In the name of God: in whose image we are made, and to whose mercy we aspire. Amen.
When I was just out of High School, I first read a novel that I would come to love dearly and read again and again through the years. By Gail Godwin, the book is called Father Melancholy’s Daughter. In short, the book is about Margaret, the daughter of a small-town Episcopal priest who struggles with depression, and how her life is shaped by that relationship. Her mother had died, so it was just the two of them left to take on all the characters of the congregation and to support him through his more difficult times. She was a girl who had to grow up too fast.
I always found it to be a compelling story, but more than just a good book, it’s probably one of the most significant influences I had in my late teens and early 20s to help shape me toward a mature Christian faith.
There’s one episode in particular that has stuck with me through the years and that comes to mind for me again and again. A young, newly ordained priest had been assigned by their Bishop to a kind of internship under Margaret’s father. He was to help the young priest navigate through his first foray into the world of parish ministry.
Well, Margaret thought this young priest was cute. And, having spent so much of her formative years tending to her father in his bouts of depression, and tending to the unending needs of the parish, she wasn’t exactly skilled at dating. But she would try to happen to be around when the young priest came around. And she would play hostess for her father, fussing over the young man to make him feel welcomed and cared for. But most of all, she tried to appear smart. She recognized his deep intelligence, and she would plan for days before his visits what sorts of things she might say to try to capture his attention.
On one visit, she’d decided to ask him about his thoughts on sin, and particularly, how he would define it. And this is what struck me and has stayed with me all this time. This young priest, not at all thinking about trying to impress her, considered the question and concluded: “sin is a falling short of our totality,” and more explicitly, “choosing to live in ways that you know will interfere with the harmony of that totality.”
Try as I might, through my years of growing in the Christian faith, through my years of theological study, through my years of growing into my identity and understanding of myself as a priest in this church – through it all, I still can’t think of a better starting point for understanding the complicated, and often treacherous landscape of human sin.
“A falling short of our totality,” and those things that “interfere with the harmony of that totality.”
It’s a way of understanding our relationship with God as parental, and personal, but also communal. Far from mere relativism, it recognizes and appreciates the ways that God and creation influence each other and grow together. It’s a way of understanding our relationship with God that values the gift of transition.
If you read my note in Trinity Topics a little over a week ago, you’ll know that I value transition – not just as preparing for something new, but as a calling we all share to always be looking for the newness that God is still dreaming into being, for us and through us.
In the Gospel reading that’s guiding our time together today, we hear one of the more familiar passages in Christian scripture: the story many of us have heard described as the Parable of the Prodigal Son. In the story there is a father, who is the owner of a great and valuable estate. And he has two sons. One son is a faithful contributor to the family business. The other decides he can do better on his own. So, he claims his full inheritance and runs off to live his best life.
Unsurprisingly, the young man, with limited experience of the world and new-found freedom, along with sudden financial independence and an underdeveloped sense of responsibility – well, as the old folks used to say in the South when I was growing up, it was enough to make him go bad. It’s a common recipe for some measure of self-destruction – which is why so many parents of new college students spend so much time awake at night. It’s a story that’s no less real now than it was back then.
Soon the young man does “go bad”. He’s wasted his money on irresponsible and immoral things. He has fallen very short of the harmony of his totality. But eventually he starts to wise up. He remembers that there’s a place in the world where he once knew love. He remembers there are people from his past who are good. So, he makes the decision to reorient himself toward them. To make a change. To shape his life in such a way that brings him closer to his truest self. A way that would help restore the harmony of his totality. And he was welcomed home with love. Not everyone understood it, but the people who mattered the most did understand. And they responded to his growth with joy and acceptance and most of all, with love.
Today, in our celebration of Christian worship, part of our focus is on tomorrow’s Transgender Day of Visibility. I’ll be honest. When I consider what a radical act that is in a Christian church – what a rare thing it is to just see the very people whom the dominant culture seeks to hide; to recognize people whom many choose to ignore – when I think of what a rare and unexpected thing that is in the church, it sickens me.
Our model from the life of Christ is to bless the image of God when we find it. Our model from the teachings of Jesus is to celebrate people who grow into the fullness of their whole selves. Our model from all of the Holy Scriptures, and that is still being inspired by the Holy Spirit, is to constantly change – to constantly grow – to constantly transition into truer versions of ourselves that more accurately represent the image of God that lives within each of us. How is this not something the church lives to celebrate?
When I started preparing for today, I went to Google to find some of the latest iterations of the burdensome, too familiar stories of trans and gender non-conforming people’s experience. And the stories were plentiful. They always are. So often they were stories of activists, and people working with everything they had to make a better world. They were the stories of people whom the world had crushed.
And the statistics were just as you’d probably expect, too. The United States is one of the most dangerous places in the developed world to live openly as a trans person. The rate of murders of trans people here is some of the highest in the world. And the rate of deaths by suicide among trans people is some of the highest in the world.
But as moving and impactful as all those stories and statistics are, I kept coming back to the story of this Prodigal Son. The story of this beloved creature of God. Through living, he learned who he truly was, in his truest, most God-centered core. And by growing in that way, he shaped his life to embrace it. Isn’t this basically the story of every transgender and gender non-conforming person you know? Something in their life sparked a deeper understanding of their truth and despite all the obstacles in their way, they ran toward it. They consciously decided to shape their life so that they could more authentically embrace the truth of their belovedness.
For those among us who are cisgender people following the way of Christ, it is not our job to pity the experiences of trans people. It’s certainly not our job to pity trans people as people. It is not even our place to “welcome” and “include” trans people. Inclusion is certainly better than exclusion, but that’s only a step, not the goal.
As Christians of all gender expressions and understandings, we are being called to celebrate trans people and their journeys. And even more than that, we are being called to learn from their experiences. The stories of trans people are not just the stories of violence and death and suffering. The stories of trans people are the stories of people who are current, real-life icons of growth. As Christians, we all aspire to become more of ourselves; to be truer to who God is creating us to be. We all are being pointed toward the harmony of our totality. That’s what it means to repent – to turn our lives in a more God-ward direction. And learning to be true to the image of God that lives within you is a stunning example of answering God’s call. It’s a stunning example of how we should all hope to live.
But even so, it is a really ugly time in the history of the gender non-conforming experience. Just as it started to look like the world might be relaxing its controlling grip over these people, the ones who feel threatened by that have pulled even tighter. As some of our leaders seek to target trans people, they not only set up systems to directly torture these beloved creatures of God, but they give permission for others to do the same – all too often in the name of Christ – that very one who led the way by transitioning from humiliating death to abundant life. And, perhaps most cruelly of all, they teach these vulnerable, beloved creatures of God that they deserve to be targeted – that they are unworthy of love.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Every person is worthy of the love of God, no matter what. And every person’s journey has something to teach us about broadening our experience of the love of God.
Just look at the example in this parable. When we grow toward and into our best selves – our truest selves – God’s response is never to condemn. God’s response is never to shun. When we move in that God-ward direction, God’s response is always arms flung open in a joyful and eager embrace. Anyone who takes a step toward their totality – toward the fullness of vibrant life that God envisions for each of us – anyone who does that should be celebrated, not shunned. Anyone who does that is an example, not an outcast.
As we mark this Trans Day of Visibility, see the trans people around you. But don’t just see that they exist. Don’t just see that they should be tolerated. Don’t just see that they should be included or welcomed. See the gift of that experience as a marker for all of us to follow as we seek the harmony of our own totality. See the gift of that existence as an example of how to find the image of God that sparkles within all of us. Amen.
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