It was a transcendent evening, a Friday the 13th, “liberating and frightening”, and I expected that would be it. I had just “come out” to my mom at the end of a phone call. From now on, I would be Out, a new person, reborn and never looking back. But that night turned out to be just the beginning. Since then I’ve had many rediscoveries and reevaluations of how I know myself. But what has always remained the constant are spaces of the grace the grace of being, with or without explanation. Frequently, these same spaces have been Unitarian Universalist spaces, and I can’t tell the stories of coming in to myself without telling of these spaces.
The second time I remember coming out was in this congregation. It was a September Sunday, during a young-adults’ lunch. That morning, a visiting seminarian shared his own story of growing into his identity as a gay, religious man. Even though I said nothing to him at the time, I felt incredibly seen, and validated. At the time I also said I was a gay, religious man – but really this was a simplified version of a far more evasive truth.
Truthfully, in the months after coming out, the initial excitement lost its glimmer. Coming out gave way to an awkward silence of not knowing how to move forward. As I came into self-understanding, I pulled at the threads of my gender and sexuality. And the more I pulled, the more I watched the identity of a gay man unravel before me. I came in to knowing that I was never interested only in men. I came into knowing that I wasn’t even a man, and never had been except by pretending.
By contrast, I don’t remember the first time I told someone I was genderqueer. I don’t remember the second time either. But I remember so many of the times and spaces where I could be transgender and be comfortable, seen, and loved. Those places are few and far between, something I became painfully aware of after graduating college and moving home to southern Iowa. With few exceptions, I rarely remember the times I’ve “come out”, those conversations where I reveal a bit of myself, and push against others’ ideas of who I am. What I remember far more often are all the times I’ve “come in”. All the times I’ve grown in to a deeper understanding of myself. And all the moments of grace where I have shared space with people who just let me be.
This congregation and our wider tradition have held space for me to grow in the grace of being. Space where I could be trans long before saying anything. This is a place where by the grace of the people around me I could grow back into myself among beloved community. And by way of contrast, it shows me how hard and fraught our narratives of “coming out” really are. I don’t believe it is enough to come out of the closet if there’s no-where to come in to. In my own life I have taken sanctuary in communities that held space for me and my unspoken complexities. Because there is a grace we give to one another when we hold and make space for each other to come in to ourselves – our genders, our lovings, our longings – more fully.
I’ve heard many people in my life talk about the never-ending nature of coming out – that it is an eternal opening-up. And I’ve certainly found this in my own life. Among all things changing, I’ve been nurtured by places to simply be. I want to hold space for others’ growing, even as I figure out how better to do that. For those of us who have come into ourselves and through that found a way out, let’s support each other through listening and presence. For those of us who have never come in or had to come out, let’s listen more deeply, to stand up and step back to hold that space open. Let this be our call to action. May we work to discover what this really means. May we all hold space for each other’s coming in.
06 October 2019
The notes I kept say I offered this in a service led by Rev. Amy Petrie Shaw at the First Unitarian Church of Des Moines, but the congregation I mention in the second paragraph was my college congregation, the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Ames.
I have found our congregation’s journey with pronouns to be many things, among them relieving, nurturing, disappointing, and human. We’ve often spoken of pronouns as a means toward transgender inclusion. And I have to say, I feel more included when I can share this piece of me with all of you: I feel open letting you know something about me in shorthand form. As a practice, sharing our pronouns has invited us to live into our values as Unitarian Universalists. It speaks firmly and gently to our First Principle, that we are a people who recognize the inherent worth and dignity of every human being, regardless and because of their gender. This is not all we are however, and not the only way we engage with our world. We are also a community that often finds purpose in the mindful and the present. It seems to me this worldview some of us hold points us to another virtue of sharing pronouns. In this month where we focus on the virtues of attention, I think pronouns can be a means toward mindfulness as well.
Through the work and leadership of the Transgender Action Group, we embarked on our pronoun journey roughly a year and a half ago. That was a period of great growth for us as a congregation. We were half-way through an interim ministry. A year earlier we had recommitted to continue living into practices of welcoming LGBTQ people in and into our community. And some of us realized it would take more concerted effort to show up for the trans people in our congregation than we had previously been giving. In the midst of change and recommitment, members of the Trans Action Group chose to work on a piece of welcome that had obviously been lacking. Although staff and members of the celebrant team had been sharing their pronouns for some time, there still wasn’t an accessible way for the rest of the congregation to do the same.
