Killing with Kindness: The Meaning Behind the Words

Through my work in campus ministry I am blessed with wonderful opportunities to listen to students from a wide variety of backgrounds explore the possibilities faith and religion have in their lives. As an openly transgender Christian I am also invited to participate in on-campus conversations about the effects of identity erasure, oppression and transphobia. These discussions are both liberating and painful. There is a remarkable sensation of belonging and community as the pain of bias is divided among a crowd. Yet this release is tempered by hurt, as the reminders of past harm blur with the sharp reminder that forces of oppression are still very active within the world and within our church today.

When I listen to the students describe the anti-trans statements they’ve* heard, the loss they experience when they are told they don’t belong, and reflect on my own experiences of being misgendered at church I’ve detected a common theme. The vast majority of the time the intention behind the comments that are most devastating is innocent. People say things in an effort to build bridges without realizing the devastating effects their statements have on the human being in front of them. As such I’d like to look at the hidden meaning behind the most common things I am told in the Episcopal Church when I invite people to share in my genderful experience by using my pronouns, they/them/theirs. 

·         Silence/ Continuing to Use the Wrong Pronouns

 Effect: This is by far the most common reaction I have encountered, along with being the most painful. Silence constructs a fortified wall, leaving me with the expectation that my efforts to connect will be treated as a painful intrusion. When the pleas for my dignity to be honored fall on deaf ears I am left in isolation, with the God gift of my identity recast as a limitation. The continued use of the incorrect pronouns for an individual adds razor wire to the barrier between us, as it sets up the person using the wrong pronouns as a judge to whom I must justify my existence. 

Try Instead: “Thank you”. When someone tells you their pronouns they have invited you to share in their journey, to be a part of their life. If someone corrects your use of their pronouns it is your responsibility to act on it. By restating your sentence and incorporating the right pronouns you will demonstrate that you have heard them and respect them as another human being. 

Best Option: Be preemptive. When introducing yourself offer your pronouns, even if you feel they are obvious.  The phrase “Hi I’m so & so and I use _____ pronouns” goes a long way toward creating a space where all of God’s children can share who they are.  

·         “You’ll need to be patient with me.”

Effect: This situation furthers a power dynamic which disenfranchises the transgender individual. Rather than building a relationship it strips the transgender person of their right to be uncomfortable or hurt when they are misgendered. After this statement has been made anything the transgender person does or says to reflect their discomfort can (and often has) been used as proof of their “impatience”. 

Try Instead: “Please correct me if I make a mistake”. This statement works toward building a relationship and acknowledging one’s discomfort and fear about making a mistake without making the other person responsible for your discomfort. It also creates a space for deeper conversation about why a particular word or phrasing was painful.

Best Option: You do not need to wait until you meet someone who uses gender neutral pronouns to add them to your vocabulary. Imagine conversations with and about transgender people using a variety of pronouns, write stories (they can be silly) using characters with different pronouns. You can also start using the singular “they” to smooth out your speech instead of the clunky (and erasing phrase) “he or she”. The opportunities to integrate gender affirming language are numerous.

·         “You’re the first person I’ve met that ____________” / “This is such a new concept”

Effect: This statement clearly marks the individual being spoken to as different and unexpected. It creates an environment where the person this is addressed to should expect to be misunderstood, misgendered and mistreated because the speaker “can’t be expected to know any better”. It also has the effect of tokenizing the transgender individual, putting them in a place where they are responsible for representing the entire trans* community, an impossible task.

Try Instead: “It’s wonderful to meet you” or “I’m glad you’re here”. Remember you are always meeting an individual, a human being, made in the image of God, who has a story to tell that goes far deeper than their gender.

Best Option: Seek out and learn the stories of gender non-conforming individuals throughout history. While our particular understanding of gender identity is new, there is a rich tradition of gender non-conforming individuals in the Bible and throughout time. I encourage you to take some time to reflect on the lives of Georgia Black, Jim McHarris, and the many others who demonstrate gender diversity is anything but a new concept.

