A Journey of Coming & Going: Queer Theology Synchroblog

This story was originally published as a video on Youtube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62xcriglTfM.

I decided to republish the story in a text format to participate in the 2014 Queer Theology Synchroblog.

The queerness of the story lies in the fluidity of the protagonists identity, the child's ability to be themselves as a boy, a girl and both with relative ease. The theology part for me comes from a firm personal belief that our ability to have identities, to name ourselves, is part of what it means to be made in God's image. By following this character on the journey away from home and their return I found an easy way to share something of what I've experienced in my cycles of wandering and homecoming.

Identity Quest: A Genderqueer Children's Story

A long time ago, in a distant land a child was playing alone.

As the child played a question formed, echoing unspoken within the child’s soul.

Leaving their toys aside they raced to find their mother.

 “Mama, Mama” she called.  “Yes, my daughter” came the soft, gentle reply.

 “Mama” the child repeated, “who am I?” “Silly girl” the mother replied, “you are my daughter, is that not name enough for you?

Now take your doll and go outside to play”. 

The child, while not questioning the mother’s love was not satisfied with the answer she had given.

So he raced to his father. “Da, Da” he called.  “Yes, my son”, came the deep, resonating response.

“Da” the child said again, “who am I?”  The father sighed, then smiled.  “My son, you are my son, is that not name enough for you?

Here is your ball, why don’t you go outside and play while it is still light”.

More conflicted than ever the child went to the two wisest people they knew.

“Grammy Dee, Grammy Fee” the child called to two people who had watched over them since they were young.

 “Can you tell me who I am?  Mama says my name is ‘daughter’, Da says it’s ‘son’, but I just don’t know.”

 “Child” spoke Grammy Dee, “Your name is something that you alone can find”.

“Here”, said Grammy Fee,  “take this basket and see what you what you discover.”

The child took the basket and after settling the doll and the ball carefully inside they began to roam.

First he went to the sea, the immense waves crashed against the shore, showering him with a cool spray.

The water went on forever, blending with the sky above. As he walked along the ragged edge of the shore he found an old green bottle, fastened securely with a cork.  Carefully he opened it, thinking for a moment that perhaps his name would be written inside and his quest ended.Finding it empty he set aside his disappointment. Then he filled the bottle with water from the sea before replacing the top and carefully settling it into his basket.

From the ocean’s edge she then journeyed to the prairie.  Here too the world seemed to go on forever as she stared out over the endless stream of grasses. Dancing through the fields, delighting in the beauty that surrounded her she plucked a sunflower from it stalk, and nestled it gentle with her other treasures in the basket.

Next the child came to a garden,  long neglected but overflowing with flowers of all shapes sizes and colors. They delighted in the chaos and in the faint hints of neglected patterns. As they circled the garden each circuit revealed new treasures. Finally they selected a fallen butterfly, rescuing it from the dirt. They gave the creature a place of honor among the items they had gathered.

For a time the child wandered from place to place.In each place another trinket was gathered, a small thing to remind them of what had been, seen and done. In time fatigue set in, and the child began to miss the place once called home. Still the journey continued as the child was determined to not return until a name, and not just any name, but a name that fit perfectly, had been found.

Just as the child had nearly given up a crossroad appeared on the horizon. Standing in the middle of the road a creature of brilliance stood, watching. Light flowed out of the being, who towered over the child.

Gathering what courage remained the child approached. “Bright one, I seek your aid”.

The radiant giant knelt to meet the child’s eyes.  “Little one, what is your request?”

“I seek my name, to know who I am and where I belong” the child answered, voice shaking.

I’ve been wandering for so long, but all I’ve found are these trinkets.

The being glanced at the basket, now overflowing with stones and flowers, acorns and tufts of fur

and smiled before speaking, “Perhaps what you seek, you already know and carry.”

With that the creature of light rose, bowed to the child and then vanished as though never there. 

Reluctantly the child let out a sigh before moving to the side of the road and flipping over the basket.

Stones plopped, leaves blew and a bit of fur nearly escaped before a small hand quickly snatched it from the air. Feeling the softness off the tuft the child found themselves sinking slowly into memory. With touch, smell, and sight the whole journey was re-lived.

