This has become analogous to how my interactions about being trans have been with some people who are religious. I knew from the start that a scientific or statistical argument would never resonate with a religious person, because their religion is the lens through which they see reality. A Woman of Science would not accept biblical arguments as valid, in the same way that many a Man of God chooses his own interpretation of his religion over any empirical argument.
What I have to communicate is not unclear. The way in which it has to be presented in order to be deciphered correctly is what eludes me.
The most common thing I've heard from Western religion is that capital-G God commands us to love one another above all else. I'm on board with that. I've written elsewhere about my realization that I actually love everyone. The idea of a synthetic social control mandating that everyone who subscribes to it must love everyone else in the universe doesn't really upset me. I think it's a basically good thing that would lead to basically good actions.
Where we may differ is on the definition of love (as a sentiment one has for others). I describe it as "desiring health, safety, and happiness for someone." I'd love for someone to offer me the Christian definition of love, because I am only able to argue from a position of ignorance about the other side's definition, but I can't help but imagine that it's essentially the same. The core of it, the simplest form, is probably identical or nearly so.
I was walking, today, through what I suppose I'd call the quad at Everett Community College, and I passed a trio of what I colloquially (and I hope inoffensively) think of as "Jesus People." I paused and turned back because I thought I recognized one of them from before. Like, Before, before. She was talking to someone else, offering encouraging superlatives and generally trying to be pleasant and supportive of a stranger. This made me smile.
When the person she'd been talking to walked away, I said, "I think I knew you from here before..." and she said, "right, from acting or something? We hung out with Zorana," and I said, "yeah! That was it." We chatted for a moment, and I offered her one of my cards. She asked, "what was your name before, again?" and I answered, "it was Jason."
"RIGHT," she said, "I knew it was like Jason or Jacob or something." I said it was good to see her again, and said she was welcome to chat with me via my Facebook link from the card. I started to leave.
And then, she asked if I minded if she prayed for me.
I said I'd feel sort of selfish accepting a prayer when I'm really not doing too badly, in the grand scheme of things. She expressed that offering prayers, the process of it, was a gift to her, so it wouldn't be selfish for me to accept one. That made me smile, too, and I said, "I do need to find a job." So, she ran with that.
It started plainly enough, with phrases like, "Lord, I just thank you for bringing us here together today," and such. But eventually she hit a point where she had to use my pronouns, and she said "him." She seemed to have a little cognitive dissonance about it, which is appropriate, I think. I let it go and waited for the next one. "His." "Jason."
"That's not my name," I said, interrupting her prayer. "And it's 'she,' 'her,' and 'hers,' not 'he,' or 'him,' or 'his.'"
"But that's not how I know you," she said.
"But that's not who I ever was," I replied. "My name is Seranine."
"Who you were is who God made you," she answered, or something to that effect.
"If I was created by God, then I was made with a woman's brain in a man's body, and if that can't be a mistake, then it was done with a purpose." I spoke quietly, but firmly.
I declined the rest of her prayer, and moved away with a wistful smile. I was happy because she was out there, making her occupation loving others as honestly and completely as she knew how. And I was sad because that love came with conditions.
Surely if there is a God who is capable of all things and is infallible, They can love everyone everywhere without conditions. Even I can do that.
"I love you," she called out.
"I know," I said. "I love you, too."
The good news was that I am sure we both meant it. We both meant it with our own definitions of "love." That's a good start.
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