Luke Chapter 1 packs quite a bit of interesting and unique stories into less than 100 verses and sets the tone for the rest of this Gospel. Luke states his intentions for these writings in the first four verses. He desires to make his theological point through his well-grasped understanding of the events that have happened to Theophilus in a well-ordered account. The stories in this first chapter are unique to Luke and do not appear in the other three Gospels.
Luke begins his narrative with the angel Gabriel appearing to Zachariah, who was married to Elizabeth. For whatever reason, Luke blames it on Elizabeth: they have been unable to have children, and now she is of an advanced age. Her advanced age remains unknown. The mother of my own children was considered “advanced maternal age” at 35. The angel Gabriel reveals to Zachariah that Elizabeth is going to become pregnant with his own child, and they are going to have a son to be named John. Zachariah does not believe the angel, and consequently, for his disbelief, he becomes mute and completely unable to talk until his child is born. How queer it is for the male figure to be the one intentionally silenced?
How queer it is for the male figure to be the one intentionally silenced?
Queerness challenges social norms, challenges binary thinking, leans into ambiguity, and highlights the physical embodiment of one’s full self. Luke’s narrative is one that makes impossible things possible. Nothing about Chapter 1 falls into a neat binary, and it is because of this queerness highlighted in Luke that these stories can lead one to believe that Jesus is truly special.
Elizabeth, who has been unable to bear children, is to become pregnant, and their son’s name is to be John. Typically, firstborn males are given a family name. Most likely, this child would have been named after Zachariah. So, for his name to be John goes against long-standing traditions. After appearing to Zachariah, Luke tells us that this same angel, named Gabriel, went to Mary—not Joseph, as we see in the Gospel of Matthew. The angel tells Mary she is also to become pregnant with a son. Mary questions the angel because she has “not known a man.” Some translations use the word “virgin,” but the more accurate translation of the Greek text is “have not known a man,” meaning to have not had sex with one. Take note here that she is not immediately silenced like Zachariah was for questioning.
Heteronormative interpretations and translations of the Greek text to the word “virgin” not only limit Mary’s sexuality, but they also attempt to block out the queerness of this story that absolutely exists. The use of the word “virgin” here means heteronormative baby-making sex, but the more accurate translation would be to leave it as Mary has not been with a man. This story in Luke does a huge disservice to Mary as a human and plays into the elevation of her purity instead of naming and giving credit to her as a real, embodied soul. She has a sexuality, as do all physical beings.
Another thing about this story I find interesting is, if heteronormative sexuality and sexual encounters really were the norm, why the need to clarify that she has not been with a man specifically? To me, this shows that contextually queerness was part of the culture. Intimacy did not just mean with the opposite sex. Obviously, they knew how babies were made and this extra step of specifically mentioning that she had not been with a man means that same-gender intimacy existed and was normal. Opposite-sex intimacy was not implied within their word for intimacy. It is our own heteronormative contexts and culture that skew how the Bible views queerness.
Again, Luke’s narrative leads his audience to see the impossible being made possible. Mary was told she would have a son even though she has never been with a man. After she is told this, she states, “let it be.” We don’t know what would have happened if she had not agreed, but in Luke’s narrative, Mary gives consent.
I am a father to two beautiful children. I would do anything for them and love them more than life itself. And…they are donor conceived. Their mother and I could not conceive children together in the hetero-typical sense so we used a sperm donor. Queer people have long understood how children can be conceived in unconventional ways. It is very possible for a woman to conceive a child via science while having never physically been with a sperm-producing human. Women can be cisgender, heterosexual virgins and become pregnant. While I very much doubt Jesus was a test-tube baby from the world of modern-day science, I love that I can see queerness in this Lucan conception narrative. I can see my own story within this Gospel story. Whether Joseph was the biological father of Jesus or not, in Luke’s story, Jesus was donor-conceived via the Holy Spirit.
Conceiving and carrying a child inside one’s own body is one of the most physically embodied things a human can experience. Queerness embraces the physical body, as opposed to denying one’s physical desires in lieu of living a pure and holy life, as many harmful theologies have suggested we do. Jesus’ own incarnation puts a halt to any thought or belief that God could expect one to discredit our physical bodies. Elizabeth’s and Mary’s pregnancies discredit any narrative that does not embrace our bodies. Mary’s own body created the very cells that formed the body of Christ.
Mary ran to visit her cousin Elizabeth once she found out that they both were pregnant. Elizabeth was several months ahead in gestation from Mary, and Luke tells us that she stayed with Elizabeth for three months. During those months together, I can only assume they shared this embodied experience. Two women discovering what their bodies were capable of. Sharing in the aches and pains that came with the constant physical changes. Organs shift, center of balance changes, ligaments relax, and so on. Bodies that create life are astonishing. Pregnancy forces one to pay attention to their body. Giving birth is incredibly physical in nature and one’s body permanently changes. Flesh is burst open as new life emerges. Modesty goes out the window, and what can be described only as guttural instincts take over. It is not silent.
The rest of Luke’s narrative in Chapter 1 goes on to use both Mary’s voice, which was never silenced, and Zachariah’s voice, once he could speak again, to proclaim God’s redemptive nature. Once again, prophecy states that God sides with the oppressed and sends the rich away empty-handed. Queerness lifts the voices of those whom the world tries to silence. From those wandering in the wilderness—and John did until his first public appearance to Israel—to those standing invisible among the crowds, queerness has and will always exist. It is woven into the very fabric of the incarnation. Zachariah and Elizabeth, Mary and Joseph, John and Jesus are all part of a queer story that does nothing but further reveal the beautiful and queer nature of our Creator. To know this is to know more about God.
The more we come to know God, the more we come to love God, each other, and ourselves.
Rev. Joshua Clapp holds a Masters of Divinity degree from University of Dubuque Theological Seminary and a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from Texas Christian University. He will be an ordained Presbyterian Minister of Word and Sacrament as of May 24th, 2026 . He has served as a Chaplain intern at MD Anderson Cancer Center, youth leader and pastoral intern at First Presbyterian Church El Campo, and in various other capacities throughout the past two decades. Before attending seminary, Josh worked as a professional photographer and EMT. He loves being the father of two wonderful kiddos, age11 and 5, and has a passion for sharing the love of God, through word and action. Josh is an out and proud member of the LGBTQIA+ community as a Transman. In his downtime, Josh enjoys reading, being in nature, good wine, coffee shops, and spending time with family and friends.
Unbound Social