Coming Out of the Closet š³ļøāā§ļø
PC: Madison Gang, Madison Ave. Photography; Location: Joshua Tree National Park
October 9, 2021
I knew for sure that I wanted to be a pastor when I was 18 years old. At the time, I didnāt yet realize that I had many preachers scattered through my family tree. It was only during the last year that I did the math and found that the āfamily businessā stretched back four generations on all three branches (paternal-adopted, maternal, biological). This discovery was both heart-warming and achingly sad, because I knew that Iād be leaving my most recent iteration of that vocation in the months to follow. I worked professionally as a Christian pastor in the Seventh-day Adventist denomination for 15 years; and before that, for years as a part-time, student, or intern pastor. Over that time my love deepened for the rhythm of weekly ritual, passionately crafted preaching, and moments of transcendence. As I came into my own as a professional minister, one of the hallmarks of my style became fierce authenticity and emotional availability. I loved the work, but I resisted the aura often projected on me by people for whom my title and position meant a whole lot more than āKrisā. As a preacher, it was my goal to expose my faith system, warts and all, in an effort to make space for everyone elseās imperfections (acknowledged or not). This lengthy (hereās a TLDR) article is an attempt to continue in that spirit, despite no longer being clergy by vocation.
In July of 2021, I resigned from my position at the Redlands Seventh-day Adventist Church in Southern California. Ending my short stretch as lead pastor there felt abrupt to me, to the congregation, and to many friends and colleagues. In a letter to the church, I confessed that this was not how my family and I had planned things to go when this job led my family to relocate from Walla Walla, Washington in May of 2019. Although pastoral ministry can be unspeakably taxing for ministers as well as their families, I feel grateful for the decade-and-a-half I spent in this line of work. Stepping away from it has felt desperately distressing, a loss I am still grieving.
Addressing the Redlands Church congregation in my missive that was read aloud by a colleague at the end of a weekly Sabbath service, I indicated that I was resigning for āpersonal reasons.ā That is true. At the time, it felt important to dispel incorrect explanations for my departure being disseminated by disreputable Adventist rumor mills. My resignation was unrelated to my performance as a pastor, my social media presence, any kind of theological inquiry, conflict with the church, or issues with my wonderful former colleagues. Instead, my course of action was directly related to a disclosure I had made to regional church (SECC) administrators in June; a disclosure that is also the subject of this article.
Hereās an infographic that has been pretty thoroughly passed around the web. It gives a basic outline of terms frequently applied within the LGBTQ community.
So, here it is. I am a transgender woman. Itās taken me many years to develop the confidence needed to acknowledge this truth: first to myself, later to my family and friends, and now more publicly. Obviously, ātransgenderā has become a buzzword in American culture. Yet for almost everyone I know, itās a pretty unfamiliar experience. Until coming out to them, some of my friends even believed that they didnāt know any trans people (you might too)! Personally, I think weāre pretty great š¤£š; and in all honesty, I think people ought to consider it a gift to share relationships with us. Because of prevalent unfamiliarity with the transgender experience, as well as the uniqueness of that experience from person to person, I want to explain what the label means to me, and some of the implications is has for my family. Because Iām a teacher at heart, I also want to provide some gentle education on gender (that obviously will be more useful to some than to others). If you know me already (or wish to), I hope that this may provide some footholds for our relationship journey going forward. [Click here to jump to the end for some education resources I recommend.]
Being transgender means that Iām not a āboyā or a āmanā like everyone in my life has always believed. While these are the roles I have played and labels I have accepted, they do not accurately represent who I am. Some trans people describe their experience as, āmy brain expects my body to be different than it is.ā I relate to that. We all have a sense of subconscious sex (a concept coined by the brilliant PhD biochemist Julia Serano), and mine has never aligned with my physical body or the cultural gender expectations given to me by a culture that sees me as a man. This incongruity has caused me an indescribable amount of pain, confusion, fear, shame, guilt, and despair since I was a child. Clinically speaking, my distress is known and treated as āgender dysphoriaā a marked incongruence between a personās experienced or expressed gender and the one they were assigned at birth (hereās a solid peer-reviewed journal article from the National Institute of Health website explaining it in detail). Dysphoria can come in all sorts of forms: bodily, social, and mental. I have experienced all of these. Left untreated, (or worse, treated with efforts to change a personās gender identity), gender dysphoria presents a very high risk of yielding chemical dependency, self-harm, major depression, other negative quality of life markers, and suicide (hereās a link to some current research). Gender dysphoria is rare, but itās still about as common as being born with red hair (1-2% of the population).
