A Group of Very Brave People

As I wrote last week, it was my privilege to attend the 2017 Gay Christian Network Conference in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I shared my testimony at the Women’s preconference, gave a keynote address at the main conference, conducted a workshop, and handled a few other responsibilities over four and a half days.*  It might have been a cold week in January, but I left town warm to my core.

Fifteen years ago Justin Lee started an online presence in which gay Christians could interact with one another and find bread for the journey. With the passing of time GCN became a vibrant ministry that touches the lives of thousands.

I first met Justin in October of 2015 at the PFLAG national convention. For several years I had watched him from afar, impressed with his intelligence, his irenic spirit, and his sensitivity to varied theological perspectives.  We talked for hours at the PFLAG event and barely three months later I found myself speaking at the Houston GCN Conference.  Shortly thereafter I joined the board of GCN.

The ministry of GCN is varied. Not only do we conduct the largest LGBTQ Christian conference in the world, we also have a robust online presence, educational resources for LGBTQ individuals and their families, and later in 2017, conferences for LGBTQ parents and LGBTQ teens. Our hard-working board is committed to developing a growing organization with strong financial health, thoughtful and progressive commentary, and a commitment to meeting needs far and wide.

Earlier this week I was talking with the worship pastor of an OPEN Network church as he reminisced about the isolation that existed within his former evangelical world. He said, “Everyone you meet has siblings, parents and grandparents in ministry. It seems incestuous.” The evangelical world certainly is insular. If you are on the inside of one of the many evangelical tribes, you are well cared for and assured of a place at the table, but only as long as you keep its spoken and unspoken rules.

In the 1980s I first tested the boundaries of my particular evangelical tribe when I decided to attend a Roman Catholic study group. My boss said, “Be careful. They might cause you to lose your way.” That particular study group did cause me to lose my way, which then allowed me to find my way past the parameters of my evangelical background. That Catholic group was a gift on my way toward authentic living.

Many of those who attend the GCN Conference did not have the benefit of a way station on their journey out of restrictive evangelicalism. Having outed themselves, or having been outed, or being the parent of a child who was gay, these people were stripped of their credentials and left on the spiritual streets with no place to call home. They did not have the theological and educational opportunities available to me. They did not have a small group that eased them out of fundamentalism. One day they were in. The next they were out.

These recipients of evangelical judgment arrive in scores at the GCN Conference, desperate to hear a good word, any good word, that will assure them they have not been forgotten by God. For four days every January the conference is a spiritual safe haven. Some in attendance believe it is wrong for a gay person to have an intimate relationship with another gay person, and have decided to live celibate lives. Others do not hold that conviction. Inclusivity is at the core of GCN, and room is held for both groups.

Over the past few years GCN has also developed a focus on the needs of the transgender population, as evidenced by transgender keynote speakers in each of the last two conferences, and my presence on the GCN board.  As we become aware of the needs of marginalized groups, it is our desire to serve them.

On two occasions I had the opportunity to present a keynote address at the national convention of the evangelical tribe of which I was once a part. I was honored to be able to do so. However, last week’s opportunity was markedly different. At one I spoke as a white man with power and status. At the other I spoke as a transgender woman without power or status. I spoke to thousands of others who have been cast out of their spiritual homes, yet remain committed to Christ. The price they paid for their faithfulness to their identity is great, yet they abound in grace toward those who will no longer worship with them. I was humbled to be in their presence, and have much to learn from their experience of rejection and their gracious forgiveness.

It is not often you have the opportunity to go from a position among the powerful, to a place of lost privilege, to a new position of even greater influence.  I thank God for the blessings that have been bestowed upon my life, and I pray I will have the wisdom to discharge my new responsibilities with both confidence and humility.  GCN and the broader Christian community are deserving of nothing less.

And so it goes.

*If you are interested, you can watch my keynote presentation at youtube.com/gaychristiannetwork. Click on videos and go to Session #2 from the GCN 2017 Conference. The message begins 53 minutes into the video. Within a few weeks the video will have been edited to include just the message, but for now it is a video of the entire streamed service.

Reflections on the 2017 GCN Conference

I walked off the stage as the noise of the crowd gathered. They applauded, then stood. I was shocked. I felt all right about my keynote message, but I knew it wasn’t my best. I have had a fair number of standing ovations over the years, though certainly more in the last three years than in all the others combined. Is it because I have become a more compelling speaker? Is it the generosity of the audiences I encounter? Is it because I risked everything to be who I am? I suppose it might be a little of each.

