This is the full text of the reflection given by Danielle Koutsoufis at morning prayer at Outreach 2026 on Saturday, June 20 in Dahlgren Chapel at Georgetown University. The text has been edited for style.
I wouldn’t wish being transgender on my worst enemy. For the average transgender person, it’s a hard existence, and my experience hasn’t been easy in the least. Why would I have chosen this path? Transgender people seem to live rent free in the minds of the conservative right at this time. Much of society seems to view transgender people as an amorphous boogeyman hell-bent on destroying society. Since I came out, I have lost friends and family. I was subjected to much ridicule in my life. So, back in November, when Jack Consolie and Michael O’ Loughlin asked me to offer a short reflection at this year’s conference, their invitation floored me. I know that I had written a few pieces for the online publication, but me?
So, I set out to write out my short reflection. It took me a while to get what I wanted down on paper. I’m the type of writer that ruminates on an outline in my head and at the last minute, I write everything down. And sometimes I write a lot. My first draft for this short reflection came in at a tidy 3,500 words. I figured this was a bit too long, so I tried to pare it back a bit. After some editing, I managed to get my draft down to 4,265 words. I know. Totally the wrong direction.
I sent my draft off to Jack, Conor and Michael Ruzicki. I figured that I would be asked to cut my reflection back, and sure enough, Michael thanked me for my reflection and told me that he was hoping to have something in the five-to-seven-minute range.
It’s about the welcome that others have extended to me on the journey, and how those experiences caused my heart to burn within me.
Speaking about my experiences in faith and in the church, I have a lot to say, but truthfully, none of it is about me. It’s about the welcome that others have extended to me on the journey, and how those experiences caused my heart to burn within me.
My faith was still shaky in 2021. I had recently read this book called “Building a Bridge,” by some guy named James Martin. Ever heard of him? I had come from St. Cecilia’s in Boston, an urban parish that had a thriving LGBTQ ministry: the Rainbow Ministry. When I moved out to the suburbs, I fully expected to travel into the city for Mass, a 45-minute drive on a good day. I was surprised to find out that Blessed Trinity Parish in Westford and Littleton, right where I lived, had an LGBTQ ministry called “Wonderfully Made.” I decided to try BTP out. The clergy warmly welcomed me and made me want to go to Mass each week.
I wanted to get more involved in parish life, so I asked the music director to join the choir. I was so afraid. I was female presenting, but I sang in a tenor range, a traditionally male voice. My director, Kelly Clark, welcomed me to the choir, and eased some of my fears by saying to me, “We’ll navigate this together.” At my first rehearsal, a senior member of the tenor section, Ron Cajolet, welcomed me warmly. Ron was a vibrant man in his nineties and he enthusiastically welcomed me, an obviously transgender person into the choir. He welcomed me warmly and sincerely, but as any choral musician can understand, Ron was probably just excited that I was another tenor.
I blossomed as a musician in that period. Our large and exceptionally talented parish choir evolved in that period. Kelly purposely used more inclusive language. She changed the way she led us in rehearsals. She stopped using “men and women” to refer to the voice parts and instead used the gender-neutral soprano, alto, tenor and bass.
Christ has been with me in every moment of my life’s journey, gently guiding me and accompanying me on The Way.
I began to connect with the Scriptures as I sang the psalms and hymns each week. I started to experience the Mass as a complete and communal act of worship, with a community fully focused on the healing love present in the Eucharist and not just an individual obligation.
That first Lent, I was shocked and humbled when Kelly asked me to try my hand as a cantor. Being in the rear of the choir in the tenor section was one thing, but I would be in front of the entire congregation and in the proverbial spotlight. How would the congregation react to me, an obviously transgender woman standing at the cantor stand? The first few Masses that I served as cantor, I was incredibly nervous. But the clergy, my choir mates and especially my director, Kelly, supported me the whole way.
Music has become my primary act of praise for our good and loving God. As St. Augustine said, “If you sing, you pray twice.” I know that I would not be where I am today without the love and welcome I received from people like Kelly and Ron. These small and innocuous acts of welcome caused my heart to burn with love for the Gospel.
One of the hardest things for me to do is to recognize how God is moving within my life. Just like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, I often can’t recognize Christ on the road, even though he is always walking with us. It takes some event, like Jesus breaking bread with those disciples, to trigger that moment when we feel our hearts burning within us with the love of God.
At the end of today’s Gospel reading from Luke that we just heard, the disciples remarked, “Were not our hearts burning within us?” When they recognized exactly who had been walking with them. That’s been my experience in the church (small c) and the Church (capital C). Christ has walked with me in my journey. He’s been present in a music director who offered to walk with me in my unease. Jesus has been present in a warm smile from a ninety-year-old man. Christ has been with me in every moment of my life’s journey, gently guiding me and accompanying me on The Way. And it has been countless other people also on that same journey that have helped me along The Way.
So, it is up to each one of us. How are we going to be Christ to some doubtful and fearful LGBTQ person? How do we assure them that they too are cherished on the journey? How are we Christ to others? It might seem like a daunting task for some of us, but as I know, sometimes all it takes is a song, and sometimes all it takes is a warm smile.