For me, feeling forced to perform as a boy and as a man has kind of felt like someone might if they were persistently given poorly-fitting shoes from an early age, all the way through adulthood. I can imagine such a person feeling distressed and confused by the pain and irregular movements their shoes caused (And especially so if everyone in their life insisted that the incorrect shoes were perfect!). In my case, Iāve coped by adapting myself to the ill-fitting box of masculinity, deformed my soul, and even handicapped myself to make it work. For a long time, I naturally assumed that everyoneās āshoesā fit as uncomfortably as mine (For example, it wasnāt until I was a teen that I realized every āboyā doesnāt wish they had been born a girl). Owning the truth that Iām transgender has been the hardest thing Iāve ever done. I just canāt pretend anymore that the male āshoesā Iāve been given were ever correct. (If youāre curious, check out this Reddit thread for additional analogies explaining the experience of transgender people; I liked the chocolate cake one too, haha).
Being transgender does not mean that I want a divorce (I donāt, and neither does my wonderful wife of 16 years). It is distinct from my sexual attractions. And it doesnāt mean that Iāve lost my faith. In fact, I believe God made me like this. And in some inexplicable way, I believe that my lifeās calling will only blossom after being honest about the truth. That may strike you as fanciful or idealistic, but sometimes thatās how faith works. This process for me has certainly felt like a āleapā, a deeply spiritual process of following the Spirit into the unknown. I couldnāt possibly be more grateful to be on this adventure.
I realize that this self-revelation about my gender may strike in you in diverse ways depending on your experience and the nature of our relationship. You may be feeling confusion, shock, concern, fear, anger, relief, or even a āeurekaā and vicarious joy. All totally valid reactions. You may even feel a sense of betrayal or as though the rug has been pulled out under you. Iām truly sorry. I hope you can believe me when I say that Iāve agonized over the way that this truth about myself would impact the people I love. In the end, I came to believe that I and the world would be better if I was honest. Feeling the weight of this internal tension over the last 18 months, I complained to my psychiatrist more than once, āWhy didnāt I do this sooner?! Why did I wait so long!?ā She correctly replied with a line I have reminded myself of many times since, āIf you couldāve, you wouldāve. Right now is the right time.ā
You might wonder when āI knewā. For me, it has been a gradual unfolding; an experience that this not uncommon for trans people. I have known I am trans in many different ways throughout every season of life. The knowledge has come in fragments and flashes, in nagging suspicions, in terror-filled visions, and in the most intense of emotions. At the same time, this realization has always felt dreadfully frightening given how the culture I have known generally reacts to such people. While Iāve had lots of hunches, Iāve always had very good reason to ignore them! In fact, it has felt for many years that merely asking the question was like opening Pandoraās Box, like mere curiosity itself was forbidden.
What Iām saying is that this isnāt new. But the way I know has changed, clarified. It was only recently that I began looking at the many indicators in concert with one another (instead of only individually). This honest and holistic exploration led me to the undeniable conclusion. At the risk of becoming TMI, I want to share some specifics so you can get a flavor for how thorough I have been in my personal work, and also how unreasonable it feels to draw any other conclusion from the ādataā.
I knew I was different at age 9 when I was shamed by family members for liking āgirl thingsā such as jewelry and the oft-maligned but ever-magical boy band āNew Kids on the Blockā. I knew it at 12 when I secretly tried girlsā clothes that I had stolen or stumbled across while on vacation or in my motherās store. I knew it when I was captivated by trans people portrayed on daytime trash-tv like Geraldo Rivera, which sensationalized people like me and used us for the butt of jokes (something that is still happening in private conversations and via mass media). I knew it at age 19 when I prayed at night for God to change me into a girl as I slept. I knew it when I watched the Matrix and immediately imagined what it would be like to swallow my own red pill and wake up in a true reality where I was a cisgender girl. I knew it in college while prayer-journaling endlessly about āhealingā from these thoughts, begging for Godās forgiveness, and desperately wishing I would no longer have these intrusive desires. The list of moments when āI knewā is practically endless. I have known it while looking at myself in the mirror, hating my body. I have known it as disassociation manifesting in a lack of self-care and disinterest in appearance. I knew I was trans when I tried to tell my wife just prior to our wedding, clumsily explaining the weird envy I felt for women. I knew each time I sought out a new mode of conversion therapy as a young adult. I knew when I felt jealousy about my wifeās pregnancies with our children, and incredible grief at the reality that I will never experience that myself. I knew I was trans every time I felt the pain of hearing friends or family joke about gender-non-conforming people, misgender trans people we knew, or otherwise maligning the LGBTQ community. I knew I was trans on all those menās retreats I attended in order to feel more comfortable living as a man (I never did), when writing my book about secrets (yes, I see the irony there š¤¦š»āāļø- and yes, I know itās in my ādeadnameā, a difficult decision Iād be happy to evaluate with you if you ask), and repeatedly at pastorsā meetings after being bludgeoned by colleaguesā uncharitable and often downright cruel comments about LGBTQ people. I have known it through the incredible emotional release that I experienced over the past 12 months (Iāve never cried more often or more intensely in my entire life). Iāve known it through the good fruits that have come from being true to the way that God made me: Iām calmer, happier, more confident, and at greater peace than I have ever known prior. I know it in the relationship I have with Jesus, which has never been more intimate, and which has consistently resulted in mystical verifications that Iām on the right track. I have known it in what is often called āgender euphoriaā, unbelievable joy emerging from otherwise banal things like getting my ears pierced, removing unwanted body hair, wearing dresses, and being called āsheā and āmaāamā by strangers in public. I knew I was trans during dozens of support group meetings when Iāve heard friends inexplicably verbalize my own story while telling theirs. I knew I was trans when I came to a strange sense of peace about the reality of suffering and loss of status that was in my future due to transitioning within a cultural context that is steeped in persistent prejudice against trans people along with the evil of misogyny. My conclusions were strengthened by the consensus of my medical team, including my psychiatrist, who carefully and slowly verified my observations over many months. I literally could go on and on describing the ways in which I know Iām trans, the persistency of these feelings, and their consistent intrusiveness into the facade of maleness.
