Transformed/ing Belonging

or x Monsters in My Family....

1Sam. 8:4-15; Ps 138

2 Cor. 4:13-5:1; Mk 3:20-35

Episcopal Divinity School

June 11, 2012

I recently made the mistake of downloading for my two and a half year old one of my very favorite records from my own childhood, The Sesame Street Monsters: A Musical Monster-osity.  I say it was a mistake because its catchy tunes are now liable to pop into my head at any given moment, since we have to listen to it every time we drive together in the car.  His favorite song at the moment,  “Five Monsters in My Family,” dramatizes the asymptotic growth of an ever-expanding clan:  “five is such a scary number, I’m awfully glad that I’ve five...” but then “make it six, counting uncle Fred…” and counting “Jerry and Aunt Mary…Better make it, eight instead.”  It goes on from there, fading out with the shouted question “eleven?!” and a raucous give and take over further untold members.  I find it oddly, hilariously profound to hear “the lovable monsters of Sesame Street” openly singing to their audience about their “scariness,” about their expansiveness, and about the tensions in negotiating their belonging.  How common that dynamic can be in families of all kinds, including (hello?!) our churches.  How do we expand and transform our churches, our notions of family, our experiences of belonging?  In this amazing and anxious time, how might we both acknowledge whatever—whomever – might represent “such a scary number” and yet be willing to dive in and grow?  

            Our readings this morning underscore the power and challenge of this process.  Here we are just over a week removed from celebrating the Mystery of the Triune God, two weeks removed from the Feast of Pentecost.  We enter now the “long green season” of the Spirit, sighing with relief at the onset of summer (even if it is not yet technically upon us).  We open our thirsting hearts to the refreshing stream of God’s outpouring Spirit.  And what does God offer us but to be transformed.  It sounds so wonderful—and truly, to me, the centrality of transformation is one of the most inspiring features of our faith.  But believe me, I know —particularly as a transman— that as empowering as transformation can be, it is also unspeakably difficult.  It is the kind of challenge that we cannot undertake alone.  Indeed, it is a vocation that is ultimately accomplished by God working within in us, among us, in our midst. 

The challenging character of transformation comes front and center in our gospel passage from Mark.  In the verses just prior to our reading, Jesus has retreated onto a mountain from the thronging crowds and appointed his twelve apostles.  Now he has come “home” only to be assailed by the masses once more; so closely and massively do they press upon him that he is unable even to eat. (Insert line from Monsters song: “family dinners are really great, we eat the food and then the plate!”) His apparently alarming behavior in this context alerts his family, who come to restrain him, as well as the Scribes. Has he “gone out of his mind”?  Does he cast out demons by the authority of “Beelzebul?”  No, Jesus parabolically suggests.  To read his actions through a demonic lens is to blaspheme against the Spirit itself.  For the work of the Spirit is to cleanse, to re-configure, to re-create.  The Spirit drives us into territories we cannot comprehend, to wilderness terrain we may not wish to travel. 

It is in this same Spirit that Jesus challenges even the very notion of family.  Just as the people had communicated Jesus’ apparent insanity to his family at the beginning of our reading, now the crowd plays telephone for Jesus’ mother and brothers.  But Jesus’ reply confounds all: “Who are my mother and my brothers?” In one sense, the question might come across as offensive—particularly to his family of origins.  It’s hard not to wonder what it was like to be the sibling or parent of such a person.  And to have him turn around and respond to their concern in such a way?  Not exactly sensitive.  But, as usual, Jesus is after something deeper. Some scholars of early Christianity (particularly Elizabeth Clark) have termed Jesus’ words here “anti-familial.” It is far from the only such instance in the synoptic gospels – there is the statement about Jesus bringing a sword that will cleave families (Mt 10:34-39); the especially harsh statement in Luke, “unless one hate his” father, mother, sister, brother, one cannot be a disciple (Lk 14:26); phrases about neither marrying nor being married in the kingdom (Mt 22:30; Mk 12:25; Lk 20:35) and more (e.g. Mt 19:10-12).[1]  In fact, as Clark notes, such statements form part of an important, ascetic thread that has been particularly confounding to Protestant Christian communities that place ideas of family in a central position.  But perhaps we might look at it this way:  Jesus takes this pressing moment as teachable, asking us to consider in what ways our very definitions of family might be constraining the work of the Spirit.  In other words, the point is not finally to erase but to transform our understandings of family.  It is to refuse to be held captive to rigid definitions of it.  It is to ask, how are we connected to one another?  How might we deepen that connection?  And how might that interconnectivity facilitate our greater growth into the heart of God? 

