video post- Aradhna “Mukteshwar”

Lately I have been trying to take time to center myself more often; to be more mindful of the way I move through the world. I listen to a lot of music, especially on my morning commute, and lately I have been listening to a lot of the group Aradhna. Chris Hale, who plays the sitar for the group, is a friend of mine.

I really appreciate their music, both for the beauty of it and the message. While I don’t always agree with the theology of every song, for the most part this is music I can get on board with. It helps that I know Chris personally and know him to be a good and kind man who is devoted to loving and following Jesus. We can disagree on theology and still consider ourselves to be followers along the same way.

Below is a video from their new album “Namaste Sate”. I hope you find it moving. The video was shot by Ben Stamper.

around the web: interviews, poetry, books

* There is an interview on the Colorlines blog with Reina Gossett who works for the Sylvia Rivera Law Project in New York. She has a lot of really important things to say about hate crimes law. You can read the interview here.

* Tanya Davis is an amazing poet. She was really popular in my Facebook feed for a while with her poem and video “How to Be Alone”:

Recently she posted the following on her blog and I found it to be really beautiful (especially the part towards the end). I hope you find it meaningful as well.

* Rachelle Mee-Chapman is amazing. A wonderful person who does great work. She recently posted the following and I found it to be so moving. Rachelle is going to be a guest on the anarchist reverend podcast in the near future.

* In a combination silly/serious link, I read the Tumblr “Hot Guys Reading Books.” It features pictures of, you guessed it, hot guys reading books. Recently the writer of the blog posted a link to a group that helps to bring books to kids. You can buy an awesome “Reading is Sexy” shirt (I am hoping to get one soon!) and support this great organization. As a book lover, I approve.

anarchist reverend podcast: Brian Murphy

Today brings a new feature to the blog: my very first podcast! I’m really excited about some of the people who have agreed to be interviewed for the podcast and can’t wait to share it with you.

My guest today is Brian Murphy. Brian talks about his own spiritual journey and his life as an activist.

You can listen in here: anarchist reverend podcast. I am working on getting the podcasts loaded into iTunes, but I am having a bit of technical difficulty at the moment. I’ll update as soon as a feed is available.

To learn more about the things talked about in today’s podcast:
Brian’s Blog
Strategy+Action Mailing List
The Equality Ride
Legalize Trans*
Legalize Trans* is also looking for interns! To get more information and to apply, go here.

Why I call myself a “Christian Anarchist”

(This is another in a series of posts where I will talk about Christian Anarchism)

I first started calling myself a “Christian Anarchist” out of pure naiveté. It was terminology I used to say that I didn’t feel called to a particular denomination; in fact I was feeling that denominations were pretty unbiblical and against the spirit of Jesus’ teachings. So I called myself a Christian Anarchist. It seems kind of silly now. I still hold the same beliefs about denominations, but I had no idea that Christian Anarchy had such a long and storied history.

Honestly, much of my life was lived in naiveté! I grew up in a sheltered home. I had no understanding of racism, privilege, classism, queer issues, feminism, any of these concepts. I think if I would have been born a straight male I might have never grappled with any of these things. My faith would have stayed firmly in the fundamentalist camp. But I wasn’t born a straight male. And so in coming to terms with my queerness, I was also given the opportunity of education. I realized how much I benefit by simply being white, by being born in a middle class family, by being able to go to college and seminary. In getting that education, my faith became radical. I think in a lot of ways that it’s my faith that keeps me queer. It was my queerness that deepened my faith, and it’s my faith that has made me deeply connected with queerness in all its forms.

My first exposure to the thinking of Christian Anarchists came in my introduction to Jacques Ellul by a mentor of mine. I read his pamphlet on Christian Anarchy and was struck but how much it made sense. Since then I have read both secular and Christian Anarchists and while I am by no means an expert, I feel slightly more comfortable calling myself a Christian Anarchist because I have a better sense of what it means.

At the same time I realize that I have significantly different beliefs from both Christian and secular Anarchists. First the secular: I am opposed to violence and wish to remain non-violent in all that I do. (I know that not all secular anarchists believe that violence is okay, but there seem to be quite a few that do.) I don’t always succeed in my quest, but it is my desire.

