I think one of the hardest things about change are the endings. Spending weeks of experiencing a slew of "lasts" was both exciting and heartbreaking. Six weeks from my last service in Manitoba, I sat in a conference room in Gimli, looking around at all the faces that I've grown to love and care for, faces that I will likely never see again. Sure, everyone says they will stay in touch, and we probably mean it, at the time. But the truth is that soon there will be almost four provinces between us, two ecclesiastical provinces, and a multitude of dioceses. We all know that despite the best of intentions, staying in touch doesn't always happen.
I suppose part of my wonderings on that day was whether or not I'd be leaving behind any sort of legacy. Would I be remembered? It's human nature to want to be remembered, to not be forgotten, so I shouldn't have been surprised at these feelings. People kept telling me how much they will miss me, how much the diocese will miss me, and how much of a loss my leaving has created. But was it truth or platitudes? If it was indeed truth, why? What have I done that will be missed so greatly? What kind of person am I that will cause my presence to be missed? What is, or was, my story and why does, or did, it matter?
As I prepared to leave the only life I've ever known, I felt awfully insignificant. And yet, somehow, my story remains newsworthy. The Winnipeg Free Press ran my story one last time - the story of my time as a transgender priest in the Diocese of Rupert's Land. To me, my story isn't that interesting, but everyone seems to be interested in hearing it. Yet when I speak my story, it comes out sounding very boring. Maybe I'm telling it wrong? Do I need to learn how to be a better story-teller?
Despite the fascinating part of being a transgender priest, the rest of my life is relatively dull and normal, and overwhelmingly insignificant. I don't have any abuse in my life. I wasn't kicked out for being gay. I was accepted, to my face anyway, for being transgender. It doesn't feel like I've risked my life or suffered in any way for being my authentic self. This doesn't mean I haven't had awful things happen to me, sad and heart-breaking things, but are they newsworthy? Are they important enough to be part of the story people want to hear?
So, did I leave a legacy behind in Rupert's Land? Perhaps. It's been two months since I left Manitoba and I still haven't been to answer that question. All I can do now is look towards the future and build on the legacy that I want to leave in the Diocese of Islands and Inlets. Onward and upward, as they say.
Dear Theo. We always wonder these questions about ourselves and our legacy. I appreciate you vocalizing and laying them bare to us. That is so you- your authentic self, showing up. That is your legacy. You, who have been doing a “first” for the church, first transgender priest, do it through your authentic self. Your work as a priest, not just as a transgendered priest, shows up in how you build relationships ships with people everywhere you go and how you bring people onboard with love and acceptance. I saw that in how you dealt with grieving friends who needed care and authenticity of the pastoral role in their lives. Blessings as you continue the work you’ve been called to do.
ReplyDeleteAs an aside, Rick and I have moved through calls and home parishes in four provinces. The friends who matter have shown up in our lives on and off through the years. They are still a blessing today
I think this is honest introspection. As chapters close in our lives, and as we become older, we find ourselves asking these types of questions. Have I left a legacy? Have I fulfilled the purpose set out before me? Have I honoured God through the use of my gifts? I think the asking of those questions are perhaps answers telling us that we are on the right path. When our introspection wanes, it is then we slowly become complacent or perhaps we simply settle for a lives of mediocrity. Thanks for sharing your heart. It means a great deal to me.
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