Each perfect dawn,

 each cold night of terror, 

the moments of peace

and the ferocity of the storm were remembered.

In the wave of memories a pattern began to emerge, carried on the tide of awareness. A sense of selfhood, of being that was not limited to the experiences spread over the ground, but deeper.

I, the child thought am not the sum of these experiences, yet these are a part of me.

 As for my name, what name could possibly reflect such a full journey?

If any one place, beautiful or horrible, had been left out, then my understanding would be completely different.

As they looked on a sense wonder rose within. A new appreciation for the journey filled every inch of the child’s body. I know my name, the child thought.  

It really is quite simple. I am the basket and all that is inside it.

I am the doll and the girl who played with her.

I am the boy with the ball

and the child with the butterfly.

I am the one who stood on the mountains

and played in the sea.

I am, and because I am I can also become. 

Warmth filled their body, love and respect for each part of the journey, each gift of experience.

Slowly the items were gathered and placed reverently in the basket. Then the adult picked up their treasures and turned their path toward home.  

Neutralizing Gender, Neutralizing God: Gender Inclusive vs. Gender Neutral Terminology in the Church

There are two key pieces of information you need for the following reflection to make sense. First, I am a genderqueer trans* person who spends an extremely large portion of their life explaining that:

                A) Yes, I do actually exist

                B) No, I don’t fit your boxes AND THAT’s OK

                C) “They” is grammatically correct as a singular pronoun.  

Secondly, the Episcopal Church in Connecticut has recently proposed a resolution that, as far as I can tell, endeavors to eliminate sexism by erasing gender through the elimination of gendered language.  The full text of this resolution is available at https://www.episcopalct.org/FileRepository/DownloadFile.aspx?FileID=104.

Gendered language is by far one of the biggest obstacles in my life. No matter where I go, I am reminded that by living into the fullness I’ve been given I have stepped outside the bounds of culture and language. Every form I fill out, every public restroom I need to use, every time a stranger decides that I am “sir” or “ma’am” I am reminded that who I am is not supposed to exist.

I have been broken down under the constant onslaught of oppression our language entails. I am faded, the page of my identity is near worn through from constant erasure. I am also tired of shouting for the umpteenth time that God is bigger than the pink & blue boxes we create.

From this place gender inclusive language can be a blessing. When people take the time to ask what pronouns I prefer (they), open their restrooms to people of all body shapes and endeavor to address me as who I am they begin to undo the harm caused by the spaces that don’t. Their respect for my existence affirms my dignity as a human being, as person who was made to both love & be loved.

After years of being told that “you don’t exist”, “you’re a mistake”, “you can’t be”, I need spaces that include me. I need to hear time and time again that the God of all creation is the same God that made me. For these spaces to exist gender inclusive language is critical. I need to hear that it is ok to exist, and that our language has room for me to be. Names are important, for they represent things that are. When no words exist, the predominant message is that we do not exist. When words exist and are not used, the message of erasure remains the same.

But when I speak of gender inclusive language, I don’t mean neutrality because my gender isn’t “neutral”. I am not stuck in an in-between setting that isn’t male or female. My gender is the wonderful and painful existence of someone who has lived and does live as girl, boy, woman, and man all at the same time. I share the gifts and pain of each of those places. I am not genderless, but genderful, which is a great blessing.

I firmly support exploring how we can become more inclusive in our language. I strongly believe that we need to ensure the invitation we’ve been given to share isn’t just sent to the cis & binary gendered people we see, but to all people whom God has made. We need to reflect on our pronouns, titles and spaces, to consider how they affect those who different. (Hint: Try asking, the answers might surprise you.)

In this I support what I understand to be the intent of the resolution, the desire to be more conscious of what our words mean. The problem I have with their proposed action is that the elimination of gendered titles is a form of eliminating gender. This resolution is dangerous because it proposes to force all priests into a genderless model, eliminating the gift of their gender diversity.

As person who lives with a daily struggle to maintain my dignity, I firmly believe that dignity can never be gained by stripping it from other people. That is what I see proposed in this resolution. I see an effort to eliminate the challenges of gender by forcing everyone into a genderless model. My daily fight to live as Andy, who is simultaneously both a woman and a man, is incomplete without your ability to live as a woman, a man, both, neither, fluid, or any other understanding of yourself.  As such I must oppose any effort to force gender-neutral language on a binary gendered person.