Your shadows shorten when you stop hiding. In my later years as a male it always felt like sunset, with long thin shadows falling off my wrong body as the sun slipped behind the mountains. In the darkest hours I was too exhausted to cast shadows, even in a full moon.

The effects of hiding accumulate, even when the hiding is an outgrowth of love for your family. You do not want to explode their narrative. For land’s sake, you don’t even want to explode the narratives in which you are only a bit player. Life is capricious enough without having a husband, father, boss or friend confound things further by changing genders. But there comes a time when you realize you have no choice in these matters. You will either die or become so diminished you can no longer be counted upon, or possibly even found.

Later, after you are alive again, you realize how perilous the journey was, your life hanging by a thread. No wonder people listened for the engine to turn off when you came into the garage. But then you forget those perilous days, because the order of misery tucked inside misery gets lost in the remembering. Eventually life resumes, and if you can take in its lesson, you have more wisdom, grace and power than before. You have been blessed through your trials.

When the service ended, I was surrounded by those eager to express their gratitude. I have spoken before larger crowds, but I have never received such thanks. It was overwhelming. I needed to retreat to my hotel room to collect my thoughts and take stock of my feelings. When I opened the door, there was my roommate, nestled in her bed, covers up to her neck, a look of consternation on her expressive face.

I sat down on the bed and we began to talk about her morning and mine. I settled onto the floor and finished the remainder of a chopped salad from the evening before. Our conversation was grounding. Her honesty and openness is such a gift to my life. Grounding is important in these uncertain times, when it is possible to awaken to a land in which a misogynist has been elected president.

After our talk I stood at the bathroom mirror and thought, “Yeah, I probably should have checked my hair one last time before I got up in front of 1400 people.” Then I headed down for a delightful interview with two women from Marquette University who are doing a qualitative study on how churches interact with LGBTQ members. I thought, “Where have these kinds of people been all my life?”

Next was a follow-up Q&A from the morning’s keynote presentation. I spoke from the overflow about subjects with which I am acquainted; the American evangelical church; tribal behavior; what the Bible does and does not say about LGBTQ issues; the importance of good exegesis and a healthy hermeneutic. There were lots of thoughtful questions from a gracious audience.

By five o’clock the conversations had accumulated and I was spent. With each message of thanks I had asked a little about those offering their appreciation. As I might have expected, these people were survivors of unspeakable injustice. Their very presence was a testament to the tenacity of their souls and resilience in their hearts. I had spoken to a room full of walking wounded.

Of course, I have always preached to a room full of walking wounded. What made this room different was the fact these people had dared to be open about their wounds. Then they moved beyond them, no longer ensnared by a narrative kept silent. For such integrity and courage, they were rejected. Yet they wore their hard-fought character on their faces. I wept for these people who heard me speak the words they would have spoken if only they could have found them? I had offered words that caused them to say, “Yes, yes, that is my story!” It was an honor.

For the life of me, I cannot understand why the evangelical world is frightened by these precious beings. If Jesus had wandered onto earth this past Friday, I think there’s a fair chance he would have been at the GCN Conference listening to my message, without judgment. (Well, he might have had a suggestion or two about my stories from the Gospels. I mean, he was there and all.)

I am sorry I did not speak up sooner on behalf of these courageous souls. For too many years I was hiding in the shadows, an entitled part of the majority, a privileged person attuned to the suffering within my own soul, but deaf to the suffering around me. But this is not a time for regret. Work must be done. There is a world waiting for good news.

When I reflect on the 2017 GCN Conference, I will remember all those good people with whom I spoke, like the beautiful red-haired, green-eyed mother who told me of her gratitude that someone, finally, understood her story. I will treasure the precious conversations with my dear friend, as we talked far too late into the night and slept far too little. I will think upon the few minutes stolen with Lisa Salazar and Austen Hartke, talking about our common journey. I will be grateful for Justin Lee, his coworkers, and my fellow board members willing to work so hard to make GCN strong and vibrant.

To all those people and 1,400 more, I say thank you. I can’t wait to do it all again in Denver, January 25-28, 2018.

And so it goes.

The Myth of Certainty, The Joy of Mystery

Questioning the existence of God was unacceptable in my Christian childhood. Doubting everything is the beginning of wisdom, yet in my world suspending disbelief was all too often the preferred approach.