·         “You’re so courageous”

Effect: This compliment always makes me uneasy. When I am thanked for my “courage” I am reminded that I am presently denied the privilege of simply living my life. Because my gender is not sanctioned by society my every breath and action is often interpreted through the lens of activism. Thus I view courage as the default position to stay alive rather than a virtue I’ve chose to nourish. When people focus on thanking me for my courage, they are reinforcing an expectation that my life is centered around my gender, rather than allowing me to bring the rest of my identity to our common work.

Try Instead: “Thank you for your openness”, “It’s an honor to know you”. Focus on compliments that remind the person you are speaking to that you see them as more than a gender or a fight for inclusion.

Best Option: Take steps to ensure that transgender people in your church and community are not expected to be courageous.  Simple things like ensure there are gender-inclusive restrooms, being proactive about using people’s pronouns and lobbying for gender identity protections in law and practice go a long way in ensuring the burden of courage doesn’t fall only on those who are transgender.

·         “I’m doing so much better at remembering your pronouns”

Effect: This statement only serves as a reminder that who I am is perceived as an inconvenience or a burden.  It reinforces the false idea that some pronouns are “natural” and thus easy to remember and others are something that requires a significant amount of effort. 

Try Instead: “Have I said anything that hurt you lately?” This creates a space for the person to be honest about how they are experiencing their interactions with you.

Best Option:  Be mindful of how privilege affects expectations. Using a person’s correct pronouns is a mark of basic decency, not an act of kindness you should expect recognition for.  When someone draws attention to the effort they are putting into being inclusive they eradicate the welcome as the person they are speaking to is reminded of their outsider status.

The “Try Instead” steps I’ve listed above are part of the very minimum steps required to be welcoming of the children of God in all their miraculous genders and experiences. Anything less than this serves as a reminder that the existence of certain people is treated as an inconvenience. When people hear the bold phrases, at coffee hour, in the sermon, or in meetings, we often hear that we, by inconveniencing the church with our presence, are through our very being are inconveniencing God. That message is one I find irreconcilable with the Gospel. As such I challenge all of us to listen and to grow together, reflecting on the effect of our words that linger after our intentions fade. I ask this so that together we may come to see that through Christ’s boundary breaking presence in the Eucharist and the transforming power of God working through the Holy Spirit we, a disparate body of many genders, are being bound together into one body, one church.

*Throughout this post I will use the singular they to reference an individual of any gender identity, unless specific pronouns are called for.

The Rite of Reconciliation: Letting Love Conquer the Oppression of the Soul (#TractSwarmOne)

                There are many dates from which I can trace my Christian journey. My baptism and confirmation, the first time I heard God and the first Sunday I attended church as an adult would all be on the list. Yet while these have been powerful moments, shaping who I am as a person, the most healing moment in my life was none of these. Rather I understand who I am as a Christian because of a little talked about rite, the rite of reconciliation. Because it has been such a transforming force in my life, I’d like to invite you to step with me beyond the curtain to see how confession can be a powerful resource in surviving oppression.

                It was Epiphany 2012, and after stumbling into the Episcopal Church I was finally starting to get a grip on all the odd things that I was surrounded by. Then we began to prepare for the changing seasons. After asking what Lent was I was confronted with an interesting opportunity. The priest invited anyone to schedule a time to meet for confession. This invitation threw me into confusion. My curiosity, strengthen by a desire to do the “right” things to continue to fit in this church fought with my fear of opening up, my terror of being rejected. In the end I somehow managed to spit the request out at a time the priest and I were alone. He suggested that we meet after the early service on Ash Wednesday, and my path was set.

                I remember sitting in the chapel after the service, nervous and fidgety. A friend from school had come to church that morning and I can’t even remember what I said to explain why I stayed. It might even have been the truth. All I knew at that moment was that I was terrified about what was coming, and a large part of me felt that this had to be a mistake. With my soul and mind in a mess of knots the priest returned and explained the process. Slowly I found the right page in the still foreign book of common prayer and tried to clear my mind to sink into the silence.