Since I believe that merely opposing things is insufficient, I’d like to close by offer the harder and richer road of conversation. Rather than enforcing silence, let us take time to break bread together and share what our gender means to us. Let us explore how we live and reflect the greatness of a God who made us in God’s image, female, male, intersex, trans, queer and so many more. Let us spend time learning how we can lift up those who have been forgotten, spread wholeness among the broken, and share the hope of a Kingdom where we are all called by name. In short let us live as agents of Christ’s love among the gendered diversity of creation.

Asking Why: Doubt & The Episcopal Church (Acts 8 BLOGFORCE)

                When I was little I hated being asked “why” as much as I loved asking it. I delighted in exploring a new world every day, constantly trying to figure out why things came together as they did. I was certain there was a reason for everything…despite the fact I was singularly incapable of answering that question.

                As I’ve played with this question, this why, for the past few weeks I’m realizing I haven’t changed as much as I thought. I first came to an Episcopal Church to test out my New Year’s resolution to see if I could “tolerate” Christians.  After nearly seven years as an anti-Christian pagan the question I brought to the red doors was “what are you going to do with me, a misfit, a mistake, who doesn’t belong anywhere.” 

                The immediate answer was one of welcome and invitation. Yet these simple actions went beyond answering my initial question, they pulled me into the deepest question I’d discarded. A child I’d wondered “why the universe”. This was a question that I’d lost during my hasty flight from a religion that repeatedly torn me to shreds.  “Why” was the question that the Episcopal Church both asked…and answered. 

                In the Episcopal Church I was confronted for the first time with a faith that is as complex as my journey. I found a church that both accepted me as I was and then challenged me to grow in ways I’m still trying to figure out. The Episcopal Church introduced me to mysteries that defy all reason, yet when shared call forth an answer from within my soul.

                So I stayed. Beyond staying I joined the Episcopal Service Corps for a year, then the Lawrence House Service Corps. For two years in a row I moved across the country to join other young adults in a service oriented faith community. I didn’t stop to ask why. I simply had a sense of this being what needed to happen, and I went. 

                Arriving in South Hadley a few weeks ago I realized how uprooted I’d become. With all of my family and friends well beyond a reasonable journey away, a vague sense of what I’m supposed to doing for work and overwhelmed with the day to day discussions that building a community with five strangers entails I finally stopped to ask “why”. 

                The answer, a vague mix of God, faith, and it seemed like the right thing, triggered a massive internal argument. On the one had giving oneself over to a life of faith, an active ongoing discernment of where one’s gifts are most useful is considered a virtue, something to strive for. There was a part of me that longed to internally celebrate my new-found ability to hold onto God in the total uncertainty that my life has become. The other part, equally loud, reminded me I had no concrete reason to believe God is real. After all I’ve heard repeatedly that mental illness is just as likely explanation for the mystical experiences I’ve undergone. 

                So I was torn. On the one hand I find it impossible to believe that the fullness I experience at the Eucharist, the quiet voice that whispers I am loved, and the healing found in forgiveness is rooted in a delusion. On the other it seems completely fool-hardy to base my entire life on a God that is so irrational when compared with the reason I grew up with. 

                In the midst of this confusion, this internal struggle, I’ve clung to a ritual I grew into through St. Hilda’s House last year, the daily office. Days passed without connecting to the prayers, yet I made myself continue reciting them. Until one morning, prayerbook open, I found myself I drifting into thought, “why” bouncing around and around unanswered in my mind. 

                During that prayer I didn’t reach a resolution about the existence of God, or whether wandering from placement to placement based on faith is a good idea. What I heard was a gentle reminder that I wasn’t the only one praying the office that morning. A subtle nudge that even if I didn’t, couldn’t, believe the words I was praying, someone in this world at that exact moment had enough faith to share.  I had a sense that it’s ok to be where I am, because even if I can only pray with my hands and mouth at this moment, someone else’s heart and soul is full of the belief that currently eludes me. 

