Peculiar Honors

Stirring Letter from a Retired Bishop

2010-12-21T21:33:00.006-05:00

As I scanned the letters to the editor in the Boston Globe this morning, I was happily surprised to come across one by the retired bishop of Ohio, the Right Reverend J. Clark Grew, who now lives in Boston.

It reads as follows:

Gay themes tend to stir wrath of some on Capitol Hill
December 21, 2010

I WRITE to thank Sebastian Smee for his excellent Dec. 16 piece “Offensive? ICA lets the public decide,’’ about the removal of a video from a gay-themed exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. It is a sad occasion when art in our country’s museums, much less anywhere else, is subjected to the political and religious right’s blatantly homophobic manipulations.

I agree with Smee’s emphasis that the public should decide what is or isn’t art, but there is another article that needs to be written, and that is one about the ongoing and increasingly nasty gay-lesbian-transgender-bashing that is so prevalent with some members of Congress.

The Right Rev. J. Clark Grew, Boston
The writer is a retired bishop in the Episcopal Church.

The Globe editorial that Bishop Grew refers to responds to the decision by Boston's Institute for Contemporary Art (and several other museums around the country) to show a video installation that was removed December 1st from an exhibit at the Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery entitled "Hide/Seek: Difference and Desire in American Portraiture." On the Smithsonian's website, the exhibit is described as "the first major museum exhibition to focus on sexual difference in the making of modern American portraiture," considering "such themes as the role of sexual difference in depicting modern America; how artists explored the fluidity of sexuality and gender; how major themes in modern art—especially abstraction—were influenced by social marginalization; and how art reflected society’s evolving and changing attitudes toward sexuality, desire, and romantic attachment."

The offending video was created by New York based artist David Wojnarowicz (1954-1992) in 1986-87 in response to the death of his partner, Peter Hujar, from AIDS-related complications, and from his own diagnosis with the virus that would ultimately take his life at the age of 37. The Smithsonian's version of the video (now having gone viral on youtube in the wake of this debate), which Smee describes as "a four-minute, surrealistic montage of footage shot in Mexico called 'Fire in My Belly,’" includes, among a number of other images, "intermittently recurring footage of ants crawling on a small painted crucifix that lies on the ground." Smee goes on to point out, "when it comes to representations of Christ’s death, the Christian tradition is full of base and wretched imagery, as anyone who has seen Matthias Grünewald’s shudderingly graphic “Isenheim Altarpiece’’ in Colmar, France, or for that matter Mel Gibson’s movie “The Passion,’’ would know."

The Smithsonian decided to remove the video after being pressured by members of Congress and the president of the Catholic League, Bill Donohue. As Jacqueline Trescott reports in the Washington Post, the significance of this "skirmish" is that it "could forecast a renewed battle over arts funding when the Republican-led House takes over in January." Hollad Collard also notes in the New York Times that in this episode, "history is repeating itself, with variations;" in 1989, Wojnarowicz won a suit against Donald Wildmon, a Methodist minister who had disseminated to members of Congress a pamphlet with selective images from Wojnarowicz's collages, targeting his partial support by the National Endowment for the Arts.

Wojnarowicz may no longer be able to defend his work, but plenty of people are stepping into the fray.

Noting the protests that have proliferated since the removal of the video, Bill Donohue has now commented in a December 17th press release, "The artist who gave us the ant-crawling video, David Wojnarowicz, died of AIDS. So did his lover, Peter Hujar. Mapplethorpe died of AIDS, too. And now those who adore them are taking to the streets on their behalf. Think I'll just watch the Giants—kickoff is at 1:00 p.m."

Reading this comment, just days after the Senate's historic vote to repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, it's impossible not to be reminded how much the struggle continues. And a huge part of that struggle is making sure that "the church" or "the religious" does not get monolithically represented by such voices.

Which brings me back to the profound sense of gratitude I felt this morning when Bishop Grew's letter showed up on my front porch, like a surprise Christmas present wrapped up in a newspaper.

The story of this video skirmish may feel more like Lent than Christmas, and yet in the end to me it serves as a reminder of the messiness of Incarnation, and of the critical importance of solidarity and hope in a season of intense joy and need.

CP

Round Two

2009-07-09T22:59:00.003-05:00

I wrote this post for TransEpiscopal-- to read the posts of other TransEpiscopal members at General Convention this July, please see the TE blog.

It’s nine a.m. in Anaheim— do you know where your TransEpiscopal representatives are? Most are at Denny’s, enjoying a well-earned breakfast after testifying before the committee on National and International Concerns in favor of two resolutions on transgender civil rights. This was our second round of testimony in twelve hours, and we’re tired! But, as with last night, our testimony appears to have been well received.

This time we had even more people testify—seven—and once again no one testified against the resolutions.

One difference between last night’s experience and this morning’s is that people on this committee appeared to be somewhat more familiar with transgender issues. More than one committee member knew of specific instances of anti-trans hate crimes; a Deputy from Colorado was aware of the Angie Zappata murder, for instance. I distributed the same list of terms that we shared with the World Mission committee last night, however, and it seemed to be helpful.

This morning, in addition to all those who testified last night, Donna Cartwright weighed in. Her long history and expertise in the history of the movement for trans equality, as well as its links to the legal gains made by previous movements, helped her respond to some technical questions asked by the committee, which is populated by several lawyers.

Michelle Hansen spoke of her experience of discrimination in a secular job. Vicki Gray spoke of people she has met on the streets in the Night Ministry that she does in San Francisco, as well as her experience at the funeral for Gwen Araujo in Newark, California. Jim Toy again spoke of how we all are impacted by what he terms “the rules of gender,” rigid gender norms that get imposed on us from the moment we make our way into this world. Tom Fehr spoke again of his friend who is a transwoman, and how she was subject to discrimination in her secular job. Dee Tavolaro shared stories of enduring hate-based violence. Gari Green shared how she has sought to avoid discrimination in her secular job by continuing to work as male; although Wisconsin was the first to prohibit discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation in 1982, it still does not have similar laws for transgender people.

Nor yet does Massachusetts. I told the story of how the International Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR) started because of the murder of Rita Hester in 1998 around the corner from my congregation, St. Luke’s and St. Margaret’s (aka “SLAM”), and how last year, for the first time, the planning committee for the TDOR asked SLAM to host it. I conveyed how powerful it was to me to help host this event, and to see the church packed with people who have been so alienated by communities of faith over the years.

I went on to say that right now in Massachusetts, a bill that would add “gender identity and expression” to the state’s non-discrimination laws; on July 14th there will be a hearing at the Massachusetts State House on this bill. And I shared that when I spoke at a rally in favor of this proposed legislation and said that the Diocese of Massachusetts had voted at its diocesan convention to support it, people broke out into applause. I expressed how this applause had taken me by surprise—I certainly imagined that it would be meaningful for people in the trans community to know of this support, but I didn’t anticipate the sense of emotional impact. And so what has really come home for me is what an impact we can have, not only potentially on public debate and in legislative deliberation, but on the hearts of trans people who come to know that we truly care and are willing to stand up and make our caring count.

After the hearing, we were approached by several committee members and other visitors who expressed how much they appreciated our testimony. One was Louie Crew, who has done so much for social justice concerns in the Episcopal Church over the years, not least by founding Integrity in 1974.

Now the committee needs to deliberate on these resolutions, along with the numerous others under their care. We hope and expect that they will send them to the House of Deputies so that they have a chance for debate and passage there. In the meantime, we are listening in on these open deliberations, ready to be of help if questions should arise along the way.

CP

One Down, One to Go

2009-07-09T03:39:00.006-05:00

I wrote this post for TransEpiscopal-- to read the posts of other TransEpiscopal members at General Convention this July, please see the TE blog.

What a day! This evening six of us testified before the Committee on World Mission in favor of the three resolutions that would add "gender identity and expression" to the ministry nondiscrimination canon of the Episcopal Church. Five of us spoke in favor of Resolution C001, which originated from Newark, and I spoke in favor of C061, which came from my home diocese of Massachusetts.

The hearing began at 7:45 p.m., and included testimony on another resolution on the support for foreign missionaries, a subject about which the Committee was more accustomed to hearing.

Meanwhile, yesterday I learned that the committee needed a glossary of basic terminology related to trans issues. So late last night I put one together-- a very basic trans 101 type document, a half page long, with terms like "biological sex", "gender identity", "gender expression" and the difference between these concepts and "sexual orientation." That distinction, it seems, was the one that people in this group most needed to think about. The committee got the document early in the day and had it before them during our testimony.

I couldn't help but feel for them; this group was so not accustomed to thinking about such matters-- not even those related to sexual orientation, and they are dealing with a deluge of such resolutions. Our three resolutions seem tiny compared to the sixteen or so that seek to repeal or move beyond the infamous "B033" which was passed at the last minute of the 2006 General Convention. That resolution called on the Episcopal Church to refrain from consecrating any bishops "whose manner of life presents a challenge to the wider church." In other words, don't lift up any more Gene Robinsons, so as not to offend others in the Anglican Communion. But, as far as I can tell, the feeling of the Convention this year-- particularly among the lay and clerical members of the House of Deputies (akin to the U.S. House of Representatives) is to move forward in the basically progressive direction the Episcopal Church is headed, and move beyond the language of B033. This committee, World Missions, appears to have been given the B033 related resolutions, as well as ours, in order to place these matters in the context of the Anglican Communion. There are so many resolutions on this topic, that they are holding a huge hearing on them tomorrow night.

So that's part of the context in which our hearing this evening took place. We met prior to the hearing and then walked over as a group. We arrived early to sign up and then waited. Slowly, more people filled the room, though it was not completely full. The committee sat in a U shape, with a podium at its head for testifying. All of us who testified will hopefully be sharing that testimony here in the days to come, but in the meantime, I will try to convey the gist of their remarks. Michelle Hansen, who blogged the piece before this one, spoke first about her thirty-eight years as an Episcopal priest, who transitioned several years ago from male to female. Dee Tavolaro then spoke about the resolution, putting it in the context of the five points of mission, about which the Deputies had reflected in their afternoon legislative session. Vicki Gray, a deacon and transwoman from the diocese of California, spoke about the Baptismal Covenant and how all are empowered by their baptism into ministries of all sorts. After Vicki, Gari Green, a priest from the diocese of Milwaukee, spoke about her years of ministry and how being a transwoman has helped her in to be a better priest. Then Tom Fehr, an Integrity volunteer, spoke about a friend of his who is a transwoman, and how she should be able to be known and respected for the fruits of her work and ministry, regardless of her trans identity and history. All six of these speakers testified in favor of C001. Jim Toy of the Diocese of Michigan, a strong ally and member of TransEpiscopal, spoke of how rigid gender norms restrict all of us, regardless of whether we identify as transgender Nevertheless, he continued, trans people are particularly vulnerable to discrimination and violence. After each speaker, the committee had a chance to ask any questions, but they never did. As the co-chair of the committee kept asking for questions, and as she was met with silence, I couldn't help but get the sense that the group was overwhelmed, just trying to take us in. Finally the co-chair, the Rev. Gay Jennings of the DIocese of Ohio, said she herself had a general question which any of us could choose to answer, namely whether we knew of any trans person who had had a difficult time specifically because the canon does not currently mention "gender identity and expression."

There was a pause. I then got up and shared that I knew of people who came out as transgender after their ordinations and who had been asked to leave their ministerial positions for that reason. In terms of the ordination process itself, I said that while it was difficult to show definitively how many might have been ordained but for that canon, I do know from many conversations I have had over the last several years that there are a number of trans people out there who experience a sense of call to ordained ministry but who are afraid they will not be fairly considered simply because they are trans. Rev. Jennings seemed to find the answer satisfactory. She then invited me to give my testimony for C061.

I explained that I feel fortunate to be able to work with my bishops, the Commission on Ministry and the Standing Committee of my diocese while I was in the ordination process, since I came out as a transman prior to my ordination. I also shared how helpful it has been to me to be in conversation and community with other trans Episcopalians and Anglicans, including lay and ordained people both in the United States and the Church of England. I made certain to say that, since I had the sense that some committee members may have wondered if this resolution could be construed as an instance of the American church charging ahead of the Anglican Communion again. The C of E is not the whole Communion, obviously, but it is significant to note that they have had transgender priests since at least 2000. I went on to note that in my priesthood, one of the most significant facets of being transgender is that people can know that much more clearly that whoever they are, they are welcome in this church. That when we say all, we mean all. They don't have to be transgender themselves for it to be a big deal that a transgender person could be a priest in this church. I concluded by saying that I really did hope that people would feel free to ask questions.

And then a few people did. Bishop Geralyn Wolf of Rhode Island asked me to define "gender identity and expression" again, as she had heard more than one definition over the course of the testimony. Deputy Michael Barlowe of the diocese of California invited me to share again how sexual orientation is different from gender identity and expression. There may have been one or two other questions; I can't remember at the moment.

After me, a man from the diocese of Michigan, whom I do not know, testified in favor of C046. He basically said that no one should be barred from access to the ordination process because of their gender. When asked how he thought the resolution related to B033, he said that the resolution impacts all the orders of ministry, not just lay people, deacons and priests; if called, anyone should be able to become a bishop.

No one testified against any of the resolutions.

At that, the hearing ended, and the committee began deliberating on other resolutions. We gathered for a quick debrief in preparation for tomorrow: our next hearing is tomorrow morning at 7 a.m. This early morning stuff is killing me. But it's certainly for a good cause! So in the world of trans committee hearings at General Convention, one down, one to go. Then we'll hope these resolutions get to the floor of the House of Deputies; they deserve a fair shot.

CP

Two Hearings in Twelve Hours

2009-07-08T03:40:00.007-05:00

I wrote this post for TransEpiscopal-- to read the posts of other TransEpiscopal members at General Convention this July, please see the TE blog.

Tomorrow marks the official start of the General Convention, but already legislative committees are holding meetings to sift through the resolutions allotted to them. This year there is an unprecedented five resolutions on transgender inclusion and equality. We had thought there would be four, but we just learned of a fifth.

Two transgender resolutions call on the Church to support secular civil rights legislation:

1) C048, originating from the Diocese of Michigan
2) D012, lead sponsor Byron Rushing of the Diocese of Massachusetts (cosponsored by Sarah Lawton of the Diocese of California and Dee Tavolaro of the Diocese of Rhode Island)

These resolutions have been allotted to the Committee on World Mission, where they might have been overshadowed by a slew of resolutions addressing “B033”, an infamous resolution passed in 2006. But this evening the committee separated these two resolutions from the B033 pack and they will now be considered in a hearing tomorrow (Wednesday) evening between 7-9pm.

An additional three resolutions call on the Episcopal Church to include “gender identity and expression” in its ministry nondiscrimination canon:

3) C001, originating from the Diocese of Newark
4) C061, originating from the Diocese of Massachusetts
5) C046, originating from the Diocese of Michigan

These resolutions are currently under the care of the Committee on National and International Affairs. Today we learned that they will be considered at a hearing Thursday morning from 7-9 a.m.

That means that there will be two hearings on transgender matters within twelve hours.

After these hearings, the committees will decide what to do with the resolutions—whether to combine them, send them to other committees, table them, or send them to the floor of the House of Deputies. If the House of Deputies passes them, the legislation goes to the House of Bishops (remember "how a bill becomes a law?" it's like that).

At the last General Convention three years ago, there was one transgender themed resolution. There was a hearing on it, at which TransEpiscopal's Donna Cartwright testified. Ultimately the resolution got tabled, which means it died.
One person, one resolution.

But this year: five resolutions (thus far), eight TransEpiscopal members. Three of us flew in on the 4th of July, and this evening we arrived at our full compliment. Another huge difference this year is the amazing support we of TransEpiscopal have around us, from the volunteers of Integrity (for which three of us are also official volunteers), to Deputies who are actively working with us from within committees and deputations. One deputy in particular has already been amazing: Sarah Lawton of the Diocese of California. Another is Dee Tavolaro of Rhode Island, who is, as far as we know, the first out transgender Deputy in the history of the Episcopal Church. Go Dee!

Last night, Dee, Gari Green of Wisconsin, and I co-led a trans 101 type workshop last night for the folks working toward LGBT inclusion here at Convention, and it went really well.

Meanwhile, Gari and Jim Toy have also been meeting people at the booth that Integrity is sharing with us in the Convention's exhibit hall.

So here we are, just before everything begins, and already so much has happened. I'm incredibly grateful to be here and while we don’t know what lies ahead, and we know the road may yet get very hard, I just have to say right now: what a difference three years makes.

CP

Narrating a Transgender Presence at Episcopal General Convention

2009-06-22T23:17:00.008-05:00

I wrote this post for TransEpiscopal-- to read the posts of other TransEpiscopal members at General Convention this July, please see the TE blog.

Three years ago, TransEpiscopal had one representative who could attend the Episcopal Church’s General Convention (GC). Donna Cartwright, then of the Diocese of Newark, NJ, went for about a week and testified at a committee hearing in favor of the one transgender-related resolution that had come to Convention. The resolution never made it to the floor.

Last summer, I attended the Lambeth Conference, joining Rev. Dr. Christina Beardsley along with three other transgender people on a panel called (appropriately enough, given the ongoing Anglican Communion “listening process”) “Listening to Transgender People.”

But this July, I will join several other members of TransEpiscopal in Anaheim; indeed, we are hoping that as many as eight of us will be present for part or all of the nearly two-week span. This is truly an unprecedented representation.

We come with such numbers this year to support an equally unprecedented number of transgender-related resolutions: four of them call on the Church to support transgender people both in its own life and in the civic arena. As we draw nearer to Convention, we will report more details on those resolutions, and on TransEpiscopal’s presence at GC.

In the meantime, from where I sit, two plus weeks from Convention’s start, I wonder how our presence will be received, not simply in person but in communications about the Convention. I wonder because it is not clear to me how, or even whether, those who write about the Episcopal Church – whether official Episcopal communicators, bloggers, or secular media representatives – will incorporate transgender people and concerns into well-entrenched narratives about the debates of the Episcopal Church.

Narrative is a particularly interesting lens through which to look at the Convention this year because GC is actively inculcating the Harvard Kennedy School of Government’s Public Narrative Project during its two weeks. What I wonder is how much this narrative project will interface with—perhaps offer insight into, complicate, or disrupt -- the already existing narratives about human sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular that have roiled the Anglican Communion for years now.

Meanwhile, the Episcopal Church itself is preparing for GC with a series of narratives about what is coming up. If your congregation included an insert about the Convention in its bulletin this Sunday, you may have noticed that nothing to do with sexuality was listed anywhere among the Convention’s work (at least, the one in our bulletin only briefly mentioned resolutions that seek to get "Beyond B033" and never actually used the word “sexuality”). As the Convention nears, my guess is that Episcopal communicators around the country will be under pressure to emphasize anything but Anglican Communion conflict over the Episcopal Church’s increasingly progressive consensus on human sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular.

On the other hand, I imagine the secular press may be keen to report exactly that aspect of the General Convention, and not always in the most thoughtful, nuanced manner. Which is, of course, why ecclesial communicators will be working hard to open the media’s eyes to the many other stories of Convention.

I admit that as an academic as well as a priest, I’m wary both of sound bites and of the avoidance of stories, especially of people, that need to be acknowledged. Narratives can have a way of overly smoothing rough edges. The truth is often complicated – sometimes more than words, or indeed narratives, can convey – but it’s worth trying to articulate, even if it takes time. And as a transgender man, I’m also highly aware of how sensationalistic and objectifying media (including new media) stories on trans-related topics can be (though I do think there have been major improvements over the last few years).

And so, as I look out over this emerging Episcopal intentionality about narrative, and as I take in the familiar, frustrating dynamic of stories about — and in avoidance of — the sexuality debates, I wonder how to productively incorporate transgender people into the mix. Will our work be completely overshadowed by the secular-ecclesial media cycle of endless, narrow focus on sexuality debates, on the one hand, and determined aversion to anything sexuality-related, on the other? Will we be patched into that narrative cycle, sensationalistically reported as the latest emblems of church schism? Will people truly listen to some of the amazing stories of faith and resilience, as well as of heartbreak, that we have been sharing with one another on our communal listserve since 2004? Will people listen as we seek to clarify how, as trans people, we are distinct from and yet also connected to what is at stake in the current sexuality debates?

We cannot simply add transgender to the same old stories. We must tell our stories anew.

But, you know, I look forward to the telling, because as wary as I can be of narrative, I also love it. I am, after all, a person “of the book” in more ways than one. And so I look forward to the give and take of listening and telling. I pray that the anxiety that has long accompanied our Anglican/Episcopal conflicts might not overwhelm us, trans or cisgender, that we might truly find ways to open our hearts to one another, and that the Spirit —whom the Gospel of John pointedly calls the Spirit of Truth — might blow us where it will, telling (and, as the hymn puts it, "singing") a new Church into being, and inspiring people beyond its borders.

Cameron Partridge

An Act of Faith: Western Massachusetts Communities of Faith Speak Out for Transgender Rights

2009-06-05T12:15:00.006-05:00

Last evening, about a hundred people gathered at the Edwards Church in Northampton, MA for "An Act of Faith: Western Massachusetts Communities of Faith Speak Out for Transgender Rights." After the first Act of Faith in Newton, MA this past January, several leaders of faith in Western Massachusetts organized an event to bring together communities of faith there in support of trans civil rights. I was honored to be asked to speak at the event, along with Mycroft Masada Holmes, with whom I am a co-chair of the Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality (ICTE). The evening featured speakers (sixteen in all) from a wide range of faith traditions-- Jewish, Muslim, Christian, Unitarian, Buddhist. The event was punctuated with exhortations, stories, song, prayers, and blessings. Below is an excerpt from my remarks:

This past November, my congregation, St. Luke's and St. Margaret's Episcopal Church in Allston/Brighton, MA, was honored to host Boston’s annual Transgender Day of Remembrance. We had been asked to do so because the murder of Rita Hester in 1998, which sparked this now international movement of remembrance, took place mere blocks from the church. I have always found it both moving and sobering to come together with the trans community every year on November 20th, but this time the experience was for me, as a transgender priest serving in that context, truly profound.

But the story I want to tell you tonight took place three years earlier, at a different juncture in my life.

When my partner and I decided to get married in 2005, we had already been together for twelve years. We had each come out in the lesbian community of our women’s college, and had come to the Boston area in 1995 for graduate school. Over the years, we went through a number of changes, not the least of which was my coming out as trans between the late ‘90s and the early years of this decade. Throughout this time, our community of faith-- Christ Episcopal Church in Somerville, MA-- was a tremendous source of support. And so when we decided to get married a few years after my transition from female to male, doing so at our church felt completely fitting. We wanted to get married in a context that recognized and celebrated our journey as much as our arrival at that particular point in time, even as we looked forward to journeys yet to come. Massachusetts’s then recent attainment of equal marriage—indeed, the first such legalization in the U.S.—created a yet more fitting context for acknowledging and celebrating our history, even though we would not be married as members of the same sex. With the day of the wedding nearing, the service and reception planned, the invitations long out, we went to the city hall of our town to apply for a marriage license.

In the time-honored tradition of people about to be married, we were nervous about any number of things that could go wrong, little or big. My slightly less generalized anxiety circled around the procurement of our marriage license: my secret fear was that the clerk at city hall might find some reason not to recognize me as legally male. And while I knew that if that happened, here alone in the U.S. (at that time) we could still have been legally married, the event would not have reflected the journey we had taken.

So there we stood at the clerk’s office counter, each of us in turn filling out the two required sheets of paper. Amid the various questions they might ask, I was concerned about one type of question, more common than one might think, that can come up and cause trans people difficulty in all sorts of contexts: "have you ever had another name, and if so what was it?" If a person has a former legal name that is unambiguously gendered, revealing that name can instantly expose your trans history -- perhaps even an aspect of your medical history -- in contexts where you have very little, if any, control over its reception and dissemination. As is so often the case, documents or decisions with huge impacts on the lives of trans people can be decided on the whim of someone behind a desk. If s/he is having a bad day, so might you, and then some.

After I finished filling out my half of the first form, I looked over my partner’s shoulder. With horror, I noted that she had written out my former first name. After she finished filling out her side of the sheet and we switched, I looked more closely at the form. But it asked “what are your parents names?” and what I had seen was her mom’s first name, which is the same as my old name. Sigh of relief.