The ministry I directed lost a chunk of income in the early 90s because I would not say I believed in the inerrancy of scripture. Inerrancy is the belief the scriptures, in their original form, were completely without error. The fact that scripture does not claim inerrancy for itself was irrelevant. Lest I be seen as apostate, I was continually forced to defend my understanding of the subject.

Now if you come from outside of the evangelical world, you are probably scratching your head. Yet within evangelicalism, holding the “right view” on inerrancy was a “test of fellowship.” In fact, the entire Southern Baptist Convention waged war over the issue. The irony is that while everyone was talking about the inerrancy of the original manuscripts, which by the way, do not exist, no one was talking about the formation of the canon, the 66 books that make up the Bible. The compilation of the canon was a messy process completed over centuries by men with egos in smoke-filled rooms. But in the evangelical world they don’t talk much about that, because we like our religion wrapped tightly with a pretty bow.

This is a season of wonder, and I stand in wonder that evangelical Christianity allowed itself to get so caught up chasing the myth of certainty that it ignored the elemental truth that this world is not filled with certainty, but gloriously imbued with mystery.

After my eviction from the evangelical church, my faith is stronger than ever, in fair measure because of my expulsion from the evangelical church. Being set free from their esoteric battles has been life giving. I am no longer forced to waste time defending my doctrinal position on subjects that do not impact the daily life of one single human. Instead I can focus my energies on celebrating the mysteries of the universe, alleviating the suffering of humanity, and sharing the all-encompassing love of Christ.

My faith is rooted in the God who came to earth to suffer among us. I am focused on this Jesus who shed his blood, not to pay a penalty, but to show solidarity in our suffering. This is a dark ride, and without God’s arrival I’d be pretty sure the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train, not the illumination that emanates from unconditional love.  But God did come to earth and show us how to love, and if necessary, die with forgiveness for those frightened by our very existence. It is this Jesus I follow, this Jesus I celebrate.

The incarnation of Jesus, the mysterious work of the Spirit, the complexity of God the creator – this is what causes me to stand in awe. This season brings the longest night of the year, but I do not fear the darkness.  The light of the Trinity draws me in and fills me with wonder. A God we can explain with doctrines and follow via rules is of little interest to me.  This child who came screaming from his mother’s womb, full of grace and truth – ah, yes –  that is what lights my soul on fire.

May the peace of that Christ, which passes all understanding, be upon you and those you love this Christmas.  Peace on earth, my friends, and good will toward all humankind!

The Alchemy of Love

It was definitely the ugly cry; face all contorted, mascara running down your cheeks, body wracked with heaving sobs. It was a week ago Sunday. I had gone to the front for communion, the weekly tradition at our church, and then stepped over to one of the prayer volunteers, my friend Jen, who had no words for me, only tears. It was the most memorable prayer ever prayed on my behalf.

I walked back to my seat and asked another friend, Christy, if she had any tissues. She did not, and I noticed she had tears in her eyes. That is when the flow commenced and would not be stanched. Christy sat down, arms encompassing me. Another hand massaged my back, and then another. I’m still not sure whose hands were on my tired shoulders, and it does not matter. I was being cared for.

I was able to weep and make mournful sounds as long as the communion music was playing, but then it ended and announcements began. I stifled my sobs and prayed for the offering song to begin so I could resume the guttural sounds seeping up through my body. The service ended and Christy asked, “Do you know why you are crying?” I shook my head no and again buried my face in my hands. Christy kept handing me tissues, procured from some kind soul, while I continued to weep for a very long time. When I finally lifted my head, Jen’s husband, Eric, had a look of compassion that made me weak in the knees – this strong man who loves well.

Mark Tidd, one of the co-pastors at Highlands, says our floors are washed with the tears of the wounded. It is true. I used to preach for several megachurches and I often noticed that the words I said triggered tears in someone in the audience. Never did I see anyone other than a spouse move toward the person in pain. Everyone else looked a little embarrassed, as if they had seen a private moment they’d have preferred to miss. It always troubled me.

At Highlands someone dissolves in tears pretty much every Sunday. Many in our congregation have been wounded and rejected by the church. It is usually a worship song that triggers the weeping. We take in music at a visceral level, where the filters of the Prefrontal cortex cannot do their censoring. The song triggers a memory and the tears commence. Sometimes the tears associated with just one song have the power to heal an old, stubborn wound.

I cry at church because it is safe. I know a lot of you are puzzled by that. Church is the last place you’d feel safe enough to bare your soul. Not to be critical, but if you feel that way, you’re probably in the wrong church.