                We began together, ancient words falling from our tongues in a desperate prayer: “Have mercy on me, O God.” I kept my eyes locked on the black and white text, unable to bear looking at the human being sitting just behind the altar rail. All too soon the comfortable words faded, it was my turn to speak. So I began, my voice uncertain as I focused on the page:

                “Holy God, heavenly Father, you formed me from the dust in your image and likeness, and redeemed me from sin and death by the cross of your Son Jesus Christ”.

                Instantly I was struck by how reassuring the text was. In this moment, as I prepared to be rejected for all of the most horrible things I had done, here was a reminder that I had been made for something greater than the life I had been living. It was shocking, even though I’d read through the rite before I came, hearing the words aloud in that sacred space led me to wonder if perhaps they might even be true.

                The service continued, “…wandered far in a land that is waste. Especially I confess to you and to the Church…”. This was the part that I had most dreaded. How could I compress six and half years of anti-Christian beliefs into language. What words were there to tell another of the hate I had believed, the scars from self-injury, and a mind exhausted by regular suicidal ideation. How could I tell this person, who I still wanted to like me, about my transgender identity, the reason I had once been called demon possessed, or how I had once been the fundamentalist who had bullied others into corrupted faith.

                Yet when the time came I simply spoke, words tumbled from my mouth, all of my fears and my doubts, my scars and the lies that I had believed. Then after I returned, tears streaming down my face, to the text of the page, I was given the greatest gift I had ever received. The priest told me that being transgender wasn’t a sin, and that all of the things I had turned to for relief when I had believed that message could be put aside. He told me that I was loved, for who I was and for who I was becoming. For the first time I dared to believe that this could be true. I had let another person see that which I had always kept hidden, and in return he offered me the absolute assurance of God’s love.

                I’ve come a long way from that first confession, and the rite has continued to play a huge role in helping me to navigate a challenging life. Because of my gender I am constantly bombarded with messages that tell me to be less then who God made me to be. Surrounded by them for my entire life I often submit to the temptation to believe them, or to invert them and make myself the center of a narrative that ignores my neighbor. It is only by returning to confession that I have found the strength to disregard those narratives of the world. It has only been by confessing the times I slip in patterns that reinforce the choice between suicide or idolatry of myself, that I have even a temporary relief from the internalized transphobia that still ravages my life. Yet even as the battle for my soul rages on, by entering into this ritual I am given a life-line that can anchor me in my true worth. I am a child of God, and because of my sin, I need to be reminded of that. Through the rite of reconciliation I am reminded that nothing I do, nothing I have done, can keep me from returning to the miraculous life I have been given. That truth is a powerful resource we have to share with all who are seeking to know the true value, the complete worth, of their life.

Congregations: Christian Community 101 (Acts 8 Moment BLOGFORCE)

                This week Acts 8 asked us to answer “what is the mission of a congregation”. This question left me scratching my head wondering how I could have missed the answer in the two sets of confirmation classes I’ve sat through.  I found it easy to picture the congregations I know, to name what had drawn me toward them and even imagine something of what we do as a group. Yet even in the midst of those experiences trying to name THE mission of a congregation felt like an impossible task. After all how could I synthesize the service work of gleaning the fields and gathering canned goods for those who are hungry with the elation of belonging at worship or the intimacy of shared meals and conversation? Beneath all of those missions was there a MISSION that was directing them?

                Then I remembered what it was like when I first crossed the threshold of the red doors. I’d heard about the Episcopal Church from friends, had looked though the website, but had no idea what to expect. What I found was the oddest group of people I’d ever met*. They spanned the ages from elementary school to those described in the most recent annual meeting as EXTREMELY retired. Clothing spanned from proper formal wear to my (slightly tattered) jeans. As I looked around at this group of strangers there was something, well off, about them. There was a flow in how they interacted, in what they said and did that defied explanation. When they noticed me, they didn’t open with a series of questions, but with a quiet direction to a prayer book, and gentle orientation to worship. It was in that first Sunday that I learned that Christianity meant something more than scoring top points at Bible Bowl or defending a five point salvation plan. 

