The Blazing Butterfly Saga Part 1: Origin Story (Acts8 BLOGFORCE)

 This is a fitting time to open the caverns of memory and begin the tale of how I became the person of faith I am today. You see, this Wednesday, November 19^th is golden anniversary of my baptism.

Me, November 19, 1995

I was raised in a conservative evangelical church and heard the message that baptism equaled salvation for my entire conscious life. Even as a precocious six year old I knew I needed to be baptized. So I asked, and asked and kept asking until the youth pastor agreed to baptize me. A tiny girl in a dress came forward, and upon being asked “Amanda, do you believe that Jesus is the Christ, the son of the living God”; I answered with a loud “YES”, eliciting chuckles from the congregation. A reading from Acts followed, with another short homily, providing time for me to change. Then we headed out again, my head barely visible above the foliage that decorated the baptistery. A quick splash, and bang, instant Christian.

Or so I thought. In fact I kept believing this was it throughout most of my childhood. I spent my summers at VBS and church camp, amazed the AWANA’s leaders, was a card carrying member of the 66 club and competed in Bible Bowl.

By high school I was about as “Christian” as you could get, fully indoctrinated into the fundamentalist ideal. For example I once got in trouble in zoology for arguing against evolution. Not only was I a Christian, but I was THAT Christian, the one you didn’t want to sit next to for any length of time.

Summer 2012

For all I appeared to belong with that church, as I hit my teen years I began to have questions, and began to realize the answers I was being given where  on the cheesy side (another example: 1 cross + 3 nails =4given was considered adequate for theological reflection). At the same time my youth group gradually became the source of the most painful peer-pressure, feminization & the purity culture. Warned repeatedly about the evils of sex & sexuality I didn’t learn what “gay” meant until college. Worse my withdrawn tomboyish tendencies were seen as my fault, a failure to be the good Christian girl I was supposed to be. 

Christ in Youth, 2012

All these influences culminated at the 2012 Christ in Youth Conference. In order to help me “fit in” better the youth group girls decided to give me a makeover. My hair was straightened, my face painted and I was told to wear the one dress I had brought with me. As we walked to the evening worship service I was aware of an intense discomfort, like everyone was staring at me.

Then the first song started to play, and I found myself seeing a woman dressed in armor standing in a field. I heard, well it would be more accurate to say felt, the following words within my bones. “You have a battle to fight, but I have chosen you and I love you.” The intensity of the contact, the fullness of love and belonging were foreign to me, and I was scared.

I asked one of the youth pastors for help that night and was told that I was demon possessed. If I just prayed harder the demons would go away and I’d be able to be normal. 

Actual Sign in KS

That was the day I left Christianity, turned my back on the church and accepted that I was going to go to hell if such a place existed. The years flew by, I dropped out of high school, got my GED and started college all before turning seventeen. At college the counseling center directed me to the campus Gay Straight Alliance. There my world was finally opened to the possibility that I could exist. This group also taught me a new form of hatred, an unquestionable belief that Christians were the reason we could be fired, denied health care and being kept away from our families. In all fairness, this assessment of Christianity in Kansas wasn’t entirely flawed. Christian signs and symbols are everywhere, proclaiming a message of hate. 

Eventually I realized that I was transgender, and began to transition in earnest. As I grew into the young man I needed to be at that time I found myself embracing a new confidence. I began to smile more, to enjoy getting up in the morning. As I settled into this new identity, as Andrew manifested his realness, I found myself freed to reexamine some of my abandoned questions. Around Christmas 2011 I realized this included faith. I went to church on Christmas that year because I missed the carols. As I was going back to the church I had grown up in I planned for two contingencies. A)I would be accepted as a stranger as no one would realize that I was the same person as Amanda or B) They would be furious at me for showing up and I need to have my arguments on why I could be transgender & Christian ready to go.

What actually happened was option C. No one said anything to me. I felt disjointed and out of place, sitting in the back, watching people I had grown up with move past me as though I were a ghost. Then the music started, and I found it reaching me in a way that the people couldn’t. Keep looking something inside me whispered. As we closed with Silent Night I felt a longing that I couldn't explain, yet still couldn't avoid.

So “see if I can tolerate Christians” made its way into my New Year’s resolutions. By this point I was active as a transgender educator on my campus, routinely taught workshops that explained exactly why tolerance was insufficient to offer another human being. Still, tolerance was the best I could muster for this unspecified “enemy”.

In early January I set out to make good on this resolution. I’d chosen the one church in town that had sexual orientation included on it's website, a family sized Episcopal parish I’d heard mentioned as friendly several times at work. Reluctantly I pushed my way past the bright red doors and found a seat in the back row and tried to look invisible as I wasn't sure I even belonged here.

Thelo! Mission Trip May 2012

Invisibility failed, I was quickly approached by someone who realized I was unfamiliar with the service. She welcomed me fully, showed me how to use the prayer book, and whispered instructions about communion. The sermon could have been written for me specifically, it’s exploration of the life-long nature of baptism fed the little girl I’d spent years running away from. In the midst of that Eucharist I found myself being held by something that I had thought was behind me.

 Over time tolerance evaporated, edged out by respect and love for these people who dared to show me that I could fully exist. For the first times I heard that the eager childlike faith I’d tried to abandon was completely compatible with my queerness. I found this was a church I could be, grow and find myself transformed.

Thus began my journey, the first steps towards coming home.

Tune in next week for EPISODE TWO: CATECHISM, CONFIRMATION & THE FORMATION OF A SUPERHERO (or something like that!)

TL;DR, Superhero Synopsis:

Strange forces surrounded Andrew Amanda from their earliest spark of existence. This young hero has undergone a gut-wrenching transformation in the depths of hate and despair. Brainwashed as a child, exiled as a teen, they have recently broken forth into new life. Meet the eager faith of childhood, watch as it is cruelly twisted into a mockery of religion before being dissolved in the acid of ignorance. Watch as the brave hero-to-be battles the forces of hatred and fanaticism within two communities. Will they make it to the shelter of the fortress guarded by the bright red doors? Can they survive the pressures of this world pushing them to conform? Welcome to the first installment of the BLAZING BUTTERFLY SAGA!

 

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.