Over the years when my awareness of these feelings periodically surfaced in isolation, it felt terrifying. In the context of my childhood, living in 1990s small-town rural America (and within Seventh-day Adventist subculture to boot!), we didnāt have (charitable or empathetic) language to describe what I was experiencing. Already harmed by abandonment as a child, I couldnāt risk anyone finding out! And besides, for many years, I internalized and agreed with the harsh judgments I had heard about queer people from the adults in my life (Looking back, Iām ashamed to consider how my enthusiastic fundamentalism as an adolescent may have harmed other people like me.) Because my convictions were largely in alignment with my community of faith, when gender dysphoria came up for me over the years, I conscientiously followed the church's prescribed plan: suppression at all costs. If I followed the steps well enough, I believed God would āheal" me. As a teenager, college student, and young pastor, I eagerly threw myself into all the therapy, retreats, interventions, and spiritual contentment exercises I could muster. I believed what I had been taught: I must deny this depraved wickedness in order to be good enough for God. That lie nearly killed me.
This 2007 film was helpful for me in putting words to the theological shift that had already been occurring within me for years.
Even toward the end of my undergraduate years when my theological beliefs and moral convictions relating to LGBTQ+ people shifted, I wasnāt able to apply them to myself. While I was able to have compassion on friends, and very slowly and quietly began to speak up for the marginalized in church communities, I couldn't bring myself to apply that grace to my own stifled queerness. I believed God made space for LGBTQ+ people, but just not for me. My faith wasnāt big enough to encompass the One who welcomes all in unspeakable love without condition. This underlying inconsistency in my heart kept me in denial for a very long time. It was much more comfortable to avoid looking seriously at my identity than facing rejection. And so I continued to follow the churchās requirements for people like me, even while I couldnāt in good conscience demand them of the LGBTQ+ people to whom I ministered. When it came to my own gender identity, I repressed it, denied it, condemned it, (and on occasion) confessed it, attempted to heal it, went to war with it, etc.
Those strategies "worked" for suppressing individual aspects of dysphoria for more than 30 years (at least insofar as they kept me from taking an honest and collective look). But last summer, when I spiraled into the most profound dysphoria-induced depression I had ever experienced, the churchās prescription fell apart. Feeling trapped in a body and gender roles that didnāt fit, hopeless to change, and weighed down by the belief that Iād lose everything if I took my distress seriously, I found myself asking troubling questions. Would be less painful for my family and community to lose me in a tragic accident or disappearance than to know the truth and witness me transition genders? Needless to say, these thoughts were sobering and scary. All the work to make myself good enough for the denomination, good enough for God, and good enough for my community left me wanting to escape, even if by death. This is the truth of unaffirming theology: it is life-threatening for LGBTQ people. Being honest about these realizations was terrifying.
One night in September of 2020, as the Spirit spoke to me through an old pastor colleague of mine, I found myself "talked off the ledge" of suicidal ideation and into honest courage. In the months since the Spirit has brought miracle after miracle into my lifeāI have heard Her voice in SO SO many ways. And as a consequence, my soul has shifted from apprehensive curiosity to confident obedience. Today, I am every bit as convicted of God's call to transition genders as I was to marry my wife, train in theology, go to seminary, and accept each call to serve churches over the years. Despite the unspeakable sadness that I've experienced this summer, I've genuinely never felt more joy.
I donāt know a great many transgender people yet. But from the conversations Iāve had so far, Iāve come to believe that while transition shares general themes from person to person, it is unique to the individual. For me so far, transitioning to live as the woman I know myself to be has been slow, non-linear, and full of frustration, wonder, fear, sadness, and happiness. I canāt tell you the precise day last winter when I finally accepted the truth of my need to move forward into change, but I know that the process since has been at the pace of the farm. Youāre welcome to ask about what transition has looked like so far, or in the future. Iāll let you know what Iām comfortable sharing (FYI, hereās a link to an article about things that generally feel appropriate and/or painful for trans people). At this time, I am presenting as myself most of the time while still having to occasionally put on that old male persona due to banal circumstances and safety considerations. It can be a dangerous world for trans people, and I have yet to change any legal documents or picture-ID to match my identity. This makes life a little complex at times.
