I’ve been reflecting lately on a parallel that feels, on the surface, a very strange one to draw. But bear with it. At least for now. When I first came out as trans I vividly remember posting in a Facebook support group for trans masculine people, asking if it ever got old being called ‘sir’ – it was so new for me to pass, so new to be so affirmed, that I wondered if it would ever become tiresome. A few guys said that they were teachers and so yep, being called sir 9000 times a day by students meant they were largely immune to it. But eight years later, it still hasn’t ever become old to me. And I don’t think it ever will. To be seen and read as myself. Every time someone calls me sir or uses my pronouns, it is like part of my soul is being acknowledged, seen, and known by others. And it feels so very right.
In a very similar way I found myself this week reflecting with a friend on how it feels to share sacrament with others. Part of me wonders if those moments of encounter with one another and with God – of the shivers that I have as I offer the chalice to someone, as I pray with other people, as I seek to serve – whether that will ever get old.
But I think, and somewhere within me I Know, that it will not. Because at the heart of such encounters is the ridiculous nature of encountering Jesus, sharing so deeply the love and hope that we have been given. And that is something I cannot ever get tired of. And it is well with my soul.
The joy of being truly and fully our own created selves, wherever we are on our journeys, is a joy that I trust will never grow old. As my favourite preface says ‘it is meet, right, and our bounden duty that we should at all times and in all places give thanks unto thee O Lord’ – wherever we are, whoever we are, wherever we find our joys and trials, our sadness and our sacrament, I hope we know that where we are, God is also, and that it is right
Questions and Ponderings 