Making "all" mean "all" in the Diocese of San Joaquin

A post by Louise Brooks, cross-posted from the Walking with Integrity Blog

Carolyn Louise Woodall got ordained last Saturday to the Sacred Order of Deacons in the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin -- smack dab in the middle of California's conservative Central Valley. There was no fanfare, there were no media and there were no protesters. I was there with a film crew to document the event for Integrity’s VOICES OF WITNESS project entitled "Out Of The Box" -- celebrating the lives and witness of transgender Episcopalians.

 As the service began we had our cameras ready when the Bishop asked "... if any of you know any impediment or crime because of which we should not proceed, come forward now, and make it known." We were ready … but no one came forward. It was the people's will that Carolyn be ordained and it was their will to uphold her in her ministry – and they said so, loud and clear. On the surface this was your typical ordinary ordination … but truth be told it was anything but.

As I sat in the tiny church watching this ordinary/extraordinary ordination unfold, I remembered my last trip to the Diocese of San Joaquin. It was five years ago – just after the then-sitting Bishop Schofield tried to take the diocese out of the Episcopal Church and become the Anglican Diocese of San Joaquin: a schismatic response to the ordination of Bishop Gene Robinson and the blessing of same sex unions.

 Bishop Schofield – arguably one of the most reactionary bishops in the Episcopal Church – would not ordain women to the priesthood and would not give communion to gay persons. People joked that he was more catholic than the Catholics – and when he became a bishop he added the name John to his birth-name David becoming Bishop John-David.

Four of us, LGBT leaders from the Diocese of Los Angeles, traveled the long Central Valley highway lined with citrus trees, table grapes, raisins, almond groves and other visually interesting crops, to meet with the Remain Episcopal team. They were the folks who stayed. And that day this faithful remnant of Episcopalians described to us the goals they had set for San Joaquin: to rebuild the diocese, to ordain women, to welcome and include all the strangers at the gate. And as I sat there in the pew in St. Anne’s, Stockton at the ordination of Carolyn Louise Woodall, I was aware that they have come a long way in those five years. A very long way.

Carolyn Louise Woodall was born Clifford Lawson Woodall. She was born out of the box. "I had known I was different since I was four or five years old, I just didn’t figure out the extent of my differences until much later in life. It isn’t as if there weren’t clues, it was just that I had gotten very good at denial. I never even heard the word “transsexual” until college, and then I had a passing thought that it might apply to me, but quickly buried that thought. As time went on, however, the thought that I might be transsexual kept resurfacing and I continued to bury it as best I could."

But she couldn't bury it forever. "I could learn to live with it, start living as a woman, and move on with life or, I could kill myself. I decided on suicide that night. I sat there convinced of a couple of things. One was that I was an abomination before God. God made me male at birth and I would be unfaithful to God by changing that. Additionally, this was wrong. So was suicide, but that night I prayed that God would consider suicide the lesser sin and forgive me for what I was about to do. I had a gun in the dresser right behind me and it would be quick and easy.

Fate intervened and Carolyn was relieved." I quickly realized that I had been looking for a reason not to go through with it and was very glad I had found one."

Carolyn Woodall always loved the church. She sang in choirs from a young age and felt a call to ministry as early as she can remember. She entered the discernment process as a transgendered woman and the Church received her call last Saturday.

She was ordained by one of the great champions of inclusion and giants of justice in the Episcopal Church: Bishop Chet Talton. Bishop Talton – who previously served as Bishop Suffragan in my diocese of Los Angeles so I can brag on him a bit -- has thrown down a gauntlet of welcome in the Diocese of San Joaquin: “Whoever you are and wherever you find yourself, you are welcome here." And they are.

Carolyn's ordination service was hosted by the Reverend Lyn Morlan, Rector of St. Anne's Church in Stockton. Five years ago she wouldn't have been licensed to serve in the Diocese of San Joaquin, let alone called to be the rector of a parish. And tears came to my eyes as I watched a gay couple come forward to the communion rail as I remembered the horror story of a another gay couple being turned away at the altar a few short years ago.

So here’s my message to those who are discouraged and think the church is not moving fast enough: take heart, it is happening. Giants of justice like Bishop Chet Talton are making it happen. Integrity USA is making it happen. Each and every one of you is making it happen. We set audacious goals and we achieve incremental victories every day. Saturday’s ordination of Carolyn Louise Woodall was surely an audacious victory in the Diocese of San Joaquin. And if it can happen there, it can happen anywhere.

In Texas and Tallahassee; South Florida and South Carolina – and in all the other places where the full inclusion of all the baptized in all the sacraments is still a goal and not a reality. It's just a matter of time. We are at the tipping point. And we are in it to win it.

Many thanks to those brave leaders who didn't give up. To the Remain Episcopal folks who rebuilt a diocese. To Bishop Chet Talton for being the right shepherd in the right place at the right time. And especially to Deacon Carolyn Louise Woodall for modeling for us God's mission: to be your true and authentic self so you can have a true and authentic relationship with Him in order to call others into the circle of God’s inclusive love.

Louise Brooks serves on Integrity's Board of Directors and is their Director of Communications.  She is currently the Executive Producer of VOICES OF WITNESS: Out Of The Box....a video that celebrates the lives and witness of transgender Episcopalians. The DVD, complete with a study guide, will be released in May, 2012 as a gift to the church from Integrity.

Transgender and Episcopal, in the Military

This piece, which came out yesterday in the Chapel Hill News, profiles Sam Taylor, a laywoman and former army chaplain's assistant.  I first met Sam when she was in the Micah Project, an Episcopal young adult program in the Boston area (now called Life Together-- which is now accepting applications for the 2012-2013 academic year), prior to her deployment to Iraq.  Stay tuned for the second part of this two-part story, and then follow Sam's own writing, which is to follow this two-part series of stories in the Chapel Hill News.