My great-grandmother Esther W.
Speaking of which, my name is āEsther,ā after my maternal great-grandmother and paternal grandmother. But some of my family and friends have been calling me the shortened nickname āElleā (pronounced like the letter L). I like both equally and you are welcome to use either. My pronouns are she/her/hers. In any case, I want you to know that if we have shared a relationship in the past, I very much wish for you to continue walking with me and my family as a friend and ally. On the flip side, I also want you to know that even if you choose not to be supportive, or even actively oppositional, I will still proceed. Iām not asking for your approval on this matter. I canāt. I must do this, wherever the road leads. Itās that serious. And as it happens, I believe this to be my lifeās āwildernessā experience (you might remember the sermon on this concept I preached back in Mayā¦the final one at Redlands Church as it turned out). As hard as itās been and as hard as I expect it to continue being, I have a strange sense of peace. (I guess responding to the Spirit does that sometimes, huh?) Iām happier, calmer, and more clear-eyed than I have been in a very long time. I feel more like myself than ever.
Looking ahead, I do have some apprehensions, however. You might have them too. Some of my fears have materialized already, others Iām still facing with courage. In truth, I have a lifetime of anxieties about being transgender built up in my head, protecting me from facing the truth (you might too). These fears and judgments and outright prejudices have kept me safe, but they also have kept me stuck. What I believe though is that our fears have to dictate what happens next. We can be courageous. We can have the conversations that need to be had; we can grow closer; we can come out the other side of this better people. You and I and the rest of our little family can dare to hope.
This is an interview I did with Adventist Today in November of 2021 with Lindsay Painter. It explores more of my relationship with spirituality.
Based on some questions Iāve already received from people with whom I have shared previous versions of this letter (Iāve been rolling it out little by little so as to better manage my anxiety about rejection), you may have concerns about how Iāve made sense of all this theologically and philosophically. At times, preemptive pressure to defend myself has felt overwhelming ā and so far, the most intense debates have taken place only in my mind! Iām hoping that it mostly remains that way (*wink, wink, *hint, hint). Suffice it to say, Iāve reflected on these things conscientiously and thoroughly. And in the end, my sense of peace comes as much from private transcendent moments, as it has from theological frameworks, as it again has from grappling with the scientific consensus. I want to cautiously share a little bit about where Iām coming from, without taking a strong posture of education or argumentation. What I know for sure is that there are a great many pastors, theologians, and deeply devoted followers of Jesus who have done incredible work over the years, furthering the conversation about LGBTQ+ believers. And of course, this is to say nothing of the hundreds of activists, spiritual thinkers from other religious traditions, politicians, teachers, and artists who have forged the path enabling me to live honestly. The awareness of this community (past and present) not only gives me the confidence that Iām not alone but also has provided an enormous amount of wisdom to absorb. I may join that ācloud of witnessesā someday, contributing to the conversation myself. But for now, Iām just making sense of this for me, and Iāve decided to let you listen in a bit on my process.
At the core of my theology is a conviction that the Divine is in essence, love. I believe that God loves me not in spite of my transness, but because of it. I believe they made me exactly as I am ā and as such that I am a gift; worthy; enough; beautiful; needed. I concluded my book about secrets with an acknowledgment of God, who I believe crafted my beautiful soul into existence and breathes beyond any religion can predict or imagine. I believe she has made herself known through the love of people, in the beauty of music, by scientific inquiry, within private dreams, by way of therapists and mentors, at the hands of medical professionals, in the midst of waterfalls, through the testimony of truth-tellers on Twitter, in the touch of sweet old grandmaās, through the person of Jesus, via authors and poets, and sometimes even politicians and pastorsā¦ā I believe in a God who has bent the arc of the universe toward grace, in His very essence is love, and who is always more inclusive than any being or ideology of which humans can conceive. I believe in the God who loves you and me exactly as we are, as we were, and as we will beāmore expansively than any of us could ask or imagine. In the end, my faith is in this God of love. These underlying convictions shape how I read the Bible, interpret the Spirit in the world, and assemble my ethic.
But beyond that broad viewpoint, I want to list some ideas and resources that have been helpful in shaping my theological orientation to gender and sexuality. If you are primarily familiar with the Adventist worldview, some of these may be new to you.
