March 31, 2022 - LTS - Trans Day of Visibility (Preaching for LTS Worship)
Isaiah 43:16-21; Psalm 126; John 12:1-8 (Lent 5)
Mary and Judas. The one who sees and accepts, and the one who refuses to see and accept. Mary, blessed with strength, is able to accept what Jesus has been saying to everyone for so long - that he is going to die. Perhaps she’s willing to accept this because she‘s already seen in her brother Lazarus what death looks like, and more importantly, that death is not the end. Whatever the reason for her willingness to see, she takes the nard, one of the oils used to prepare bodies for burial, and she anoints Jesus with it. She accepts that he is going to die and she cares for him while he is still alive.
And Judas berates her for it. Now, the writer of the Gospel of John was a little cynical in his description of why Judas did this, and we are always warned as preachers not to ascribe intentions to people, but whatever the reason, Judas refuses to see and accept what Mary does for what it is. He’s heard all of the same words that Mary has, that Jesus has uttered about his death, and about his resurrection, but he rejects it. He does not accept that Jesus will die, and so he does not accept Mary’s death-associated ritual.
Instead, Judas attempts to redirect everybody’s attention. He tries to stop others from seeing what Mary is doing, from seeing that Jesus is, in fact, on a journey that takes him through death to new life. He says, “Why was this perfume not sold and the money given to “the poor?” He refuses to even acknowledge the purpose of the perfume. He attempts to hide what Mary is doing by pointing elsewhere - don’t look at this act of accepting Jesus’ death, look over here, look at the poor! “The poor” – Judas is not particularly interested in people who are actually poor, in the widow and the orphan, he just waves over in the direction of some generic “poor.” He will not let go of this Jesus he is currently following, and thereby refuses to allow the process to unfold whereby Jesus will be fully transformed into who he has come among Israel to be. Judas refuses to bear witness to Jesus’ death - perhaps he doesn’t trust that Jesus will be resurrected… and he redirects everyone’s attention “over there.”
But Jesus does not allow that. Jesus calls out Judas’ redirection. “You always have ‘the poor’ with you.” This is not Jesus saying Judas shouldn’t take care of the poor, or making some point about the eternal condition of poverty in this world. This is Jesus saying, Judas, you are using “the poor” as an excuse to ignore what is happening right in front of you. You are using “the poor” as a reason to hold me back from ne life. You always have “the poor,” you do not always have me. Jesus is chiding Judas for refusing to see and accept what Jesus has said over and over again. He is going to his death. He was not sent to earth to continue on living the way he had – to be with them, and heal them, and feed them in a constrained way, limited to this particular part of Israel for this particular set of years. Jesus was being called to die to this finite existence, as life-giving as it was for some, and to be transformed through resurrection into the eternal Son of God who would heal and feed and give life to all people, in all places, for all eternity. God did not take on flesh and become incarnate in order to stay in the way his followers had encountered him up to now. The “old” Jesus that he was needed to come to an end to make room for the new resurrected Jesus, the incarnate Logos who was and is and will be the life of all Creation. Jesus was trying to prepare those who loved him for his leaving, for his death. He wanted them to accept that this Jesus whom they knew and loved would soon be gone. He wanted Judas to do what Mary was doing - anoint him, honour him for his life so far, and let him go.
Today is Transgender Day of Visibility. It’s a day when we are called, like Mary, to see and to accept. Particularly, we are called to see and accept that there are people among God’s beloved, within our communities, within our families, who are being called to transformation. Who are on a journey of dying to whom we have known them to be, and transforming into whom God has always intended them to be.
At times like Mary and at times like Judas, I have witnessed this journey because I love someone who is transgender. My daughter. My daughter is a wonderful almost-16-yr-old who is proud of being trans, who is a light to those who know her, a wise friend to her peers, and a proclaimer of the Gospel that “God loves you no matter what” to the church, and who has read this sermon and graciously encouraged me to preach it.