Cathy and I are in such a difficult place. No one understands, really. We have been together 44 years and we love each other dearly, but it is not a marriage any longer and space is needed to navigate these new and turbulent waters. There are so many losses for both of us, and for our children. As I have written many times, transitioning is never all right for families. This is an imperfect world and we play the hand we are dealt.

In such a world of suffering, a church full of friends who are not afraid to cry with you can be a soothing balm. Jesus went to the cross to show solidarity with us in our suffering. Why wouldn’t his body, the church, embody such suffering? The music of tears, while mournful, is redemptive. A good cry is cleansing. In the company of fellow-sufferers, a good cry is more than redemptive. It is salvific. Those hands that touched me, the arms that hugged me, the precious friend who shed the tears I was having difficulty releasing, that is what the blood of Jesus is about – bodily fluids, endemic to suffering, mixed in pain, redeemed through the sharing.

Jesus didn’t spill his blood so God would not fry me in the fires of hell. Jesus spilled his blood because genuine love suffers greatly. As he showed in the garden, true love suffers to the point of sweating drops of blood. Redemption happens in the spaces between us that are filled with these fluids of relationship. Blood, sweat and tears, the alchemy of love.

I am not interested in a church in which you cannot weep uncontrollably and be comforted by a multitude of hands. I am not interested in a church in which you cannot be loved just as you are, no demands, no apologies, no conditions. I want a church in which sweet tears wash the concrete floors, where prayer partners bury their heads on your own weak shoulders and weep with you. I want a church in which love prevails. Anything less is just another tribe, formed for its own safety, corrupted by its own lust, and terrified by its own unresolved wounds.

I will weep again in Highlands church. And Jesus will be there with flesh and blood arms and salty tears, assuring me to the ends of the earth that I am loved.

Make no mistake. The people pictured below who loved me that Sunday – these people and a plethora of others – they embody the love that makes this amazing world go round.

And so it goes…

Five Questions

 On Facebook I posed five questions for the 81 percent of voting evangelicals who voted for Donald Trump.  There was some sarcasm to be sure, but my questions were not tongue-in-cheek.  There were serious.

1.  You voted for Trump because you are pro life, but after the baby is born, unless it’s like you, your enthusiasm for that life wanes.  If my mother knew I was transgender and wanted to abort me, you would have fought for my life.  But now that I exist, you bar me from your church, or from leadership in your church.  Do I have that right?  Yeah, I thought so.

2.  That guy on the airplane from Charlotte to Denver who called me a c—, if he were to run for president, and was willing to tell you what you wanted to hear to be elected, you’d vote for him because that’s what love does? 

3.  You really believe the last shall be first, and the first shall be last?  Because that was a pretty high price to pay for the notion you’ll get the Supreme Court justice you want.

4.  About the sources from which we get our news, did none of you watch Aaron Sorkin’s Newsroom?

5.  And finally, seriously, you really don’t know how dangerous a DSM-V narcissist can be?

My Facebook page is public, and a few old acquaintances challenged me for my sarcasm.  One asked, “What happened to your generous spirit?”  It is a fair question.  My generosity does not extend to serious threats to freedom and democracy.  There is a time for generosity and a time for outrage.  This is a time for outrage.  Each of my five questions was based on personal experience or current events.

 1.  I have too many sad examples of the first question, but I will present one that is more positive.  I was asked to speak with the leadership council of a large evangelical church.  At the meeting I was assured if I were a member of their church, I would be welcomed with open arms.  I told them while I appreciated their support, I remained suspicious.  I asked if I would ever be allowed to preach in their church.  Lights went off in lots of caring eyes when they realized there were limits to the breadth of their open arms.  I said, “Anything other than full membership, including leadership, is bait and switch.”  They got the point and began the hard work of examining just how open they truly are.  Most churches that rejected me would never have been so open to hearing from me.  In fact, of the thousands of churches I knew in my former faith community, I have not received an invitation from a single one.

2.  This year, on a flight from Charlotte to Denver, the passenger in 1C started to jam my bag into the back of the overhead bin to squeeze in his suitcase.  Since my laptop was in my bag, I politely asked him not to do so.  He kindly acquiesced.  His seatmate in 1A, however, decided it was an opportunity to belittle the only woman in first class.  As he passed my seat he said to his friend, “Yeah dude, don’t jam her bag, she might freak out.”  That’s when he punctuated his misogynistic remark with the “c” word.  (For the record, I did not let it go.  I gave him a few choice words that caused the guy to drop his gaze to the floor and not dare to look in my direction for the entire flight.)  Since the election, those kinds of comments have been on the increase all across our nation.

