It was a week ago today that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints released changes to its handbook regarding the participation of individuals who identify as transgender. As a Church member who is also nonbinary, learning of these new restrictive, and frankly dehumanizing, policies troubled me greatly.
I spent several days processing, cycling through a variety of feelings including anger, sadness, pain, shame, and bewilderment. Sunday was quickly approaching and I had yet to decide how I would respond to the policy changes. How would I show up at church on Sunday?
I have the privilege of being able to “pass” as a cisgender person. I could easily put on a skirt, paste a smile on my face, and coast through church meetings, creating no ripples to upset the ward water. However tempting that option was, I quickly realized that if I conformed to someone else’s idea of what my gender was, I would be showing everyone in my ward that being transgender is indeed something for which I should be ashamed. I have worked very hard over the last few years to overcome my internalized shame about my identity and I don’t want to undo that.
So, I eventually decided that instead, I would come, dressed as myself with my head held high, not knowing what the outcome would be. Sunday morning, my hands shook as I tied my necktie and I mused on what my ward’s reaction would be. Would I be asked to surrender my temple recommend? Would I be ignored or even shunned? Would people even know about the handbook changes?
I don’t think many people fully understand the courage it takes to walk through the chapel doors every Sunday as a transgender person. I expected the worst as I crossed the chapel threshold yesterday, organ music swelling in the background. I imagined most ward members would either ignore me outright or show irritation at my audacity for showing up as so obviously trans.
I was, however, instantly humbled when the first sight to meet my eyes was someone wearing a rainbow skirt and face mask, prominently seated on the row of pews directly facing the door. And as I found a seat, my Relief Society president hurried over to me. In quiet tones, she told me she was so glad to see me and gave me a long, fervent hug. A minute later, another member sat down beside me. With concern in her eyes, she asked how I was doing and sat with me as we quietly talked about how hard these new policies are. This was repeated several more times throughout the day, with ward members who barely knew me expressing love and gratitude for my presence in their congregation.
Even though I’ve only been in the ward for a few months, these people went out of their way to let me know I was not alone. They showed me more than generic fellowship; they showed me that they are aware of me as an individual. Could they change the painful policies? No. But on a day that could have been one of the worst in my life, they instead showed me the pure love of Christ. They brought me into their fold and extended God’s tender mercies, and for those small, individual efforts, I will be forever grateful. Your small acts of allyship matter.
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