Clinging to the Cross in the Dark

For to me life is Christ, and death is gain. If I go on living in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. And I do not know which I shall choose. I am caught between the two. I long to depart this life and be with Christ, [for] that is far better. Yet that I remain [in] the flesh is more necessary for your benefit. (Philippians 1:21-24)

I think there is a very fine line between hopeful anticipation of the next life, and a desperate seeking to depart from this world.

If I'm going to be totally honest - I'm in a lot of pain right now. This week my dysphoria was especially heavy - brought on by pushing myself harder than I perhaps should have at the Easter Vigil by getting extra dressed-up and wearing a tie. It cost me a lot of peace, and I've been in a bad place all week long. Friday morning it got to the point that I had an anxiety attack thinking about getting dressed for work, and sat crying on the floor in my room wrapped in a towel after my shower. I had to reach out to a few dear friends for extra support and prayers to get through it.

And, since we're being totally honest - this is actually two Easters in a row I've had a breakdown after the Vigil. My great fear at the moment is that this is my future - pain and anxiety on days that should be so full of life and joy.

I've taken to marking out the sign of the cross on my palms with my fingers whenever I'm tempted to hate my own cross - as a reminder of what He did for me, and what He is worth in return. Brother Isaiah is seeing me through my struggles. One day, perhaps - by God's grace - I will actually rejoice in my sufferings because of what He is doing with them.

Today is not that day.

You know, it's funny - in the meantime, I am still totally excited for the newly baptized and confirmed members of the Body of Christ, and it is such a joy to remind others about God's love for them. It is such a gift to parent my son and lead him to authentic faith in Our Lord, and I am praying so hard for the day that he receives the sacraments - please, Lord!

So here's where I am - aching for a past I can't get away from and yet must leave behind. It's been 28 months now since I de-transitioned, and 24 months since I was confirmed Catholic. It's been beautiful and life-transforming, but also painful and full of darkness. Still so many unanswered questions.

I am, above all else, so looking forward to the day I get to rest in Christ's tender embrace. I've felt him hold me only once before, but the way my dear Lover held my hand and let me lie on him was so sweet and beautiful that I want more than anything to be back there again. I want to hear his voice and listen to his loving words as he tells me how glad he is that I pursued him.

I just hope I make it to that day.

To Be Seen, Known, and Loved

One of the great fears I hear from the transgender community (and the wider LGBTQ community, though I can mostly only speak to my own experience) - when it comes to the Church - is that there is no safe space to talk about their experiences; that there is not a wider community to talk through feelings, to be understood and known. There is an understandable fear that you are just supposed to "carry your cross", and keep your mouth shut while bearing it.

A big part of this fear comes from our experiences during much of our lives; when we found rejection and shame in living even any small part of our experiences openly. We discovered that we lost people when we were vulnerable, so we adjusted.

We hid - which is a tragedy of enormous proportions. As I said before, you are a gift - and the whole world missed out on your goodness while you remained hidden.

Now, I know that none of these experiences of rejection, fear, and hiding are at all unique to those who have experiences on the LGBTQ spectrum - but the stigma has historically been such that even the "being" was enough to be shameful, even without any "doing".

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A few weeks back I went to the inaugural retreat hosted by Eden Invitation, a relatively new Catholic ministry whose tagline is "original personhood beyond the LGBT+ paradigm". The title of the retreat was "Come Out of Hiding" (which, as I explained above, is appropriate).

Anyone who has any experience with Christian LGBT ministries knows they have a tendency to move toward one of two extremes - either "you need to be changed" (more commonly known as "conversion therapy"), or "everything is fine". To put it bluntly - neither of these attitudes is particularly helpful for anyone struggling to live faithfully according to the teachings of the Church.

Which is why this specific ministry is so important - being grounded in Saint John Paul II's Theology of the Body, the founders are quite uninterested in changing desires, but are instead focused on the hard work of reminding people of their original goodness, their capacity to love, the need for intimacy, inherent dignity, and the universal call to holiness.

To be totally transparent, I was the only one there who experienced gender dysphoria (everyone else was on the LGB side of the alphabet). That being said, asking around everyone else was looking for the same thing as me - to know they weren't alone, and to be understood and loved exactly as they are. Speakers talked about authentic friendships; how and why to "come out" and explain your experiences; about the need to recognize yourself as gift; reaching out and asking for support; that God is working in and through every single area in your life.

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I understand the fear of those who think the Church wants people to remain in the closet. When the closet is all you've known - when you've known the relief of being "out", of being able to be truly vulnerable and unafraid in your existence - these poles are so distant and yet it's hard to imagine there is anything in between. Either it's wrong and sinful and you should bury it away, or it's good and beautiful and you should totally embrace it.

Or maybe it's both and we're just like everyone else? Maybe the broken areas in our lives are also the ones that God makes beautiful? As Christians, we say the Cross is to be embraced, because it a gift - the means by which we become saints. That doesn't make it any less ugly, vulgar, and painful to go through - but God has walked that road to death and called it the way to life eternal.

As it turns out, everyone has a closet - something they fear letting out into the light. The most painful part of the closet is the silence and darkness. But we aren't meant to remain there - we are children of light. That fear doesn't come from God, who loved us before we were conceived - who Loved us into existence - and knows every past and future moment of our lives.

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We all need support in walking this broken path called life. There's no possible way I could make it without reaching out for help. There are too many "bad days" for me to even attempt to carry my dysphoria myself - and the Church is not asking me to do so.

We all desire unconditional love, and we should - that is what we are called to receive, and give in return.

We all wish be seen as beautiful, and we should - that is how we are called to be known, and have eyes to see in return.

You are not alone.

