Sermon May 20, 2001

SERMONS

Religious Education

Rev. Mary Katherine Morn
May 20, 2001

When I was a child there was a period of time—it may have been a day, or maybe it was longer—when I believed that little girls grew up to be men and little boys grew up to be women. It may have simply been a proposition I posed to my mother once. It might have been a mean trick my older brothers played on me. I don’t know. But I remember believing it. Maybe it was a period when I was identifying heavily with my father. Maybe it was wishful thinking for a little girl discovering the barriers of her sex in a patriarchal culture.

I have always considered this a whimsical episode in my growing up. Until this week. It still feels a little whimsical—but there is something more that I see in it. Or feel in it. A little connection with people whom I have always considered radically different from myself. Maybe even a little identification with, at the very least some understanding of, people who are transgender.

Another thing from my childhood I just remembered, only this morning, is that I was starting second grade when the school district I was attending first allowed girls to wear pants to school. I was not living in a rural, isolated area, either. This came to me as I was thinking about what to wear this morning. I feel very fortunate to be able to wear these clothes, which I enjoy, without fear of being fired, arrested, beaten up, or worse. I realize I take this right for granted. Remembering the restrictions placed on girl’s dress as recently as my childhood puts this in perspective. And as I say that, I realize that a boy in school today does not have the same freedom. Frankly, this is not something I’ve ever thought much about. Had it come to mind under other circumstances I believe I would have laughed it off. Why would anyone want to wear a dress? No, that’s not right. I enjoy dresses. Why would anyone want to wear pantyhose?

Perhaps this sermon will be for you some of what it has been for me—a real education. Even a new language. We are not alone in this. Transgender people are themselves struggling with the words. This movement, as an organized entity, is so new that there is vast diversity in language used. It continues to evolve. I will do the best I can, with the understanding that I may not use language that satisfies all. This may be, itself, one of the most important gifts the movement for the rights of transgender people offers us: we should work to respect the language someone chooses to describe themselves.

So allow me to begin with a glossary of sorts. I am using material developed by the UUA for the Welcoming Congregation curricula. Though we are accredited as a welcoming congregation, that is a congregation that has worked to become more inclusive of people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender, when we went through the series of workshops on the subject (In 1994 and 1995) there was not much included about people who are transgender. The newly developed materials have been used now for several years and include a section specifically addressing the issues facing transgender people.

Transgender is an umbrella term used to include people who are transsexual, those who cross dress (some use the term transvestite), intersexual individuals, and people who see themselves as neither or both male and female gender, such as two spirit or third gender people. Most people prefer to use transgender without the “ed.” So it would be a transgender person rather than transgendered. Transsexual is specifically a person born with a sex assignment that is not consistent with the self-understanding they have of their gender. Some people who are transsexual receive medical treatment to change their anatomical identification. Someone who is intersexual is a person born with mixed sexual physiology. Intersexual individuals are often “assigned” a gender immediately after birth and surgically and hormonally altered to “correct” what many consider to be a problem. Two Spirit is a designation originating in native American communities. It is used for someone with ambiguous gender identification or someone who is gay or lesbian. Finally, a person is third gender whose understanding of his or her (!) gender identification transcends society’s polarized gender system. Transcending language may be the hardest barrier.

Transgender does not in any way indicate a particular sexual orientation. The solidarity, though, of people who are transgender, with people who are gay, lesbian, or bisexual results from the relationship of the oppressions. Here is how trans activist Leslie Feinberg describes the relationship:

Gays, lesbians, and bisexuals are stigmatized and oppressed because they violate social standards for acceptable sex behavior; transsexuals because they violate standards for sex identity. Intersexuals are punished for violating social standards of acceptable sex anatomy. But our oppressions stem from the same source: rigid cultural definitions of sex categories, whether in terms of behavior, identity, or anatomy.

While gay, lesbian, and bisexual people have seen great gains in acceptance and rights over the last two decades, this has not been the case for people who are transgender. Even within the g/l/b/t community, many have been slow to offer understanding and compassion.

Our exposure, those of us who identify solidly with the sex of our birth, to transgender individuals has broadened in the last few years. Many of us felt the sting of our own tears as we watched the excruciating story of Brandon Teena in the movie Boys Don’t Cry. It is the story of the person born Teena Brandon who moved to a small town in the Midwest and lived as a boy despite possessing anatomical physiology of a girl. The story ends tragically with Brandon Teena’s gang rape and murder at 21.

I saw Hilary Swank’s acceptance speech for the Academy Award before I saw the movie. Her words of honor for Brandon Teena and other transgender people were brave and articulate. She expressed her hope when she said we’ve come a long way. And she encouraged people to do more than tolerate each other. She suggested we might even celebrate diversity.

