Times are rough. Every five seconds, the news tells us something terrible that Trump and his administration has done. White Supremacists have a renewed, public boldness. Social media feeds are landmines of triggering comments about race, gender, sexuality, and many other issues that make up one's humanity.
Ten years ago if someone asked me to predict my future, I would have said that I expected to married with kids, and involved in some sort of Christian ministry. Ironically, that isn’t far from the truth, except that the specific confines of that prediction had a drastically different outcome than I (or any of my family) ever saw coming.
I am the daughter, granddaughter, niece and relative of more than ten evangelical Baptist and Methodist ministers in Alabama and Georgia. I am also an openly-gay married woman and the Alabama State Director for the Human Rights Campaign, the nation's largest civil rights organization dedicated to achieving equality for LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer) Americans.
The dust is settling from the cultural upheaval of the 2015 Obergefell v. Hodges Supreme Court decision that established marriage equality across the United States and, in my Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), the almost simultaneous adoption of a description of marriage as “between two people,” which permits pastors to preside at the weddings of two people regardless of gender.
As people who believe that Christianity has room for the LGBTQ community, we can be zealous about our efforts to win people to our side. We want people to understand that God truly does love everyone, that the Bible isn’t just a queer bashing book, and that people don’t have to throw away their faith to embrace their sexuality/gender.
Hi, my name is Izek, and I identify as a bi-racial queer transman (FTM). Most importantly, I identify as a Christian.
I have had positive and negative experiences coming out as transgender. Luckily, I already had supportive friends, family, and church community.
It happened at the end of recess, after the bell had rung and all the other junior-high kids had gone inside.
After beating him in a schoolyard basketball game of “H.O.R.S.E.,” my beefy, mop-topped classmate, whom I’ll call Neil, hurled basketballs at my chest while his friend held my arms back so that I couldn’t protect my body. “Chink!” Neil yelled angrily.