So we finished filling out the forms and slid them across the counter to the clerk. She went down the list making sure we'd answered everything... and then, pointing to the “profession” line on my side of the form, she asked, "what does that say?" She had pinpointed the word next to “graduate student”, which I then read aloud: “priest.” "Then you can't get married," she responded. After a shocked pause, I explained that I am an Episcopal priest, not Roman Catholic, and that we can in fact get married. With evident annoyance, she took our paperwork to finish her part. The moment had felt teachable enough as it was, so I kept my thoughts to myself. But I will now report that at the very least, the following sequence flew through my head. Thought #1: you can't make this stuff up. Second thought: what was a city employee thinking telling me what my religion would or would not allow me to do? Third thought: being a married priest hadn't previously struck me as a particularly challenging concept-- at least, not in the context of my life. But hey, you never know.

The end of the story is that the license was issued and we went on to have a fantastic wedding. Our church community warmly and enthusiastically welcomed our friends and family from around the country. The service was beautiful. And although it was late October, with balmy seventy-degree weather the days before and, on the day itself, it snowed, just enough to dust the ground and wow our West Coast guests. As we gazed out the picture windows of our reception hall, beautiful fat snowflakes fluttered to the ground. Fittingly, it was a day out of time — a sacred, holy day.

This evening, too, is a holy one: a night in which we have come together to lift up a people who have traveled far and seen much, and who wish to be recognized as the people we are, the people we have been, and the people we are called to become. We come together to celebrate our humanity, both common and distinctive, blessed by unique opportunities but also regularly thwarted by challenges we should not have to face. We gather to galvanize one another and all those who care about peace and justice to do more to make the world a truly welcoming place for all of us. We must pass transgender civil rights legislation right here and right now. We should not have to worry about whether our identities or histories might prompt someone to deny us opportunities of livelihood-- whether in housing, credit, the workplace, schools, a hospital or a doctor’s office-- or even, as our litany of tragedy continued this week in Memphis-- of life itself. May we leave this gathering more committed than ever to doing our part, to supporting one another particularly in our faith communities, to make our world a place where all can be truly free to become the people we are called to become. Thank you.

Transgender Faith Leaders in Support of Inclusive Federal Hate Crimes Bill (HR1913)

2009-05-02T13:18:00.009-05:00

Earlier this week I signed the following letter, written by Rev. Malcolm Himshoot, which was released this week during the National Transgender Lobby Day in Washington, D.C. You can also find it online here.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Dear Decision-maker,

We the under-signed support an inclusive federal hate crimes bill (HR 1913) because we think it is good for the community to take seriously crimes such as the brutal murder of Angie Zapata in Colorado this past year. Reflecting upon the past weeks of Allen Andrade's court trial, we are grateful for responsible investigators, prosecutors, and a jury who invalidated a harmful and re-victimizing "trans-panic" defense. No one is responsible for their own beating, bashing or killing. When some people are especially targeted for being different or for being queer, it makes sense that the community will act to especially protect them.

We wish that such a law could have protected Angie before her death. But in reality a great number of supports in a community are needed to reduce our vulnerability – namely, social and economic justice for all.

The `guilty' verdict reached in a court of law dignified, but could never repair, the value of Angie's life and the gravity of her loss. Yet, our experience in ministries that work toward nonviolent alternatives, reintegration and rehabilitation of offenders does not allow us to believe we can achieve safety by disposing of people behind bars. They are still with us. They are still part of us. We will be praying for the gay men and transgender inmates who face violence while they serve their time, who may even be serving their time in the same facilities as Allen Andrade. We will be praying for Allen as well, now cut off from the prospect of wholeness and reintegration with his community.

We who lead faith traditions hold to a story of justice that does not end with retribution, but rather with restoration. In the struggle against violence and deprivation, we applaud not only the work of the National Center for Transgender Equality to raise specific issues like hate crimes law, but also the work of Senator Webb (S.714) in raising a commission to address a general issue: criminal justice reform. It is high time.

We support legislation today that honors human dignity and possibility. Diversity is a fact of God's creation -- except for poverty, which is our own creation. Where there is personal or systemic hate and disregard, we urge lawmakers to respond. Not only with indignation but with moral imagination.

Sincerely,

•The Rev. Malcolm Himschoot (Commerce City, CO)
United Church of Christ

•Nicole Garcia (Louisville, CO)
Transgender Representative, Lutherans Concerned/North America

•Mr. Barb Greve (Hamden, CT)
Co-Founder, Transgender Religious Professional Unitarian Universalists Together

•Rabbi Levi Alter (Malibu, CA)
President, Female-To-Male International (Human Rights Gender Non-Discrimination Organization)

•The Rev. Dr. Cameron Partridge (Allston, MA)
Priest, St. Luke's and St. Margaret's Episcopal Church, Co-Chair Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality, TransEpiscopal

•The Rev. Dr. Julie Nemecek (Spring Arbor, MI),
Co-Director of Michigan Equality

•Chris Paige (Philadelphia, PA)
Founder, TransFaith Online

•Seth Donovan (Denver, CO)
Evangelical Lutheran Church of America Full Inclusion Committee

•The Rev. Sean Parker Dennison (Salt Lake City, UT)
South Valley Unitarian Universalist Society

•Barbara Satin (Minneapolis/ St. Paul, MN)
Executive Council, United Church of Christ and Institute of Welcoming Resources and Faithworks Associate of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

•Noach Dzmura (Berkeley, CA)
Jewish Mosaic: The National Center for Sexual and Gender Diversity

•Senior Minister Carmarion D. Anderson (Dallas, TX)
Living Faith Covenant Church

•Minister Monica Joy Cross (Berkeley, CA)
Pacific School of Religion

•Angel Celeste Collie (Chapel Hill, NC)
Metropolitan Community Church

•Rabbi Elliot Kukla (San Francisco, CA)
•The Rev. Megan Rohrer (San Francisco, CA)
Director, The Welcome Ministry

•Richard Juang (Cambridge, MA)
Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality

•Rebecca Anne Allison, MD (Phoenix, AZ)
President-Elect, Gay and Lesbian Medical Association, United Church of Christ

•The Rev. Pat Conover (Silver Spring, MD)
Minister, United Church of Christ
Steward, Seekers Church

•The Rev. Allyson Robinson (Gaithersburg, MD)
Associate Director of Diversity, Human Rights Campaign, Alliance of Baptists

•Jakob Hero (Berkeley, CA)
Pacific School of Religion

•Kate Bowman (Denver, CO)
Board Chair, The Gender Identity Center of Colorado

•The Rev. Vicky Kolakowski (Berkeley, CA)
New Spirit Community Church

•The Rev. Paul Langston-Daley (Glendale, AZ)
Minister, West Valley Unitarian Universalist Church

•The Rev. Michelle Hansen, S.T.M., M.Div. (Waterbury CT)
Episcopal Priest (Retired), TransEpiscopal, Treasurer and Moderator of the Twenty Club

•Aidan Dunn (San Francisco, CA)
Stanford University

•Joanne Herman (Boston, MA)
Old South Church, United Church of Christ

•The Rev. G Green (Kenosha, WI)
St. Andrew's Episcopal Church

•Ari Lev Fornari (Boston, MA)
Rabbinical Student

•Diane DeLap (Wilmington, MA)
Co-Spokesperson, Affirmation: United Methodists for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer Concerns

•The Rev. Sarah J. Flynn (Burlington, VT)
All Souls Ministry, American Catholic Church of New England

•The Rev. Dr. Erin K. Swenson (Atlanta, GA)
Presbytery of Greater Atlanta, Presbyterian Church, USA

•The Rev. Sky Anderson (San Jose, CA)
Minister of Community Life, M.C.C. (Metropolitan Community Church)

•The Rt. Rev. Dr. Lynn Elizabeth Walker (Brooklyn, NY)
Orthodox Catholic Church of America

•Kelli Anne Busey (Dallas, TX)
Metropolitan Community Church

•Dr. Virginia Ramey Mollenkott (Paterson, NJ)
Professor Emeritus at William Paterson University and founding memer of the Evangelical and Ecumenical Women's Caucus

•Mycroft Masada Holmes (Boston, MA)
Co-Chair, Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality
Chair, Keshet Transgender Working Group (TWiG)

•The Rev. Rik Fire (Warminster, PA)
Ecumenicon Fellowship

•The Rev. Laurie J. Auffant (Lowell, MA)
Unitarian Universalist Association

•Reuben Zellman (San Francisco, CA)

•Stephanie C. Battaglino (Cliffside Park, NJ)
Commissioner, The Oasis - the LGBTi Ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Newark, NJ

•Donna M. Cartwright (Baltimore, MD)
TransEpiscopal

•Kate Bornstein (New York City, NY)
Buddhist

•Woody Camacho (San José, CA)
The Metropolitan Community Church of San José

•The Rev. Jay Wilson (San Fransisco, CA)
The Welcome Ministry & Extraordinary Lutheran Ministries

•Jeremiah Gold-Hopton (Atlanta, GA)
Worship Ministry, Northwest (Atlanta) UU Congregation

•Randall E. Klein (Walnut Creek, CA)
Founder, Light in the Closet Ministry, Hillside Covenant Church

•The Rev. Jake Kopmeier (St. Petersburg, FL)
King of Peace MCC

•Jake Nash (Cleveland, OH)
Minister of Worship, Emmanuel Fellowship Church
Executive Director, TranFamily of Cleveland

•Lauryn Farris (San Antonio, TX)
Lay Leader, United Church of Christ
President, San Antonio Gender Association

•Joni Christian (Kent, OH)
Visionary Kent UCC

•Elder Andrea' V. Boisseau AIS (Waltham, MA)
First Presbyterian Church Of Waltham

•Elder Sara Herwig (Waltham, MA)
First Presbyterian Church Of Waltham

•Elder Alanna Block-Butler (Waltham, MA)
First Presbyterian Church Of Waltham

•The Rev. Drew Phoenix (Baltimore, MD)
Ordained MInister, The United Methodist Church

Institutions are included for identification purposes only.

a Holy Trans Week

2009-04-07T21:05:00.013-05:00

Earlier this week I got an email from the Massachusetts Transgender Political Coalition (MTPC) detailing "Transgender Rights Week in New England," an amazing confluence of events: in Connecticut today there was a Gender Identity and Expression Lobby Day in support of their non-discrimination bill; in Rhode Island this evening there was House Judiciary Committee hearing about their hate crime definition; tomorrow (April 8th) New Hampshire is possibly holding a second vote on its transgender non-discrimination bill. And at the State House in Boston MTPC held a rally in support of the Massachusetts non-discrimination bill, "An Act Relative to Gender-Based Discrimination and Hate Crimes".

And as if the stars weren't already apparently aligning, Iowa's supreme court unanimously legalized equal marriage last Friday (April 3), and this morning, Vermont's legislature overrode it's governor's veto, making Vermont the latest state to claim equal marriage.

I arrived with fellow members of the Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality(ICTE) at 10am. What an amazing sight it was to emerge from the main stairs and see so many people gathered-- at least as many as last year, and likely more. MTPC has now put up a number of photos from the event (source of the photos in this piece).

I was honored to briefly speak as one of the co-Chairs of ICTE (the other being Mycroft Holmes) and to introduce two other clergy speakers, Rabbi Stephanie Kolin (photo, left) of Temple Israel in Brookline, and Rev. Will Green, Pastor of St. Nicholas United Methodist Church in Hull. I'm hoping to be able to reprint their remarks in the coming days. In the meantime, what struck me about Rabbi Stephanie's comments was her strong claim that the work we are all doing is holy work, and that the place in which we were standing was a holy place. Pastor Will (photo, below right) passionately underscored how supported we are in our struggle by communities of faith-- much more than we know.

In our own ways, each of us reflected our convictions that religious traditions and communities of faith *should not* be assumed to be anti-trans, despite the terrible reality that many transgender people have been betrayed by communities of faith. Nevertheless, some of our strongest wellsprings of support can, do, and should come from precisely communities of faith and the rich traditions they sustain.

One particularly firey speaker-- whom I had to follow directly (!)-- was the Honorable Byron Rushing, a member of the Massachusetts House of Representatives. He spoke of how we weren't gathered to gain the rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, because we already have those rights. Massachusetts has failed to live up to its obligation to guarantee those rights, he said, for which the state has no excuse. We were there to hold the state to account. Amen!

We heard several speakers who shared stories of discrimination and extreme difficulty. One such story was told, haltingly, by Ken Garber, the father of a transgender son, CJ, who died a couple of months ago. I remember Mr. Garber speaking in support of his son at the hearing last Spring, and it was so devastating to hear of CJ's death. I attended this young man's funeral a couple of months ago, and my heart has been with the Garber family ever since. Even incredibly supportive parents cannot finally protect trans young people from the pervasive toll of the cruelties that lie outside a home's door.