                As time unfolded my appreciation of that introduction began to grow. The community of the congregations I saw worked, squabbles and disagreements notwithstanding, because every action was rooted in an understanding of belonging that centered in unity of Holy Eucharist. From worship on Sunday flowed the worship of picking up trash during the Hunger Walk, the freedom to ask hard questions, and the certainty that no matter what I brought I would still belong. 

Through my years in the Episcopal Service Corps I was given language to describe what I’d been fascinated by, and kept returning to see. What had entranced the anti-Christian grad student who’d gone to church to appease a New Year’s resolution wasn’t a diverse selection of service programs, absence of conflict, or even the PERFECTLY DESIGNED WORSHIP SERVICE ™. What fascinated me, leading me to question everything I’d assumed about faith and church was the community, the Christian community of flawed people loving each other to the best of their ability (and often beyond). I was hooked by the depth of hope, the brilliance of ideas that reflected through different prisms of experience and the expectation, the invitation, that I could be a part of them. 

 What is the mission of a congregation? As far as I can tell the congregation is the training ground for Christian community. The place where vastly different people center themselves in Christ’s love to such an extent that love must by its nature spill into their interactions with each other and the world around them.  Our congregations are the places where individual faith, questions and doubt are molded into the crucible of common prayer in such a way that space is formed to witness God’s transforming power. From this center, at the heart of who we are as congregations, our missions (lowercase m), such as hospitality, service, and outreach, flow unrestricted as the Gospel flies from our doors to bring healing to a troubled world.

*Now that I’ve traveled a bit more I realize that most congregations probably feel they have a monopoly on the “oddest” group of people. In my experience each place I’ve been could claim the “oddest” title in different ways. I think one of gift of the church is that we’re all a bunch of odd-balls, but we’re dearly beloved, odd as we are, so that’s ok.

TREC Response: Lessons from the Episcopal Service Corps

I’ve gone back and forth on whether I wanted in on this Ready 5 Blogforce. I did force myself through the report. I enjoyed the introduction; and the shout out to Acts 8 & the Episcopal Service Corps made my day. But by page 7 my eyes glazed over. The following resolutions felt like they were written in vague terms that I assumed had a hidden meaning. I wondered if I had somehow missed the “secret church language” course at confirmation. After reading Crusty Old Dean’s report I realized that I wasn’t missing anything, the resolutions were just that vague.

Sitting on this for the past couple of days, watching as insights from across the blogosphere have poured in I’ve found myself asking:

What is the link between the goals and ideals that were so beautifully articulated in the introduction and the practical day to day restructuring we will be doing in the coming years?

While I’m still lost on the technical side of things I’d like to offer some thoughts from my experience with St. Hilda’s House and the Lawrence House Service Corps.

11)      Everyone* is needed in the conversation. 

              One of the best parts of the Episcopal Service Corps (ESC) is you never know who you are going to be living with. ESC interns are functionally forced into diversity as you quickly learn how different people are when you live together. More importantly you learn the value of every voice. The people who’ve taught me the most are often the ones I’d set out to avoid, but couldn’t.

         For us to grow we will need to seek and listen to the voices that have been silenced in our communities. Because listening is uncomfortable we may want to look at structural systems that facilitate the Spirit pushing us out of our comfort zone.

         I’ve seen that push working within my experiences with racial injustice. As a white kid from Kansas race wasn’t even on my radar when I joined the ESC. Through my work in a New Haven Soup Kitchen I began to develop an academic awareness that there were “issues” out there to be addressed. Then at Lawrence House one of my housemates invited me to share her pain. All of sudden race wasn’t a political or social issue to be theorized about. I’ve come to watch the news through the light of my friend, whom I love, and who is hearing over and over again that she shouldn’t exist. Through her I’ve come to see the Gospel  anew as we traveled from Western MA to join Millions March in NYC, stopped traffic with the students at Mount Holyoke College, and born witness to the God given strength of people who refuse to be silenced. It is her voice, along with others, that is teaching me to hear God more clearly.

22)      Intersections, Intersections, Intersections: EVERYTHING Connects

A pattern I’ve noticed in the church is one of division. Activities are divided by gender, age, and topic. Missions are often hyper-focused on one aspect. But when you live within a community of people who all do social justice work intersectionality becomes far less of a theory and more of a daily exchange.

The populations we serve overlap ALL THE TIME. Threads of homelessness, mental illness, addiction, incarceration, and hunger weave a tapestry of suffering that we often tug at uselessly. If we as a church keep pulling at one thread hoping it will be “THE” thread to make the stifling fabric disintegrate, we’ll be pulling for a quite a while.

In community we have to let things coexist. We dwell at the intersections, living with and working beside people who are often isolated, pushed to one service or another. As we focus on our specific tasks of our worksites we constantly look for ways we can interface with each other. Even when our work doesn’t coincide through conversation we are able to pull back and see the larger picture, taking note of change even when it feels microscopic.

3)      Check-in’s: The Beauty of Shared Meals
                I cannot begin to put words on the value of sharing a meal with other people. The simple act of listening, of caring about their good and bad days changes ones’ perception of the world. The more I share with my housemates the more I feel the resolutions we are seeking won’t come from “magic pill” legislation or perfectly worded theories but from heartfelt conversations and sharing each other’s lives.
                 So many of the ills we battle through our work are rooted in distance. Those with oney cannot comprehend what it is like to go without, those who've never dealt with the mental health system have no idea what it is like to be dehumanized when you are most vulnerable and those from different races and political background can exist in their own segregated worlds.
                 Yet at the table this falls away. No longer are we able to isolate the identities we don't understand. With the breaking of break the breaking of bodies becomes something more than an abstract crime; it is a direct attack on the heart of who we are. Bound by the food we share and the revelations casually revealed as the salt is passed we are transformed within ourselves and among each other. This transformation is so powerful that through it we carry an enhanced awareness of God's vitality in each person out to the rest of the world.

44)      No Topic Is Off Limits

My worksite this year is campus ministry for the Five Colleges. On an average day this means I set up a table, cover it with a rainbow flag, a sign that says (W)Holy Queer, ask a question and wait to see who shows up.

What I’ve learned from this is that young adults are craving real conversation. They want to talk about the queer dynamics of a heterosexual mixed-race couple and explore what the incarnation means for trans bodies that are so often labeled “monstrous”. They come to me, with deep, meaningful spiritual reflections that they’ve been told don’t belong at church.

The worst part is their fear is justified. While I am blessed with an amazing community that is willing to delve into the depths of depression, engaging animatedly about what a holy relationship looks like, and love me when I am told my gender is invalid; many people don’t have that. I’ve had several painful encounters in the Episcopal Church where my zeal to allow God into the darkest parts of my life has been met with a wall and a reminder that “churches don’t look like that”.

If we are to live into the resurrected Christ we need to accept that God is dwelling in the topics that are not “church appropriate”.  We need to be open to the spontaneous conversations which challenge us, and to embrace the topics which scare us.

Overall I am excited and hopeful for the future of the church. While the TREC report didn’t live up to the expectations, the responses have. The thoughtful conversations I’ve watched unfold through this blogforce scramble, the fire I see burning in my housemates and the permission to question that is bubbling up are all brimming with potential.

Almighty God, in whom all things are one, as we draw closer to the remembrance of your nativity may we remember that you who merged heaven and earth in the person of Christ are the same God who will be present with your church, no matter what it looks like. Give us ears to hear your love, and lips to proclaim your praise. May we find joy in your timeless future, even as we embrace the grief of change. Amen.

 __________________________________________________________________________________

*) Despite the best of intentions there is a big asterisk on participation in ESC programs due to economic concerns. Interns live on personal stipends of around $150/mo. Without support from families or savings interns who come from lower socio-economic situations either don’t have access to ESC programs or need to work on top of full-time positions at worksites and the demands of intentional community.  Correcting this discrepancy of economic privilege should be a part of the ongoing conversation on how formal systems can facilitate active ministry.