Widening our Welcome, in Pride Season and Beyond
“Oh, honey, I’d love you even if you were an axe murderer!” That’s what my mom said to me - after she got past the shock of my coming out, in 1983. I had been in a lesbian relationship for two years, but it was a “don’t ask, don’t tell” code of silence in my family – as long as no one talked about it, it could be ignored, or maybe it would even be “just a phase”.
It’s been 40 years since that conversation with my mom. While I didn’t fulfill the dream she had for me, (of becoming a Catholic nun, like two of her sisters), I have committed my life to service, working at the intersection of spirit and social justice. I also didn’t fulfill her alternate dream for me; at least not in the precise way she anticipated. I did enter a covenantal relationship with my beloved (28 years ago); but we spent the first 14 years of that relationship as a lesbian couple and the last 14 as husband and wife, after he transitioned. Together we are the proud parents of a nonbinary young adult.
Today, Pride is more than the last Saturday in June, or even the whole month of June. Today we are in a season of Pride, but one that unfortunately has seen more oppression than at any other time since the days of the AIDS pandemic.
At the time of my mother’s words, it was also a time when almost all families, churches and governments were unsafe and unwelcoming for lesbian women and gay men (we weren’t even talking about trans or bi folk back then) – the intent of acceptance my mom was trying to articulate was lost, in the impact of being made to feel like an abhorrent outsider within my own family. I, like youth then and now, left home rather than feel further rejected. Today 40% of all homeless youth are queer. Some left due to violence in the home when they came out – others felt pushed out through the multiple microaggressions that chip away at self-esteem and a sense of being loved and lovable. I was lucky; I had family friends who took me in, after I moved 3,000 miles away. And, I found a church on Gay Pride Sunday 40 years ago that shared the good news that Gd loved me just as I am. Indeed, that each of us is made, bzelem Elohim – in the Image of the Divine.
When I teach my seminary students about microaggressions, I use the analogy of a mosquito bite – there’s a great Youtube video you can look up. When someone says you’re no better than an axe murderer, or that drag queens are going to make kids trans, or “pronouns are just too confusing” (or the myriad other ways that the dominant culture others queer folk) - if it only happens once in a blue moon the person who is being impacted could probably deal with that one slight. The problem is that trans and nonbinary folk are misgendered multiple times each day; insults about dykes and fags still sting; teachers still ask, “which one is the real parent”, … all of those mosquito bites add up and just like during our wet summers here in Oregon, one bite is soon 30 maddening itching and angry sources of pain. What can that person do but endure it? If they say, “ouch,” the person who expressed the micro or even macro aggression likely feigns ignorance “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it!”
There is an excellent test that Harvard makes available to anyone to take online, about unconscious bias. We all have biases, and sometimes our unconscious bias is even toward people who look like or love like ourselves. We’d like to think that those of us who live comfortably within our white liberal bubble don’t have biases, but we all do – whether those biases are based in color, gender, or orientation. “I don’t mind if he’s gay, but does he have to be so flamboyant?!?”
The problem with microaggressions is that we expect the person who has been impacted to make us comfortable, which is itself a microaggression. We may sign all the right petitions and commit to work toward justice, but on unconscious levels it seems we are wired to otherize those who do not experience life the way we do. Our intention may be to “be woke”, but the impact of our words and actions sometimes belies those intentions.
When my child was 15 they came out as nonbinary. I’d like to say that I was a great ally and totally present. I’d like to, but I can’t. My kiddo came to me before anyone else, “knowing” I would be their strong ally as they prepared to tell others. My intent to understand this “decision” led me to ask questions – “do you even know what that means at your age?” “But you always loved playing with your barbies and wearing dresses; what changed?” “It’s hard enough to be queer or trans; how will you cope when people get confused by pronouns?” Rather than experiencing my intent as wanting to understand, the impact for my kiddo was that the safe person they thought would support them unconditionally, didn’t trust them to know their own heart.
When my husband transitioned it had neither come as a surprise nor did I have any difficulties embracing his true identity. We’d talked about it for years – indeed, he first told his parents at 5 years old – and was immediately forced to conform to the petite little girl they believed him to be. He was 50 years old before he came out to the rest of the world.
But this was My baby girl – the one I had tea parties with and painted our nails and taught to be a strong feminist woman. Their pronouns of they/them unexpectedly resurfaced grief for me for their twin that had died early in utero. I wanted to cry each time I thought about my “they” – the two babies I had carried and wanted so desperately. And at the same time, I was heartsick, that I could be an advocate and ally for other LGBTQ folk but was a hypocrite where my own child was concerned. All of that was about me - my dreams for their life; my own stuff to work through in prayer and in therapy – not on the shoulders of my child. Just as my in-laws had refused to support and see their son for who he truly was, I was locked into my own idea of who my child was – at the expense of their own self-identity. Thankfully, I got there, (as did much of our extended family), but it wasn’t until we did our work – together. I had to walk my talk and move beyond performative platitudes, to genuine allyship with my child’s experience of their true nature, as a unique embodiment of the Divine.
