August 2011 Archives

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: ²a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; - Ecclesiastes 3:1-2, NRSV

I've been thinking about life transitions lately.

Specifically, I've been thinking about death. For a couple of years, I've been thinking about how poorly prepared many of us are for death - whether it be the death of a loved one, or our own deaths. I know I'm ready for neither.

And lately, I've been reading about death in books for an upcoming class, and mourning some people who've died. So this is really on my mind.

I think the church has a place in helping people prepare for death. After all, many people will call on a pastor when a loved one dies - even if the deceased and bereaved were not regular church goers.

Some readers may be saying "wait! I'm not near death, nor is anyone close to me!" But it is the sudden deaths for which we may be least prepared.

So I'd like to see some resources for congregations to talk about death and dying. These should be resources for everyone to use for any loved one. That means the gay coupled who are mourning the death of Dad, and the straight couple whose Lesbian daughter passed away unexpectedly, and the grandparents who were caring for their six year old granddaughter when she died.

We could use comprehensive resources that help before and after death. Among the questions we might answer:

• What does normal grieving look like? (Is it OK that I'm sobbing/not crying/scared/calm?)
• How do I talk to family members about death?
  
• What can I do to make sure my loved ones don't bear the burden of paying for my funeral?
• How can I provide for people who depend on my income?
• Who will make decisions for my care if I become unable to make those decisions?
• How do I make known my wishes for care before death?
• How do I make known my wishes for after death?
• How can I arrange my papers and affairs to minimize the stress on my grieving family if I die?
• If a loved one dies, what do I do next?
• How to deal with a funeral home.
• What paperwork needs to be done after a loved one dies?
• How do I close accounts?

Of course, I haven't thought of everything here. This because I'm not prepared to die and have never been the person to have to make arrangements after a loved one dies. Those who have been through the death of a loved one may be able to make suggestions - things they wish they would have known.

And it's entirely possible that such a comprehensive resource exists. If so, someone please point me to it (you can use the comment function).

If there is no such resource, I think the first step would be to collect a list of needs: what information is needed.

Next, we can try to answer those questions.

Finally, we can put it in a format to be used by churches - perhaps a mix of booklets, classes, and web resources.

Do others feel the need for this resource? Are you willing to help?

This post is part of the Queer Theology Synchroblog

How my queer life is a spiritual life

My family wasn't very religious, but sure, I was personally very involved with church.

But the bullies drove me out of there with taunts and beatings (Who Would Jesus Bully?) and I stopped going to church.

Something else kept me believing.

In my early twenties, I was involved with a different Christian group. When I transitioned, I no longer fit there. I decided "religion is the politics of spirituality".

Something else kept me believing.

Starting from when I transitioned to living as the female person I know I am, it took ten years before I was in a position to have surgery. By then I asked myself the question "if most of the people in my life don't know I didn't have the surgery, why does it matter?" But it did matter to me, a nagging irritation.

And then, a week or so after returning home from the place where I had my surgery done, I was lying on my back and looking at the ceiling. A sense of peace descended on me, and I felt, without words, what I can only approximate in writing:

All of this was necessary to bring me to this point. My loving creator has carried me this far so I can become who my creator dreamed me to be.

This wasn't "God said it was OK". This was "God meant this for you: it is part of how you are gifted, to bring God's grace to others."

I didn't know what to do with this, but I knew I had to be there for others the way I wish people had been there for me.

I had been "stealth" (we used to call it "woodworked") at work - while people knew I was Lesbian, they didn't know I was transgender, So I outed myself at work, seven years after I had started there.

I joined the Chicago Lesbian Avengers and was involved in a few actions.

I was involved with a Transsexual Menace group that never really seemed to get going.

I decided I was going to go back to school and get a psychology degree so I could be a resource to trans people who were in need of a sympathetic ear.

As mentioned in yesterday's blog, this was not the sort of person I usually was. I never felt I was a powerful enough person to be doing such work. I didn't feel like one of the "cool kids". That didn't change -- I still felt too small for the job -- but the job felt too important to ignore.

And gradually, that old idea of call came back. Again, wordless, but if there would have been a word, it would have been:

Move.

A simple imperative with a full stop. No comma here.

As I mentioned yesterday, I resisted. One evening, I spent three hours in my pickup truck arguing with God. For every protest I spoke aloud, there was a wordless question as a response. Most of the questions felt like "who will people listen to about grace, if not you?" and "who can God not use?"

From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.
- Luke 12:48b, NRSV

What does it mean for me to have been given this queer life?

I know what it means to lose one's family.
I know what it's like to gain one's family back.

And so now, when I read Jesus talking about who his family is, I "get it" just a little more.

I know what it means to be turned away from community.
I know what it means to be embraced by community again.

When I read about people being outside the community, and Jesus restoring them to community, I "get it" just a little more.

I know what it means to be a part of one marginalized group and be afraid of being rejected by that group if they find out I'm part of another marginalized group.

When I read about how a community can be occupied by an imperial force, and that occupied community's leaders still have the time and energy to belittle people who have even less power, I "get it" just a little more.

And that's why my ministry is not just a queer ministry - it's a ministry with anyone and everyone who has been marginalized.

My queer god

On a personal level, being transgender has made me think about the gender of God. I grew up with a male God, but my gender transition made me confront the idea of a gendered or sexed God. My current personal understanding is that sex is created by God, and gender by society. If that is so, then God exists outside of, and within, sex and gender. Without the creation of sexed creatures, however, there was no sex.

