I
had another post halfway prepared for today, but an image came to mind I could
not dismiss in the face of President Trump’s tweet on banning transgender
people in the United States military, a means of communication that seemed to trivialize
both the armed services as well as transgender people.
Many
years ago I was attending a men’s retreat led by Franciscan author Richard Rohr
on the campgrounds of Ghost Ranch in New Mexico. Rohr’s theme was the need for men to be
initiated into manhood to avoid our sometimes loutish and confused and even
violent behavior as adults.
If,
as in some other cultures, men were taught how to be men through ritual and
education from their elders, guidance about what it means to be a man could
diminish the bluster, bullying, and aggressive ways that men today use to claim
our manhood. For Rohr and the hundreds of men gathered from all parts of the
world, it’s never too late for such initiation.
Richard
attracts men who are justice-oriented and seeking to deepen their Christian
spirituality. As a gay man, I found them either non-homophobic or
self-consciously working on their homophobia and heterosexism, as well as their
sexism. A few were gay themselves.
So
when one young man followed me out of the initial gathering at the retreat,
wanting to talk, I assumed I was going to hear yet another story of a gay
Christian trying to live his faith and his identity. We had gone around in that
first meeting introducing ourselves, and I had mentioned my ministry as a gay
Christian.
Instead,
here in the midst of a gathering of men learning to be men, and Christian men,
he explained that he believed he was transgender and hoped to talk with me
about it. I can still picture his face, modest and almost apologetic in asking
my time and counsel. I was moved by his
situation, training for Catholic priesthood, and hope that he had, as I like to
pray, “the best possible outcome.”
The
truth is, in my wide travels as a gay Christian activist, I have met many more
self-identified transgender people than bisexual people—a surprise to me,
because I have always assumed there are many more bisexual people along the
sexuality continuum than there are gays and lesbians. Beyond just listening to their stories and
showing my support, I have been able to suggest transgender resources and
mentors.
I
once wrote a kind of initiation rite for LGBT Christians entitled “Coming Out:
A Witness to the Resurrection.” Males are not alone in needing a ritual to
affirm their identities.
Some
years earlier, at an LGBT retreat, also at Ghost Ranch, one retreatant told me
the story of coming upon a garbage can on the grounds emitting wild sounds. He
almost did nothing, so afraid of what might jump out if he were to look inside.
As it turned out, he was able to free a frenzied squirrel that had fallen into
the can and could not escape without help.
What
a metaphor for coming out! Someone inside us may feel trapped by the confines
of our bodies or our cultures or our faith communities. We may emit wild noises
in our panic to be who we are; others may be afraid to come near to help.
Tweets
coming from the White House are scary and mean, demeaning and hateful. The
person inside might have benefited from an initiation rite that taught him that
being a man does not need to entail aggression, brutality, greed, lust, winning
at any cost—or even winning.
Right
now, though, he sounds like a squirrel raging in his own garbage.
Related post: An Extraordinary Friendship
Helpful curriculum for
congregations:
Gender Identity and Our Faith Communities
The
Coming Out ritual is in chapter seven of Coming Out as Sacrament.
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