Whether as a mom, a minister or even collectively, in a community – we can all grow our welcome. The church I became a part of in 1983 has, (in the subsequent years), been joined by many congregations and denominations across the religious and spiritual spectrum. But just because our intent as congregations is to be open and affirming, that doesn't mean our work is done. I sometimes hear individuals share that even in welcoming congregations they experience the impact of othering from otherwise well-intentioned co-congregants and clergy, unaware of their unconscious biases.
Just as we all grew up and live within systems of white oppression, we all have grown up in a system of patriarchal heteronormativity. My husband and I still mess up sometimes and misgender our kiddo or one of our friends; we’re human. But what trans and nonbinary folk will tell you is that what matters is the commitment and effort to be present to their truth. I recommend to my spiritual direction clients that they practice with their partners and friends, to build up those language skills – rather than repeated misgendering of their kids. What we don’t want to do is make them responsible for our discomfort, with “Ohh, I’m so sorry I just can’t seem to get it right; it is too hard for my old binary brain.” We catch ourselves, correct the error and move on. When my mother-in-law (of blessed memory) rankled that “it isn’t proper English” my kiddo pointed out that indeed, we’ve been using they/them for more than 400 years. When we find a wallet on the street, without ID in it, how do we refer to this unknow wallet owner? We say, “someone lost Their wallet.” It is no different for a person whose gender is not limited to a binary construct.
Today our welcome and our allyship need to be stronger than at any time in the last 40 years. This year alone there have been over 520 bills put forth in 47 states trying to strip LGBTQ+ folk of their rights and their bodily autonomy. Legislation which also says that parents, doctors and teachers who support the well-being of trans youth should be punished and have their rights to support youth stripped away. There are states where it is no longer safe for my husband or my child to go, without fear of persecution and prosecution just for who they are. The folks at Trevor Project tell us that nearly 2 in 3 LGBTQ young people said that hearing about potential state or local laws banning people from discussing LGBTQ people at school made their mental health a lot worse. Queer young people are not inherently prone to suicide risk because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, but rather are placed at higher risk because of how they are mistreated and stigmatized in society. 41% of LGBTQ young people seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year, but that number drops dramatically when they have the support of even one adult in their lives.
So how do we widen our welcome and become the safe havens so desperately needed in this time of renewed repression? We, as people of faith, have a particular responsibility to examine and reexamine the stories we tell ourselves about how we are living into our values of inclusion. I want to take us back to that idea of Bzelem Elohim. Elohim, the name used for Gd in the early part of Genesis is actually a plural word – gods – that is rendered masculine in our human need to gender language. Where we translate Elohim as God/He, in reality Elohim is the Ultimate They/Them! How does that change our understanding of Spirit; as the Divine being an expressed reality within each of us? Can we celebrate the innate goodness of those who represent unique hues within the infinite tapestry of Being? How do we inspire one another to live into the truths of our own selves?
Through the comings out of my husband and child, I had to ask myself “How am I limiting my true self, by conforming to society’s expectations? What does the Gd within me want to express?” So, one of the ways we widen our welcome, is to ask ourselves in what ways are we reinforcing society’s constructs; by keeping ourselves and each other smaller than Gd wants us to be? Are we too afraid of making a mistake (to say anything at all) rather than extend a deeper welcome to a queer person? Are we trying to make queer folk fit into our idea of what it means to be the Image of the Divine? Are we leaving room for ourselves and others to flow with an evolving sense of identity, or are we boxing each other into small stagnate definitions and constructs? Are we doing the same to Gd? Rather than treating a nonbinary tween as “going through a phase”, can we say Yes to who they are in this moment, (whether or not that shifts over time), and continue to say Yes to their representation of the Divine, however than evolves in the future? Can we do the same for ourselves, for other adults?
Are we representing Gd as Compassion, for those religion has harmed? Our families of origin and our churches of origin have caused those with religious wounding to feel isolated not just from community but from the Divine Themself! Our human constructs (imposed on the expansive Source of Love) have caused churches, synagogues, sangas – even well-intentioned spiritual communities – to feel unsafe for many queer & trans people. Some songs, prayers, even the act of walking in the door can all trigger old wounds which are then exacerbated by fresh microaggressions. When we say we are welcoming, do we also show it, by not just having gender-neutral bathrooms, but by including the faces of queer and trans folk in our leadership? Are our religious education programs places where trans children and their parents (queer or straight) can feel integrated and honored as images of the Divine? Do we explore the scriptures and wisdom teachings to mine their meaning - beyond a literal translation (which is rarely the contextually nuanced original) -to one that is nuanced for gender and orientation that applies not only to LGBTQ+ people, but which invite each of us to explore the fullness of who we are being called to be?
At this Pride season, and beyond, The Source of Life and Love, who is known by many names and no name, is calling us into a fuller expression of what it means to be the Face of the Divine; to serve with love each person we welcome into community, not just during pride season, but throughout every season.