As I look back on this incredibly long day, the overall pattern is of border walking, crossing in and out of contexts and communities that often misunderstand one another. As a clergy person at the trans lobby day-- and quite visibly clerical at that-- I felt like an emblem, a living, breathing progress report on how far religious traditions in general and my own in particular have come in their support of transgender people, and the distance they still have to travel. And so it was important to me to state quite clearly the truth for which the Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality stands: that people and communities of many faiths support transgender people, and that transgender people come from and claim many faith traditions. I talked about how proud I am that my own diocese, the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts passed a resolution in support of exactly what we were doing at the State House today. The audience interrupted me at that point to clap, which really moved me. I was reminded of moments at Trans Day of Remembrance and Diocesan Convention last November, when the intersections of my particular faith and gender journeys felt not only present but in some sense uplifted.

I then said that for Christians, this week is Holy Week, the most significant, and indeed holy, week of the entire liturgical year. And I said that, for me, being at the State House and doing what I was doing right then was a spiritual practice, a fitting complement to the several other spiritual practices of prayer and worship that I will be doing as this week continues. These practices are of a piece for me, I explained, because of the narrative that propels the events of Holy Week: the movement from bondage to freedom, from fear to hope, from death and despair to transformation and newness of life.

After the conclusion of the event, a parishioner and I made our way first to the Cathedral Church of St. Paul where a service of "the Blessing of the Holy Oils" was in progress, and then to the university department where I am teaching a one-on-one course ("Junior Tutorial") this semester. When we got to the cathedral, Bishop Tom Shaw was in the midst of his sermon, sitting in the central aisle. As we stepped into the cathedral, directly opposite him, he was in the middle of saying, "gay, lesbian, bisexual..." I felt like something of a transgender jack-in-the-box, with my "trans rights now" sticker still stuck to my lapel from the rally. I imagine Tom was saying something celebratory about the Vermont override, the announcement of which had elicited prolonged cheering during the rally.

The theme of the service was healing-- the various ministries of healing, lay and ordained, taken up by people throughout the diocese. There was a moment in the service when people in healing ministries were invited to come forward for the anointing of the palms of their hands. I walked forward with my parishioner, who recently started a queer, non-sectarian spirituality group at my church (called "BEND"). I loved seeing people with whom I work in the diocese in this context, in the middle of this intense week. And particularly after being at the rally, it felt good to walk across the Boston Common and into the cathedral. I felt both a sense of difference between how I spent my morning and how I imagine most people in the cathedral spent theirs, and a sense of affirmation that I was indeed walking from one holy space and activity to another.

From the cathedral, I made my way to a coffee shop, where I finished preparing for my class. Somewhere between the Statehouse and the classroom, I divested myself of both the "trans rights now" sticker and the clerical collar, aware of myself crossing into yet another communal space, this one academic. The course, "Thirty Years of Trans Studies" is a blast to teach, and also very much of a piece with the morning's activities.

What a day it was. And the holiness of the week continues.

Bay Windows on "An Act of Faith"

2009-01-29T15:32:00.004-05:00

Today Boston LGBT paper Bay Windows published an article by Ethan Jacobs on last week's Interfaith Coalition for Trans Equality event "An Act of Faith." I'm pasting it below, and you can also find it here.

Faith leaders strategize for transgender rights at Newton forum
by Ethan Jacobs
staff reporter
Thursday Jan 29, 2009

Somerville state Rep. Denise Provost told attendees at a Jan. 21 forum organized by the Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality (ICTE) that they could make a powerful case to lawmakers in favor of transgender rights by appealing to their faith. The forum, held at Hebrew College in Newton, was the first major event organized by ICTE, which is part of a coalition advocating for the passage of legislation this session to add trans-inclusive language to the state’s non-discrimination and hate crimes laws. Provost said she was moved to watch how warmly her own church, an Episcopal congregation, embraced a transgender man who had originally joined the congregation as a woman, and she said she believes stories like these can move her colleagues.

"In my message part of it has to be the story of how wonderfully easy it was and how beautiful it was to have a transgender person in our community of faith, and how not an issue it was when a female member of the congregation went away and came back as a male person, and all the church ladies in their seventies and eighties were happy and twittery and accepting," said Provost. The man in question, the Rev. Cameron Partridge, has since become a priest at St. Luke’s and St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church in Allston and is one of the founders of ICTE.

Provost, who was joined at the forum by the bill’s co-sponsor, Medford state Rep. Carl Sciortino, said people of faith have a particularly persuasive message to share in support of transgender rights.

"I’ve been thinking about our religion, all of Christianity, and the Old Testament, too, and it’s full of transformations. And God’s usually behind them," said Provost, prompting laughs from the crowd. "In the Old Testament you had sticks turning into snakes and disobedient women turning into pillars of salt, and you had a recalcitrant guy like Jonah turning into a prophet. And then you get to the New Testament and you’ve got water turning into wine and God turning into human form, and it’s so full of transformation. It makes sense to me, thinking about it, that the church ladies and the Sunday school should say, no big deal."

ICTE formed in 2007, and its goals and structure are similar to the Religious Coalition for the Freedom to Marry (RCFM), an interfaith coalition that worked in support of marriage equality during the debates over same-sex marriage. One of RCFM’s core advocacy tools was a declaration of support for marriage equality signed by more than 1000 clergy, congregations and lay people from many faiths. ICTE is currently collecting signatures for its own declaration of support for the transgender rights bill, and currently more than 100 clergy, along with about 200 laypeople, have signed the declaration.

Rabbi Daniel Judson, a member of ICTE and a former member of RCFM, told attendees that the forum was an historic moment in the local campaign for transgender rights.

"As far as any of us can gather this is the first time in Massachusetts history that a group of people of faith have come together specifically around transgender issues. So this is that moment, this is that moment when things change," said Judson, an administrator at the Hebrew College Rabbinical School.

Several speakers at the forum shared their experiences as transgender people of faith. For many of them their faith has been a vital source of support. Sean Delmore, an ICTE member and candidate for ordination in the United Methodist Church, credited his church with helping him come out as a transgender man.

"As I was coming out as a transgender man through the fellowship and the love of one congregation, one community of faith, they really helped love me into being when I could not have the faith and trust to be myself," said Delmore. "Those private conversations, they helped me bring those out into a personal public being."

Matt O’Malley, political director for MassEquality, said that the transgender rights bill currently has 41 co-sponsors. Massachusetts Transgender Political Coalition (MTPC), the lead organization in the coalition working to pass the transgender rights bill, is planning a lobby day for sometime this spring.

Judson told Bay Windows that ICTE has been reaching out to clergy across the state urging them to support the declaration in favor of the transgender rights bill. He said the group has framed its argument as a question of fairness and justice.

"We’re talking about this as a matter of rights, and we’re framing this to other clergy people that in some ways just as you supported equal marriage out of a conviction that it was the right thing to do, that people are created equal, so too in this case," said Judson. "They are people who are created equal, people who are deserving of rights. God creates all of us as equal and as who we are meant to be. It’s just simply saying allow people to be treated under the law equally."

RCFM attracted the support not only of rank-and-file clergy but of local religious leaders, including the Rev. William Sinkford, president of the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA), which has its national headquarters in Boston; the state’s three Episcopal bishops, Tom Shaw, Bud Cederholm, and Gayle Harris; and Rabbi Ronne Friedman, senior rabbi at Temple Israel Boston, New England’s largest Reform Jewish congregation. Judson said ICTE is working to win the support of the state’s religious leaders, and Friedman has already signed onto ICTE’s declaration.

Neither Sinkford nor the Episcopal bishops had signed the declaration as of the evening of the ICTE forum, but all signaled support for the legislation when contacted by Bay Windows. The Rev. Mally Lloyd, canon to the ordinary of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, said she did not know whether ICTE had reached out to the bishops, but she said the diocese as a whole supports the passage of trans-inclusive non-discrimination and hate crimes legislation; last November the diocese’s annual convention passed a resolution supporting such legislation. Janet Hayes, spokesperson for the UUA, said she was not aware of any conversations between Sinkford and ICTE, but following Bay Windows’ inquiries Sinkford sent a letter to all Massachusetts UUA clergy Jan. 27 announcing the UUA’s support for ICTE’s declaration and urging all clergy to add their names to the declaration.

Judson said he believes the voices of people of faith will be essential to winning over support for the transgender rights bill in the legislature, as it was during the marriage debate.

"What we discovered during the struggle over marriage equality was that, lo and behold, the religious voice was really needed because the folks who were saying they were opposed were often doing it on religious grounds," said Judson.

Ethan Jacobs can be reached at ejacobs@baywindows.com

An Act of Faith: Kairos

2009-01-22T22:13:00.023-05:00

On January 21, I participated in an event called "An Act of Faith: Massachusetts Communities of Faith Speak Out for Transgender Equality." It was organized by Keshet and the Interfaith Coalition for Trans Equality (ICTE), a group that several of us founded in 2007 to actively create spaces supportive of trans people in communities of faith; to recognize the reality that many people of faith support trans people, and that many trans people are are people of faith; and to galvanize and harness the support of faith communities in support of trans civil rights. All of that was on display at our Act of Faith last Wednesday night, and it was powerful to experience. For images of the event by Bay Windows photographer Marilyn Humphries, click here.

We had an array of speakers who shared stories of the intersection of their faith and trans equality: Rabbi Daniel Judson (Director of Professional Development and Placement at Hebrew College Rabbinical School), co-chairs and MCs for this event Sean Delmore (Program Coordinator, LGBT@MIT and Candidate for Ordination as a Deacon in the United Methodist Church) and Mycroft Masada Holmes (Chair of the Keshet Trans Working Group), Gunner Scott (Executive Director of the Massachusetts Transgender Political Coalition), Matthew O'Malley (Political Director of MassEquality), Judah-Abijah Dorington (Chair of Boston Area Black Pride and Director of LGBTQI Programs at Wellesley College & Executive Director of People to People/Dorrington & Saunders and Associates), Jennifer Levi (Director of the Transgender Rights Project at GLAD), Rev. Tiffany Stewart (Pastor, Cambridge Welcoming Ministries, United Methodist Church), Rev. Fr. Toni Amato (Order of Saint John the Divine and Founder of Write Here Write Now), Marla Marcum (Co-Chair, Reconciling Ministries, New England United Methodist Church and Candidate for Ordination as a Deacon in the United Methodist Church), and Massachusetts State Representatives Carl Sciortino (pictured above left) and Denise Provost (pictured to the right). I spoke near the end and introduced the action component of our program. It was especially fun for me to hear Denise's remarks, because she is a member of the parish that sponsored me for ordination, and she told a story about the goofy, supportive way her youngest daughter responded when I transitioned about seven years ago.

I can't possibly convey all that people said that evening, but in what follows, I'll share the comments I made. Of course, what others said caused me to change what I'd prepared, but one speaker in particular got me thinking in a new light about an experience I had twelve years ago.

Judah-Abijah Dorrington got up and sang James Weldon Johnson's "Lift Every Voice and Sing," the Black National Anthem, and spoke of the multiple struggles against oppression to which it can speak. As I heard her sing it, I suddenly remembered a moment in my life that was punctuated by that particular hymn. And when I got up to speak a few minutes later, I told a story I had not quite narrated in my mind up until that moment.

I said that in 1997, when I was in my second year of divinity school and was very new, unsure, and private about wrestling with gender identity, I was also actively discerning when to apply for the ordination process toward priesthood in the Episcopal church, and whether I should apply in Massachusetts (where my partner and I had moved in 1995). But then Phil Nightingale, the senior warden of our parish, died. Phil had an lively, quirky, inspiring spirit, and I very much admired the Ecumenical Task Force on Aids that he and his partner Rusty Miller had co-founded. As Phil's Boston Globe obituary explained, the Task Force brought healing services to churches across the state, beginning in 1985, at a time when churches basically were not dealing with the AIDS epidemic. The process of Phil's death, the vigil we held all night at the parish, and particularly the funeral itself, held at the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, had a catalyzing effect upon me. It's still hard to articulate, but what I knew then was that something about that process, and about this diocese and the ministries it supports, grabbed a hold of me and refused to let go. After that funeral, I knew that this was the time and the place to cast my bread on the waters and seek entry into the ordination process.

Almost twelve years later, as I listened to Judah singing, "God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, thou who hast brought us thus far on the way," I suddenly remembered choking out those very words as Phil's casket was rolled down the cathedral aisle, out the door and into its waiting hearse. All of a sudden, I could see how that hymn-- and not simply the existence of it, but the singing of it in that context-- had opened up a space of musical narration in which somehow, with hope, grief and resolve, I could sing in solidarity struggles that I could not yet name, in a community that felt infinitely expansive.