3.  A former megachurch pastor, known for his character and gentlemanly spirit, told his blog readers he would vote for Donald Trump because we needed a Supreme Court justice who would be anti-abortion and “pro-family.”  At the time I seriously wondered if he might be in the early stages of dementia.  On November 8, I discovered it was not dementia at work for him or other evangelical leaders.  They had reached the conclusion that when it comes to abortion and LGBTQ issues, political power is more important than placing a person of character in the White House.

4.  The Washington Post and New York Times reported that Edgar Welch entered a restaurant in Washington, D.C. this past weekend and fired a shotgun.  He had believed a fake news story about Hillary Clinton running a child sex ring in the back of the restaurant.  The restaurant owner said he assumed he had been targeted because he used to have a friendship with a former right-wing journalist who became a supporter of Clinton.  I thought the plotline in the final season of Newsroom was a tad beyond the pale when it suggested the potential power of fake news.  Guess I was wrong.

5.  People with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, about one percent of the population, have a sense of entitlement and superiority, as well as an insatiable need for admiration.  They will promise virtually anything to earn your admiration, but then will endlessly disappoint you with their lack of genuine concern for you.  They are terrible relationship partners, and as parents they endlessly thwart their adult children’s attempts to differentiate, often by enmeshing them in the power structure of the family system.  That is because they only see their children as an extension of themselves.  With their lack of concern for the welfare of others, they can suck the energy from a room.  I was falsely under the impression most Americans understood how dangerous narcissists can be.  I was clearly wrong.

I am not sure how to respond to this election.  As someone raised in an evangelical environment, I am not alone.  An article in yesterday’s Wall Street Journal talked about the large number of people leaving evangelical churches in light of the support for Trump.

I want to be hopeful and write about what is possible, but I am frightened for America. Millions do not seem to understand the peril in which we have placed our nation.  I know you are tired of hearing about the election and you want my writing to be focused on the grace and hope that rises from the rubble.  Eventually it will.  But not yet.

And so it goes.

They Took a Stand

Their choice made all the difference.  They did not have to take a stand that would prove unpopular in the world they inhabited, but they did.  They did not have to make a decision that would cause their churches to lose money and people, but they did.  They chose to boldly follow their hearts and minds, even if it affected their wallets.  To whom am I referring?  I’m talking about Christian leaders from the evangelical world who chose to become LGBTQ affirming.  They chose to do the right thing because they had become convinced it was the right thing.  There is a word for that – character.

I am talking about friends in the Open Network, like Mark Tidd, Rachael McClair, Ryan Gear, Doug Pagitt, Brian McLaren, Jen Fisher, Ben Grace, Travis Eades, Jonathan Williams, Ryan Phipps, Stan Mitchell, Colby Martin, Josh Scott, Fred Harrell, Charlie Dean, Laura Truax and many more who took the first stand, the one with all of the consequences, the stand that initiated a movement.

There are a lot of us who serve alongside those named above, but we didn’t really have a choice when we took our stand. Traditional evangelical churches rejected us just for being who we are.  If we wanted to serve in God’s Kingdom, we had to find churches willing to take us in.  Those named above, and a whole cloud of others, invited us into their churches, where we found acceptance, love and hope.

As you might sadly expect, I have been the recipient of a new wave of vitriol unleashed by those empowered by the candidacy and election of Donald Trump.  I can weather the attacks, though to be honest, I am appropriately frightened.  I knew I had detractors.  I did not know how many.  Now, more than ever, I am indebted to these courageous pioneers who come from a long line of those who followed Jesus and protected the oppressed, even if it meant following Jesus to the cross.

Of course, evangelicals opposed to LGBTQ rights also believe they are following Jesus to the cross.  I understand they have their theological convictions, but I might ask, “Who are the oppressed for whom you stand?”  Some would say they are the oppressed, the ones whose worldview has been challenged.  I don’t see how you can claim to be the oppressed when you hold the power.  Maybe they mistake being uncomfortable with being oppressed, I don’t know.  Again, I don’t begrudge them their convictions, just their claim to be standing up for the oppressed.

I do know my LGBTQ friends make evangelicals uncomfortable.  They do it through the integrity of their lives and the fruit they produce.  It is not supposed to be like that.  We are supposed to be devoid of character and lost in debased behavior.  But we are not.  Evangelicals opposed to the LGBTQ community (which by the way, does not include 51 percent of Millennial evangelicals) have a choice.  They can change their minds or they can dig in their heels.  As recent events illustrate, doubling down is what they will do.  They would rather die than change.  That is not following Jesus to the cross.