Austen Hartke is a transgender man who is also a theologian and digital pastor. He operates a ministry called Transmission Ministry Collective, a support network for transgender Christians like me. His book is an excellent introduction to the trans experience for people of faith. One of the topics he discusses is a model from Mark Yarhouseās (PhD Psychology professor at Wheaton College, a conservative evangelical university) āUnderstanding Gender Dysphoriaā. Yarhouse provides three options for how the church can relate to trans people: outright rejection, cautious empathy, or enthusiastic inclusion. Hartke thoughtfully and Biblically challenges Yarhouseās insistence that the best option is the second: to consider gender dysphoria like a disability that shouldnāt be judged, but also not to be addressed with either conversion therapy (which is harmful and thankfully outlawed in some states) nor gender transition (which has been widely demonstrated to reduce the severest effects of gender dysphoria).
Alicia Johnston, an Adventist pastor who resigned a few years ago after coming out as LGBTQ, is a colleague and friend of mine. She wrote a not-yet-released book applying an Adventist hermeneutic to the many problematic concepts and texts that have been used to harm LGBTQ people over the years. But instead of yielding an unaffirming theology, her conscientious work yielded a decidedly inclusive approach. If youāre an Adventist, her work is a must-read (when itās released). In the meantime, check out a wonderful multi-part podcast that she did on Enough Room with queer Adventists Dand and Jo, in which she outlines many of the concepts found in the book. Additionally, also check out a similar conversation Johnston has with Jose Briones on Disruptive Adventism, a one-part interview covering many of the same themes.
3. Bishop Gene Robinson, the first openly gay person to be ordained in the Anglican Church as a bishop, wrote an article about Trans people and the church that resonated with me. I have met Robinson personally and had a wonderful conversation with him at Sundance Film Festival one year during which we talked about a documentary made about his life, āLove Free or Dieā. I have a lot of respect for this gentle and Christ-like man who is also fiercely apologetic for unconditional love. His article covers some of the texts and topics that Alicia Johnston does in her podcast episodes but using a broader Christian framework.
4. There is a theme throughout the scriptures illustrating Godās inclusion of people who transgress gender norms. Often, those perceived to be excluded are included by God, and āGodās peopleā are continually enlarged. This is compelling to me as an indicator of both the creatorās affirmation of peopleās continued creative work in Her image, but also of His underlying unconditional love of all of his creatures, regardless of how they express gender. Some examples of this theme include the changes in the way that Godās people are invited to treat Eunuchs as history marches on, and the examples of gender-expansive heroes throughout the bible: Jacob, Joseph, Deborah, Paul, Junia, Mary, and many others.
5. I have greatly been helped by Rachel Mannās careful description of transition through her eyes as an ordained Anglican Priest. In āDazzling Darknessā, she paints a picture of gender transition being a spiritual journey, led by God, and deeply mystical. So far for me, this has matched exactly. One of the things that I appreciated about her looks at scripture and culture is how they always seem to hold an empathetic and practical eye for both herself and those who would condemn her. This intoxicating posture that feels exactly like the love of Jesus can also be felt through the exuberant writing of Kate Bornstein in āGender Outlawā. I love how both of these women insist on the integration of their full selves, through both the parts of their lives when they lived and were perceived as men and the post-transition parts where they experienced life as women. Although I have repressed a part of myself for many years, I am still me. The things Iāve taught, the spirit with which Iāve preached, the authenticity Iāve demonstrated, the heart that Iāve given to my work; thatās all real and I want it to continue fueling me and helping others. I see this process of transition as peeling back another layer on who God made me to be, not sidestepping into a new stream of identity. In fact, if my ministry touched you, I think it is BECAUSE Iām transgender, not in spite of it. My soul is what it is because this is how God made me.
6. Daneen Akersā book, āHoly Troublemakers and Unconventional Saintsā has been an inspiring nightly read in our home for more than a year. Iām ever grateful for her profound and heartfelt resource of dozens of stories of diverse people of faith who did justice, loved mercy, and walked humbly with their God. This book really puts heart and soul to many people of faith, including quite a number of trans people, and what it feels like to be one of us in this world. It gave me a lot of courage to embrace the reality that there a great GREAT many of us out there, even if cishet power brokers donāt realize it. I believe God is on the side of inclusion. Highly recommended for young and old.
7. A number of other theological resources I have found helpful include:
Beyond a Binary God: A Theology for Trans* Allies by Tara K. Soughers
This Is My Body: Hearing the Theology of Transgender Christians by Christina Beardsley
Trans-gender: Theology, Ministries, and Communities of Faith by Justin Tanis
Transgender, Intersex, and Biblical Interpretation by Teresa J. Hornsby and Deryn Guest
The last 12 months have been painful and scary as I have already indicated, and as is easy to imagine. I knew God called me to be a pastor when I was just 18 years old; you may have walked with me in the discernment process back then. My whole life has revolved around joining Spirit in ministry ever since. I love almost every aspect of the work; giving myself to it is on a very short list of wishes I have desired most in life. Consequently, stepping away from being a pastor has proven to be one of the most tremendous losses I have ever experienced. I can't express how excruciating it has been to grieve my career.
