come on in, the church’s fine
As I’ve written previously, my church is a seeking church, meaning if you are looking for God, you are welcome, no matter who you are.
This sounds all well and good, but it’s not as easy as one might think. As many of us on this path of compassion have found, when you truly open yourself up to being perceptive to all life has to offer, there is no more protection from the outside world.
When we say everybody is welcome, that means everybody.
Tommy has been attending Hollywood Lutheran longer than I have. He greeted me with a warm hug the first time I visited. An almost too warm hug. This is the manner in which he greets all visitors, typically choosing to sit by the newcomers, as well- almost a little too closely. I suppose Tommy simply enjoys extending a welcoming hand in return for the church being so welcoming to him.
Tommy has been slowly… transitioning. Since I’ve been attending, he has shifted his singing voice into the upper register, into a slightly-sharp falsetto. He has grown his hair to his shoulders. He has referred to himself as Tommi’ in conversation and, the latest and most declarative move, he has begun to wear what appears to be a stuffed bra.
So Tommy is transgendered. Fine. One of the main reasons I began attending Hollywood Lutheran is because I wanted a church community with a collective mind as open as mine. The challenge with Tommy is that his desire to be welcoming borders on being a little creepy. I brought my then-girlfriend to last year’s Easter service and afterwords, when I inquired as to how she like it, the first thing she brought up was ‘that weird guy who kept hugging her.’ Tommy is a hugger. Big time. And not everybody out there is as into being hugged as Tommy likes to think. And that was before the falsies.
So, here’s where my challenge of compassion comes into play. I like Tommy. I have grown accustomed to his quirky personality and get a kick out of his enthusiasm for (and literal memorization of) scripture and the mission of the church. But as I sit in service and see him sitting tightly next to a first-time visitor, I can’t help but feel a rush of anger as I feel the visitor’s discomfort. I can’t help but think, “Well, shoot, that visitor isn’t coming back, they’ll be too creeped out by Tommy.”
How can I pretend to be compassionate when I’m staring flaming arrows through the back of Tommy’s head, wishing he would take a more conservative approach to his transition and how it affects his ministry to welcoming newcomers?
Almost on cue, I can’t help but notice how some visitors aren’t as put off by Tommy as others. Some sit and talk and laugh with him as if they don’t notice the fact that he’s talking in a oddly high-pitched voice that comes out of a mouth colored with lipstick. They’re happy to be welcomed by this gentle soul.
I feel slightly ashamed for being judgmental and hardly compassionate at all. I’m being everything I’m trying to avoid.
But along with this realization comes a wash of God’s pure love. He loves and welcomes Tommy (or Tommi’) under his wing just as readily as he does myself, flawed and quick-to-judge as I may be.
God’s family isn’t made up of perfect people- my congregation is proof positive of that- and for that I am truly thankful
I would suspect that Tommi is lonely. I acknowledge him for being 100% out there. The risks he is taking seem enormous. I would have coffee with him someday. I would try to find out if he is interested in religious brotherhood or in being my personal friend. You say you enjoy quirky people. This would certainly be pushing my envelope.
Inquire if he realizes that some people are more touchy-feely than others and ask how he makes the distinction.
This could be from one touchy-feely guy to another. He actually sounds like a very good hearted person. And he certainly lives in a society that knows little about what he may be going through.