Home from the war, a woman
SAM TAYLOR KEPT HER TRANSGENDERED IDENTITY A SECRET WHILE SERVING IN IRAQ.

Sam Taylor had to keep her transgendered identity a secret while on duty in Iraq. CONTRIBUTED PHOTO Sam Taylor now lives openly as a woman. COURTESY OF MELISSA BOYAJIN

BY TAMMY GRUBB, CORRESPONDENT

CHAPEL HILL - First of two partsSam Taylor wants to live "honestly and happily with the world" and, at 26, is just starting the journey to a career and family.
The Stanly County native joined the Army in 2003 to pay for college and, in 2007, completed a religious studies major and creative writing minor from UNC.
Two years later, Taylor left family in Chapel Hill for deployment in southern Iraq with the 34th Infantry Division.
The chaplain's assistant spent 11 months dodging rockets and toting an M-16 assault rifle to protect the chaplain, while advising soldiers and providing religious services.
Family, friends and newspaper readers at home kept up with Taylor through columns from Iraq, praying for a safe return and sending packages and correspondence.
From Basra - a city that saw some of the most intense fighting - Taylor wrote that the unit ministry team slept in a plywood hooch with a metal roof just yards from where three young soldiers were killed. Wooden crosses stood where they fell.
The team also helicoptered out for a week or two at a time to minister to soldiers in remote areas.
Taylor remembers one soldier who came in upset about an Armed Forces News story on a transgender woman. As the soldier sat crying, he said if there was any justice, "she-males" would be rounded up and killed, Taylor said.
"We had some very serious talks about how these probably weren't the people he was actually angry with, and I reminded him that we're all children of God," Taylor said. "He trusted me; he wanted to hear what I had to say ... (and) we got to talk about what was actually wrong."
No one knew how deeply that conversation touched Taylor - a closeted transgender woman.
Out - and back in again
The National Center for Transgender Equality estimates transgender individuals - people who are uncomfortable with their birth gender - make up 1 percent or less of the U.S. population. Transgendered identity does not indicate someone's sexual orientation.
A self-described "redneck" who shoots guns and talks basketball, Taylor says she always knew she wasn't a boy, but didn't want to risk coming out in a conservative community.
She first lived openly as a woman three months before going to Iraq, as the resident caretaker for a Boston rectory.
That came to an end when she was deployed to Iraq as a member of the Army National Guard.
Re-assuming a male identity was hard, but being openly transgender isn't an option in the military, Taylor said. You live a long time in close proximity to others, and every email or Facebook comment can be scrutinized. Daily attacks only add to the stress.
"Everything is exaggerated, and all the dials are turned (up)," Taylor said. "I was very nervous, and I was very, very worried about being outed in the Army."
A good soldier
The military has had gays and lesbians in its ranks for years, but it hasn't welcomed them with open arms.
Sgt. Jason Kalarchik, a former roommate, said some soldiers suspected Taylor was gay, but it wasn't their business.
"In the military, especially when you're deployed, if you think that about somebody, keep it to yourself," Kalarchik said. "The Army is really strict about it, and if anybody came into the office and said anything, they knew that I'd be on them."
It's unusual for sergeants and lower-ranked enlistees to bunk together, but "we got along really well," Kalarchik said. They're still good friends, although Kalarchik said he was surprised to learn last year that Taylor was a transgender woman.
"Sam kept it pretty close to the vest on the whole transgender issue," he said. "His personality was definitely different. He had some pretty liberal leanings when we had political discussions, and he spoke vehemently about gay rights."
Last month, Taylor told her Army chaplain, Kevin Winemiller, the truth. He was surprised and doesn't agree with the choice, but Winemiller said they will always be friends.
Winemiller said he isn't sure what response a transgender soldier would receive from other soldiers. But Taylor was a good soldier and chaplain's assistant, building a lending library, inventing games for the soldiers, and even earning the "high honor" of writing speeches for the colonel, he said.
"He was a great Bible teacher, he could run the chapel ... he could do the presentation of the Sacraments, he could do everything," Winemiller said.
Fitting the mold
One week after being discharged last spring, Taylor started injecting estrogen hormones into her thigh muscle in May 2010. Typically, hormones make breasts grow larger, reduce body hair, soften skin and move body fat to the hips, thighs and buttocks. Voice changes require surgery.
Taylor doesn't like to talk about her physical changes.
"I feel that, because there are so many stories and jokes and ideas about what happens to a trans woman's body ... and because that journey is often so visible to the outside world, non-trans people often feel that they are no longer bounded by standards of politeness when it comes to questions about a trans person's body," she said.
Her parents, Michael and Susan Taylor, said they stand in support of her.
"We are Sam Taylor's parents," they said via email. "We love Sam and are proud of Sam. A graduate of UNC, a veteran of the Iraq War and a devoted Christian, Sam is a fine person. We stand with Sam."
Taylor said being out has improved her relationships and her ministry.
"I can let people know there is forgiveness and love and grace for everyone, not just the folks who happen to fit into just the right mold of how somebody else thinks they should be," Taylor said.
In the fall, she became active as a layperson at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Brookline, Mass. She is taking steps to someday become a priest.
Taylor has faced the stigma of being transgender a few times, although it's usually just a dirty look or a double take, she said. Once, three men surrounded her on a train, asking threatening questions. Taylor stayed calm and got off at the next stop.
Her focus now is on being honest with herself.
"Sadly life isn't simply one long trip to steal a dragon's treasure out from under some mountain," Taylor said. "There's no one scale to pain or worry, or to the joy that comes with knowing that it is possible to survive and thrive despite whatever the universe has thrown at me."