When I first moved to California, I would have only admitted my suspicions about my transness if forced under duress. And even in that circumstance, I would have insisted that I could live contentedly as a man, that I didnāt need to transition. But like I said above, that plan worked until it ran its course, leading to suicidal ideation. During my time of earnest searching, I not only came to trust that God made me this way, but I also was able to start believing that She did so for reasons I'm just beginning to scratch the surface on understanding). However, I was not so idealistic to dream that the larger Seventh-day Adventist organizational system (or even my local expression of that denomination) would accommodate either my transition or an underlying philosophy that would affirm it. While I wished to keep working as a pastor, I knew that that would not likely be possible. This, despite the fact that my faith was stronger than ever, and that these experiences have already made me more Jesus-like, and a better pastor (given the chance). But as an ordained minister, I knew I had placed myself under the authority of the church community. I wanted to honor that. So when I felt brave enough, I brought the conversation to the administrative team in So. Cal. I wanted to avoid āscandalā if at all possible, and I believed my leaders deserved an honest explanation. The outcome was predictable. But I canāt lie, I have literally spent hours sobbing over this loss that has finally been realized, wishing that the church could have made space for me. It has felt like mourning a death.
You may have questions about the details regarding these interactions with the SECC. While I empathize, I have agreed to keep them confidential. I have a lot of feelings about the denomination, all of which Iām working through in therapy. I do not, however, feel a great lake of resentment. Iām a mature leader. I know that this is how organizations work. All things considered, I think the administrators tried to act for the good within the complicated system in which they were operating.
For my part, I consider it a terrible injustice that competent, qualified, experienced, and effective ministers should lose their careers purely because theyāre LGBTQ. In time, I believe the church (both Adventists and Christians at large) will come to regret its policy, and rightly ask for forgiveness. But in the next breath, I must say that I am circumspect enough to realize that as a pastor, I have been a part of this system, enabling and benefitting from the oppression of people like me (despite my intentional resistance to the contrary). Iām not crying for sympathy here. Iām also not willing to pretend that what has happened is ok. Current church policies were substantively harmful to me as they have been to LGBTQ people for centuries. The trauma is real, and thatās the truth.
You may be wondering how my family is doing. (Iām sorry to keep you hanging, I saved the most important for last!). I donāt want to speak much for my wonderful wife, Paige, as she is her own person (and the most determined and courageous person I have ever met). Please consider reading her thoughts in her own words here on Facebook in a post she recently made. But from my perspective, this has been profoundly difficult as you might guess. As hard as itās been for me, itās been similarly heavy for her. We recently reflected together on the fact that the last year has undoubtedly been the most difficult in either of our lives. The two of us have been married for 16 years and we met each other in first grade, 33 years ago. The fear of hurting her, and damaging our marriageāmore than anything elseāwas the driving force behind me keeping trans-ness a secret these years. Last October, I shared more completely with Paige my suspicions about my gender, my conviction to explore the truth, and my abject terror about what it all meant. This was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Iām proud of my courage, but also feel guilty for the upheaval it initiated in our home. We both have cried an ocean of tears during this journey (And itās definitely been a journey ā for both of us, and for our relationship). In the end, Iām obscenely grateful we have walked this path together.
Paige and I are continuing in marriage, even happier than before. We still love each other. We still are attracted to each other. We still respect and admire each other. We both share a very similar worldview and philosophy of marriage. Our souls are connected through our shared trauma and suffering. We are both absolutely devoted to the well-being of our children. None of that has changed. And as our relationship has and will continue to do, some of the details are changing. Funny enough, my sense is that my wife, in her practicality, would really like to āget on with lifeā and stop agonizing over this stuff like Iām doing in this ridiculously lengthy letter. (And by the way, she has read it in detail as well ā and is considering adding her own reflection on my coming out and transition as well).
Honestly, the reality of remaining married, this deep and intimate relationship we have forged, feels like a heavenly dream. Iām not foolhardy enough to assume that thereās no more work ahead of us ā but with all the resources we are privileged to have available to us, I believe we will continue blossoming. Something we both believe is that our bond is stronger today than it has ever been. Our commitment to each other has not changed, and I expect it to only grow. Believe it or not, we have met many, many other couples like us across the country through support groups that we both attend every week (Check the P.S. below. Iāve listed a book that tells one of these stories). We are not alone. We even have had a few new friends over to the house and that has been a huge blessing and support. I can hardly believe I feel this way, but I know now that we are going to be ok. More than that, I believe we are going to continue thriving. Thatās another gift from God.