In an interview after filming the movie a reporter asked Swank if Brandon Teena was transgender, or a lesbian who just hadn’t accepted the constraints that come in our society. Swank’s answer moved me. She said because Brandon Teena was killed at the age of 21, there hadn’t yet been an opportunity for self-declaration. That sentence took me a long time to write. Can you see why? “Swank said because Brandon Teena was killed at the age of 21, there hadn’t yet been an opportunity for self-declaration.” I managed to say that without a single pronoun. That challenge makes this sermon more difficult to write than many. I am making an effort to avoid the easy pronouns in cases where people’s experience of gender is not easy. Our words restrict our expression more than we know. No doubt they restrict our experience as well.

Leslie Feinberg, author and activist, writes about struggling with the two little boxes that appear on applications of all types. “M” or “F.” Two choices. Neither of which ever really worked. Feinberg suffered ridicule and oppression because of a very masculine appearance. Once, when looking for a job Feinberg attempted to use a feminine wig and jewelry to succeed. But it only made things worse. The next experiment involved fake sideburns. And was extremely successful. And was the beginning of Feinberg’s new life passing as a man.

Feinberg’s book, Transgender Warriors, is a fascinating look at the history of gender identification and oppression of individuals of ambiguous gender. The story of Joan of Arc is one of many that illumine a long history which includes reverence for individuals who cross gender boundaries. (The reverence Joan of Arc received from the masses did not translate well with the Church which tried her in the Inquisition. Perhaps it was the reverence she received from peasants that was so threatening to them.) In the experience of Native people on this continent the two-spirit tradition seems to celebrate fluidity of gender, often honoring what some call two-spirit individuals with roles of importance in the community, often roles of religious leadership. Other traditions have had men passing as women serving as priestesses.

Feinberg reminds us that the Roman historian Plutarch described the Great Mother Goddess as hermaphroditic. This was to say the sexes had not yet been split, or divided. Fitting when you think about it. For an image of the divine to possess wholeness, to not be divided. Remember that in one of the creation stories in Genesis the Hebrew is translated: “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” Though the pronoun used here for God is confusing, many believe the message is that male and female together form the image of God that was intended.

What we learn about sex and gender is incredibly restricted by the social norms of the patriarchy which remains in power still. Feinberg would add that colonialism and materialism contribute to gender oppression, as to many other types of oppression experienced today. These complex social rules come together in what appears to be a desperate attempt to force all of us into those two little boxes. As though any deviation from this would devastate the cultural foundation that supports us in communities and families. Perhaps you have experienced the sides of those little boxes closing in on you. Perhaps you have experienced the repercussions of a minor deviation from a gender norm. In most cases the punishment is swift and harsh. There are few of us, I believe, who have not crossed over, if only just a little bit, and discovered this for ourselves.

I read a beautiful sermon earlier this year by Unitarian Universalist minister Sean Parker Dennison. Sean’s journey of transitioning from a woman to a man has all of the expected elements of alienation and fear and relief and joy. Haunted by the little boxes. These are Sean’s words:

My life does not fit those boxes. My gender is not that simple. As hard as I have tried to choose one or the other, what is true for me is that I am both. It is more comfortable and more authentic for me to move through the world as a man. in my deepest knowing of myself, a male face, a male body, and a male identity feels true. When I think of myself or describe myself, it is as a man.

At the same time, I lived thirty years of my life as a woman. I know how it is to be female in this society. I know how it is to be vulnerable to sexual assault, to be expected to be more nurturing than ambitious, to be a single mother struggling to make ends meet. I cannot simply discard that knowing or pretend those thirty years were a mistake.

I cannot choose one side of myself over the other. To choose would be to willingly let some part of myself wither and die.

Again, Sean is addressing an experience felt acutely by transgender people but often felt by others as well. Denying some part of who we are (whether gender related or not). Reducing ourselves to categories that others have defined. Letting pieces of ourselves die because they are not convenient. Transgender people offer us their courageous stories as reminders that integrity comes from a deep place in our spirits. Whenever possible, being true to ourselves is the compassionate, just thing to do. Not to mention affirming that which is true for others.

I always try to preach a sermon about love around Valentines Day. After I scheduled this topic for this Sunday last summer I began to wonder how I would make that connection. This topic has touched some of my fears. I have caught myself falling into stereotyping and even questioning some people’s behavior or appearance in the quiet places in my mind. But as this has happened I have noticed something else. Reading and hearing the voices of people who are transgender has truly opened my heart in ways I didn’t expect. I feel a little bit of fear falling away. I feel the beginning of more radical openness to others. I feel parts of myself coming back to life. As I open myself to the possibility of compassion and love for people who are different from me (and not so different), my own capacity to feel love and compassion for myself expands.

In one of the stories I read this week someone said, simply, “I have come to realize that I can be loved, not in spite of who I am, but because of who I am.” This is the journey for all of us. Loving ourselves and accepting love because of who we are. Loving each other not in spite of, but because of. This is the greatest love of all. Some call it God’s love. Some call it inherent worth and dignity. We could call it amazing grace.

I invite you today to use the alternate word in our closing hymn. Though sometimes it feels fitting to use the traditional “wretch like me,” in “Amazing Grace,” I would suggest that this morning we sing “Soul like me.” Let us set aside wretchedness for a moment at least, so that our hearts might be open to all souls.