That experience marked an extraordinary moment for me, the kind I like to think of with one of the ancient Greek terms for time, "kairos." While "chronos" refers to time as it unfolds sequentially, kairos speaks to a particularly momentous time, the critical juncture, "the moment of danger and opportunity," the kind of moment in which we stand right now.

[with that, I jumped into my prepared remarks:]

As trans people, as partners and family members, as allies, as people of faith, it is nearly impossible to forget that this is a moment of danger. For one thing, it continues to be dangerous to be a trans person in this country at this time, even as our community makes extraordinary gains. There are so many reasons why now is the time for us to act. We need to act now because trans people are dying in this country at an appalling, under-recognized rate. We know this from our own history here in Massachusetts, having lost Debra Forte and Chanelle Pickett in 1995, and Rita Hester in my own parish’s Allston neighborhood in 1998. But in Memphis, TN, over a six month period between July and December of 2008, three transgender, African American women were shot. Two of them, Duanna Johnson and Ebony Whitaker, died. The third, Leeneshia Edwards, who was shot in the face on December 23, has survived.

We need to act now because many of us come up against discrimination, sometimes overt, often subtle, in our searches for housing and jobs, as we apply to schools, for credit, or seek medical care. Particularly in this chaotic economy, trans people, like all people who struggle against oppression, come up against an enhanced sense of vulnerability, not only through particular acts of discrimination but also because hope can be that much harder to cling to in difficult economic times. And so we stand here tonight, gathered for the first time in the history of this state and, perhaps, in the history of this country, as people of faith communities who have come together to take a public stand for human dignity. Here and now, we join our various voices together, saying explicitly that the “all” in “all are created equal” does and must include transgender people. We stand here tonight, profoundly aware of the danger, sick to death of it, and ready, by God, for change. We cannot let one more year go by without enacting fully inclusive non-discrimination legislation at the federal level, and at the state level, here in Massachusetts.

We are here as people of faith because we believe that danger, like fear, can never have the last word. And with what our new President has called the “audacity of hope,” we are here because we know that we have an unprecedented opportunity. Particularly this week, as we celebrate the inauguration of Barack Obama, a president more supportive of our lives and livelihoods than any previous president, it could not be clearer that this is a moment of profound opportunity. Indeed, our gathering tonight feels to me like an extension of the incredible dream that we are beginning to live into with this new President. And, of course, this dream is the expansive vision articulated so passionately and brilliantly by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, whose birthday we celebrated earlier this week.

In April of 1963, as Dr. King sat in a jail cell, he responded to white, moderate clergy who had come out against his work in Birmingham, arguing that he was being too disruptive, that now was the time to wait, to be patient, not to press forward. This was an argument that Dr. King could not abide. He responded in his open “Letter from a Birmingham City Jail”, with the familiar words “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Then he continued, “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly” [Martin Luther King, Jr. “Letter from a Birmingham City Jail,” in ed. James Melvin Washington, A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings of Martin Luther King, Jr. (San Francisco: Harper & Row, Publishers), 290]. That is why we are gathered here as people of faith tonight—because while our faiths are many and varied, we know and we honor the sacred reality that we are all connected. Those of us who are transgender may differ from those of us who are not in a number of profound ways, but make no mistake, all of us suffer when any of us does.

But it isn’t enough for us to simply know that. We have to act on it. As Dr. King continued, “We must come to see that human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and persistent work of [people] willing to be co-workers with God, and without this hard work time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, and forever realize that the time is always right to do right” (296). My hope is that, in this kairos, this moment of danger and opportunity, we will leave this gathering tonight with what Dr. King termed “a sense of cosmic urgency” (297).

But not before we make our commitment real. I ask you to turn now to the leaf cards under your chairs. These leaves are our way of calling one another forward to recognize our interconnectivity, and the profound impact that we, as people of faith, can have in our communities when we work together in recognition of that connection. The Tree of Life is an image with which a number of faith traditions express our connection to one another and to all life. And so I invite you to read the suggestions onyour card and to consider how you can make a unique and lasting impact on transgender equality in your faith community and beyond. Then, beginning with those of us in the Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality, and our invited speakers, I invite you to fill out your card and to mark that commitment and connection by coming forward to put it on the tree. When you have finished, please return to your seats for the conclusion of our program.

*******

The cards on the tree were quite beautiful, and symbolized nicely what the gathering was all about. Event Co-chairs Sean Delmore and Mycroft Masada Holmes then wrapped up the event.

I am incredibly grateful to Keshet, especially senior organizer Orly Jacobovits, without whom the event would never even have gotten off the ground, let alone come to fruition.

Voice of Preparation

2008-12-15T22:07:00.006-05:00

Advent 3: Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Lk 1:46-55 (The Song of Mary); 1 Thes 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28
St. Luke’s and St. Margaret’s, Allston, MA
December 14, 2008

One of my favorite novels of all time is John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. Without spoiling a spectacularly cataclysmic ending, I will tell you this much. The central character, Owen Meany, is basically John the Baptist in 1960s New Hampshire: he prepares the way for the salvation of people whom he does not yet know, but whom he knows he will recognize when the moment is right. Quite eerily, Owen starts to becomes aware of that vocation when he is quite small, and that knowledge increases over the course of his lifetime, even as it remains incomplete up until the moment of its consummation. Every aspect of his life has a distinctive part to play in his vocation: his relationships (from childhood friends to professional acquaintances), his location in New Hampshire with its quirky congregations, his family’s gravestone business, his short stature and light weight. Even his voice proves critical to his mission. As Irving’s narrator tells it, “his vocal chords had not developed fully, or else his voice had been injured by the rock dust of his family’s business. Maybe he’d had larynx damage, or destroyed trachea; maybe he’d been hit in the throat by a chunk of granite. To be heard at all, Owen had to shout through his nose” (3). The narrator continues, “I used to think his voice came from another planet. Now I’m convinced it was a voice not entirely of this world” (5). To signify what Irving terms a “strangled, emphatic falsetto” (5), Owen’s speech always appears entirely in capital letters. Those words, that voice, in all its strangeness, not only rivets the attention of the reader but forces the reader to embody those words, to claim them as the reader’s own. One cannot read Owen Meany without taking on, in a sense, his voice. And so the reader is pulled into the strange, spiraling movement of preparation, taking up, with Owen, the work of inviting, collaborating, and identifying God’s in-breaking into this world.

Our first reading today calls upon us to do just that. First of all, we are hearing from the prophet Isaiah—or a prophet testifying under Isaiah’s name. We hear, “the Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me.” Anointed for what? For bringing good news to the oppressed, binding up the brokenhearted, proclamation of liberty to those who are captive, release to those imprisoned, proclamation of God’s restoration. The context for this word of hope is of extreme oppression, the kind of oppression that takes root in one’s soul, lowering one’s expectations, sinking one’s feet into the mire such that even lifting a foot to step forward feels overwhelming. Again, the prophet speaks to all struggling with loss: “to comfort all who mourn, to provide for those who mourn in Zion-- to given them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.” In this prophesy, mourning is not simply halted or extirpated; it is transformed. The energy it takes to recognize what is lost gets channeled into something new. Ancient ruins are not abandoned but become the foundation for a new edifice; archaic devastations become templates for redemption.

And, most powerful of all, we ourselves become the herald of that good news. For we only hear this prophetic narrative through one another; when our first reader, Rob, took up this message he spoke it, he proclaimed it to us. And, if you’ll recall, in doing so, he was following in some hefty footsteps, none other than Jesus himself. In the gospel of Luke, the advent of Jesus’ ministry takes place through none other than this exact passage. It was in a Nazarene synagogue, where Jesus grew up, that he stood up to read the scroll and proclaimed, “the Spirit of the Lord is upon me” (Lk 4.16-21). After sitting down, as the eyes of everyone in the synagogue fixed themselves on him, he explained what had just happened: “today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Isaiah’s voice became Jesus’ voice.

Jesus’ voice is part of a veritable chorus singing this prophetic message; interwoven with these voices is that of Jesus’ mother, Mary. This third Sunday in Advent is always the day when we honor the visitation of Gabriel to Mary, when Mary responds to an astounding challenge with an equally astonishing “yes.” In her slightly later encounter with her relative Elizabeth, she takes on the voice of the prophets when she intones, “my soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” Mary gives thanks not only for the crazy favor of choosing her for this unique in-breaking of Creator into Creation, but also for continuing the holy pattern of justice-making with which God has repeatedly challenged and inspired God’s people. She proclaims, God “has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. He has come to the help of his servant Israel, for he has remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever” (Lk 1:46-55). When we sing this, the Magnificat, we take up Mary’s voice, as it, in turn, takes up yet more ancient, prophetic heraldries. In so doing, we claim the mantle of divine preparation, so that, even as we journey in desert territories, we know not only that springs of plenty are within our grasp, but also that we are being challenged to reach out and grasp them.

In our gospel reading today, John the Baptist also lays claim to this voice in contested circumstances. As you may recall, last week’s passage from the beginning of the Gospel of Mark also linked John the Baptist with Isaiah 11:3. It quoted Isaiah and then described “John the baptizer, appear[ing] in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Mk 1:2-4). This week’s gospel reading from John takes a different approach. Rather than telling us that John proclaimed the good news, the passage shows us. Early in its first chapter, the gospel describes John as one sent by God as a “witness to testify” to the good news, termed “the light.” The Greek terms for “witness” and “testify” derive from the same root, marturia-- to be a martyr is thus, by definition, to bear witness, not necessarily to die, but to bear that witness in your very body, to let your life be your voice, whatever the outcome might be. As our excerpted reading continues, John goes on to do just that. As he is interrogated about his identity, he underscores that he is neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor “the prophet” (a reference to a Moses-like prophet whose rise was expected), but that he is rather an explicit articulation of Isaiah 11:3. He doesn’t simply reference the voice of preparation for the Lord in the wilderness. In this text, he is that voice, and he is announcing that preparation. He has taken up the very words of the prophet, he has pronounced them, he has performed them, and he challenges us to join him.

Yes, Advent is a time of waiting. But, as the theme of preparation suggests, this waiting is also active, a time not simply to take in the message of glad tidings and good news, but to take it on. What we are called to take on today, following Isaiah, Mary, and John, not to mention Jesus himself, is the voice of proclamation. And lest you suddenly catch a terrifying glimpse of yourself standing on a soap box on Brighton Avenue and want to run away screaming, let me hasten to add that the question is how might your life become a voice? And not just any voice, but “a voice crying out in the wilderness, ‘prepare the way of the Lord, make God’s paths straight!’” How might you 'let you life speak', to use Parker Palmer’s phrase.

Last week after our service, several of us began a two-part conversation about how our lives speak. We used a two part definition of vocation offered by Frederick Buechner: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet” (Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC, 119). Last week we focused our conversation on our “deep gladness,” what we feel drawn to offer from the array of gifts we each have. We talked about the “what” of vocation. Are you a singer/songwriter, like Beth who played a fantastic concert for about thirty inspired people here on Friday night? Are you a software engineer, like Leander? Do you work in Real Estate or do chair caning, like Sarah? And what are the relationships in which you offer yourself—friend, partner, sibling, parent? This week, bearing in mind those “what(s)” of our vocations, we turn to the “where” and "with whom," the contexts in which we offer ourselves. After our service we have a chance to share with one another how the places and relationships in which we live call particular gifts out of us. And so I ask us all to ponder, who are the interlocutors with whom you are most frequently engaged every day? What are the media through which you most articulately offer yourself on a daily basis, whether in your professional world or in other, equally important, contexts? What are the communities that make up your unique wilderness? I can’t tell you precisely what your particular heraldry will look—or sound—like. And, in fact, you may well find over time that your embodiment of the Isaian voice will transform. While such changes may feel unsettling, they are a sign of new life working within you. Ultimately, like Owen Meany, we are called to be translucent, prisms, or, more to the point for today’s readings, amplifiers through which the good news that is breaking into this world, might resound.John the BabpProphetic Voice

Boston Transgender Day of Remembrance, 2008

2008-12-09T17:41:00.005-05:00

I originally posted this piece on the TransEpiscopal Blog on November 25, 2008.
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Last Thursday, November 20th, my parish, St. Luke’s and St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church (or ‘SLAM,’ as it is affectionately known) hosted Boston’s Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR). For coverage of the event by the Allston/Brighton Tab, click here, and for coverage by Bay Windows, click here. Bay Windows photographer Marilyn Humphries took some wonderful photos, which you can view here.