I stand in awe of those who have come alongside me in these times of trial.  I am humbled by their support and moved by their love.  Their love is not idle words.  It has arms that hold me, feet that walk with me, eyes that cry with me, and hearts that are unyielding.

Shortly after the election, two of my dear friends were greeted by a homophobic slur as they shopped at a Denver store.  Though they had experienced such treatment when they lived in the south, this was the first time it had happened in Colorado.  Upon hearing of their frightening experience, one of our friends, Eric Jepsen, took flowers to their home and penned a note of support.  His note even used a hidden acrostic to redeem the slur hurled at them.  Eric’s wife, Jen, has been one of my fiercest protectors.  She knew Paul, but she moved through her discomfort to embrace Paula, and I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Eric and Jen and that cloud of witnesses named above, these are the people who stand firm against the evangelical white tide of prejudice.  They just stand there and stand, defiant and strong.  And that, my friends, is what Jesus looks like.

 

Gender Confusion – Give Me a Break!

Gabe Lyons is the director of the Q conference, an evangelical gathering. Recently Lyons wrote this Tweet: “Christian leaders” who celebrate same-sex relationships and gender confusion aren’t leading the church. They’re following the culture.

I have been aware of Lyons increasingly inflammatory rhetoric about the LGBTQ community. To say I am disappointed is quite the understatement. I am appalled that someone seen as forward-thinking could be so horribly misinformed. I will confine my response to the transgender reference in his Tweet.

Lyons suggests transgender individuals have gender confusion. Over the last few months I have noticed this is the new language used by evangelicals who would prefer I not exist. The language is condescending, arrogant and dangerously misinformed. I do not have gender confusion. I am transgender.

I spent over twenty years with a therapist who initially believed it might be possible for someone to overcome gender dysphoria, the DSM V designation for being transgender. Over the decades we both came to understand this is not an issue of confusion, upbringing, the Oedipal complex, or any other psychological phenomena. It is an issue of biology. That has been confirmed by a plethora of peer-reviewed studies. It is also the conclusion of every major psychological and psychiatric body in the developed world.

Gender confusion is not the condition of an individual who is transgender. Gender Confusion is the condition of the person who uses the term!

Their confusion stems from not being willing to take the time to truly study the issue. As a Christian, who do you want to believe, a person of faith who has grappled with this issue since childhood and read every relevant piece of information that has ever been published on the subject, a psychiatric or psychological professional who has submitted his or her research for peer review, or an evangelical leader who is really uncomfortable with the topic and has therefore spent a few hours or even days studying it? You decide.  As for me, I’m listening to the first two.  They are the ones who do not begin with a conclusion already in mind.

As evidenced by this most recent presidential election, people believe what they want to believe. They will name their own “experts” and only read information that confirms the view they already hold. Too often their regard for the truth does not include intellectual rigor. It is based on maintaining the status quo.

I have never been afraid of the truth. I have always believed and will always believe the truth sets us free. It seems someone I hold in high regard said that a couple of millennia ago. And while I believe there is no such thing as objective truth, I do believe rigorous inter-subjective truth can lead us forward, whatever the discipline.  I find it ironic that those who say they believe in objective truth, and site the Bible as their example, are those who embrace such sloppy research.

So Gabe Lyons, and other evangelicals, I implore you, stop using the term gender confusion. The damage you will do to a vulnerable transgender child may bring about the end of his or her life, a tragedy for which you must accept responsibility. Reparative therapy for transgender children does not work, period. Show me one single peer-reviewed study that indicates any kind of desirable result from treating gender dysphoria as gender confusion. I’m sure you can find someone who will tell you such a study exists, and maybe even mention it on an alternative news site. But that does not make it so.  (Why do I feel more and more like I am in the middle of a Lewis Carroll book?)

This is a time for thanksgiving.  Be thankful God made us with the capacity to love first and judge later.  Be thankful the Lord of the Universe chose to make room for people who live on the fringes.  Be thankful Jesus came to love the discarded, disenchanted and marginalized.  Be thankful the Holy Spirit brightens our eyes to see a human where others see a diagnosis.  And Gabe, be thankful you are not transgender, because I can tell you with great certainty that the uninformed judgment, the blatant scapegoating, and the utter dismissal evidenced in a pejorative phrase like “gender confusion” are pretty tough to endure.