Our sons also know about me being transgender. Prior to me coming out, we had been teaching them about LGBTQ+ people and other folks who are different than the perceived norm for some time (like I already mentioned, Daneen Akersā book Holy Troublemakers and Unconventional Saints has been a holy gift in that regard). Hence, they did have a frame of reference (and even knew what ātransgenderā meant) before entering the conversation. Without a doubt, it has been an adjustment and will continue to present our family with challenges in the coming years. But theyāre coping admirably so far and I expect that to continue in the big picture. Our older child is extremely angry at the church and resentful of his former school for not being a safe place for trans people like me. He feels defensive of his family and outraged that any religion could do something so āunchristianā as push us out (his words). Our younger child misses seeing his friends (and really, many who to him felt like extended family) from the church; itās been a drastic change to shift away from weekly contact with a community of faith we had grown to love. I feel dreadfully sad about drawing boundaries and creating distance with the church. Some of that is again by policy, but another part of it is safety. Both Paige and I want to protect our family from exposure to anyone who might try to undermine the culture we are creating at home by expressing their ignorance, judgment, misguided comments, or obtrusive questions.
The happy truth is that our kids are absolutely thriving through all this. They are attending a new school that has proven to be an excellent āresetā for both of them. Both boysā teachers know me as Esther and are eagerly supportive of what we are trying to create in our family. They have hooked up with the school counselor and a therapy dog program that has been wonderful for them in processing these things. This is in addition to their own private therapists at home and supportive grandparents, aunts, uncles, and others. Both kids are blossoming academically, musically, socially, and physically. We coudlnāt be more grateful. Weāre still not sure what we will do next when it comes to church; we all need some time to heal, I think. I feel a lot of guilt for initiating this upheaval in our familyās life. I grieve for my sonsā future selves who will have to process this trauma weāre going through together. It is not fair. At the same time, they also are getting to have me in their lives happier, less reactive, and wiser than ever. Theyāve taken to calling me āMapa,ā a name we decided on together and that is starting to feel more and more natural for all of us.
My parents have been remarkable with this news. It is a terrifying thing to share this kind of thing with your folks, especially if youāre someone like me who has old inner demons of abandonment lurking around. But they have shown up for me, consistently, just as they always have. And I canāt be more grateful for that considering how common it is for LGBTQ people to be disowned by their religious family upon coming out. In addition to my mom and dad, my three sisters and their partners, a great number of other relatives including cousins and distant aunts/uncles, and many from my community of friends have been stunningly affirming, handling the news in stride, if even with some tears and confusion. It feels like a dream to get to be honest while also remaining in relationship with people I love. To my shame, I never thought both would be possible at the same time. Others in my life have been cautiously kind, or at least polite, which I think beats the alternative. Aside from that, new friends have bubbled up through the cracks, welcoming me āon the other sideā as I had hoped in my wildest dreams. Perhaps you will be one of them?
The picture in the heading of this article was taken as a family shoot just prior to me starting hormone replacement therapy. The session took place out in Joshua Tree and was kind of intended as a sort of grief-ritual for the changes we were entering as a family. It was fun but sad, and also really beautiful. I chose this particular photograph because of the way it expresses the reality of where we are at. Moving forward, still in the wilderness, but together, with courage, and exercising unexplainable faith in the God of love who pulls us onward.
So, what is next on the other side of that wilderness? While we donāt fully know, we are making plans. Besides just living our lives and loving our kids and laughing and learning, one of the things that the future holds for our family is a season of school for Mapa in addition to the kiddos. Earlier in August, I began a Masters in Family Therapy program at Alliant University to train for professional work in my second half of life. At age 40, I had not anticipated being back in school full-time taking out new student loans, and going back to the drawing board with my career, but here I am. The program is a wonderful fit for me both practically and ideologically. I am out as Esther in class and the program is exceedingly affirming in its culture and curriculum. Iād be more than happy to talk with you further about this if you have questions.
I want to close with a word about vocation. Iām still a pastor. I still have the calling. Iām grateful to my friends who have reminded me of that over the preceding months. My congregation may have shifted; I may have taken a break from parish-work; but I very much see my new educational endeavors as fitting within the lens of my life-mission. For more than a decade, I have repeated to myself a statement of purpose that I received in a mystical way on a spiritual retreat in the woods. I was made by God to create inclusion; through blessing, teaching, and authenticity. This call feels all the more poignant in light of my gender-transition.
For those of you who have made it this far in my lengthy letter, you might be wondering what you can do to help. Thank you for your concern. Here are some suggestions. (1) Reach out to me or my wife, especially if you have kind and affirming words to share. Iām on social media platforms (links are in the footer of this website). (2) Purchase a copy of my book, or twenty! Write a review on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. (3) Watch out for me and other trans people on social media; speak up for us in the face of ignorance and cruelty. It can be exhausting to routinely see the validity of oneās identity be misunderstood or condemned. (4) If you are in a comfortable position financially, consider supporting our family during this time. We are currently living off my wifeās salary and my part-time job at her company while I attend school full-time. Our portion of health insurance has increased significantly due to my career change, lasting for the next ~24 months ($1,100+/mo). In addition, tuition itself is $60,000, a monumental unplanned expense. We have set up a GoFundMe, but there are many other options should you be so inclined. (5) Help us normalize and destigmatize this process for our children. If you interact with us, please call me by my name, Esther, use the correct pronouns for me (she/her/hers), and call me āMapaā like my kids. This is a subtle but important way you can support our family. (6) Fashion consulting. š¤£ššBut really tho, haha. (7) Invite me to preach or teach or present or speak. One of the parts of pastoral ministry that I loved the most was public speaking. Iād love the occasional opportunity to continue with that. If youāre in such a position and would value hearing from a trans woman, hit me up!
