The Wickedness and Snares of the Devil

 AMDG

I, a man healed by the grace of God and yet found unclean, to you, my beloved brothers and sisters, especially any who I may not know. I write to you about two things. First, to share some of the thoughts emotions I’ve processed over the last two or three months. My purpose is only to share, so that those who do not share my vantage point may know something of what it is like to stand where I stand. Second, I want to call out the presence of the devil among us, and stand defiantly against it. This post may be a little darker than what I usually share… but it is honest. That is all, I suppose, I have to give.

On April 8, 2024, the Vatican released a declaration called Dignitas Infinita. You can read it here. It reads like a commemorative address celebrating 50 years since the United Nations published the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, discussing the anthropology and concept of human dignity before going on to touch on 13 contemporary, “specific and grave violations of that dignity” such as digital violence (one of my favorite sections), gender theory, and sex-change interventions. In its final draft, it was a document about human dignity and not any of the dozen issues mentioned. And for most Catholics, it didn’t make a splash. I know priests who didn’t hear about it, let alone all the regular faithful who haven’t got their ears to the ground.

I, on the other hand, was forewarned in January that Dignitas Infinita would be “a strong critique of moral issues such as sex change, surrogacy, gender ideologies, etc.” Thus, I anticipated it with dread mostly suppressed by willful trust and aspirational acceptance. On the day it came out, an early text from a friend saying it made her sick led me to put everything on hold to read it. I took notes. I was relieved! It was nothing we had not already heard; nothing I felt threatened by, nothing that I wasn’t certain would one day wither like chaff under the light of truth. And I honed in on signs of hope—the document had been modified, I thought, to be less about trans people and more about dignity. And the wording was that sex-change intervention “risks threatening” a person’s dignity, not that it “does harm” or anything likewise concrete. I took solace.

By Tuesday, I had another emotion to add: sadness. Sad because I have two dozen LGBTQ+ coworkers but I couldn’t imagine explaining this to them. The document hadn’t changed anything, but the whole situation was sad.

In the midst of this, the closeness of God was an irresistible counterpoint. It was spring. The exhilaration and intrinsic beauty of it are inescapable. Like coming home after work to the love of my life, I merely breathed and felt the presence of God, my stronghold and my desire. I was safe and secure, and the writings of the DDF obscure and fleeting.

Over the following weeks, media and advocacy organizations continued to process and respond. I would listen to trans voices (New Ways Ministry), Steven P. Millies (Outreach), The Francis Effect, Fr. Dan Horan (Outreach), and Fortunate Families. Already by Friday I was exhausted. I was sick of hearing and thinking and talking about Dignitas Infinita. And I was especially sick of the angry, reactionary responses that raised hatred against hatred, silo against silo, wall against wall.

On Sunday I sat down and wrote a letter to the DDF in response to Dignitas Infinita. I avoided getting into arguments and instead called out the lack of consultation and academic research that had gone into the sections on gender theory and sex change. I thought it was ready, until the very next day I recognized it for a haughty soap box speech. After I heard the remarks of Cardinal Gregory, I knew I would rewrite it from scratch. Cardinal Gregory is to me a hero, a role model, and someone I would consider a “superior” in the absence of such a formal relationship. And he received Dignitas Infinita with a humility and openness which I found lacking in myself.

So I paused to inhale. As I considered, my thoughts churned. Pope Francis treats us like prostitutes, I concluded. He is celebrated for inviting trans women to the Vatican every week, women in such straits that many are sex workers. I believe that he sees us all like this – as marginalized people. The Poor. To be treated with mercy. We can receive charity, but not social dignification. Underneath his nonjudgemental attitude lurks an implicit, crucial moral judgement.

As I paused, I felt—and can still feel, if I allow it—weight pressing down on me, as if all the members of the DDF were giants bearing down to extinguish my light. I feel the pressure to obey, to be humble before their magisterium, to concede to the crowd. And I am tired. Yes, I hear the command: give up; accept that I am a sinner living in sin, equal in ontological dignity and yet second in class. Should I bow my head, lower my gaze, and submit to the "ora et labora" of lay single life? Should I forget about my dreams and forget about the walls? It is an evil breath that stupefies me with these poisonous thoughts, creeping upon me in my exhaustion and whispering, Despair. Despair. Despair. You cannot overcome. Submit to ignominy and die in your time. As if, without me, the things the DDF wrote would be that much closer to true.

I felt frustration, anger, and betrayal. I felt that I was being gaslit. I was indignant.

But in the light of day, I remembered that I am not the only leaf on the tree. Nor am I the only one coworking with God for a brighter future for the church. This is always important for me to remember! It keeps my head up.

Exhale. I literally took a 6 day vacation from thinking about Dignitas Infinita.

As I returned to the table, I found more of the complexity in the conversation.

For example, out of curiosity or probably pursuit of affirmation, I had searched the terms “Dignitas Infinita” and “gaslighting.” Ironically, the only relevant hit was from a writer who felt that progressives and mainstream media were gaslighting conservatives by adopting positions and language inclusive of gay, trans, and queer people. This deflated my ego a little. I considered that gaslighting has to be intentional, and I saw that the “other side” feels the same way as I.

Later, I reached out to a friend of mine, a religious who disagrees with me about how people should handle being transgender, to talk about Dignitas Infinita. I felt self-conscious sharing with this man, who seems so safe and elevated in the status quo. I mentioned praying for humility and openness in the situation. When he suggested that yes, I should pray for open ears, how I bristled! I sent back a snippy “I pray for all of us to have open ears,” to which he immediately responded that that is what he meant. I laughed at myself, but also received the lesson of how it feels to be approached by someone who is asking you to change. (It feels terrible). Wasn’t this how I was approaching the DDF in my first letter?

The message which I keep hearing from God is to listen, listen, listen. Treat the other with empathy and compassion. We need curiosity and humility, to let go of ourselves and open our arms to the Holy Spirit. For it is in giving that we receive, in pardoning that we are pardoned, in dying that we are born to eternal life.

As someone with skin in the game, I wrestle with this. I wrestle with my selfish and unselfish desires. And I wrestle with a whole host of evil spirits that I have described above: distortion of truth, despair, isolation, fear, defensiveness, self-righteousness. These are the servants of the evil one, whose desire is to drive us apart from each other, to destroy the church, and ultimately to turn us away from God as individuals and as a people. And how effective these spirits have been so far! It is crucial that we cling to one another, remembering that we are one body, joined by the new covenant, realizing ourselves only in relationship to one another.

Almost every day, after mass, I pray in earnest: St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits that prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.

Wearing the mantle of the adversary, my vision narrows and I droop beneath a heavy burden. But wearing the mantle of my Father/Mother, I stand upright and see the world anew. I see the good life God has given me, the good work, the good friends, the good world. The parishes I have been a part of and the body that we are. I remember God, who is Goodness itself. I move from a problem mindset into a possibility mindset and also take my small hands off the big, big wheel.

When I flinch, when I tire, when I tremble, the temptation is to curl up like an armadillo. And that’s when I have to ask myself, do I believe in God? Do I trust the Holy Spirit?

Robed with all the virtues of love, and looking toward My Lord, I walk without fear.

Pray for me, friends, to be always prayerful and humble, open of heart (with ears to listen!) and pure of spirit. And to be filled up. I have been too busy, writing a better letter to the DDF, planning to share fliers from the Family Acceptance Project at my parish, witnessing a cousin’s wedding and a friend’s ordination and so much more in between my paid job and chores. I am tired. But never too tired to pray, so I am adamant that you share any special prayer intentions with me! I am discovering that in many cases the way I can support others is to pray for them.

With great love,

Your Other Brother