Epworth United Methodist Church

Epworth United Methodist Church
The Rev. David Weekley, Pastor
08-30-09
James 1: 17-27

My Book Report

Opening Prayer: May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable to you, O God, our Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer. Amen.

First of all, I want to thank-you for being here this morning in worship, and for giving me an opportunity to share a little about my manuscript.

I chose to do this is worship because my manuscript, my story, at its’ core is a spiritual story and journey; it is a faith journey.

Formally I have been working on my book for about five years, in reality it has been in process for many more years than this- for more than half a century!

A few months ago someone asked me what my book is about. This has been a difficult question to answer until this morning.

I searched for some concise way to reply and said something about it being about my life, my theology and my relationship with the United Methodist Church, to which he responded, “Well, that will sell about one hundred copies!”

He may be right about that; in fact my book may never be published.

That is alright, and it is not what is most important.

What is important is that story of my life, my faith journey is shared authentically with you in this house of worship.

It is my response this morning to the Scripture reading from James 1:22: “But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.”

All of us carry early life memories and experiences with us through the years, aspects, dimensions of our lives that form our core.

In our present culture one aspect of life first named and differentiated is the question of whether a baby or child is a boy or a girl. How that question is answered leads to all sorts of ramifications in life as socialization happens.

The toys we play with, the colors we like, the clothes we wear, our friends, and even though there has been progress, there are still activities and professions that are considered dependent upon our sexual identity.

Most often there is no problem between perceived, external gender and that baby or child’s spirit and core identity- but this is not always so.

In my case it was not so.

From earliest memory, I saw myself as a boy. The boy who would grow into the man you see here today.

My fantasies were about being a football hero, or someone like Zorro, or a military hero.

My friends were other boys on the street. We played baseball, kick-the-can, football, and other games. We built clubhouses by the frog pond.

When I was about 5 years old I discovered by older brother’s discarded First Holy Communion Suit. It first perfectly and I really liked wearing it, so much so, that my parents turned it into my Halloween costume that Fall so they could get rid of it.

So, one of my very earliest, formative memories and experiences is me as a little boy.

At first this was no problem, but when I entered public school and kindergarten everything changed, because when the world looked at me, heard my name and talked to my family, they saw a little girl.

As you can imagine, things only worsened as I grew older.

By third grade it was clear I did not fit my assigned gender, and did not fit in a culture that had little or no reference to my experience.

Another early, formative memory and experience that forms and informs who I am today is my love of God, and sense of being loved, and connected.

My older brother’s First Communion suit was special to me because I knew Communion had to do with Church. When I was little, Bishop Fulton Sheen had a program on television every week, and I used to love watching it.

There was something about his whole personhood that made me feel close to the Jesus he spoke about and told stories of in his messages.

The love of Christ he personified for me carried over into other parts of my life. I used to line up my stuffed animals in my bedroom, open one of my storybooks, and “preach” to them. I wish I could remember what I said.

I do remember sitting outside on summer days when I was nine or ten with our family Bible trying to read it from beginning to end! And I recall I never made it past Genesis that year! But I also loved sitting outside and talking to God. It’s not that I heard some literal voice speaking back, but I always felt a connection and a guiding presence, even as a very young child.

So, my two earliest memories and formative experiences in life were:

1. I am a little boy, who is different in some way from other boys, and from other people.

2. I am loved by God, and I love God.

These internal truths are what sustained me during all that was to come.

In addition, I was blessed in my life by several adults and peers who saw me through what became a truly horrific adolescence and early young adulthood as many people, peer groups and institutions tried to force me into an identity I could never own.

Again and again in my life, when things seemed hopeless or at an end, grace intervened.

Two examples stand out for me today. The first took place when I was 15 years old.

I was at a friend’s house and as I walked into the kitchen I heard his mom on the telephone talking about a woman named Christine Jorgenson; as I listened I learned she had not always been seen as a woman, but had been born a male.

She had undergone what was then called sex-reassignment surgery in Sweden.

There was a new hope born in me that day.

As I listened quietly to the conversation, with rising hope I realized that

If she could find medical help, so could I. So, at the age of fifteen I determined I would begin to save money to travel to Sweden to obtain medical help to become the whole person, the whole man I understood myself to be.

From the moment I first heard this conversation, grace seemed to intervene at the right moments.

A family friend connected me with their family physician. A trusted teacher in my high school helped me find other supportive adults to talk to about my experience.

When I told my parent, my older brother and my grandfather they not only were supportive, but they expressed relief to finally know how to help me.

Finally, when the time was right, I made a phone call about where I might go to find medical help for a transgender person?

The answer that came back the next day stunned me: I did not even need to leave my own city.

There was a medical team for transgender persons at the University Hospitals in Cleveland, Ohio.

I began meeting with a medical team there in 1972; I was twenty-one years old.

For the next three years I worked with this team, completing every necessary medical, psychiatric, psychological, and socialization test necessary for transgender surgery.

This included beginning hormone therapy, changing legal documents, finding a job and living as a man for a full year before any consideration of surgery.

I did all of these things, and in 1974 and 1975 underwent a series of surgeries to help make my external gender match my internal one as a man.

The night before my first surgery I prayed a prayer of both thankfulness and intercession to God from my hospital bed, and I fell asleep at peace….