And so it goes.

Moving On

I have written so many posts this week. Parts of each might eventually find their way onto my blog, but none in its entirety. This is what remains.  It has not come easily. I had a dream the night before I first began therapy many years ago. I dreamed I was in a hospital bed, giving birth. There were a few faceless people around, but mostly I was alone. The pain was great. The dream has stayed with me for 30 years, more like a memory than a dream, really. Writing this post has felt like that dream.

Last week, after the election, I traveled to Newark to speak to the Gender East Conference, a gathering of transgender children, their families and caregivers. I spoke on Friday to physicians, therapists and clergy.  Saturday was for families.  On the way to my Saturday morning workshop I peeked through an open door into a large room of hundreds of children, playing with abandon. These were normal boys and girls who just happen to be transgender.

I entered the venue for my workshop and was greeted by the anxious parents of those love-drenched children. Their eyes were brimming with tears. Anxiety was etched on their White, African-American and Asian faces. I was in tears before I began. These caring parents had been blindsided by the gender identity of their children. Four days earlier they had been blindsided again by an electoral majority that made a decision that puts the lives of those same children at risk. The images of both rooms will be etched on my mind for the remainder of my days.

From Tuesday evening through Friday morning I was frightened for my own life. The rejection and prejudice I have experienced all came back to me.  But Saturday morning I got out of my box of self-pity and entered the world of the truly wounded, people without the resources available to me. Since then I cannot focus on any bigger picture. All I can see are those frightened parents and their precious children.  Of course, they are the bigger picture.

I am frightened for our nation. I do not understand the decision of the 81 percent of Evangelicals who voted for Donald Trump so they could protect the lives of unborn children, while ignoring the dreadfully real needs of children who have already been born.

How could this have happened? Was it the right-wing social media and its conspiracy theories? Was it the refusal of the left to see those rural White Americans who have been left behind? Was it the millions who didn’t care enough to vote? Was it the lack of charisma of a qualified candidate? I am sure all those were factors. The historians will some day sort it out, maybe as they write the epitaph for what was once a great nation. I hope that is not the case, but I am no longer confident about America’s future.

For me, the needs are more urgent. I am part of a vibrant congregation, Highlands Church, http://highlandschurchdenver.org and a dynamic network of churches http://theopennetworkus.org that are angry and potent. Today I cast the full force of my being behind those churches and the changes they will bring. I leave behind my evangelical life, because I cannot bear the weight of the irrational fears, hateful rhetoric and lack of compassion exhibited by many within the tribe.

I know many of you, my dear evangelical readers, have kept the door cracked open as you try to understand my transition. I am grateful for your efforts. But there is too much healing to be brought to the broken-hearted for me to stick around on the fringes of a world that, as time goes on, feels more and more foreign to me. There is too much love that needs to be spread over the lost and rejected, too much anger that must be channeled into the kind of change that will bring hope to the precious souls I met in New Jersey.

I wanted to stand in the gap between evangelicals and progressive evangelicals. I realize now that gap is too wide for even my long legs. I’ve tried, but I believe it is time to focus my energy elsewhere. There is work to be done. The coming night will be long, cold and dark. But I am confident we can move all the way through to dawn if we will trust love, pursue justice, act with mercy and walk humbly with God.

And so it goes.

 

 

 

Shadows Remain

Over the last few weeks I have written with joy about my life. But it feels like time to speak about what lies in the shadows. An increasing number of my readers are transgender individuals who have not transitioned, and I want to be transparent about the ongoing difficulties of this transgender life.

As pleased as I am with the new opportunities in my church life, existential pain remains. Occasionally I can still be upended by stories about the denomination of which I was a part. A few dozen people have reached out to me in a positive way, and about 20 have actually met with me. But when I hear about the denomination, it can still trigger thoughts about the thousands of people who have remained silent. To those Evangelicals who are considering transitioning and afraid of losing almost all of your Christian friends, your fears are well founded.

I lost very few non-Evangelical friends. Their love and support has been unwavering. In countless ways these people who claim no special purchase with an evangelical God have been like Jesus to me. I have no explanation other than to know the Spirit dispenses her grace and kindness as she wills.

There has not been one single day in which I have regretted being Paula. It feels natural all day, every day, without exception. But for me, and I can only speak from my own experience, another shadow is that I exist and have my being somewhere in the liminal space between female and male.

