Christ with us

 AMDG

Brothers and Sisters, I, a pilgrim standing still as my God comes to me, to you, who walk beside me. The Joy, Hope, Love, and Peace of our Lord God, through Christ his son, to each of you.

And MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

I am going to share with you something that I struggle with, that I suspect a lot of you struggle with in one way or another as well. But I’ll speak for myself. The conventional church names me a sinner. Not in the general way of all mankind. Not for my pride or selfishness or gluttony. But because of the medical, legal, and social choices I made to live as a man despite the female characteristics I was born with; that is, to live fully alive. In some sense, I experience this judgement as a hidden figure, pieced together through the scars and stories and activism that swirl up around it. I also experience it more acutely, as in the following three examples.

I have heard two recordings in the last few months from Fr. Mike Schmitz in which he firmly asserted that gender is entirely determined by sex assigned at birth, and discredited any other experience or discovery of oneself.

This summer, when I came out to O, he said plainly that what I did is against church teaching and that I could not be in leadership positions in the organization through which we have our small group. He was surprised and careful but explained his position toward me as “hate the sin, love the sinner.”

I recently was in touch with a budding religious order, one that on paper seemed like a possible fit for me. When I talked to one of their members, Br. U, in September, it came up toward the end that I am transgender. Br. U acquired a stutter. He said he would have to talk to the others. Weeks later I sent him a text. Weeks after that I got an email: “…it seems that our community is not a good fit for you, and I would encourage you to continue to explore other options. Blessings on your vocational journey.” These could be kind words. But when I read them, it drained me. I brought it to church the next day: Am I really so bad? In answer, God gave me such a sense of light and consolation that I moved on. But these things stay with me. Guilt and shame based in social estrangement feel quite alike to guilt and shame based in moral failure.

If I explore this situation rationally, it loses its darkness. I ask myself, what would these voices have me do? Seemingly, they would like me to have made no medical intervention and no name change. I recall the distress, the wretchedness, and the alienation of that life. The disunion within myself and the chilling effect of misunderstanding upon all my relationships. To have stayed there or to go back there would be absurd. I have no second thoughts. The fruits speak for themselves.

If I explore this spiritually, as I did last fall, I find the woundedness of the church and her projection of that pain onto other people and issues. There is a need for healing, but it won’t be found in confining people to a disordered existence in order to preserve a broken framework. A conventional idea of every person being perfectly made male and female is a comforting and intuitive thought. The majority of people grow up with a distinguishable male or female anatomy, and the gift of life which their union brings forth is a wondrous and divine event. I get it. And I wish that it was supported by reality, but the fact is that this simplistic theory does not capture the real world, which is filled with the complexities of biology and the brokenness of original sin. Theology has to have its eyes open.

In one of the first homilies of Advent, one of our priests told us, Jesus did not walk away from the church. He came to walk with us, Jews and Gentiles. He came.

As I have “come out” to people about my religious vocation, or being transgender, or both, overwhelmingly my friends have chosen to walk with me. Busy people have made time. Family have not faltered. People have remembered. In some ways—many ways—my life is a mess, and these people choose to walk with me in the mess.  In the Spring I reconnected with an old college acquaintance who had joined a religious order. Br. R seemed offput when I shared my situation. I thought that would be the last I heard from him, but months later he sent greetings for my feast day and I knew he was still thinking of me. My friend O still treats me warmly and still calls me his brother, choosing to walk in the complexity with me. I see the love of God at work here, a gift which I can’t fully appreciate, but receive.

This Christmas, I’m praying for those who remain alone or lonely. And I’m very thankful for Our God, who came to be with us. Who still comes to us, in his divine presence and embodied in each of us. The peace of Christ be with you, my friend.

Love,

Your Other Brother

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