Fr. Justin Hurtado, OSB

I met him on Mother’s Day, and he’s a bright theological mind in the firmament. These words are all his, but the formatting is mine. It helps to have someone roll with you on this path, as it is fraught with dangers we cannot know yet.

I am everything MAGA wants erased.

• I am queer.
• I am brown.
• I live with a disability.
• I speak Spanish and English and have enough of a few others to pray with the people who need me.
• I earned a PhD and still believe wisdom is found in community, not control.
• I am a priest in the Old-Catholic tradition.
• I walk with those the Church has ignored, rejected, or betrayed.
• I offer pastoral support to people wounded by religion and forgotten by policy.
• I believe Christ heals what the empire harms.

Let’s be honest:

The current regime doesn’t just oppose people like me. It is actively trying to erase us. Every day, they push policies to strip us of healthcare, dignity, legal protection, and the freedom to live without fear. Every day, they distort Christianity into a tool for control and cruelty.

So hear this:

• I will not shrink myself to appease their fragile power.
• I will not stop speaking the truth because they find it inconvenient.
• I will not turn away from my neighbor to keep the peace with oppressors.

I resist—not out of bitterness, but out of love.

• Love for my community.
• Love for the Gospel.
• Love for justice that does not bend to nationalism, racism, or religious abuse.

You’re not alone if you feel erased, exiled, or enraged by what’s happening.

And you are not wrong to feel it.

The Gospel I follow centers the outsider.

The Christ I serve was persecuted by state and church alike.

The God I know never asked us to obey power—only to love boldly and defend the sacredness of every life.

You don’t need permission to stand up.
You don’t need to be quiet to be faithful.

You need community.
You need courage.
You need clarity.

So here I am.
Unafraid.
Unapologetic.
Unmoved by fascist theology or political gaslighting.
I am here because people before me refused to disappear.
And I promise you—I won’t either.

Me: Father, I am not a Catholic. But you would make me proud to be a Catholic if I was.

Thank you—that means more than you know. You don’t have to be Catholic for your heart to recognize the Gospel when you see it lived. Faith doesn’t always need a label. What matters is love, justice, and the courage to stand with those who’ve been pushed aside.

I’m honored to “roll” alongside you, wherever your path leads.

Me: I was born a Methodist preacher’s kid, and now when I go to church, it’s Washington National Cathedral. Please pray for us as we’re in our own waiting game to see what happens with Justin Welby’s successor. May someone like Pope Leo bring light to our church as well. I’m also trying to start a homeless ministry in Baltimore called “The Sinners’ Table,” reaching out to the unhoused and those rejected by mainstream religion. The path is long and winding, but meeting people like you, even virtually, makes it all worth it. For the record, I’m also queer and disabled. I see you. I hear you. It’s relentless.

Thank you. Your words went straight to my heart.

I see you too. I hear you. And I know what it is to walk with both calling and exhaustion in your bones. The path you’re on—queer, disabled, devoted, relentless—is holy ground.

“The Sinners’ Table” already sounds like a space Christ would feel right at home in. Reaching out to the unhoused and those rejected by institutional religion? That’s Gospel work in its purest form. Please know I’ll be praying with you—for strength, for provision, and for companions who will lift your arms when they get too heavy.

And yes—I join you in praying that whoever follows Justin Welby will lead with light, not shadow. May they be bold, inclusive, and unafraid of holy disruption.

You’re not alone in this. Keep going. The Kingdom is nearer than it looks.

With respect and solidarity,
Fr. Justin

Not many things make me cry anymore, but this exchange did.