Extending this idea, I have come to realize that, without God's creation of light, there is no sight. Without sound, there is no hearing. Without matter, there are no bodies, no arms, no legs.

So my new understanding of God is a blind, deaf God with no limbs to walk or reach. The only thing I can confidently say God has is creativity. Aside from that, everything we have is a gift invented by God, which could not even have been possessed by God before God created it.

I know this sounds a little strange, and may even make people feel a little uncomfortable.

But the point is that everything we culturally think of as "normal" is how we tend to imagine God, and how we imagine God reinforces what we think of as "normal". And in our culture, "normal" is still largely an older straight white male with a good head of hair.

Yet we're seeing as through a glass, dimly. We think we're seeing through, but a lot of what we see is a reflection of ourselves and our perceptions of the world.

"Normal" gets a lot of power. But if everything we have is created by God, then it may be that those of us without so many "normal" characteristics are a lot closer to how God is. Maybe that's why God so often uses the small (David), the female (Jael), the reluctant (Jonah), the inarticulate (Moses), the family reject (Joseph) and others who are not the obvious "best choice" to work on God's behalf. The heroes of the Bible are queer in their own right. God chooses queer representatives.

Maybe if we looked at who God calls, we would see the queerness in God.

What being queer has done for me

I think my queer life is an incredible gift. If I had remained the straight, white, male, conservative Christian I was as a child, I might have had a lot of cultural power. I might have even pastored a megachurch. And it might have been incredibly difficult for me to see the love God has for every person pushed to the margins and belittled by the privileged.

God has carried me through an amazing journey. I know the love God has for me, even when others were willing to turn their backs.

And as queer as it may seem, I believe my queerness is part of what equips me for what God calls me to be.

I'm reluctantly queer.

There's a huge debate over whether being queer - attracted to the same gender or having a gender identity that differs from what's on one's birth certificate - is a choice or not. There's a parallel debate as to whether it should matter (religion is a choice, too).

I've known about my gender identity issue since I was very young - probably before I was 5. I first had a name for it in my teens when I read about Dr. Renee Richards. I tried various things to deal with it. I finally started my transition, and discovered I was attracted to other women. Great: doubly queer.

The trans part feels more like a process I've been through: like a cancer survivor, I've had the issue, got it diagnosed, went through surgery and chemotherapy (hormones), and live with the knowledge of what I went though. Most people I meet don't know about it.

My experience is different from some other people who are -- sometimes by choice, sometimes not -- identifiable as trans. I recognize the privilege I have here.

The Lesbian part of it is something I live every day with my partner of 22 years. It affects where I can work, and what benefits I can get for my spouse. It affects where I can take classes - one seminary refused to allow me to take a class through our area's seminary consortium. It affects where I may be called to serve if ordained.

My experience is different from some other people who are not identifiable as gay.

I'm not much of an in-your-face queer person. Some would accuse me of assimilation, and that was probably true for a while (more about this later). I'm not a person who goes out and leads protests. It's not that I don't think it's a good idea, or that I feel unsafe - I just feel underqualified to do so with so many fabulous people leading the charge.

I'm reluctantly a theologian

I considered ministry when I was going to Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, Youth Group (AWANA), and evangelical Christian camp (Tim-Ber-Lee). I considered again in my 20's. But it just didn't seem like the right time, place, or person.

It wasn't until I was in my thirties, a decade after transitioning, and my third major attempt at Christian community that I felt a call. Great: a transsexual Lesbian in her thirties with only a high school diploma is going to try to navigate her way to ordained ministry.

This whole trip - getting an undergraduate degree as a working adult, going to seminary - is something I sometimes feel dragged into, with my fingers gripping doorframes in resistance.

This is not to say I'm bored by theology. Quite the contrary, I find it fascinating. But again I don't feel like the leader type. There are some really powerful figures out there. Who am I to speak?

I'm reluctantly a queer theologian

Add to all of this my sense of call: to provide safe spaces and new formats for communities of believers - people for whom traditional church is harmful, painful, frightening, unavailable, or irrelevant. There's nothing there specifically about transgender or Lesbian people like me, or bisexual people like my partner. There are increasing numbers of queer people who find a spiritual home in the traditional church. There are also many straight folks who don't. So I don't feel particularly called to queer church.

Nor do I feel my theology needs to be limited to transpeople. Perhaps it's a burden I imagine, but I often feel like I'm expected to give the trans perspective. And, to be honest, I'm not sure what that is anymore, my being some quarter of a century past my transition. I don't know what people go through these days because treatment and society have changed.

So why am I blogging on this?

There's more to life than taking care of one's self. Humans are social creatures. So it's my responsibility, out of love, to find ways to care for others. Part of that is speaking up.

So tomorrow, I'll be posting "Queer Theology from a Reluctantly Queer Theologian". as part of Call for A Queer Theology Synchroblog. If you identify as gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, pomosexual, intersex, or queer; if you know a person who is gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, pomosexual, intersex, or queer; of you care about the lives of people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, pomosexual, intersex, or queer -- please consider being a part of this project. See http://anarchistreverend.com/2011/07/synchroblog/

If you need a space to post your article, let me know and I'll post it for you - in your name or anonymously, as you prefer.

Don't be concerned that you're not educated enough, or spiritual enough, or eloquent enough, or queer enough. Your own life is your education. Who you are is your spirituality. Your story is your eloquence. And however you have stepped across lines of gender norms, or stood with people who have, is your queerness.

We need to hear your voice.