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After all, Easter is the story of someone who refused to reduce people to a binary system. A person who lived his life so audaciously that he fed, clothed, held, and made visible people who had been told they were unworthy of love, burdened with sin, or living outside of society’s rules.
It’s the story of resistance, of someone whose rejection of the system and his refusal to bend to institutional authority led to his death as a means to silence him. It’s the story of someone who couldn’t be erased but whose resurrection bore the scars of a new life and a new world.
It’s the story of how this person empowered people on the margins of society to recognize the importance of being seen and the solidarity that is felt in creating a world where everyone can live into the fullness of their authentic selves.
To me, that sounds a lot like Transgender Day of Visibility — when we celebrate the triumphant existence of our transgender siblings in the face of a vitriolic movement that has weaponized Christ’s teachings to erase a community he would’ve loved, held and uplifted.
I’m a queer, hairy-legged, gender-fluid, tattooed pastor in Texas. My presence in faith spaces doesn’t make sense to some people. There are folks who don’t think someone like me is fit to share the Gospel. Moreover, I am thought of as being in direct conflict with scripture.
And yet, I am here. I am seen.
There are also folks existing within marginalized spaces who feel that the institution of Christianity is responsible for insurmountable harm and spiritual malpractice. They are not wrong. Their lament is one that must be made visible, and only then can the church truly repent for treating queer folks as anything less than the image of God.
According to the American Civil Liberties Union, lawmakers during the 2023 legislative session filed 55 bills focused on restricting the rights of Texas' LGBTQIA+ community. Loving families and their transgender children were cruelly targeted, with legislators aiming to remove their access to gender-affirming health care that can be lifesaving. Some decided it was best for their family to flee Texas.
The American Medical Association has explicitly stated that stigma and discrimination are correlated with higher rates of suicide for transgender and nonbinary youth.
Perhaps the Easter season is the precise time to call out those who would misuse the name of Jesus to silence, harm, and cast out the most vulnerable among us.
Being the pastor that my queer teenage self truly needed is my act of resistance. And being seen in faith spaces matters.
To the allies who love us: Jesus listened intently and loved loudly. Our continued freedom and safety depend on you doing the same.
To those who refuse to open your eyes, who refuse to see us: I invite you to embrace empathy and spend this day of resurrection and rebirth casting out the fear and dehumanization that politics and misguided theology have sown where love should be. Meet the things you do not understand with grace, compassion, and curiosity.
To all my trans and gender-nonconforming siblings: Today is your story, too. So, may you rise. We need to see you. Happy Easter.
Happy Easter! And happy Trans Visibility Day!
Easter falls on Transgender Day of Visibility this year. People will be bearing witness to the resurrection of Christ while celebrating the lives and contributions of transgender folks. To some people, the connection doesn’t make sense. But it does to me.After all, Easter is the story of someone who refused to reduce people to a binary system. A person who lived his life so audaciously that he fed, clothed, held, and made visible people who had been told they were unworthy of love, burdened with sin, or living outside of society’s rules.
It’s the story of resistance, of someone whose rejection of the system and his refusal to bend to institutional authority led to his death as a means to silence him. It’s the story of someone who couldn’t be erased but whose resurrection bore the scars of a new life and a new world.
It’s the story of how this person empowered people on the margins of society to recognize the importance of being seen and the solidarity that is felt in creating a world where everyone can live into the fullness of their authentic selves.
To me, that sounds a lot like Transgender Day of Visibility — when we celebrate the triumphant existence of our transgender siblings in the face of a vitriolic movement that has weaponized Christ’s teachings to erase a community he would’ve loved, held and uplifted.
I’m a queer, hairy-legged, gender-fluid, tattooed pastor in Texas. My presence in faith spaces doesn’t make sense to some people. There are folks who don’t think someone like me is fit to share the Gospel. Moreover, I am thought of as being in direct conflict with scripture.
And yet, I am here. I am seen.
There are also folks existing within marginalized spaces who feel that the institution of Christianity is responsible for insurmountable harm and spiritual malpractice. They are not wrong. Their lament is one that must be made visible, and only then can the church truly repent for treating queer folks as anything less than the image of God.
According to the American Civil Liberties Union, lawmakers during the 2023 legislative session filed 55 bills focused on restricting the rights of Texas' LGBTQIA+ community. Loving families and their transgender children were cruelly targeted, with legislators aiming to remove their access to gender-affirming health care that can be lifesaving. Some decided it was best for their family to flee Texas.
The American Medical Association has explicitly stated that stigma and discrimination are correlated with higher rates of suicide for transgender and nonbinary youth.
Perhaps the Easter season is the precise time to call out those who would misuse the name of Jesus to silence, harm, and cast out the most vulnerable among us.
Being the pastor that my queer teenage self truly needed is my act of resistance. And being seen in faith spaces matters.
To the allies who love us: Jesus listened intently and loved loudly. Our continued freedom and safety depend on you doing the same.
To those who refuse to open your eyes, who refuse to see us: I invite you to embrace empathy and spend this day of resurrection and rebirth casting out the fear and dehumanization that politics and misguided theology have sown where love should be. Meet the things you do not understand with grace, compassion, and curiosity.
To all my trans and gender-nonconforming siblings: Today is your story, too. So, may you rise. We need to see you. Happy Easter.