I can’t express strongly enough how proud I am that we hosted this event. As a member of the trans community, I’ve been attending TDOR for several years in other locations. The event’s origins also emerge out of the two metro areas that I have called home: Boston and the San Francisco Bay Area. TDOR was started nine years ago by San Francisco trans activist and writer, Gwen Smith, to mark the one-year anniversary of the murder of transwoman Rita Hester. Hester, meanwhile, had been murdered in the Boston area on November 28, 1998. And, in a realization that sent chills down my spine, she was murdered only blocks from my parish, in Allston, MA. When I first came to SLAM as their priest in 2006, I had not quite made this connection between my parish’s neighborhood and this event that has become a catalyst for transgender activism around the world. But as the ten-year anniversary of Rita Hester’s murder approached, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

Personally speaking, part of the gravitas I was overwhelmed by was the intersection of my worlds. I came to SLAM as an openly transgender man as well as an Episcopal priest, and while I don’t tend to overly compartmentalize my life, these facets of myself have never before been so simultaneously, fully present. The event M.C., Judah Dorrington, put it best in inviting all those gathered to allow all of themselves to be present that evening.

It was a night more evocative of January than November, hovering in the mid-twenties, but the chill couldn’t keep people away. From 6 p.m. on, people kept filing into the church. We had set up extra chairs, enough for about 175, but by start time, we were beyond capacity. People were standing in the aisles, sitting on the floor, piled toward the back. Without a doubt, I have never seen so many people in my parish — certainly over 200 -- and I wonder when the numbers have been matched in parish history.

As the event began, with Judah singing Marvin Gay’s “What’s Going On,” I wondered if I would be able to speak without losing it, being one of several slated speakers. I had something brief written out, but when I stood up and really took in the sight of all those people, I decided to just go with the flow. I talked about how proud I and the parish was to be hosting the event. I reflected on how Judah’s exhortation to bring all of ourselves to the evening’s event rang more clearly for me that night than ever before. I talked about how pervasive and psychically pernicious anti-trans violence can be. And I recalled when I first really became aware of that culture of violence.

My partner and I had moved to Boston the summer of 1995, unaware that transwoman Debra Forte had been killed three months before. That fall, as I began my Master of Divinity Degree, I became an intern at the Fenway Community Health Center’s Victim Recovery Program. Part of my duties involved being a Victim Advocate, at the other end of one of the phones when someone called to report an instance of anti-lgbt or same-sex domestic violence. Then Channelle Pickett was murdered. I remember it particularly clearly, not only because I was interning at the VRP at the time, but also because she died on my birthday, November 20. It was overwhelming and horrifying to be at the nerve center of the LGBT community response to an anti-trans murder just as I myself was beginning to grapple with my own gender identity.

When Rita Hester died in 1998, I had graduated from divinity school. I was a new postulant in the ordination process in the diocese of Massachusetts, and was working full time in homeless services. In the three years between these murders, my own gender quandary had begun to feel like a shadow; I knew ducking from it was ridiculous but I couldn’t help trying. By November, this escapist strategy was beginning to wear thin, but not enough to change course. That’s probably why I didn’t attend the rally in Allston that year. I wish I could say otherwise.

I also have found, over the years, that going to a TDOR not only requires confronting the death of Rita, Channelle, Debra and way too many other community members. It also calls upon us to confront the myriad other losses that we undergo, past, present, and sometimes worst of all, potential/future. We can’t help but be reminded of our vulnerability.

And yet, ten years later, we have come so far, far enough to transform our future with hope. Numerous speakers echoed that truth, particularly Diego Sanchez, who reminded us all that we are not victims but victors. Ten years ago, the tasks that lay before us appeared like a mountain we had barely begun to climb. Now we are halfway up that mountain. Of course, I don’t know how big the mountain truly is. But I do know that we have made huge strides and that as we continue our ascent, our resolve and solidarity will need to keep growing. As the Rev. Kim K. Harvey of Arlington Street Church put it (and I paraphrase), regardless of our differences of belief and identity, regardless of our losses and grief over them, we can and we must claim a shared vision.

After the speakers, everyone filed out of the church with candles, making our way down Brighton Avenue with a police escort, to Union Square. We made a huge circle in front of the Jackson Mann School and read the names of the dead. The list comprised transpeople who died around the world this year plus those who have been killed in MA in any year, for a total of forty-eight names. From the school, we walked to the side street on which Rita Hester lived. Quietly, we stood outside her apartment building and held a moment of silence. A small, single candle was placed outside the door. Then we returned to the church for hot drinks and refreshments.

Though their tone certainly couldn’t derail the spirit of the evening, we were confronted by hecklers, both on Hester’s side street, and as we passed the Brighton Avenue bars on the way back to the church.

But what struck me repeatedly throughout the evening was a strong feeling of community solidarity and determination. I was so moved to meet a number of parents, friends, and other allies of the trans community—it felt like there was a larger than usual number of allies at TDOR this year than in years past, which strikes me as especially important. In one case, parents introduced me to their son, the mother explaining to me that she was using his chosen name for the very first time in that moment. I met other young people, some still in high school, just coming out. I talked with veterans of the Boston trans community, some of whom I have seen around but never officially met. I also enjoyed getting to catch up with old friends. And it was moving to talk with several people about our various faith traditions and the challenges of being trans people of faith.

For me, there was something truly cosmic and transformative about Thursday night. By being present at that particular time, and in that particular place, we were able to be present to a horror, and, as several people put it, to re-member the humanity of those we have lost. In that process, and in that movement — in our words at the initial gathering, our walking and reading of names, our marking of Rita’s home, and our return for warmth and conversation -- we seemed to take on a new resolve, to claim even more strongly, our own humanity.

"Listening to Trans People" at the Lambeth Conference

2008-07-24T07:34:00.005-05:00

I'm sitting here in Massachusetts, ready to head out the door to Logan airport, where I'm catching a flight to England to go to the Lambeth Conference.

A couple of weeks ago in Integrity Witness, Rev. Susan Russell posed a question to those of us heading to the Conference: Why are you going?

First, for readers not steeped in Anglican politics, the Lambeth Conference is a meeting of bishops from around the Anglican Communion which takes place once every ten years. As this May press conference underlined, the meeting is not a parliamentary proceeding but a chance for bishops from around the Anglican Communion to gather for counsel and relationship-building. And Integrity, of which Susan is the president, is the national LGBT coalition within the Episcopal Church.

As is well known, there are Anglicans around the globe who want to curtail the participation of LGBT people in sacramental life. When Gene Robinson became bishop of New Hampshire, a decades-old conflict flared with new intensity. Meanwhile, beginning with the 1978 Lambeth Conference, the Anglican Communion has declared its need to listen to the experience of LGBT people. The most recent manifestation of that desire is an official "listening process." Despite this process, and the existence of things like study guides for bishops and other church leaders, Bishop Robinson himself was deliberately not invited to this Conference. Lest LGBT people simply be talked about or around and not actually heard ourselves, groups like Integrity and Changing Attitude have planned a number of events to make certain that our voices will be present.

And that's why I'm going: to be among those voices as a transgender person. More specifically, a transgender man who is also an Episcopal priest and representative of transgender Episcopalians across the United States (though I am also quite clear that I cannot speak for all of them).

On Friday, July 25th, I along with three others will be on a panel entitled "Listening to Trans People." The panel is part of a series of official Lambeth "Fringe" (a term that has a less pejorative meaning in England than in the United States) events, whose schedule you can view here. While bishops are not required to come to this panel, I hope that those who do come will listen with open hearts, carrying with them the spirit of learning and relationality that is the keystone of this Conference. As far as I know, this panel represents the first time that a transgender-specific event has ever taken place at a worldwide Anglican Communion meeting, and I'm proud to be part of it.

The panel was organized by Rev. Christina Beardsley of Changing Attitude UK, who has written a substantial resource for Clergy and Congregations re: transgenderism. The panel is officially sponsored by the UK-based Christian Transgender group called the Sibyls.

Jumping In

As I sit here, about to leave, listening to the rain fall out the window, I'm excited about the new possibilities, the people I will meet and the stories I will hear. And at the same time I can't help but feel overwhelmed as I ponder the challenge of trying to include transgenderism within the context of conversations that have been revolving around sexuality-- human sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular. In a way, I feel like someone standing next to one of those huge jump ropes-- the kind where two people stand turning the rope and you have to jump in. It's a lot easier when you get to turn your own rope-- there's no mistaking the rhythm-- you can slow down, speed up, or stop when you need to. With a rope not of your own turning, you have to time your jump. You stand there for a moment, kind of swaying as you figure out the pace, and then jump in, hoping you don't snag the ropes.

Perhaps this anticipatory experience is common to anyone poised on the threshold of this conversation, regardless of demographic particulars. But as I prepare to bring a trans perspective, it sometimes feels like I and my other trans comrades are bringing another rope. A single jump rope, turning and turning around the topic of sexuality does not give us tools to talk about transgenderism; we need another rope for gender. Double Dutch, anyone?

But wait, we already have a gender rope. It entered the Anglican fray most famously in the mid-1970s debates about women priests, and in the late '80s with the consecration of the Rt. Rev. Barbara C. Harris in my home diocese of Massachusetts. In 2006 the gender jump rope got renewed attention with the election of the Rt. Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori as the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, and within the last month the Church of England has voted that women can become bishops in England. Over the years, this gender rope has continued to turn in our debate, but in the last two decades, as sexuality has become an increasingly dominant theme, the role of the gender in our discussions has become obscured. In the wake of the Church of England's recent vote, I have hope that the gender rope will regain its crucial place in the collective Anglican conversation with more clarity and emphasis than it has recently received.

Only, as gender comes back into our collective conversation, I believe we need to think about it differently. Gender should not simply refer to women. Nor, for that matter, should gender simply equal transgender. Our "gender rubric" should be more complex, more flexible. As Bishop Gene Robinson and numerous others have argued, gender needs to be understood in the complicated ways that it interacts with race, class, ability, and sexuality, particularly in the wake of Anglican colonial legacies. What's more, our rubric should understand that gender is neither rigidly binary (male and female only) nor static (always experienced, expressed and embodied in the same way). Gender has so many forms in so many different cultural contexts that categories don't always overlap. What it means to be gendered-- to be labeled, for instance, as a man, as a woman, as another category of gender, of which there are a number around the world-- is highly contextual. Even within the same geographical region, the rules for how genders are to be enacted -- how to "be a man," for instance-- may change depending on one's other demographic features. As is true with sexuality-- indeed, as is true of God-- no language can finally express or contain the idiosyncratic gender vernacular of a fellow human being.

And so a new facet of our journey as Anglicans, it seems to me, is to truly recognize that our conversation is not simply a matter of gay or straight, black or white, male or female. There isn't just one jump rope, nor should there simply be two. I'm not convinced we could ever add enough ropes to account for the myriad dimensions of humanity, and I also worry about the challenge of who turns the ropes and who jumps. Much as I like the image, jumping rope might not be the best way to attend to our distinct but interlocking differences and our common goal of empowering the full dignity of our humanity.

The image that pops into my head -- an imperfect, nascent analogy, to be sure -- is of a game I remember playing in P.E. that involved a parachute. All the kids would stand in a circle -- many of them -- and would hold onto the outside of the chute. What we did with the parachute varied. Sometimes we'd wave the parachute rapidly and watch the fabric ripple toward us. Sometimes an object of some sort would be placed in the middle-- we would all lift up the chute and watch the object bounce. I even remember the object sometimes being a person who got quite a ride (perhaps that's what's happening to Bishop Gene?!). But my favorite part was when we'd all, suddenly, lift our hands upward, holding tight to the chute edge, watching the fabric puff up into a huge balloon. Then, quickly, we'd all duck inside and sit on the edge, chute fabric behind our backs. Suddenly the fringe had created a new center. All had access to it, and it belonged to no one in particular, and everyone; in fact, if anyone left the edge for the center, the air current might change and the balloon might quickly deflate. And so we'd sit there, laughing with delight as we spied one another inside this new, collectively created dome, seeing people suddenly a bit more clearly, reveling in this strangely sacred space. Slowly and steadily, the dome would deflate. Eventually, when our views were obscured, the parachute exercise would end and P.E. would be over. But not before, together, we'd done something somehow quite magical.

