An Act of Faith: Western Massachusetts Communities of Faith Speak Out for Transgender Rights

Last evening, about a hundred people gathered at the Edwards Church in Northampton, MA for "An Act of Faith: Western Massachusetts Communities of Faith Speak Out for Transgender Rights." After the first Act of Faith in Newton, MA this past January, several leaders of faith in Western Massachusetts organized an event to bring together communities of faith there in support of trans civil rights. I was honored to be asked to speak at the event, along with Mycroft Masada Holmes, with whom I am a co-chair of the Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality (ICTE). The evening featured speakers (sixteen in all) from a wide range of faith traditions-- Jewish, Muslim, Christian, Unitarian, Buddhist. The event was punctuated with exhortations, stories, song, prayers, and blessings. Below is an excerpt from my remarks:

This past November, my congregation, St. Luke's and St. Margaret's Episcopal Church in Allston/Brighton, MA, was honored to host Boston’s annual Transgender Day of Remembrance. We had been asked to do so because the murder of Rita Hester in 1998, which sparked this now international movement of remembrance, took place mere blocks from the church. I have always found it both moving and sobering to come together with the trans community every year on November 20th, but this time the experience was for me, as a transgender priest serving in that context, truly profound.

But the story I want to tell you tonight took place three years earlier, at a different juncture in my life.

When my partner and I decided to get married in 2005, we had already been together for twelve years. We had each come out in the lesbian community of our women’s college, and had come to the Boston area in 1995 for graduate school. Over the years, we went through a number of changes, not the least of which was my coming out as trans between the late ‘90s and the early years of this decade. Throughout this time, our community of faith-- Christ Episcopal Church in Somerville, MA-- was a tremendous source of support. And so when we decided to get married a few years after my transition from female to male, doing so at our church felt completely fitting. We wanted to get married in a context that recognized and celebrated our journey as much as our arrival at that particular point in time, even as we looked forward to journeys yet to come. Massachusetts’s then recent attainment of equal marriage—indeed, the first such legalization in the U.S.—created a yet more fitting context for acknowledging and celebrating our history, even though we would not be married as members of the same sex. With the day of the wedding nearing, the service and reception planned, the invitations long out, we went to the city hall of our town to apply for a marriage license.

In the time-honored tradition of people about to be married, we were nervous about any number of things that could go wrong, little or big. My slightly less generalized anxiety circled around the procurement of our marriage license: my secret fear was that the clerk at city hall might find some reason not to recognize me as legally male. And while I knew that if that happened, here alone in the U.S. (at that time) we could still have been legally married, the event would not have reflected the journey we had taken.

So there we stood at the clerk’s office counter, each of us in turn filling out the two required sheets of paper. Amid the various questions they might ask, I was concerned about one type of question, more common than one might think, that can come up and cause trans people difficulty in all sorts of contexts: "have you ever had another name, and if so what was it?" If a person has a former legal name that is unambiguously gendered, revealing that name can instantly expose your trans history -- perhaps even an aspect of your medical history -- in contexts where you have very little, if any, control over its reception and dissemination. As is so often the case, documents or decisions with huge impacts on the lives of trans people can be decided on the whim of someone behind a desk. If s/he is having a bad day, so might you, and then some.

After I finished filling out my half of the first form, I looked over my partner’s shoulder. With horror, I noted that she had written out my former first name. After she finished filling out her side of the sheet and we switched, I looked more closely at the form. But it asked “what are your parents names?” and what I had seen was her mom’s first name, which is the same as my old name. Sigh of relief.

So we finished filling out the forms and slid them across the counter to the clerk. She went down the list making sure we'd answered everything... and then, pointing to the “profession” line on my side of the form, she asked, "what does that say?" She had pinpointed the word next to “graduate student”, which I then read aloud: “priest.” "Then you can't get married," she responded. After a shocked pause, I explained that I am an Episcopal priest, not Roman Catholic, and that we can in fact get married. With evident annoyance, she took our paperwork to finish her part. The moment had felt teachable enough as it was, so I kept my thoughts to myself. But I will now report that at the very least, the following sequence flew through my head. Thought #1: you can't make this stuff up. Second thought: what was a city employee thinking telling me what my religion would or would not allow me to do? Third thought: being a married priest hadn't previously struck me as a particularly challenging concept-- at least, not in the context of my life. But hey, you never know.

The end of the story is that the license was issued and we went on to have a fantastic wedding. Our church community warmly and enthusiastically welcomed our friends and family from around the country. The service was beautiful. And although it was late October, with balmy seventy-degree weather the days before and, on the day itself, it snowed, just enough to dust the ground and wow our West Coast guests. As we gazed out the picture windows of our reception hall, beautiful fat snowflakes fluttered to the ground. Fittingly, it was a day out of time — a sacred, holy day.

This evening, too, is a holy one: a night in which we have come together to lift up a people who have traveled far and seen much, and who wish to be recognized as the people we are, the people we have been, and the people we are called to become. We come together to celebrate our humanity, both common and distinctive, blessed by unique opportunities but also regularly thwarted by challenges we should not have to face. We gather to galvanize one another and all those who care about peace and justice to do more to make the world a truly welcoming place for all of us. We must pass transgender civil rights legislation right here and right now. We should not have to worry about whether our identities or histories might prompt someone to deny us opportunities of livelihood-- whether in housing, credit, the workplace, schools, a hospital or a doctor’s office-- or even, as our litany of tragedy continued this week in Memphis-- of life itself. May we leave this gathering more committed than ever to doing our part, to supporting one another particularly in our faith communities, to make our world a place where all can be truly free to become the people we are called to become. Thank you.

Rev. Dr. Cameron Partridge
Vicar, St. Luke's and St. Margaret's Episcopal Church
Co-Chair, Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality