Transgender Day of Remembrance
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These words have followed me throughout my life, they held me close as I have grieved the death of friends and family. These are the words that have supported me as I battled the insecurities of adolescence. These are the words I turned to many years ago when I began questioning who I was created to be, questioning did God make a mistake with me. These are the words that I leaned into when I uttered for the first time who I truly was. These are the words that swirled in my head when I no longer decided to hide who I was, no longer willing to lie to everyone about who I have always been.
11 years ago, I walked into my academic advisor’s office, ready to tell someone who I trusted, someone, who had seen me at my darkest moments, that I was not the same person that first walked into their class four years earlier, that the pronouns of she and her and the name that was written on the top of my transcripts didn’t reflect who I was on the inside.
11 years ago, I did know if I had the courage to say the words out loud, I didn’t know if I had the courage to come out in small-town Nebraska, to come out in a church that had been rather quiet on things related to gender identity. I didn’t know if I had the strength to hear loved ones reject who I was, ignore the name I chose for myself. I didn’t know if I had the courage to tell my mom that while she might have brought home a baby girl all those years ago, her youngest child was actually her son.
I still remember the day I walked into my advisor’s office, I had practiced what I was going to say over and over in my bathroom mirror, I had rehearsed every single word until I could say it without even thinking, I knew if I didn’t just say it the moment that I sat down I would of chickened out and left that office without saying my truth. As I walked in and closed the door, I took a mental image, I double-checked that from the chair I would be sitting there would be a straight path to the door, that there wouldn’t be any obstacles if I needed to leave quickly. I wasn’t afraid for my physical safety, but I was worried that the person I trusted, would break my heart and my spirit with her words.
That fear, the fear of not knowing what someone is going to say in response to coming out has not gone away even after all these years, I still get the butterflies in my stomach and make sure I always have an escape route, I always have a safety plan. That day in my advisor’s office, I became numb to the act of coming out, I didn’t plan on saying the words without emotion but I didn’t even understand that I said the words I did until my advisor jumped up, tears running down her face, embraced me an a hug and quickly found a book for me to have.
My advisor heard every single word that I said, understood the pain that I felt in sharing my truth, and responded in a way I didn’t anticipate. In all my preparations for that moment, I never imagined her being excited, being relieved by what I was saying, I never imagined her trusting my truth was my truth.
I didn’t realize the impact that my advisor’s reaction would have on me, I didn’t realize the power that being seen as who I am, being seen authentically would have on my life. It was like those first moments that Jesus has come back, he is finally fully seen as who he always was and everything simply makes sense.
Coming out is something I never once have regretted, but I wouldn’t be living my truth today if I didn’t say that coming out hasn’t gotten any easier. In the last 11 years, I have come out more times than I can count. I have come out to family and friends, colleagues, and professors. I have come out in grocery stores, doctors’ offices, on first dates, and everywhere in between. I have come out in places and to people who I thought were safe to only be told that I am a disgrace, that I am mistaken, that God must of made a mistake.
I have been told that I couldn’t be a pastor because I wasn’t living according to God’s will. I have been told I could never find love since what is my pants doesn’t match what is on the outside. I have been told to go stealth, to hide who I am, to pretend I am not transgender. I have been told to get out of bathrooms because I could only be in there to do harm instead of taking care of bodily functions.
When I first came out, I didn’t realize that I would spend the rest of my life coming out, I didn’t realize that I would constantly be living in fear of someone’s reaction to who I am. I didn’t realize I would be living in a time or place that would use the existence of transgender people as a political move.
Even as I have lived in this fear, fear that is hard to explain, hard to grasp, hard to heal from, I wouldn’t take back my coming out. I wouldn’t take back the conversations I have had that have opened up someone’s mind and heart. I wouldn’t take back the transforming love of God that I felt. I wouldn’t take back the time and places I have been that have helped others see that the God they were taught growing up was only one side of the story. I wouldn’t take back the joy I have felt as people have come out to me, thanked me for my courage and resilience. I wouldn’t take back the pain of rejection that has helped me grow as a person. I wouldn’t take back the fight that it has fueled in me to continue to work for greater inclusion and understanding in and outside the church.
I am so thankful for those who have come out before me, who paved the way for me to serve the church as I am called. I am thankful for the trailblazers who made it possible for me to come out, to have access to affirming medical care. I am thankful for the silent warriors, for those who remind me that living my truth matters.
The world we are living in is constantly changing, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, I have no idea what January 20th will bring, but what I do know, is that living my truth is the only way I know how to live. What I do know is that we have a God, who creates us out of nothing, who washes us with the waters in baptism, who feeds us with Jesus’ body and blood, we have a God who doesn’t make mistakes, we have a God who calls us and claims as beloved heirs of God’s kingdom. What I know, is that even when the world disagrees, even when my existence is battled in court, God doesn’t run away, God doesn’t go in stealth mode, God doesn’t let the love that flows through us go unnoticed.
What I know is that when we gather for Transgender Day of Remembrance, when we gather to speak aloud the names of those who have died in the last year, died because of transphobia, ignorance, violence, and hatred, we are being reminded of God’s love, reminded of our promise in the waters. What I know is that this day is set as a reminder that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed and that living our truth, naming who we are, and claiming it as our truth, is what matters today.
Beloved child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.
My truth is that I am transgender. The truth is that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. The truth is that I am a beloved child of God. The truth is that I can be both at the same time and in the same way. Tomorrow is not guaranteed, but today, today is a day to live our truth, to live our truth for all those who could not, to live our truth, in ways that honors who we are, that honors who we once were, honor our value as human beings.
May you live your truth, may you trust that your life matters, may you believe that you have worth. Amen.
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