We can, in fact, engage that transformation-- albeit with a strangely paradoxical agency.  We can seek to cooperate with it, to participate in it rather than the two extremes of either resisting it completely or accomplishing it all on our own.   Paul speaks of this process with beautiful, multiple images-- language of putting on and taking off clothing; of our “outer nature” “wasting away” while our “inner nature” is “renewed;” of “this earthly tent,” sacred yet ultimately provisional.  God accomplishes our transformation—the divine outpouring of grace multiplies our thanksgiving, and in turn our heartfelt response helps spread that good news beyond the bounds of our wildest imaginings. Earlier in this same letter (or collection of letters, as 2 Corinthians may ultimately be), Paul speaks of this transformation in positive terms— “all of us,” he says, “with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror,” are “being changed from one degree of glory into another” (2 Cor 3:18).  This process is a mark of the freedom that the Spirit gives us (2 Cor 3:17).  But as unfathomably wondrous as this process is, Paul wants us to remember its difficulty.  The last sentence of today’s passage, which begins the fifth chapter of Second Corinthians—one of my very favorite passages in all of Scripture—points to that challenge.  Paul evokes how we “groan” in “this earthly tent.”  That groaning points to the birth-like quality of transformation.  Paul uses this same language in his letter to the Romans where he speaks of how “we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.”  He sets this redemption, this adoption, within the wider context of the re-birth of creation itself (Romans 8:22-23).  And in this context the Spirit intercedes for us with (again, one of my favorite passages) “sighs”—actually groans—“too deep for words” (8:26). 

Ultimately God draws us forward into a birth that changes us beyond what we can imagine, a transformation that calls us into deeper communion with one another, and with the God who draws us home.  We are and will in some sense always be, family to one another.  And even as we come to know this, our conceptions of the familial will transform.  An image from yesterday’s Pride parade cannot but rise to my mind.  Walking in downtown Boston with a large contingent from the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, such joy was mirrored from our ranks to the gathered community on the sidewalks, and back again.  The sun shone down upon us and confetti silhouetted the resplendent dome of the State House.  How many people walking and watching were intimately familiar with the complexity of the familial— how many of us call our communities “chosen family”?  And yet even that insight, often gained through deep pain, is just the lip of the cup that we are called to drink together.  Who are my siblings? Who is my parent or grandparent? (How many monsters are in my family?...) What new frontiers of community and family does God invite me, invite all of us, to explore together?  We know it will not be easy.  Indeed, we know we may groan in its labor.  Hopefully we will laugh along the way.  Yet whatever happens, however much we struggle, ultimately we know that there is no wilderness into which the Spirit does not accompany us.  We know that always, that Spirit will intercede for us with groans more profound than words.  Amen.

CP

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[1] Elizabeth Clark, Reading Renunciation (Princeton University Press, 1999), 177-178.

Chaz on Becoming

In a banner week in which the governor of Hawaii signed a workplace nondiscrimination bill into law, and in which the legislature in Nevada is debating a similar measure, the biggest transgender-related news is coming from Chaz Bono. That’s because the documentary about his transition, Becoming Chaz, premiered Tuesday night on the Oprah Winfrey Network, and Chaz has been everywhere this week promoting it.

The few reviews I’ve read have found their way into the film via people other than Chaz. His partner Jennifer has been a fascinating figure for some, and Cher has for others. I haven’t read any reflections on his siblings, but they would be bridge figures for still other viewers of the film like, say, my sister. It makes sense—if you’re not trans (and even if you are), you might have a hard time relating to Chaz, but you could more easily imagine yourself in the position of those who have a relationship with him.