I know that my basest desires would allow me to be violent and selfish. I sometimes have to work to look out for the needs of other people. I am deeply flawed. I would like to think that given the opportunity I would always choose to do the right thing, but I kind of doubt that in actuality. Because of that I appreciate the teachings of Jesus. I appreciate his call to live a life of service, to be in resistance to the empire, to try to bring about peace and wholeness on earth. I desire to emulate the life of Jesus in all of its risks and danger. I do this because I believe that there is a God; whether you want to call it God, or energy, or a universal consciousness; I believe there is something that is bigger than me. I want to tap into that. Therefore I don’t believe in the slogan of “no gods, no masters”. My desire to be an anarchist comes from my deep desire for the wholeness of all people. For all people to be fed and clothed, to live whole lives, and to be their full humanity. I think anarchism is the only way this will come about. My desires are deeply rooted in my faith.

Now for my differences with Christian Anarchists: I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but I am not convinced that one day God is just going to come back and fix everything. There seems to be a sense in some of the Christian Anarchist literature that God is going to do just that, and so we can sit back and wait for that to happen. I don’t believe that. I also don’t believe that God is actively involved in the world (in the sense of God as a puppet master) outside of the actions of humans.

For me anarchism is about getting dirty. It’s about resisting the empire non-violently, but also about setting up new structures in the shadow of the empire. It’s about rejecting power (even as I desperately want to be powerful). It’s about rejecting security (even as I desperately want to be secure). I will by no means say that I am a successful anarchist. I still struggle and fall. I still partake in the consumer culture too much and compromise my beliefs in order to keep myself safe. I struggle with what God is calling me to do and to be. But I would like to at least say that I am trying. I am trying to be like Jesus (wow that sounds like so much hubris!), I am trying to love other people, I am trying to set up new structures in the shadow of the empire.

I am desperately trying, by the grace of God.

video post: daniel berrigan

In this video Daniel Berrigan reads one of his poems. It is followed by a tribute video to the work the Berrigans have been involved in over the years. I am continually moved and challenged by the work and the writings of the Berrigans.

book review: Christian Anarchism by Alexandre Christoyannopoulos

This week’s review is: Christian Anarchism: A Political Commentary on the Gospel
by Alexandre Christoyannopoulos.

Overall I really appreciated this book. Christoyannopoulos weaves together all of the different strands on christian anarchy to provide a picture of the thinking of the movement as a whole. No one has ever done that before and his contribution will be a great addition to the christian anarchist scholarship. Since much of the work can be hard to find, this survey (with meticulous footnotes) is very important.

He traces the thought through Leo Tolstory, Vernard Eller, and Jaques Ellul while also including the work of Dorothy Day and the Catholic Workers (which many books tend to ignore). There is also some recent scholarship from the Jesus radicals among others. The scope of this work is impressive.

My frustration with a lot of the conclusions drawn (both by this survey and by other christian anarchist writers) lies in a poor academic reading of many of the Gospel texts. These texts are read with a cursory exegesis and not in light of the empire. Whether that is because empire scholarship is relatively new or whether it’s because christian anarchists haven’t completely done their homework is unclear. This lack of exegesis leads to conclusions that don’t fit with the gospel texts. In this book, Christoyannopoulos’ conclusion tries to set up the way forward by christian anarchists but sets up a false dichotomy; either one is completely non-resistant (read non-engaged) with the political world, or one buys in to the state. My reading of the gospel texts is more of a both/and. One must resist the empire while also creating a new way of living in the shadow of the empire. You can’t just disengage, set up your own community and that’s it, you must also be prophetic about calling out the empire and working to upset it non-violently and always with Jesus’ teachings in mind.

It’s a delicate balance, one that requires humility and accountability. One that is about freedom for all people and service to all people instead of a life that seeks to overthrow and become the new power in charge.

I still recommend this book simply for it’s scope and attention to detail. I found it to be very readable (even though it is a doctoral dissertation!) and accessible even if you haven’t read a lot of the people featured in the book.

around the web: trans people and bathrooms, banned books, and more

* I found a great essay on tenured radical’s blog about a trans* professor being denied tenure. you can read about the case and the radical’s thoughts on it here. I especially like the radical’s final comment.

* as a lover of both reading and free press/speech it’s good to see reports of banned books being allowed back into Tunisia and Egypt. Here’s an article from The Guardian.

* i found this blog post to be very interesting. The poem on the page speaks so much truth, and the video is both beautiful and insightful.

What’s caught your eye this week? What are you reading?

Thomas

thomas

John 20: 19-20: When it was evening on the that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.

