For many in the LGBTQ community, the aftermath of the presidential election proved to induce anxiety. I include myself in this category. The harmful rhetoric aimed at transgender people throughout the campaign cycle certainly triggered anxiety and fear for my well being and my continued ability to exist in the world.
Even though I live in the solidly blue bastion of Massachusetts, where transgender rights are enshrined in the law of the Commonwealth, I became wary of the different ways that my life could be affected by the new presidential administration: What would the status of my passport be? What about my earned Social Security benefits? Could Congress pass laws restricting access to gender-affirming care nationwide?
The anxiety sent me into a downward spiral.
But by looking to figures from my faith, and reimagining them for my own reality, I’ve been able to avoid the desolation that might be a natural reaction to such a steady stream of seemingly threatening news.
The study of the works and life of St. Thomas Aquinas, the 13th-century theologian, for example, has been at times life-giving, and at other times infuriating. As anyone who is both Catholic and a member of the LGBTQ community knows, Aquinas’s theology and his reliance on “natural law” has sometimes been used by some Catholics to denigrate the lived experiences of LGBTQ people and to argue against pastoral outreach to the LGBTQ community. Still, Aquinas’s works, such as the Summa Theologica and Summa Contra Gentiles, contain untold numbers of insights on faith that speak to me as a transgender Catholic.
But by looking to figures from my faith, and reimagining them for my own reality, I’ve been able to avoid desolation.
St. Thomas Aquinas is a giant in Catholic spirituality, not only for his writings, but for his own personal holiness, and, particularly meaningful to me, his mystical experiences. In 1273, Aquinas was praying in front of a crucifix in a chapel at the Dominican Friary in Naples when he began to levitate and receive what many spiritual writers call the “gift of tears.”
Christ appeared to Aquinas and said to him, “Thomas, you have written well of me. What would you have as your reward?” St. Thomas replied to Christ, “Nothing but you, Lord.”
In another experience, in December 1273, before his Summa Theologica was finished, Aquinas experienced an unusually lengthy ecstasy while celebrating Mass. After he recovered, and Mass had concluded, Aquinas refused to write or dictate any further to complete the Summa. His scribe, Reginald, remarked to Aquinas how close he was to finishing his greatest work. Aquinas simply and humbly responded, “The end of my labors has come. All that I have written appears to be as so much straw after the things that have been revealed to me.” Aquinas died three months later at the age of 49.
This incredible expression of humility reminded me of a quote from C.S. Lewis. Lewis said, “Humility is not thinking less of oneself, rather, humility is thinking of oneself less.” This definition of humility is a perfect exegesis on John 15:13: “Greater love has no one than this: that someone lay down their life for a friend.” With these words, from the Last Supper Discourses, Jesus is not only foreshadowing the impending Crucifixion but giving us a model in how to lead our lives.
I find myself asking in our current moment, Where do we go from here? The answer is in accompaniment.
So what does it mean to lay down your life for a friend? How are we called to lay down our lives? Are we to quite literally go to our earthly deaths if given the opportunity? A literal interpretation of John 15:13 may indicate that.
As a firefighter, I am keenly aware of the implications of this Scripture verse. On November 13, 2019, in Worcester, Mass Fire Lieutenant Jason Menard engaged in one last act of selfless service: he pushed his crew out of a window as conditions rapidly deteriorated in a house fire. His crew survived with burn injuries. Lt. Menard did not.
In a perhaps more well-known example of laying down one’s life, the New York City Fire Department Chaplain Mychal Judge, O.F.M., who was a member of the LGBTQ community, responded to Ground Zero on September 11, 2001. He was killed when the first World Trade Center tower came down, struck by falling debris. Fr. Mychal is listed as casualty #001 in the official accounts of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Fr. Mychal’s last act on this earth was accompanying the firefighters, police officers and victims of that horrendous day with complete disregard for his own wellbeing.
Admittedly, Lt. Jason Menard and Fr. Mychal Judge’s sacrifices are extreme examples of living according to John 15:13. Hopefully, neither you nor I will ever be called to live up to that level of sacrifice. Instead, I would argue that in lieu of a literal sacrifice of our earthly lives, we can make a sacrifice in the form of accompanying the downtrodden, the sick, the imprisoned, the poor, the immigrant, the vulnerable and those who suffer or are persecuted in any way.
But taken together, the totality of our experiences as LGBTQ Catholics is what makes us so positioned to accompany others in humility and love.
I find myself asking in our current moment, Where do we go from here? The answer is in accompaniment. A myriad of issues affects the LGBT community and often these issues intersect with social justice issues, such as poverty and racism. As LGBTQ Catholics we are uniquely positioned to accompany others through their moments of need.
LGBTQ Catholics have suffered at times at the hands of our church. We may also have suffered the wrath of a family that is not affirming. We may have experienced discrimination in employment.
I tell people that even though I am in a good place in my life, with all the garbage I’ve had to deal with in my transition, I wouldn’t wish being transgender on my worst enemy. I lost close friends, went through a painful divorce and have experienced vitriol and transphobia in public. The journey of transition is often turbulent as the coming out process that we undertake seems to be lifelong.
But taken together, the totality of our experiences as LGBTQ Catholics is what makes us so well positioned to accompany others in both humility and love. While we may need support and accompaniment ourselves, we are unable to control whether and how someone accompanies us. What we can control is the support that we give others who are suffering. So where is our Simon of Cyrene moment? What are we compelled to do to help?
LGBTQ Catholics know what it means to suffer, and though every person’s situation is different, we can share empathy with those who are struggling. This is not us thinking less of ourselves, but thinking of ourselves less. Accompaniment is the ultimate act of humility. It is, as Aquinas desired, only desiring Christ as our reward, like Christ giving himself to die on the Cross to assure our salvation. Accompaniment is selfless and pure.
What better gift can be given to those who are suffering than the gift of our own selfless suffering.
These next four years could be trying for us LGBTQ Catholics. It will also be trying for countless others. What better gift can be given to those who are suffering than the gift of our own selfless suffering? Like Simon of Cyrene, who was compelled by the Romans to help Jesus carry the Cross, our lives are not our own. Our lives belongs to God, and to give our lives in humility to lessen the suffering of another is the greatest gift we could possibly give to one another.
I urge LGBTQ Catholics, regardless of where we live, to get involved in the life of your parish. For those that belong to parishes that have active LGBTQ ministries, join. But get involved with other efforts in the parish as well. Volunteer as a music minister. Serve as a lector. Serve as a Eucharistic minister. Volunteer at a food pantry. Do something. Do anything. And in all things, ensure that you act with humility.
The surest way that we can ensure the survival and wellbeing of LGBTQ people in the coming years is to get involved and to claim our place as members of the Body of Christ.