As I prepare to embark on this journey, my prayer is that the fringes of the Lambeth Conference might witness to the Anglican Communion a renewed, clarified vision of human complexity. I pray that the God who is always doing a new thing might re-empower us in the ongoing task of creating church anew, that somehow, amidst ongoing conflict, we might be able to delight in the unique incarnation that each of us was created to become.

Rev. Dr. Cameron Partridge

Blessing Beattie's Birth

2008-07-03T14:59:00.014-05:00

Today headlines around the U.S. are announcing the good news that Thomas Beattie has safely given birth to a baby girl. According to People, which interviewed Beattie, Thomas and Nancy's daughter was born on Monday, June 29 (not via cesarean section as is widely being reported).

Websites like AOL may think it appropriate to post a poll asking whether readers think Thomas is the baby's mother or father (when I checked, something like 57% of respondents had checked the former), and to post a video of a hooded Beattie making his way to a car along with Nancy and the baby, while in the background a camera clicks away. Columnists like Jeff Jacoby may think it acceptable to call Beattie by his birth name and gender, and to call his manhood a "fiction." Even some LGBT expressions of judgment have made their way into letters to the editor, while progressive-leaning articles are in danger of invading Beattie's privacy as they probe and ponder the surgical state of Beattie's body.

Not only is public condemnation and blatant disrespect hurtful to Thomas, Nancy and their daughter, but by extension it is also harms all trans people, regardless of how many overlaps and/or discontinuities there may be between Thomas and other trans people.

Amid this cacophony, what I wish for Thomas and Nancy is peace, safety, respect, joy, and a sense of spaciousness for raising their new daughter and transforming their own partnership into parenthood. Finally, I feel moved to respectfully offer a blessing from my tradition: May the Creator who chose paradox to enter into creation, the One who-- as Mary proclaimed in the early months of her pregnancy -- "has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts," who has "brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly," "who has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty," (Lk 1:51b-53), fill you with hope and strengthen you for the road ahead.

Trans Pride in Passage

2008-06-14T21:47:00.002-05:00

(I originally posted this on the transepiscopal blog)

This past Saturday, June 7, Northampton, Massachusetts hosted the first New England Transgender Pride March and Rally. North Hampton’s LGBT Pride event had taken place in May, and Boston’s LGBT Pride parade is happening this coming weekend, but trans folks wanted to take a moment to lift up people across the spectrum of gender identities and expressions, and more specifically to take, as the event’s website put it, “a visible and positive stand for transgender rights.” Dedicated “to diverse representation among organizers and participants,” the event sought “to educate and build awareness of the movement against gender-based discrimination.”

As we celebrate the milestones increasingly achieved for equal marriage across this country, it’s important to remember that in thirty-seven states — as well as at the federal level -- trans folks don’t have the assurance of basic civil rights. And in one state, Maryland, recently gained protections are under threat. We still have a long way to go.

That ongoing and upcoming journey reminds me of the first reading we heard this past Sunday, June 8th, which was from Genesis 12:1-9. In it God tells Abram — the forbearer whose name and identity God would change —“Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.” Abram and Sarai made their way to the land that God promised to them, and when God pointed out that land to them, they stopped and built an altar to God. As they made their way through this land, in fact, they stopped at several points, marking the stages of their progress with altars.

In a way, that’s what this New England Transgender Pride was doing — it was a day to stop, assess where we have been, to take pride in who we are, in how far we have come, and to strengthen ourselves for the various stages of the journey ahead. And it was a day to claim the promise — the promise that our unique human dignity will be honored and that this very humanity will take its place — is even now taking its place — amid all the interweaving strands of creation’s tapestry, as a blessing.

That I can sit here and type these words today, as someone who wasn’t even able to make it to this event, is because of the blessing of others’ witness. There are numerous descriptions of New England Trans Pride out there, but I came across one today that stopped me in my tracks. It turns out that Jendi Reiter, author (especially of poetry) and self-described straight ally, made her way to Trans Pride last weekend and ended up marching in the parade. As she describes, “The first-ever New England Transgender Pride March took place this weekend in Northampton, and I was there with my ‘Episcopal Church Welcomes You’ rainbow tank top and a digital camera to capture the pageantry. I was hoping to blend into the MassEquality contingent, but they were scattered around other groups this time, so I just milled around looking like I knew what I was doing, and took lots of pictures. Next thing I knew, someone had handed me a bunch of purple and white balloons, and I was marching behind the lead banner, shouting ‘Trans Pride Now.’”

Now how many of you fabulous allies out there might have hopped into a trans pride parade wearing an Episcopal Church Welcomes You rainbow tank?!

Reiter observes, “Whereas the main Northampton Pride March in May had a family-oriented, carnival atmosphere, Trans Pride was more bohemian and political. From their placards and speeches, it sounded like many trans folks felt they'd been sold out by the mainstream gay and lesbian activist groups, particularly the Human Rights Campaign's decision to support the federal Employment Non-Discrimination Act even though protections for gender identity and expression had been eliminated. Some speakers seemed concerned that groups like HRC were selling a more sanitized, bourgeois image of gay and lesbian life that ignored the poor, prisoners, people of color, and those whose sexuality and gender identity defied easy labeling. Maybe I was in the right place after all.”

It seems to me that Reiter was in just the right place, with observations right on target, and not only for the ‘secular’ struggle for trans rights. Indeed, these questions struck me as particularly timely for Anglicans as July’s Lambeth Conference draws near:

“Is being queer a state of mind? Is queerness, like Protestantism, inherently self-fragmenting, as the need for a perfectly authentic personal identity clashes with the equally real need for affinity groups? The more precisely you draw your doctrinal statement (or define your gender), the closer you get to becoming an army of one.”

These questions challenge those who view gender as infinitely refracted as much as those who would define it in strictly dualistic terms. In a sense, we have on our hands a twenty-first century version of the one and the many. To float an answer to the question about self-fragmentation (with its fascinating link between queerness and Protestantism), I believe that as we name and embody our differences with ever-greater precision we will fragment to the extent that we base our alliances mainly on the degree of our similarity. But what happens when our bonds are based not only upon similarity of experience or embodiment – “who we are” -- but also upon principle, which, for Christians, would be the good news? Upon the radicality of God’s dream in which all -- all for real, not all ‘whose manner of life’ doesn’t ‘pose a challenge’ to me – are not only welcomed but expected, listened-to, even delighted-in, and ultimately drawn into God’s ongoing project of creation? As we already know, the stages of our passage will be marked with struggle, and sometimes by fragmentation. At points we, like Abram and Sarai, will need to pause and mark with gratitude how far we’ve come, and then continue on. If ours is a mission bent on love, the journey will bring us – all of us – home. And in this process, somehow, we will all become a blessing to one another.

CP

Books, Bishops, and LGBTQ Life

2008-05-31T13:30:00.007-05:00

Yesterday I got a box from amazon.com with two books: Honor Moore's The Bishop's Daughter and Gene Robinson's In the Eye of the Storm: Swept to the Center by God. I'm making myself wait until I finish the book I'm currently reading (The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell) before I take them up, but I'm really looking forward to it. Both books are not only about bishops in the Episcopal Church, but more specifically about bishops whose own lives and ministries have taken up the intersection of LGBT-ness and church life.

Bishop Moore, who died in 2003, was a well known, progressive bishop of New York who was in the front lines of the Episcopal church's response to civil rights, women's rights and gay rights. In her book, Moore's eldest daughter, Honor, also talks about her father's bisexuality, about which, as I understand it from reading recent articles and reviews of Moore's book, Bishop Moore was private.

In his memoir, Bishop Robinson, who is openly gay and whose partnership with Mark Andrew will become legally recognized in a civil union this month, writes about the faith that grounds and inspires him as he continues his extroardinary ministry in the eye of a global storm. He speaks about the book and his civil union in this interview with PBS reporter Kim Lawton.

In the case of Honor Moore's book, I am also intrigued that she speaks about bisexuality. For all the talk about homosexuality in the Anglican Communion, bisexuality almost never gets mentioned; people don't seem to know how to define it or what to do with it.

And so as I look forward to reading each of these books, I wonder how and whether each will reflect on the role that the Anglican Communion conflict over sexuality is having not simply within its own ecclesial context(s) but also beyond; how might Anglican Communion debate be contributing to changing understandings and definitions of sexuality in non-ecclesial contexts around the globe?

Transforming Marriage

2008-05-29T10:32:00.004-05:00

The following is my letter to the editor of the Boston Globe, published Sunday, May 25, 2008:

Time changes people and the definition of marriage

May 25, 2008

JEFF JACOBY'S comments about equal marriage in California are predicated on a falsehood, namely that his understanding of marriage is "timeless." What is undoubtedly timeless about human beings is that we change. As I see it, precisely because human beings change throughout our lives, those of us who marry choose to marry the one we love because we want to grow and change with that person. Marriage then becomes a vessel of that transformation.

Lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people tend to know a thing or two about change and others' reaction to it.

Based on my own experience, I would say, expect change, engage it thoughtfully, and respect its presence in the lives of others.

Increased acceptance of equal marriage in the United States does represent a cultural shift but, as we know from the transformation of marriage here in Massachusetts, change need not bring the world to an end.

CAMERON PARTRIDGE
Everett

In Support of Transgender Equality in Massachusetts

2008-03-04T22:31:00.007-05:00

I gave this testimony tonight at the Massachusetts State House:

In Support of HB 1722, An Act Relative to Gender Based Discrimination and Hate Crimes
Massachusetts Judiciary Committee, March 4, 2008
The Reverend Cameron Elliot Partridge

My name is Cameron Partridge and I testify to you today as a Massachusetts resident since 1995 and a transgender man. My vocation takes place in two arenas, one as a doctoral student in the Religion, Gender, and Culture Program at Harvard Divinity School and the other as a priest of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts serving in Allston/Brighton, where transgender woman Rita Hester was murdered in 1998. I am here in support of HB 1722 because I care deeply about the need to protect all people from discrimination and hate crimes. I care not only because I myself would be covered by this legislation in my secular work but also because many people I know and work with—friends, family, students, parishioners, fellow clergy and people of various faiths—want these protections to become law.

Since my transition from female to male six years ago, I have learned that although many people are not well informed about transgender people, they are able to learn, able to be respectful, and in many cases able to be supportive, in all sorts of settings. My transition as a first year graduate student interfaced with many different departments of the university, from my doctoral adviser, to the Registrar, to my physicians in the university’s health services, to the people who take photos for campus identification cards. In all cases people were more than accommodating. My favorite moment came from the Registrar who declared “I want to welcome you to the male gender—it’s served me well.” I am proud that since then Harvard has joined the growing group of universities and corporations across the country that are adding gender-based protections to their non-discrimination codes. Protecting people of diverse gender identities and expressions is clearly the right thing to do, and it also need not cause institutional confusion or interpersonal difficulty. The world won’t come to an end because we acknowledge and protect people of various gender identities and expressions.

I am extremely fortunate to have a family that is supportive of me. But on at least one occasion I heard concern that I might be rendering myself “unemployable.” The notion that transgender people are by definition "unemployable" is a poisonous perception, quite ubiquitous, that this legislation can help address. In fact, it need not be a huge deal to employ a transgender person. Thus far I have worked both as a teaching assistant and as a priest with no problems; in both of my lines of work, my experience as a transman has felt like much more of an asset than a liability. The question isn’t—and shouldn’t be—what unusual personal history I may have but whether and how well I can do the job. Some of us who identify as transgender may choose to be open while others may not. Some of us may not have a choice. The fact that I went to a women's college, for instance, will always show up on my resumé. But it shouldn’t matter. Thus while I have been extremely fortunate, I know I may not always be. None of us should have to fear that we may be denied equal access to housing, to education, credit or to jobs because our simple existence happens to challenge other people’s ideas about sexual difference. When we heard the argument earlier that because transgender people are such a small percentage we are less worthy of protection, I was reminded of the parable of the one sheep and the ninety-nine. The implication of the previous speaker's remarks seemed to be that the one sheep should be left out there. First, I disagree with that logic, as does the parable itself: in it, the shepherd steps away from the ninety-nine for a moment to bring back the one. But second, transgender people are connected to so many people, as we have heard from many others today: parents, spouses and partners, siblings, friends, colleagues, communities of faith, all of whom are among the ninety-nine. When one of us is snatched away, the remaining ninety-nine are injured as well. This legislation is part of the ongoing process of making it safe for *all* of us to become and to flourish as the people we are.