John 20:24-29 But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” A week later the disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

photo of my chest, one year post surgery

painting by carvaggio

Thomas. Poor Thomas. You have one bad day, one bad moment and you are saddled with a nickname that lasts for centuries. Doubting Thomas.
It’s an interesting passage, though. First we have the scene with the disciples minus Thomas. They are locked in a room and Jesus appears among them. It seems that they were worried about the religious leaders finding them (although the passage is kind of harsh with its language of them being afraid of “the Jews” of which they were also a part. One wonders if the writers of this passage had something against the Jewish religious establishment and needed to get a dig in.) We have no idea where Thomas is and it seems odd that he wouldn’t be with the rest of the group. Jesus comes into the room and shows him his hands and his side and then the disciples rejoice. I think it’s important to note that the passage is very clear in the order of things; Jesus does his show and tell and THEN they rejoice.

Jesus leaves and Thomas comes back. Everyone tells him about what they’ve seen but Thomas is unsure. Thomas says that unless he sees the marks and touches Jesus he won’t believe. A week later they’re still in the room and Jesus appears again; this time with Thomas present. Jesus offers his hands and side to Thomas and Thomas, even without putting his hand in Jesus’ side, believes and worships him. Then there comes the gentle rebuke from Jesus asking if Thomas only believes because he has seen and offering a blessing to those who believe without seeing.

Growing up this passage was brought out to affirm the faith of modern Christians. We are the blessed who believe because we have not seen. It’s interesting to me, though, that the rest of the disciples didn’t believe until after they had seen and yet Thomas is the one who gets called out for it. We have to wonder what else was going on that Thomas is the only one to get the rebuke. In addition I had always read Jesus’ rebuke as quite firm and annoyed, but in re-reading the text it seems pretty gentle. Jesus is simply raising the question of what it takes to get people to believe. And he offers a blessing on those who take someone’s word at face value.

When I was first transitioning this is one of the passages that resonated with me the most and continues to be meaningful. When I first told people that I was transitioning, or that I had transitioned the first questions were, without fail, about surgery. Have you had surgery yet? Are you going to have surgery? And they usually were referring to genital surgery. Invasive questions, asked loudly and in public. I began to be resentful of people and their inability to just take me at my word.

What is it that makes me a man? Is it having a penis? Is it carrying myself in a certain way? Is it all about my body? I wonder if people want me to drop my pants so they can see what I look like. If they need to see the scars on my chest. If they need to invade my privacy in order to believe that I am who I say I am. That I am resurrected.

Sometimes these questions make me angry and annoyed. I don’t want to have to tell you these things. I don’t want you thinking about my naked body or asking me about how I am intimate with people. It’s insulting.

And then I remember Jesus’ gentle rebuke and I wonder if I can be gentle as well. Is there a way for me to answer people’s questions, trusting that they are coming from a good and well-intentioned place while also rebuking them gently for their lack of tact? Can I teach them what it means to be trans without violating my own privacy? Can I be as gentle with them as Jesus was with Thomas?

I want to be a resource for people to understand what it means to be transgender. And most of the time I realize that the questions are coming from a really genuine place of wanting to know and wanting to understand. I want to honor the person asking the questions. However, there is a part of me that doesn’t want to have to show you my scars, not because I am ashamed of them, but because they are private. And because my gender isn’t about what surgeries I’ve had or about the scars I carry. At the same time I realize that my scars are one of the things that make me visibly male.
So most of the time I answer peoples’ questions while blessing those who believe without having to see. And I pray for the day when people will take all trans folks at their word.

post-script: A friend pointed out to me that in medieval depictions of Jesus and Thomas Jesus’ side wound looks very much like an FTM chest surgery scar. I find this to be fascinating on many levels. Included with this post is a photo of Jesus and Thomas and also of my chest post-surgery.

Mary

mary

John 20:11-16: But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (Which means teacher).

Another well-known scene from the Gospels, Mary goes to visit the tomb and finds it empty. She begins to weep thinking that someone has stolen the body of her friend. It’s a response that makes sense. First to see your friend and the person you’ve been following brutally murdered; and then when you go to pay your respects, to feel close to the person you’ve loved and lost and to find them gone one couldn’t help but weep.

And in her grief she has an encounter with someone who she thinks is the gardener. You wonder how different Jesus looked as a resurrected person that Mary didn’t even recognize him. Was she blinded by her tears? Or did he look completely different? Either way, she doesn’t realize that she is talking to her friend until he calls her by name. What a moment. I wonder what it was in the way Jesus said Mary’s name that made he realize it was him. Did he have a special way of pronouncing it, or was it the tenderness with which he said it? In that moment, the moment of Jesus speaking her name, Mary knows she is with her friend again.

