Queer Clergy

These passages come to mind as I read the various resurrection stories where Christ is not immediately recognized. It seems to indicate that the resurrected body of Christ is not the same body he inhabited before. That he still had wounds points to it being a related body, possibly a transformed body – but not the same.

This year, the reading wherein Mary mistook Jesus for the gardener struck me particularly. It was personally significant in at least three ways. All ways that relate to my transition in one way or another.

Some background: I have had deep meditative experiences similar to those described in the Catholic Encyclopedia as a “Mystical Marriage.” To quote: “…it may at least be said that the soul receives a sudden augmentation of charity and of familiarity with God, and that He will thereafter take more special care of it. All this, indeed, is involved in the notion of marriage. Moreover, as a wife should share in the life of her husband, and as Christ suffered for the redemption of mankind, the mystical spouse enters into a more intimate participation in His sufferings.”

This makes Holy Week an extremely personal and emotional experience for me. On Good Friday this year, Jesus’ death on the cross seemed to leave me without even my spiritual loved one. Due to my transition, the year before I lost my partner of more than 20 years. This summer, I ended an online romance that never materialized in person. On Good Friday I felt alone in a way I haven’t in quite some time.

I should also say that since my separation from my partner, more time and energy than I’m comfortable with has been dedicated to worrying about what my love life will be like in the future. Who would be interested in me now? How will my “non-standard issue” body be received? How does my ordination, vows to my intentional community and the order I’m forming limit my options?

So when at the Easter Vigil Mary’s mistaking Jesus for the Gardener was read, I experienced an emotional jolt. Initially what struck me was a relief from some of those worries. I probably won’t even recognize my future partner when I first meet them. I don’t need to worry about it.

The second thought that rushed in the wake of that relief was realizing that in many ways, I’m not recognizable. People who knew me before, but didn’t know of my transition have actually shown no recognition of me.

A further note on that. When I came out to my father, he let me know he did not want to see me in femme mode. In a recent conversation with my mother, she told me that my father wanted to see me, he just didn’t want to see me in a dress. I had to remind my mother that my physical changes have put me permanently in femme mode. Showing up in jeans and a t-shirt won’t make a difference now.

Thirdly, I am tempted to say, I don’t recognize myself – except that the opposite is actually true. I recognize myself in ways I never imagined I would. When I began my transition, I knew I wanted my body to reflect my inner sense of being a woman. I really wasn’t sure what that would feel like, but my expectation was there would be an emotional satisfaction – a lack of emotional alienation. What has happened, unexpectedly, is that I find myself experiencing a physical sense of being in the right body. Something feels right IN MY FLESH that I didn’t even know felt wrong. How could I really? How could I know what finally being in a female body would actually feel like? But now I do. And it’s remarkable, liberating, transformative. Dare I say a resurrection experience?

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

What Do You Expect?

My prayers do go out to all the people who were at the Boston Marathon, whether injured or traumatized. Prayers also for the friends and family of those people. Beyond that, I want to say I find the reaction to this bombing troubling. Where was all this concern, compassion and outrage for the very many similar incidents in the Middle East, Africa, South Asia, Central and South America in the last year?

Clearly there’s a nationalism involved. A nationalism, by the way, which heavily polices identity. Accusations of not being American fly very easily over sincere questions, political ideas and even food choice and sport preference. And that’s not even touching on race and faith.

I do have empathy for those who are greatly troubled in their hearts and minds that such a thing can happen. My heart goes out to anyone who suffers. Yet we should all feel horror and outrage at this kind of violence. It’s important to remind ourselves that people all around the world suffer this kind of violence on a regular basis. People within this country live with many kinds of violence every single day.

Please examine your response to this tragedy. Look for an expectation that this kind of violence “shouldn’t happen here” or “shouldn’t happy to our kind.” Many posts I’ve seen subtly or not so subtly contain these expectations. I do wish for the impossible - a life free from violence for everyone all over the world. But the expectation of a life free from violence? That’s privilege.