I realize that there are people of faith out there who believe that transgender people somehow deny or distort the goodness of our creation. What I can tell you is that for me, coming into myself as a transman has been and continues to be a sacred journey, something for which I give thanks and something that has opened my eyes both to the tremendous diversity of creation and to the many ways in which humans grow and change over a lifetime. I have been blessed to work part time in a parish and in a diocese that really means it when it says it supports all people. So let there be no mistake: there are many people of various faiths who are supportive of transgender people, and there are many transgender people who are people of faith. The baptismal covenant of my tradition calls for us to strive for justice and peace and to respect the dignity of every human being. As I see it, this proposed legislation participates in that ongoing mandate, and I am proud to support it. I urge you to support this legislation and to ensure that the legislature has a chance to pass it. Thank you.

Transgender Moment?

2008-02-24T22:55:00.002-05:00

A parishioner recently asked me, “so, how does it feel to be in ‘The Transgender Moment’?” She was referring to the title of an article recently published in Christianity Today, a conservative evangelical magazine. I laughed and told her I didn’t quite know. On the one hand it seemed oddly presumptuous of Christianity Today to declare this the transgender moment (it kind of reminds me of that Newsweek cover story from the summer of 1993, "Lesbians: what are the limits of tolerance?"). On the other hand I thought, you know, over the last year there has been some serious momentum in transgender concerns both within and outside of faith contexts. A year ago there was a first of its kind Summit for Transgender Religious Leaders at the Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley, CA. Then there was the controversy over Rev. Drew Phoenix’s status in the United Methodist Church, which seems to have brought the reality of ordained transgender ministers newly into the public eye. Add to that the ENDA crisis this fall and it does begin to feel like “the Transgender Moment” may be, so to speak, at hand.

Apocalyptically tinged title aside, and upon further reflection, the article does not strike me as nearly as negative as it could have been. It seemed to aim for education and pastoral sensitivity, to de-demonize us—which I certainly don’t begrudge. Unfortunately its pastoral angle didn’t stop the story from pathologizing. I’m not going to belabor the article any more at this point, though. What strikes me more than anything else is the rather carefully pointed attention this magazine has given us. It makes me wonder, what might this “moment” mean and where might it be going?

This sense of “the moment” also resonates with me at the end of a weekend that-- quite unusually-- boasted not one but two special services in greater Boston celebrating queer Christian lives. The first was a dance performance my partner and I attended last night called “Converge/Collide: a Queer Catholic Journey.” It was the performance component of a Master of Divinity thesis written and choreographed by Kate Long of Harvard Divinity School. It was awesome and exhilarating to watch the dancers moving to a combination of church hymns, hip-hop, and sobering readings of Roman Catholic documents on homosexuality, all of which were woven into a narrative about a teenager’s process of coming out as both Catholic and queer. The dance ended with an exuberant declaration that there are many, many queer Catholics whose worlds not only collide with one another but also converge. Then, this evening—after doing services this morning—we attended an event called “Transpire: An Ecumenical Celebration of Transgender Lives Breathing Spirit into Community.” It was a special service of Cambridge Welcoming Ministries, a United Methodist LGBTQS community. As with Converge/Collide, the service was strikingly well attended—I’d guess there were maybe 70 + people there. It was also especially gratifying to gather with transfolks of many different stripes for an event other than Transgender Day of Remembrance. So often when we and our families and allies gather it’s to remember those who have died-- clearly an important witness we need to continue to bear each year. But this was simply to celebrate our lives. It was a joy to do that.

Here in Massachusetts the time is also drawing near for transgender rights to be added to the state’s hate crimes and non-discrimination codes. Over the summer several of us formed a coalition called the Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality. Our aim is simply to show that people of faith can be supportive of transgender equality and that transgender people can be people of faith. Some of us will be testifying before the Judiciary Committee soon in favor of the proposed legislation.

So in many ways it does feel like a “transgender moment” is dawning (converging and colliding?). I pray that God will bless it.

CP

Of Knots and Narratives

2008-02-15T13:47:00.005-05:00

In the Acknowledgments section of her novel Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name Vendela Vida says, “Thanks to… Galen Strawson, whose essay “Against Narrativity,” published in Ratio, made me curious about the kind of person who would see their past as unconnected to their present. In trying to answer that question, this novel emerged.” Now I'm curious to read Strawson's essay.

But Vida’s novel, which I finished reading earlier this week, is about the search of a young woman named Clarissa Iverton for her biological dad. Her quest lead her to Scandinavia where unexpected answers raise new questions as well as stories that refuse narration. In part this refusal stems from literal language barriers, translation difficulties from Norwegian into English. But more fundamentally the gap between experience and story emerges out of trauma. The closer Clarissa gets to those who know from whence she came, the less narration is possible.

When I came upon Vida’s comment about “the kind of person who would see their past as unconnected to their present” I couldn’t help but think of another group who for a long time were actively encouraged to view their lives in just that way. Historically, those of us who transitioned were told to leave our cites and towns, to get rid of old photos, even create false narratives of origin in order to start completely afresh. When I first heard about such practices in the course of my research and discernment about transition, I was horrified. My personal and family history has long been extremely important to me, the idea of leaving it behind anathema. That remains true for me, and thankfully I never experienced any official pressure to think or behave otherwise.

But what strikes me now, about six years post transition, is how ruptures between past and present need not be consciously practiced to appear in one’s life. I had no idea how challenging it would be to find narrative patterns for some experiences. Some of these occurrences are mundane. Maybe in the barber shop the man telling me about raising his son will reference something that of course we both know from growing up (only I don’t). Or I’ll overhear dads in the locker room pronounce boys so much easier to raise and girls infinitely more complicated (I think of my CPE supervisor’s line about those who assume). I once even had a fellow priest—a man who knew I was trans—remark to me, as I bungled the knot in my cincture, “Come on, you should remember this from the Scouts!” I’m 99.9% sure he didn’t mean the Girl Scouts, which I left after one year in which we learned exactly two knots, the Square Knot and the Granny, the latter of which was a failed version of the former...

The everyday gaps can be profound enough, but to me the biggest chasms can characterize certain sorts of memories. The ones that pertain to having grown up a tomboy, and later, a young woman who dared to do things that men did and was proud of it. At different times in my life I have made meaning of the disjunctions between myself and my contexts in different ways. Is being a tomboy a precursor to being a butch lesbian? To being a strong woman (regardless of sexual orientation)? To being a genderqueer man? Certainly, when asking such a question about any little girl the answer can be any of the above. But when in one’s own, single life the answer is in fact all of the above, any one narrative of meaning can prove a bit challenging. There can be a temptation to overwrite each successive interpretive wave: I thought I was just a burgeoning feminist but really I was a lesbian (like one of my favorite Allison Bechdel cartoons of a girl decked out in baseball finery, “G is for Gretchen who knew at age seven”); I thought I was a lesbian but really I was a transman. I refuse to overwrite the ways I have made meaning of my life in previous years—or meanings I have yet to make. They are all present like layers of sedimentary rock, to use a Judith Butler concept I find clarifying.

Jennifer Finney Boylan struggles magnificently with the past-present gap in her most recent memoir I’m Looking Through You. The discontinuities of her memories appear as ghosts whom she literally sees (but doesn’t believe in) at various points. One ghost even images the disconnected quality of her memories: as the spectre approaches her bed, it “clicks” on and off, appearing in a space, then disappearing, emerging a bit closer, and so on, until it hovers before her. If only Boylan didn’t disavow gender theory—but I digress.

Sedementation and haunting both make a great deal of sense to me as ways to render disconnects between past and present, but I need more. I need vehicles that can create space for the unfolding of life, in all its twists and paradoxes, as a narrative vessel—indeed, part of a much broader craft. That’s where I find religious traditions a help. Such traditions often have repositories of narratives, some of which may contradict one another or contain strange gaps even as they overlap and/or fit into a wider whole. The concept of “Midrash” in Judaism, for instance, refers to a kind of narrative embroidery of gaps or inconsistencies in a biblical story. The four canonical gospels in Christianity (not to mention the numerous other gospels) also contain aporia. In broad-brush strokes, they tell the same basic trajectory of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, but not all of the accounts line up. Each gospel is founded upon what are called “passion narratives,” originally oral traditions shared among community members grappling with political oppression, unfathomable loss and—before long-- irrepressibly strange newness of life. You can try to create a single narrative of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection—and in fact early Syriac Christians had such an attempt in Trajan’s Diatesseron—but if you do, you will be favoring some vignettes over others, overwriting the slippages. I find the simultaneity of narrative continuity and incommensurable discontinuity both fascinating and helpful. Rendered in that way, the good news can become a kind of wailing wall, a body both wounded and raised, a repository for the lost stories of one’s life, the ones that refuse anything approaching linear representation. I certainly don’t begrudge anyone the right to overwrite or turn away from a history too painful to bear. That’s exactly what Clarissa Iverton does, like her mother before her. I myself prefer to preserve actively a view—or views-- backwards as well as forwards, despite the gaps and chasms, seeking to locate paradoxes of truth as slivers of a much larger, Passion-filled, Mystery.

CP

why so strange?

2006-06-05T22:57:00.001-05:00

While we were on our way home this evening I was remarking to my partner/wife that it would be fun to gather stories of the amazing, crazy things that happen when you're doing ministry in the Boston Area. Not just the obviously moving things but also the random ones, happenings particular to this area. Maybe it's because I'm not originally from here, but the local flavor of this place amazes me. Being in such a large diocese, I imagine a lot of folks have great stories, some of which they can share and some of which they can't--and it needs to be said for me as well that there are limitations to what I can or would choose to share. So as we were talking about collecting crazy Boston ministry stories, my partner suggested I start a blog. I've been hesitant about doing that in the past, but I figured why not give it a shot. We'll see how long this lasts.

Upon finding the host site Episcoblogs, I was amused to see one entitled "Shield the Joyous", an oh-so-Anglican phrase from Compline that I've loved for years. To me it sounds American Gothic to an absurd degree. It just gets at that certain peculiar something that I love-- and sometimes find irritating-- about being Anglican. What is it? Whatever it is, we gotta be able to laugh about it.

Which leads me to my chosen title. It's from the fourth verse of a hymn by Isaac Watts (1674-1748) (#544 in the Hymnal 1982):

Let every creature rise and bring
peculiar honors to our King;
angels descend with songs again,
and earth repeat the loud amen.

I love the notion of bringing "peculiar honors" to God. Part of my affinity for that phrase comes from my love of the notion of "queerness", a term that peculiarity can't help but evoke for me. I read queer theory and appreciate the term queer for the way it marks identities, particularly those of sexual and gender minorities, as different but at the same time does not circumscribe precisely what that difference entails. There's a way that the term queer, despite its controversial history (yes, I am aware that plenty of folks who identify as GLB or T specifically do *not* identify with that term for various reasons, particularly because of the way it's been hurled as a negative epithet), seems to get at a quality of language in general, a way that language can never quite convey entirely what it tries to express. Dionysius the Areopagite, a 5th century Syrian theologian (who took the name of the one converted by Paul's speech in front of the Ariopagus-- Acts 17: 22-31) gets at this problem in his theory of theological language as well. Because I've been a fan of this concept for a few years, I was excited recently to hear a talk by a scholar of early Christianity who focused on Dionysius' phrase "dissimilar similiarities". It's the idea that words-- and in Dionysius' case metaphors-- can get at the reality they seek to describe, but that they fail to circumscribe that reality adequately, particularly when the reality you're trying to describe is God. Some metaphors are more similar to God than others, but ultimately all metaphors are dissimilar on some level. For talking about divine things there are a class of metaphors that he calls "dissimilar similarities" because they actively call attention to their contradictory quality of similarity to and dissimilarity from God. For Dionysius the descriptions in his Celestial Hierarchy (esp. ch. 2) of the strange creatures that the major prophets describe as surrounding God's throne are the quintessential dissimilar-similarities.

Which brings me back to Isaac Watts. The heavenly scene of the cherubim and seraphim worshipping God, calling back and forth to each other "Holy, Holy, Holy" is expanded to include all creatures. And what do they bring to God in their worship? Peculiar Honors. All that God has given to them they offer back in all its bizarre richness. The truth is usually stranger than fiction. In fact, it's often downright queer. And I think God takes particular delight in sharing our process of coming to grips with that truth, and with the unfathomable plenitude of creation, by joyfully receiving the gifts we offer.

In parish ministry the darndest things can happen. So I embark on sharing a few stories and theological reflections in the spirit of Watts' phrase.