I remember the first time someone I knew didn’t recognize me. I was maybe a year into my transition, maybe not even that. I ran into one of the professor’s assistants from my seminary on a subway platform. I had her the previous semester and hadn’t seen her since. I went over to say hello and she just stared at me blankly. I waited for a subway car to pass by (drowning out our conversation) and told her who I was. Then she recognized me and we had a nice chat.

It was a surreal experience. I honestly didn’t think I looked all that different, but here was someone who I saw for an entire semester once a week who had no idea who I was. On the one hand it was a great moment. I was finally becoming the person I was meant to be. I was being seen as who I am. But it was also strange to think that people who knew me before wouldn’t know me now.

There’s a bit of a disconnect that comes about once the old you becomes unrecognizable. I see the photos of myself from the past and I don’t know who that person is anymore. It seems like I was wearing a costume that hid my real self. And this new body that I walk around in is my true face. But what does that do for the people who knew me before? People who might not have contact with me in my day to day life now.

I think of my mother and my siblings who only see me a couple of times a year. I go home and I look like a different person. Do they feel they are losing me as my face changes? I think of people I haven’t seen in years who I could probably walk past on the street today and they would have no idea it was me. Even people that I was incredibly close to. You have to work really hard to not lose the person you were in the midst of your transition.

I think early in transition there is a sense that anything is possible. That you can become a new person. And it’s true in that in some ways you can. You can reinvent yourself as you inhabit the new life you are meant to live. But for me, as my transition has gone on, there are a lot of parts about myself that I thought I had lost that I am reclaiming. There is my love of baseball and my fascination with military history. Those things that I pushed aside but now feel like I can pick back up (for a multitude of reasons). In so many ways I feel more authentically myself now that I ever did. I feel more connected to my childhood now. I think in some ways it’s because as a child I didn’t have the same disconnect with my body that I did as a teenager, but in other ways being at home in my body has allowed me to be whoever it is I feel called to be. It means that I don’t have to worry that if I shave my head I’ll be seen as female. I can wear a pink shirt without worrying about being misgendered. That is a freeing place to be.

And in being the most authentic person I can, I think that will translate into my relationships with people who might feel like they are losing the person they loved. It will translate to those people who don’t or won’t recognize the person I am now. Just like Jesus had a certain way of saying Mary’s name, I trust that there is a certain way that I interact with and speak to the people I love that will help them to recognize me even though I have a beard now and even though my body and face are different. There will be a certain way that I say “mom” that lets my mother know that she is not losing her child.

No matter how different I look, how much I change, the essence of who I am as a person remains the same. Transitioning allowed me to let go of all of the baggage I was carrying and become who I was meant to be. By becoming myself I am freed to love more wholeheartedly than I ever could before. And that is the biggest blessing of all.

Ave Maria

ave maria

Throughout the gospel of Matthew we only see glimpses of Jesus’ mother. Unlike in Luke, here she is barely a footnote in the birth of Jesus. Here the text centers around Joseph. There is no mention of Jesus’ childhood in Matthew so the next glimpse we get of Mary the mother is in chapter 12 when Mary and Jesus’ brothers come to see Jesus. His response: “Who is my mother and who are my brothers?” It never mentions whether or not he went outside to talk with them. In the Matthew text Mary isn’t at the foot of the cross, doesn’t come to the grave. These are the only two mentions of her in the gospel.

In the Gospel of John, Mary is present at the cross, in fact, Jesus even addresses her: He gives care of his mother to the disciple referred to as “the disciple Jesus loved” and that disciple takes Mary into his house from that point forward. (John 19:26-27)

Why is Mary sometimes important to the text and sometimes banished to barely a mention? What was her role in Jesus’ life and ministry?

I think a lot about Mary. How complicated a person she must have been. Filled with such strength to birth a son out of wedlock in a time when that was judged harshly. Strength to keep relying on God in the midst of not knowing what God was doing. Then to watch her son grow, to watch him leave her home and travel teaching people. To hear word of his deeds make it back to her ears and wonder what would happen to him. She must have heard as the public opinion changed toward him, must have worried that her baby was getting himself into trouble.

I wonder why she showed up with Jesus’ brothers wanting to talk to him. Did she want to bring him home? Did she want to tell him to stop with all of this foolishness and take care of his family? And what pain she must have felt when he claimed those gathered as his family instead of his flesh and blood.
We transgender sons and daughters have complicated relationships with our families. I know that talking about mothers and fathers strikes a chord with a lot of us. Some of us have had families that outright rejected us; kicked us out of the house and cut us out of their lives. Some of us have families that have been super supportive and loving.