But as a transman myself, Chaz was the one on which I knew I would be primarily focused. Because he’s the son of celebrities, having grown up under completely different circumstances than did I or anyone I know, I honestly wasn’t sure how well I would relate. More than that, I was concerned that because of its celebrity connections, this film had the potential to feed into the mass media’s sensationalistic appetites. Given all that, I was fascinated how little this film actually does falls into that trap, and how Chaz and Jenny come across as remarkably down to earth and authentic, very human amid a fair bit of drama. Chaz is very clearly and simply himself, take it or leave it. So too is Jennifer. The two of them have been through a lot both individually and as a couple, and they’re remarkably honest about that.

I was intrigued — and oddly relieved — to hear that there nevertheless were aspects of the film that stretched their own comfort zones when they saw it after the fact. In the interview with Rosie O’Donnell after the Oprah channel premier, Chaz talked about the difficulty at first of seeing an argument that unfolded over kitchen preparations for Jenny’s graduation party. But then as he watched it again, he came to see the argument as a real portrayal of where he and Jenny were at that moment. That comment to O’Donnell conveyed a revealing sense of perspective, a sense that Chaz knows he was in a different space then and will be in a still different one down the road. Comments like those suggest to me that he takes his “becoming” very seriously, and in a much broader and deeper sense than transition alone.

Chaz has been through some seriously choppy life waters, and while he doesn’t put it this way, his remarks about previous eras of his life suggest that he has had to make a practice of seeking perspective. He has had to make a practice of accepting himself for who he is. When he said at one point that he didn’t want to lose anyone because of his decision to transition but knew that he had to make the decision regardless, I thought, yeah, I know what you’re talking about. You don’t get to a place like that, you don’t arrive at such a crossroad, without having done a ton of work-- discernment.

I also appreciated how Chaz did not present himself as speaking for every transman, let alone every trans person. In one scene, as he spoke at what I believe was a Transgender Day of Remembrance event in West Hollywood, I was impressed with the way he got up and described himself as a newcomer to the community, not presuming to speak for others, and acknowledging that tons of organizing and community building had preceded his arrival on the scene, in many ways making that arrival possible.

That said, there were some assertions in the film with which I disagreed. The misleading graphic listing the side-effects of testosterone failed to distinguish those that affect transmen alone (e.g. the need to monitor liver function) from those that all nontrans men have to watch (e.g. cholesterol). I wasn't crazy about the film's repeated use of “breast removal” language; as a result, many reviewers are now using it in a way that can subtly reinforce the judgment that this surgery is merely a form of “amputation” (or, worse, “mutilation"). Simply sticking to the term “chest reconstruction” would have been more straight forward. Chaz also made a few universalizing comments about the relational effects of testosterone, saying things about his insights into male/female difference that reminded me of remarks I once heard on the infamous testosterone episode of This American Life. All I could think was, Stop! Don’t go there! Trans folks don’t know any more about what “really” differentiates the sexes, where “really” means “biologically,” than anyone else. What I think we do have a chance to see at particularly close range is how gender gets culturally organized, how intricately, concretely, differentially, intersectionally each of us is woven into an ever-shifting socio-cultural fabric.

There is so much more to say about this powerful film—more than I have time to write here. But the final thread I find myself pondering is that of narratives—with what stories we narrate our origins, the origins of our self-awareness, the origins of our decisions. Again and again, we were shown images of Chaz as a child on TV with Sonny and Cher, images that had the effect of asking the viewer to consider the narrative s/he supplied for that child. It makes me wonder, what narratives do we assume or project onto one another? How do we shift those narratives when our expectations are subverted? But that then raises the larger question, how do we narrate change without assuming the process moves in a straight line? There is something crucial about what it is to be human that is captured by Chaz’s process of becoming. Not only does it raise the question of how sexual difference fits into—indeed might change — one’s conception of the human person. It also asks us all, trans and non-trans, to consider how the process of becoming itself, how transformation, grounds and indeed defines our humanity.

CP