.

Raised in a traditional Anglican home and later preaching in Australia’s Pentecostal mega-churches, I know these symbols well. To me, Easter represents three essential themes: suffering, death, and resurrection. The suffering of Christ during his arrest and trial. His death on the cross. His rising from the tomb on the third day.

These themes are also deeply familiar to many LGBTQ people. In fact, they mirror the journey many of us have lived.

Suffering

If you’ve seen Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, you know those serene images of a neatly loin-clothed Jesus on a cross don’t do justice to the brutality of Roman crucifixion. He was beaten and bloodied beyond recognition. He truly suffered.

For many LGBTQ people, suffering begins with the realisation of who we are — often around puberty, though sometimes later. It can be terrifying. We’ve often heard nothing affirming — only derogatory, shaming messages. We grow up thinking we’re abnormal, broken, or bad. The internal torment begins. For some, it becomes unbearable. Many have considered ending their lives. Some have.

And the suffering doesn’t always stay internal. It can come from families, churches, schools, or workplaces.

You might think, “Not anymore.”

My friend, you live in a bubble.

There are still countless LGBTQ people — not just in Africa, the Middle East, and Eastern Europe — but only kilometres from where you sit right now, who live in fear. In Sydney’s suburbs, some queer teens have been told by their own parents: “If you turn out gay, I’ll kill you.” And they believe them. This is not an isolated incident. A mother who found a ticket to a gay venue in her son’s wallet confronted him with it. “You have one of two choices,” she said. “Change or kill yourself”. She shipped him off to a famous conversion “therapist” in the U.S. who claimed he could “fix” homosexuals through “reparative therapy”.

It is hard to comprehend a parent saying these things to their children, but such is the darkness of religious extremism.

I’ve worked with people still coming out in their 50s and 60s — decades lost to shame, secrecy, and fear. They suffered for most of their lives in closets, haunted by inner demons and the weight of rejection.

Death

Easter also speaks of death — and for us, that often meant the death of authenticity. We constructed a persona to survive. To fit into a world that only accepted straightness. We buried our true selves under layers of performance and denial.

But to live fully, that false self must die.

Coming out is not just an act of revelation; it’s a journey in itself. Friends and family may mourn the version of us they thought they knew. But what’s really dying is the mask. And what’s being born is authenticity.

Resurrection

And then comes resurrection.

There is no freedom, like walking out of the tomb of shame into the light of pride. To no longer see yourself as broken or sick. To no longer beg to be healed. Self-loathing gives way to self-love. We shed the cloak of fear and wear our truth with joy.

The LGBTQ journey is sacred. It echoes the mythic hero’s path Joseph Campbell described — a journey of trials, transformation, and return. It’s a path only four to six percent of people walk. A path we didn’t choose, but that life gifted to us.

What once seemed like a curse, we now see as a calling — a journey into self, into courage, into joy. And for those who make it through, there is peace, resolution, pride, and a deeply rich life.

A Time to Reflect

So this Easter, as you enjoy your long weekend, take a moment to think of our LGBTQ brothers and sisters — both here and across the world — who still suffer. Some still face death for simply being who they are.

And know that the work is not finished — not in our world, and not in our own country.

But also, celebrate your own resurrection — into authenticity, pride, and love.

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