But she was not always my daughter. For 12 years she was my son. My gender-nonconforming, dress-wearing son, but my son nonetheless. I raised two boys, both of them he/hims, and although my eldest son was “different,” I still knew him inside and out.
Until the day I didn’t. That is, until the day my child came to me and said, hey mom, my pronouns are she/her.
Now I knew the statistics. I knew that 65% of youth who are trans experience mood disorders, and that 45% of them have attempted suicide. I’ve known that number since my child was 4. And I knew that a supportive family and community makes a huge dent in that statistic, and that being supportive means letting children dress how they want to dress, and using the pronouns that align with their gender. I did not arrive at this moment ignorant. I knew that for transgender people, being seen and accepted as the gender they wereare rather than the gender they have been assigned, is necessary for their well-being and even for their life.
And yet I still behaved like Judas. I prevaricated. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s not they/them? I mean, you’re still a boy in some ways.” I described her to others as gender non-conforming, gender queer, nonbinary. I couldn’t hear her words that this old life that I had loved her in was death for her. I refused to accept that I had to let that old person I knew go. I focused on other things. I talked about how gender identity wasn’t that important anyway, that it was better to focus on being kind, or a good Christian, or compassionate for others. I introduced her to others as “my oldest child,” or sometimes “my oldest,” leaving her gender out completely. I was happy to introduce her as a kind, caring, wise child. But not a girl. Not my daughter. I couldn’t quite let go. I couldn’t see that the path she was on would lead to new life, or resurrection.
But she persisted, like Jesus. (Not that my daughter is like Jesus, just to be clear, she’s a teenager…) But, like Jesus, she continued to remind me, she continued to proclaim to me that the person I knew and loved was leaving, was dying, and that I had to say goodbye and prepare for her transformation, for her new life. I had to allow her “him” to die.
And by the grace of God, truly by the grace of God’s Spirit, I was able to see and accept that. Perhaps it was because I, like Mary, have been given the strength to trust that death is not the end, that resurrection is real. And so I accepted the death of this son I loved. I stopped using he/him pronouns. I stopped referring to my son, or even my non-gendered child. I began using her pronouns, I began calling her my daughter, I supported her in hormonal transition, and I will support her in surgical transition, which permanently ends her capacity to reproduce. As the oldest child of the oldest child of the oldest child going back twenty generations, I accepted the death of that genetic progression, so that she might move into the new life God has waiting for her.
And with the proper pronouns, with the proper hormones, and with the promise of gender-aligning surgery, my daughter is experiencing new life. She has become the wonderful, light-giving, life-giving girl she is today. The way that I introduced her in the beginning, as a light, a wise friend, and a proclaimer of the Gospel? All of that emerged after she began transitioning. After her old self died. Yes, the son I thought I had for 12 years was a delight to us, but this daughter I have now is a delight and a blessing to the world. She speaks up for those who are bullied, for the oppressed, for victims of racism, for victims of sexism, for victims of religious discrimination. She has a keen heart for justice and now she is bold in proclaiming that God’s love comes in the form of justice for all.
“Thus says the Lord … do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old, I am about to do a new thing, now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? … for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, the people whom I formed for myself, that they might declare my praise.” (Isaiah 43:19-21)
In this period of Lent, I lament that I was too often like Judas, refusing to allow the promise of resurrection to be real. I lament that I tried to make invisible my trans daughter. And I give thanks that on this day, and every day, Jesus calls us to be like Mary. To see and accept transgender people in our midst, to let their old selves, their old pronouns, their old names, their old bodies die as they move into the new life that awaits them. As they are resurrected, as they receive this new thing that God is doing in their lives, as they fully and truly become the people whom God has formed for God’s self. I give thanks that even when we act like Judas, God acts like Mary, who not only allowed Jesus to go to his cross, but was the first to witness his resurrection. I give thanks for the witness of trans Christians who offer their praise that death is not the end, that resurrection is real, that God is constantly bestowing new life. I give thanks that in their resurrection, they give us hope for new life for all. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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