Trans and religious

Trans came first. Around the age of 10 years old, I knew I was different from other boys. It started with an interest in female clothing, then later, softer feminine qualities, a dislike of my own male body, a preference for female company, and finally, realising and accepting my inner femaleness.

I was brought up a Roman Catholic by traditional parents. I went to mass with them on Sundays but it didn’t really mean anything to me throughout my teenage years. In fact, an anti-authority streak got me into trouble with the local RC hierarchy. It was only when I went to university, aged 20, that I met people whose faith was important to them. Their lives were better, fuller, happier. I wanted some of that. My own religious faith came to life. Later in life, I came to see that morality and religion were not the same thing. But my faith persisted.

For a long time, I found it hard to reconcile my faith with my trans outlook. I thought my female leaning was unnatural and there was something wrong with me. So I kept the two in separate compartments. Looking back, this left me fractured and incomplete. That must have contributed to the mental health problems I experienced as an adult. I became ill and remained ill for years. This was a dark time in which both my faith and my transness disappeared – or at least, the river flowed underground.

Eventually the clouds lifted and I started to feel well again. Nothing in particular prompted that. Most likely it was just the passage of time. Maybe also the experience of the Covid lockdown, which removed social pressures from my life and gave my spirit room to breathe.

I remember going for a walk in a wood in early 2021 when the thought came to me: What if there really is a God? The realisation took hold and suddenly my life started to make sense again. This came out of nowhere. Importantly, I knew that the God I had been holding at arm’s length was real to me and loved me more than I could imagine.

Also importantly, I realised that this God cared passionately about the kind of person I was – whether I was trying to relate to God, trying to love other people, trying to do the right thing. This God was not at all interested in my gender identity and sexual orientation. Or was only interested in them, to the extent that they impacted on the kind of person I was. At that point, two universes collided and fused into one.

At that time I was walking towards the light but hadn’t reached it. That point arrived about a year ago when my sense of femaleness became overwhelming and I finally accepted and gave into it. Since then I have felt like a whole person – complete, unified, in harmony.

All of this is inward. What about the outward expression? Could I find a way to integrate my faith and trans identity? Could I share this with others in the context of belonging to a church community?

And now for some religious geography and explanation. At university I left the Roman Catholic church and being Anglican, joining my new friends. I have been a member of the Church of England ever since. I liked its broadness and its openness to questioning. In fact the CofE is so wide-ranging that it contains a great range of attitudes on many life issues – not least, matters of gender and sexuality.

I have known for a long time that a large part of the Church of England is hostile – or at least uncomfortable – with people and attitudes that fall outside the straight or hetero-normative category. This derives from a particular understanding of the Bible – tending towards fundamentalist, inspired, unchanging. Their understanding led them to exclude anyone who might identify as lesbian, gay, bi, trans or anything else. They justified this with the old cliché that God “hates the sin but loves the sinner.” In fact it is a short step from hating the sin to hating the sinner. Those of us with an alternative understanding become dehumanised in what is effectively a gospel of hate. Many trans people have suffered at the hands of the Church.

But there is also a part of the Church of England that is inclusive, progressive, accepting, and welcoming. These churches emphasise that God’s love extends to everyone, whatever their orientation. This is the gospel of love.

These polar opposites have been tearing the Church of England apart for decades. Unable to resolve the tension, the Church of England has tried to hold everyone together in an uneasy compromise. I do not think this can last much longer. In practice, the large conservative element has acted as a brake. Discrimination against members of the LGBTQ+ community is written into the policies and procedures of the Church. Same-sex couples may receive a blessing in church but may not get married in church. Priests may refuse to conduct the marriage of a man to a trans woman on grounds of conscience.

Not just because of my own sense of identity, but for long-standing temperamental and psychological reasons, I have always tended towards an inclusive rather than exclusive view. I was closely involved in the passage of landmark human rights legislation in the UK over 25 years ago which made it easier for people to access their human rights in our domestic courts. At first I thought that churches, including the Church of England, would support this, because it affirmed the fundamental human dignity of every person. Isn’t that what organised religion should be doing? But I was wrong. The Church of England led the opposition to the human rights legislation. Their main concern was they would be forced to conduct same-sex marriages and to allow the employment of gay teachers in church schools. We even saw a number of bishops voting against the government in a crucial debate in Parliament. The government eventually won that battle. But it left a lasting impression.

Since returning to Planet Earth a few years ago, I have sought out churches which embody the positive and progressive values that I share. I have been fortunate to find some churches in London which are fully inclusive. I have attended their services as Ariane and I have experienced nothing but love and acceptance. At these churches I have been experienced fullness of life as a trans Christian. It is so affirming.

But I don’t live in London. I live about 30 miles southwest in the county of Surrey. So my London excursions are occasional. My main religious observance is at a small Anglican parish church just a few miles from where I live. I started attending this church almost a year ago. Soon afterwards I came out to the priest as Ariane. She was completely onside with that and has supported me in a number of discussions since then.

Her church is inclusive in theory (they joined the Inclusive Church network). The congregation are all nice, decent people. I get on well with all of them and have gradually settled in. But I don’t think most of them are switched-on to LGBTQ+ issues or people. Simply because it lies outside their experience as a church. They haven’t come across anyone like me before. So, although I would love to attend this church as Ariane, I haven’t yet done so. All I have given them are hints and guesses – I frequently wear a pearl bracelet (I love pearls), and last Sunday I went a bit further and turned up in a girly sweatshirt and a pearl necklace. But that didn’t prompt much of a reaction. Maybe people just don’t know what to say to a man wearing a pearl necklace.

I have considered just turning up as the full Ariane in a big-bang kind of way. But I think a number of them would feel uncomfortable. I don’t want to put them through that. Instead – with the agreement of support of the priest – I have started having conversations with a few members of the congregation whom I’ve got to know quite well. All of them have reacted positively and sensitively. So this seems the right way to go. I want the congregation to know about me and to understand what it means for a man to want to be a woman. And only then will I show myself to them. The process is gathering pace and I hope to be living the dream very soon.

Tags: LGBT+, St Mary's Shalford