In 1992 I preached a sermon at First United Methodist Church in Corvallis, Oregon. It was the day that congregation voted to officially become a Reconciling Congregation, which, in the United Methodist Church, defines a church that is intentionally welcoming to gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, and transgender people.

In the early part of the message, I shared a true story from my life for the first time.

No-one there knew it was about me personally, but it still felt good to stand in the pulpit and speak a part of my hidden truth.

This is what I shared that day:

It had become a ritual by the time I was in high school. I would get off the bus, enter my house, and go directly to my room. Then I would throw my books on a chair, pound the walls with my fists and cry- cry asking God, “Why?” And then asking God to help me, to change me; to make me whole, lovable, and able to share my love for others openly, like my friends could. I never thought about going to the Church. Distant memories of the church were of judgment and condemnation for people like me. The church never seemed to offer anything caring, or helpful, or hopeful. Years later, when I first shared my story with a United Methodist clergy, I remember how my heart was pounding so hard and so fast I thought it was audible all through the room, like “The Telltale Heart” in the classic story by Edgar Allen Poe. It was a relief then to be accepted by someone who was an “official” minister in the church. I did not know then about all of the other ‘officials’ who felt driven to keep people like me out of “their” church. Only later did I learn of Lay and Clergy delegates obsessed with making ever more restrictive changes in The Book of Discipline and in the thinking of Christians everywhere to make certain people like me could never offer our ministry, our talents; never share our gifts and unique perspective, our hearts and lives, within The United Methodist Church.”

In that message I was able for the first time, to connect in public, my life journey as a transgender man with my faith journey as a disciple of Jesus.

There were many years that elapsed between my earliest love of God as a child, and the message I preached in Corvallis in 1992.

There are many years that have passed between that message of 1992 and our service here today.

Only a few weeks ago, as I shared my story with a member of the congregation as I made preparations for today, that person said to me, “Well, it would be a lot easier if you were a plumber.”

I agree.

But the Spirit moves in mysterious ways.

When I joined The United Methodist Church while I was a graduate student in Oxford, Ohio, I had no idea it would lead to ordained ministry.

I was working on an academic degree, and planning to teach Comparative World Religions.

One day during my prayers, I felt led to at least explore a vocation in the Church.

And although I could not see myself in any public role, or leading worship and speaking in front of a congregation- I still sensed a need to search this direction, so I did enroll in the School of Theology at Boston University.

No one there knew my story, and while I was a student there I learned how unsafe a transgender candidate for ordained ministry was. And so I prayed again and over the weeks decided I would continue to see where seminary led.

When it did lead me into ordained ministry and in the local church I made a commitment to become the best pastor possible, to serve congregations for as many years as possible, and then to share my story when I was close to retirement. I thought that if I interacted with as many persons as I could, and they experienced me as a good person and pastor, it might be part of a witness.

I hoped that my knowing a transgender clergyman personally, many persons and congregations would really live up to the current slogan of our denomination and become, “open hearts, open minds, open doors” towards those perceived as different from themselves.

These past twenty-seven years have been a true blessing, and I look forward to many more years of ministry.

While serving in a variety of settings and among diverse communities of people, I have been privileged to work in many ministries, preaching the good news of God’s love for all persons expressed in and through Jesus the Christ.

During these years I added one more truth to the two I embraced early in my life, so my life experience now taught me three things:

1. I am a little boy who in some ways is different from other boys, and from other people

2. I am loved by God, and I love God

3. Most people are different from most other people in some way

My plan to continue ministry in this hidden way changed dramatically when I went on the Minidoka Pilgrimage with many of you in 2008.

[Define Minidoka- one of the government established relocation camps which Japanese-Americans living on the west coast were unconstitutionally forced to enter during WWII]

Walking through Minidoka with you I heard many stories, and I learned new words and phrases that resonated within my soul:

Shikata ga nai: it cannot be helped

Gaman: bearing the unbearable with dignity and grace

Gambatte: never give up, go for it!

These were words, concepts, tools and practices with which I could relate; these were experiences with which I felt a kindred spirit.

As I listened to stories at Minidoka, as tears were sometimes shed, and laughter as well, I saw the healing and the understanding that comes through

Sharing our stories, our authentic and deepest selves.

There is a profound spiritual and emotional healing that can only come to us as we are willing to share our stories and our authentic selves in community.

Again and again, during our Minidoka journey I heard people express the powerful cleansing and sense of freedom they experienced as they shared their personal stories of the internment, sometimes for the first time in sixty years.

The personal freeing was dramatic- but I also realized the importance of sharing personal stories in order to correct misinformation, and to educate other people about the truth through the sharing of personal experience.

Speaking our truth is one powerful way to help end misunderstanding, misinformation, and the abuse that can come when people do not understand those different from themselves. This is one way to be doers of God’s word.

Today I pray for this same healing and freedom for each one of us here, as we move to a new level of community together, and as we become comfortable with these basic truths:

1. We love God and God loves us

2. We are all different from most other people in some way

3. We still love God, and God still loves us…

Thank-you for listening to my book report.

I hope and pray we will write many additional chapters.

And thank-you for becoming a part of the heart of my manuscript.

Shikata ga nai: some things cannot be helped.

But we may practice gaman together, and bear what seems unbearable with dignity and grace, And together, may be always live in the spirit of Gambattee- going for broke in wherever God leads us in Christ’s name.

In Christ’s name.

Amen!