                This is why we need the Episcopal Church. We need to be shown, time and time again, to the Why of the universe. We all need to be reminded that while much of Christianity feels foolish to our modern consumeristic world there is a deeper wisdom. We need to be surrounded by people who fully live into the complexities of faith and reality. 

                Why the Episcopal Church? I’m here because this community dared me to live into the question of Why in ways that I will spend a lifetime trying to comprehend. Our dedication to both tradition and creativity, integrity and growth, lives the Gospel in a way that reaches out in a form that no other tradition can. The Episcopal Church is a unique space where both ancient and modern voices join the conversation, each valued for what they are. This is certainly worth preserving.

Why the Church?: Proclaiming the Gospel in Stories (Acts 8 BLOGFORCE)

The Church

To Spread the Good News

A future hope realized now

All made one in Christ

Sitting down to write this I was tempted to stop with the haiku. I felt it was obvious that the church’s purpose is to spread the Good News of Christ. As the Psalmist writes “Sing the Lord and bless his name; proclaim the good news of his salvation from day to day” (96:2). It appeared to be a simple answer to simple question. 

A simple answer, yes, but with complex application. For the Gospel, the Good News, isn’t something that fits neatly into a tweet, a picture or even a story. It is the totality of human history, the ageless chronicles of a people reaching for God and a God who dared to reach back. The Gospel is the serenity of the Solemn High Mass and the exhilaration of campers singing one more round of “Rise & Shine” to greet the morning. It is the bustle of an inner-city soup kitchen, and the shouts at the protest. It is our laughter at ourselves and bitter tears as we share a pain that is beyond speaking. It is songs of joy and loving silence. It is a story of mistakes and forgiveness, revelation and mystery. It reaches across all times and all places, and speaks to all people in all languages.

All of those experiences are the briefest summary of my own experiences with the Gospel as expressed in the Church. Just one person’s limited understanding, out of how many millions throughout the centuries!

Yet perhaps things aren’t as complicated as they appear. As a librarian and bard, I see the church’s purpose to proclaim the Gospel, the Eternal Story, as being linked with the preservation and dissemination of all stories.  

This understanding of diversity led me to the collect for Proper 16 which speaks to the intersection of unity and power. There are two main ways of looking at unity. The first is an eradication of individuality. We are united because we all look, act, and think alike. It is this understanding that repeatedly leads us to destroy knowledge, to slaughter peoples and obliterate cultures. 

The second is the total opposite, a belief that unity is the coming together and sharing of our fullest selves. It is in the second definition that we understand that unity is impossible if any one person, story or culture is lost for they were already a part of us. In this view of unity, we as a whole suffer the pain of any part, even if the part denounces our very existence.

Far too often we as the church take the first approach to unity. We limit ourselves the language of the culture we know, speaking a jargon of salvation and evil. In so doing we miss the fact that our words now have a double meaning, to such an extent that even the name of Jesus can bring forth trauma in the very people we seek the help. We often ignore this, shouting our story, again and again. Determined that if we speak the same thing a little louder, our secular power will be secure.

Yet if we consider the church as the curator of stories which carry the Gospel; we are drawn toward the second approach, a unity that embraces the fullness of creation. It is from this place that we understand that we are absolutely called to tell our story. Yet if that is the end, the Gospel dies with us. 

The thing about stories is that the good ones bring forth more stories. When we speak of the places the Gospel touches our lives, those around us will inevitably find themselves drawn to the Holy moments in their own story. If we are living into our purpose, they should feel safe enough to bring this part of the Gospel to the table. It is only then, as we listen, that the Gospel truly begins to be heard. For none of us is capable of grasping or sharing the Good News on our own. The Gospel we’ve been given is that which brings about the fulfillment of all things and by its nature summons all things to fullness. To miss anything, to ignore any story is to deny the Gospel we've been given.

Our purpose as Christians, as the Church and as the body of Christ is to proclaim the Gospel. We begin by speaking, just as the Word was once spoken to us. Then we need to listen, and let the chorus of voices of all those around us speak their stories. We must listen to the loving wisdom of the founders of our traditions, as we also listen to those in our own day who associate the traditional Christian terminology with fear and pain. We are to listen without judgment, just as we would seek to be heard.  We listen because in Christ we have all been made one.

Their stories, from all times and places, are our story. Are we ready to hear it? To speak it?