You Are a Gift

Recently I was talking with a new friend, and she ended the conversation by telling me -

"It was such a gift to receive you!"

I was so struck by that phrase, and just how she had to see me to be able to express those words. I think it needs fleshing out to get to the root of how beautiful a sentiment this is.

We certainly see infants this way, don't we? "What a blessing!" we exclaim, as we grab their tiny hands and smell their beautiful heads. They don't need to do anything - they come with exactly zero expectations beyond existence. One of my coworkers gave birth recently, and when she brought her newborn daughter into the office we all crowded around, gushing about how adorable she is and taking turns holding her.

So why do I sometimes find my eight year-old son annoying? Why are there people we simply can't stand to be around?

Why do we attach ourselves to our phones when we are surrounded by people whose stories are infinitely more interesting?

Why is "it's too awkward - I don't know what to do or say" the top impediment for those who otherwise want to serve those most in need? Do we not realize that more often than not they simply need someone to be present and allow them to open up and be seen and head?

Do we not realize how much of a gift they are to us, even when we are the ones serving?

He is Still Working

Over Thanksgiving break I was reminded of God's love while visiting my family in Phoenix. My first day I was there, my aunt brought me by her office, after which I decided to go to a noon Mass. She pointed me to St. Mary's Basilica, and I headed out from her office on foot.

On the way over, I ran into Raven. He was standing outside Subway asking for help to buy lunch. Obviously I stopped and agreed to help him, so we went in so he could make his order. We got to talking further, and I felt that tug from the Holy Spirit to invite him to church with me.

Raven thought about it, then asked where I was going. When I told him, he excitedly responded - "Oh, the Basilica? I got there for daily Mass all the time. I hadn't gotten enough money yet today so I was going to skip it, but let's go. What time is it?"

So, we grabbed his sandwich (he couldn't eat it without breaking his Eucharistic fast), and headed to the Basilica. It turns out he is a recent convert to the faith as well (he went through RCIA 3 or 4 years ago), and his wife recently left him. He's been homeless since the divorce, which has been especially hard for his relationship with their kids. With all the commonalities in our stories, it seemed fairly clear I was led to meet him on the way and remind him of God's love.

Presentation of Mary at the Temple - Stained glass at the Basilica

Oh, and the Basilica was simply beautiful! Just gorgeous. Raven was so at home there and you could just see how much he loves Our Lord. We prayed the Angelus before Mass, had wonderful music (at a noon weekday Mass!), and a solid homily. The stained glass windows depicted Our Lady's life - the Basilica is dedicated to Mary and to the mission of St. Francis - which was perfect, because it was also the Feast of the Presentation of Mary (a minor feast, but it still felt like exactly the place to be that day).

La Pieta - a copy, at least

After Mass, Raven and I talked a few minutes before he and I had to go our separate ways, but we traded email addresses and left with a big hug and such a sense of joy. For me at least, I was overjoyed to just see God's hands in this - to see His Providence, and watch Him work through me to show Raven just how important and cherished he is.

Here's what I mean: to orchestrate this (relatively minor) moment, circumstances had to align for me to be walking by Subway exactly when I was, with Raven standing there asking for food exactly when he was:

• My parents decided to come to Phoenix for Thanksgiving, which we haven't done in ages.
• I flew in on the red-eye Wednesday morning, rather than the more obvious Tuesday evening option
• My parents had to change their travel plans, so my aunt picked me up from the airport instead of them
• When my aunt picked me up at the airport, we went by her office instead of her dropping me off at the hotel (which she had suggested)
• I decided to talk to the Basilica instead of taking my aunt's offer to drive me over

Beyond that - this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't converted. If I wasn't pursuing God. If my history didn't lead me to have a particular calling to watch for those who are invisible. If Raven hadn't converted. If he hadn't failed to get the money he typically gets that day.

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Hope is tricky sometimes - seeing where God is working, and what He is doing in and through all the painful moments in our lives. Sometimes we just can't see Him in the storm and the darkness. And yet we're supposed to have confidence that He is orchestrating all things for His purposes. For His glory. For our sanctification.

Moments like this? They are such a gift. They serve as reminders in the in-between - when we just can't see Him - and they bolster our confidence and our trust. They are an anchor to hold onto.

I think this is why Israel devoted so much scripture telling stories, reminding themselves of God's principal acts of salvation - the Patriarchs; Exodus; receiving the Law; the Manna and water in the wilderness; David and the great Kingdom. In the centuries waiting for fulfillment of the promise, they had something to point back to.

We continue this in the Catholic Church through the liturgical calendar. We remind ourselves of the Church's place within salvation history, and our connection to the past, present, and future of the redemption of the world.

It's not just Easter and Christmas. It's not even just the events in Jesus's life, as solemn and important those are.

• It's the martyrdom of St. Lawrence
• It's the finding of the True Cross by St. Helena
• It's St. Francis of Assisi receiving the Stigmata
• It's St. Ignatius and his spiritual teachings
• It's St. Faustina's vision of Hell and Jesus revealing his Divine Mercy

It's St. Ignatius, and St. Juan Diego, and St. Bernadette, and the power of the rosary defeating an armada at Lepanto.

Beloved, there are so many reminders. We learn the stories of God's work - His continued work - in our world, and we teach them to our children. But it's not just the great stories. He actually is working in our day-to-day ordinary lives as well - we just can't always see how.

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This world teaches us to despair, especially with constant tragedy posted across the news. We are all one dark day away from forgetting His presence, from thinking that He only used to be present, but no longer - and certainly not in my insignificant life. These reminders teach us to trust when we can't see. Something to point back to:

"Remember what He did? He is still working."