Thank you once again for taking the time to read my article here, and in advance for blessing the world with grace and love.
Esther
Original Facebook Post & Comments
Recommended Educational Resources
Click to watch, Aidan Keyās āA Conversation About Genderā
I included a list of theological resources above in the body of the letter. Click here to bounce back.
If all of this is entirely new to you, consider starting with Katie Couricās documentary about gender, āGender Revolutionā. It is available on Disney+, but is also available for free on Facebook.
There are a couple of good presentations given in academic settings that could provide more substantive material if youād like to learn a little more deeply about some of the technical ins and outs of transgender people and transition. Aiden Key started Trans Families which is an organization built to support families who have gender-expansive children. He gives a lecture here at Tacoma Community College that is similar to one he gives around the country on university campuses. It is very good.
Another option is a presentation by Dr. William Powers, D.O., who is a hormone specialist that has built his practice around treating transgender people. His perspective of experience and expertise is very instructive. He also has a wellspring of compassion for people like me, which makes him therapeutic to listen to š¤£
āLove Lives Here: A Story of Thriving in a Transgender Familyā by Amanda Jette Knox (not the lady accused of murder in Italy), a delightful Canadian writer who blogs about being a mother, a spouse, and an overall good person with a lot of snark and humor :) āLove Lives Hereā helped me so much, and Paige too. Highly recommended.
āTransformingā by Austen Hartke. I already mentioned his book above. He runs the support group that I have found life-saving over the past year. (http://austenhartke.com/book)
āPray Awayā, a recent Netlix documentary about conversion therapy. https://www.netflix.com/title/81040370 - One of the people featured in the program is Julie Rodgers. She just published a book called āOut Loveā, it is also one that I recommend. You may also already be familiar with āBoy Erased,ā a 2018 film by Focus Features about the harm caused by conversion therapy programs.
Another show on Netflix that I found resonance with is āDisclosureā, a documentary featuring many transgender people in the entertainment industry, reflecting on what it has been like to see us (mis)represented by mass media. A similar program with a more broad focus is HBOās āThe Trans Listā, another interesting explanation of what it feels like for many people to be trans. I resonate with some of the people featured on this documentary.
āDazzling Darknessā by Rachel Mann is another I already mentioned. She is an Anglican priest in England. https://www.amazon.com/Dazzling-Darkness-Gender-Sexuality-Illness/dp/1849522413
Hereās a link to a podcast episode interviewing her (youāll have to fast-forward past some nonsense to get to it): https://www.nomadpodcast.co.uk/nomad-120-rachel-mann-a-trans-woman-meets-a-queer-god/āFifty Shades of Genderā is a podcast by Esther Lemmons. I have learned something from almost every episode; a recent one I appreciated was with Beverly Little Thunder: https://www.fiftyshadesofgender.com/beverly/ - Paige and I have both since been interviewed by Esther Lemmons.
I recommend a conversation that Krista Tippet had with a Jewish Orthodox lady named Joy Ladin. āOn Beingā is one of my favorite podcasts, and this episode is one of the best ;) https://onbeing.org/programs/joy-ladin-finding-a-home-in-yourself/
In terms of pure entertainment value, going back and watching the Wachowskiās āThe Matrixā through the lens of the transgender allegory it was intended to be could be an illuminating exercise. In addition, I also enjoyed the first season of Sense8, which features a lead character who is also transgender. I soaked up āPoseā last month, binging it to the bitter end, haha :) MJ Rodriguez, a talented transgender actor, is brilliant in this show that I think originally aired on FX but is now available on Netflix.
Finally, here is a Spotify playlist of music that has been meaningful to me during this time. Feel free to listen if youāre curious or need a pick-me-up. (There are also some tear-jerkers on here, but oddly enough, I have found crying to be rather helpful, ha.)
TL:DR
I am a transgender woman. This fact is related to my resignation from the church. I have āknownā it for a long time, but only recently put all the pieces together to the point that I fully KNOW and accept it. Paige and I are staying together. The kids know are doing fine. All of our family knows and has been supportive. My name is Esther, pronouns she/her/hers, and my kids call me āMapaā. My faith is stronger than it has ever been and has been integral in choosing to proceed with transition. I am scared, angry, brave, grateful, and absolutely full of joy. I am going back to school to become a Marriage and Family Therapist. Please consider educating yourself if Iām the only (or one of very few) trans person you think you know. I cherish your friendship and support.