Last month a University of Colorado student asked, “Do you feel 100 percent female?” I replied, “I feel 100 percent transgender female.” A few years ago a study was completed with transgender individuals who had not yet received hormone therapy. While processing various sensory stimuli, their brains were monitored by an MRI. The brains were found to function about halfway between those of the control population of cisgender males and females. That sounded about right to me. It seems I do function somewhere between male and female.  There is a loneliness in that liminal space.

All other shadows pale, however, in comparison to the impact of transitioning on my family. I’ve thought long and hard about this subject, and I can sum it up in one single paragraph:

It is devastating to finally be the person you truly are and to have the capacity to love your family in the way you always wanted, only to realize it is not this new person they need that kind of love from – it was their dad and husband they needed it from.  They accept and treasure the love from this new person, but to them it is, in fact, a new person.

No matter how loving and accepting your family might be, transitioning brings about a fundamental change in family dynamics that is permanent. What do you do with the memories you had with your husband or father? In what part of your heart do you store those memories?

I was called to be Paula. My life was at stake. All my friends and family will testify that I am happier, healthier, and more balanced. But I have paid a price, and my longsuffering family has paid a greater price. That is why I hope that one day researchers will find the cause of gender dysphoria and reverse the condition before it begins.

This is a broken world and through great joy and great sorrow we redeem it as best we can. Love makes the world go round, and that love keeps me on this journey, grateful for the family and friends who have dared to travel with me through the joy and the pain.

And this morning (Wednesday) I feel the need to speak about other shadows, the shadows of a nation divided.  I am as stunned by the election results as you, my readers.  And to be honest, I am frightened.  But I do believe the only ultimate reality is relationships, and the most powerful relationship is love.  Love makes the world go round, and we must have hope.

Open at OPEN

Shortly after I came out as transgender, when I was hearing from a lot of angry people, I received a letter from a friend whose book group I had been a part of for 25 years. His letter arrived in a plain manila envelope and included a picture of a Hindu god with both male and female features.  My friend had seen the statue shortly after hearing about my transition.  He acknowledged that he understood little about gender dysphoria, but that nothing would stop him from supporting me. I cried the cleansing tears that come from knowing we are never alone in our suffering.

I recognized that embedded in my identity were responsibilities. I could not go quietly into my new life. I had to transition in a public way, offering insight to those with eyes to see, while providing an easy target for those who needed one.  I had no idea transgender issues would become the next cultural battleground, and I would spend a good bit of the next few years with a bullseye on my back.  I just knew I could not remain silent.

I found the courage to write and speak, target or no, because people found the courage to love me. They were willing to be uncomfortable enough for long enough to get through their discomfort and sow in me the strength that comes from knowing you are not alone.  These people included my family, my Deepen Group, the people at Highlands Church, old friends who stayed by my side, and new friends who rallied around me.

I am able to write and speak because of the love of these friends.  They are my heroes. Their lives were not made easier when they chose to reach out to me.  Their lives were not made easier because they chose to publicly support me. They chose to love me because their hearts told them it was the right thing to do.

These are people who are not strangers to suffering, often at the hands of the church. They have no interest in religious dogma that makes no sense in real life.   They know, along with the quantum physicists, that the only ultimate reality is relationships.  In the final analysis, it is love that makes the world go round, and they chose to love me.  It is no exaggeration to say I live because of their love.

Last month at the OPEN Conference in Indianapolis, my son and I spoke about the affect of my transition on our family.  A lot of people have watched the video on Facebook.  (http://facebook.com/theopennetworkus – click on “videos” on the left side of the page.)  The workshop is raw, open and honest.  But what the video does not show is how many people rallied around Jonathan and me when the workshop was over. Those in the room were not about to stand idly by.  These wounded healers quickly surrounded us, because they have known suffering.  They knew it was not easy for us to bare our souls.  One of my dearest friends sat with me as I cried, once again reminded of the pain my family faces every single day.

America’s “rugged individualism” is a tragic myth. Humans are made for communion. We experience the divine in the thin places that connect us, in the spaces between words, in the life sung between notes, in the sentiments that rest inside manila envelopes, and in two heads that touch when a friend holds another close as she drenches the ground with her tears.

A lot of people have been thanking me for my courage, saying, “You speak the words I would speak if I could find them.”  Those words, that courage – they are born out of the love that has been shown to me – it’s overwhelming really.  It is a love that bubbles up through the dark places and shouts from the mountaintops, “This, friends, is  the Kingdom of God!”

I have been greatly loved, and I will never be the same.