And so, some of us sat in the Gathering Space between services to address this. For a few Sundays we offered to help put pronoun stickers on people’s nametags. In the times I helped with this, I noticed a few different reactions. Some people embraced this new practice enthusiastically. Some of them understood why this was important to trans people. A few didn’t, but could appreciate that someone might feel welcome in seeing their pronouns. And a few people politely abstained, saying they didn’t know what difference it would really make, and that they weren’t interested. And those few people have been the ones who have stood out to me the most.
I can see how it the request comes off as a little trite, if you’ve never paid attention to your own pronouns. Maybe it’s seems a little bit like the safety pins people wore after the last presidential election – a nice gesture, but backed by what substance? Or commitment to action? But as someone who shares their pronouns, and uses pronouns beyond the she-and-he binary, these are more than superficial gestures. On the obvious level, I want you to know something essential about me without looking like I have a scarlet letter sewn to my shirt. I’m a little less extraordinary for this when everyone is wearing a letter. But more deeply, when I share my pronouns with you, I share with you a little glimmer of insight. Through this act I invite you into a mindfulness where you can see me for who I am and how I want to be known in the world – not who you assume me to be.
Broadly put, mindfulness is the practice of paying attention to what’s around us. It is the practice of being present with our surroundings without reacting, without leaping to conclusions, without diving in to the overwhelming urge to make sense of what’s before us. Mindfulness asks us to cast off how we assume the world is, and open ourselves to the world’s actuality in each passing moment. When we are mindful, we are more fully present. We can see and show up for the people around us and their genders. We can cast off what we assume about another person’s existence, opening ourselves instead to receive their revelation. So when I share my pronouns with you, I offer you an invitation into mindfulness. To see someone’s pronouns on their nametag, to hear Amy or me share our pronouns, is an invitation to pay attention to our existence.
I think as well that this is an invitation for you, my cisgender siblings, to be more mindful with yourselves. A line I invariably hear when someone asks why they need to share their pronouns goes like this: Pronouns sure are a nice gesture, but I don’t really need them. Everyone sees me and knows without question what my pronouns are. And perhaps that’s true, that you are who most people assume you to be. Maybe it’s true that you have never had to choose or think about your pronouns before someone asked you to. But I think that is the ground where mindfulness is most needed. Mindfulness isn’t just a helpful exercise in the presence of the unfamiliar. More often it’s a tool to help us pay attention to the things and experiences that we take for granted.
None of this is said to gloss over how sharing pronouns regardless of your experience of gender helps trans people. It is nurturing beyond words to see pronouns treated as something that’s not “just a trans thing”. We all benefit when we clearly communicate ourselves and our experiences with each other, instead of placing the work of assumption on each other. In this way, our communication becomes mindful, and calls us in to mindfulness. I hope in concluding this reflection of our pronoun journey, we all leave with a deeper and richer understanding of what this practice is, and what it can be for us as a community.
17 November 2019
A reflection? A sermonette? I offered this in a service about gender led by Rev. Amy Petrie Shaw at the First Unitarian Church of Des Moines.
This month we’re talking about awe – who can tell me what awe is?
Awe comes from lots of places, and sometimes it comes from other people. Is there someone who fills you with awe? Who’s really amazing?
I’ll tell you about someone that fills me with awe...
Delores lived a long, amazing life. She was born almost a hundred years ago! Her father was a farmer who raised sheep. He was really busy, but he always made time for Delores and her brother and sisters. And at the end of the day, he would read stories to Delores. All kinds of stories! About kids like her, having adventures.
When Delores grew up, she remembered those stories, and she became quite the storyteller herself! Stories about her family, and the town she grew up in. That was one of the most amazing things about Delores – she could remember the names and stories of everyone she knew! Aunts and uncles, teachers and cousins, priests and neighbors. If you couldn’t remember where someone lived, or who their family was, or who went with your uncle on vacation in 1968 – Delores would know!
That was something I always loved about my grandma Delores. I grew up listening to her talk about her childhood and the people in her family, and all of their stories. And it never stopped amazing me how she could remember all that! Remembering all of those things was like nothing for her. I was in awe that something so ordinary for her could be so amazing.
And I share that awe with you today. Not just by telling you about that awe, but sharing in the same thing that my grandma gave me, which filled me with so much amazement – the gift of telling the stories of the people who have gone before us. One day, each of you will also fill someone else with awe, even if you don’t know it.
01 December 2019
This was a Time for All Ages I offered to the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Ames.