My own journey has been more of a middle road and is a continual process. I find myself drawn to the story of Jesus and his mother. His biological father is nowhere to be found and his step-father seems to be a semi-remote figure that disappears either before or when he reaches adulthood. This is much like my own situation.

Growing up my mom and I were incredibly close. I was an only child (until my sister was adopted when I was 20) and I was homeschooled throughout highschool so I spent a lot of time with my mom. I talked with her about everything. Until I started to realize that the path I was on was one of which she would not approve. Then I stopped talking to her as much. Or I would talk to her but not tell her the things that were really important to me and over time the rift grew. From my perspective I thought she was too conservative, unwilling to listen to me, wouldn’t understand. I’m sure from her perspective she worried that I was making the wrong decisions and saw me growing farther and farther from her.

When I came out (first as gay and in a relationship with a woman) she was upset, but was kind. She accepted my partner, invited her to family functions. She even came to our wedding even though she didn’t approve. Throughout it all I tried to keep her in the loop on what was happening, told her when my partner and I got engaged, told her when we were getting married. It was hard to have those conversations with her but I knew they were important.
Then I moved out on my own; moving in with my partner. I realized that I was trans and knew I needed to transition. Much of my time in therapy in the lead up to beginning my medical transition was to talk about how my mother would deal with things. I was terrified. In fact, I think one of the reasons that kept me from realizing I was transgender for so long was a deep-seated fear/knowledge that my mother would disown me. And with that fear came a new fear; that she would keep me from ever seeing my adopted siblings again. So I kept putting off the conversation. I started testosterone and still hadn’t told my mother. My voice started to change and I still hadn’t told her. Finally I just stopped calling her because my voice was too different to pretend that nothing was happening but I just could not get up the courage to tell her what was happening.

After six months on testosterone I sat down and I wrote my mother a letter. I felt like a coward coming out to her in a letter but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it any other way. So I sent the letter and I waited. Terrified.

Her first response was that she needed time but that she loved me. It was a relief that she was still saying she loved me. Then she wanted to meet so we went out for lunch. I was tense and felt like I was going to throw up. The lunch was civil. I shared a bit about what was going on with me and she shared what she was going through and then it was over.

The next several months were up and down. A harsh phone call on my birthday that left me feeling like I was losing my family, then a kind email somewhere else. It seemed to me, though, that my mother would always see me as her little girl and that nothing would ever change that no matter how hurtful that was to me.

Then I decided I was going to get surgery. My mother was upset. Begged me to change my mind. Asked me to talk to her pastor. Her pastor emailed me an angry email telling me how unhappy I must be in order to change my body when in reality I was happy for the first time in my life. It was hard to get those emails and phone calls. I felt like maybe this would be the thing that would cause my mother to disown me.

Around this same time, though, my little sister ended up in the hospital. I dropped everything and came to stay at my mom’s house with my little brother. I stayed there for a week, calling out of work, changing all of my plans, being there for my family and things started to change with my mom. She never mentioned that I didn’t email her pastor back. When I got back from surgery she hugged my partner and thanked her for going with me and taking care of me. She called on Christmas morning (we got back from surgery Christmas eve) and invited us over because she wanted us to be with family on Christmas.

Since then things have only gotten better. She still uses female pronouns for me, but calls me her child instead of her daughter. She apologized to me once for calling me “woman”. I am still in my sibling’s lives and my family has supported me throughout my divorce.

And it makes me think of Mary’s trajectory; going from being shut out outside of the house to being present at the foot of the cross. She just wanted to keep her baby safe. Maybe she was outside of that house to warn Jesus, to make him see that he was getting into trouble. And then to follow him to the cross; to watch her baby boy die not knowing if he would be resurrected. The anguish only a mother can feel at watching her child suffer.
I’m sure there were times when Mary was angry with Jesus for following what he was called to do. She probably thought he was turning his back on his family, turning away from the things she had taught him. She thought he was making stupid decisions and getting himself into trouble. But yet she was at the cross in the hour that he needed her most.

We don’t get Mary’s perspective in this text. We only see her through a lens of Jesus. What a story she must have had to tell. What a story my mother has to tell.

I know there have been times when I have been impatient with my mother. When I have left her outside in the cold. When I have claimed other people as my family over her. But throughout it all she has stood by me, not perfectly, but steadfastly. I try to remember that this is a process for all involved. That she needs time to figure it out just like I need time. And so I try to let her in as much as I can. But most of all I let her know that she is my mother and I love her. I let her know that my family comes first and that I am there for her no matter what and will continue to be there for her no matter how much my body changes. I still carry the name she gave me and I am still her child, even as I hope that one day she will be able to call me her son.