Legally Crazy; No Longer by the Water

Hello My Dear One,

I recently went to my old neighborhood to poke around and spend some reflective time on the beach. Yes, my neighborhood was on the beach, and no, it's not as glamorous as you might imagine. Still, the coastline of Maine is immeasurably breathtaking and I will always find a special connection to G-d when I am there.

That said, I had a different experience this time, as I realized that 20 years have passed since I've had a physical address there. It was no longer my home. And the changes that I saw had little to do with the buildings, stores, or license plates, but rather with the eyes that were looking at them.

I am no longer a young child experiencing the wonders and freedoms of a largely untouched stretch of rocks, sand, sea glass, shells, driftwood, and beach roses. I am not standing in the surf, delighted by the salty rush of water across my toes. Nor am I repulsed and frightened by the seaweed that wrapped around my ankles.

I am no longer an elementary schooler riding my bike around and around, passing the roaring waves as I sped alongside the cement retaining walls. I no longer plunge my feet into the cold wet sand or scramble across the giant rocks covered in oceanic detritus, daring to get as close to the sea as possible.

I am no longer a young teen about to start high school and witnessing the beginning of the end of my family. I have now seen my father and his mistress on my sacred space of beach, and how I will always know that betrayal. That breaking of my trust, and that breaking of my physical safety net.

I am no longer a troubled older teen, seeing the world through the beginnings of Bipolar 1, filled with uncontrollable emotions, rushing in the middle of the night to sit on the sand in the dark and cry. I do not walk along the concrete walls, curious what would happen if I fell. Or if I were to simply walk out into the unforgiving ocean and its undertow, if I would become one with the sea itself.

I am no longer a young adult, waiting for a future, somewhere, when I can be myself without fear of who that is.

I am no longer a 23 year old lesbian setting off on an adventure of marriage, an apartment, a budget, college courses, jobs, and a new life in a brand new town. 

I am no longer in my 20's still going home to see family and friends.

I am no longer by the water everyday. I am somewhere else and I am someone else as well.

I am a 43 year old transman, happy in my heterosexual orientation. I am still married to the same wonderful woman, but we will be celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary soon. We are living in the 3rd house we've owned, with our 2 sons, a dog, 2 cats, a budget, jobs, and a comfortable life that is fulfilling in most ways. We are part of a faith family that has and continues to support us, and that is integral to our children's development in all aspects of their lives.

I am a man in all my daily experiences, no longer a hurting being that wanted to die rather than live as who I was.

I am made up of all those past selves, but the sum of who I am now is decidedly greater than the sum of those parts.

The ocean is still the easiest place for me to find G-d. The infinite horizon, the infinite sea, the infinite mystery that is unknowable until we move toward it, only to have the horizon continue on ahead. And I will always return to the water to feel that sacredness and holiness.

But I will go as the man I am, the one I dreamt of being, the husband, father, writer, speaker, teacher, and man of G-d.

I am no longer by the water, but I am still in the presence of G-d.

Thank you for sifting through the sand with me on this part of the journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

Ari

View through different eyes.

Legally Crazy; Why I Never Got Ordained

Hello My Dear One,

I have severe mental illness. I know you know that, but sometimes seeing it in black and white makes it less abstract.

I was asked recently which of my mental illness diagnoses (I have more than five) was the one that bothered/affected me the most, and without hesitation I replied "Bipolar 1 Disorder." The person was almost surprised, but I explained that it takes the biggest toll on my psyche. It's unpredictable. It's scary. It takes inordinate amounts of time and effort to keep it under control.

It's the reason, besides being half Jewish, that I never pursued any form of ordained Christian
ministry. I knew that the diagnosis would prevent me from passing the psychological fitness exam. But more importantly, I knew that the disease itself would prevent me from being a stable and safe leader. It's always seemed to me that training doesn't guarantee a profession. And further, my training in seminary was more about my transition as a transgender individual than about the spiritual care of others.

To me, the truest mark of why I didn't go for it was that I didn't take the four final classes. I never took Pastoral Care, Introduction to Worship, Church Field Placement, or Clinical Chaplaincy Placement. Those are the "where the rubber meets the road" courses and I put them off until it was too late to do anything about them. For years I blamed my advisor for doubting my call to ministry and her having me take theological/academic courses instead of pastoral leadership ones in the first years of seminary. But perhaps she saw in me something that I didn't see back then. She knew my mental health history, and she never came to terms with my gender identity and transition, but I don't think that was her only reasoning.

In looking back I think she must have seen the academic in me. The lecturer. The professorial dreams. The desire to learn and synthesize vast amounts of information, knowledge, facts, and theories rather than administrative or daily pastoral care. She herself was an academic nun, and hadn't felt the call to ministering to individuals in a pastoral way. Rather, she taught students for decades about the history and enormous value of Torah, or for her, the Old Testament. Even her History of the Bible course had only one class out of fifteen on the Christian Scriptures. She had a passion for the prophet(s) Isaiah and the writings, that was unparalleled in any of the other professors I had. She also had a thing for photocopied handouts, but that was a separate issue.

Now that I'm more than ten years away from that part of my journey, I can look back with a completely different lens. I used to blame her for so many of my struggles, but in retrospect I understand that ordination was never my path, and those struggles were what propelled me to be the theologian that I am. Though I do not get paid in money for my work or expertise, I do receive "G-d" pay for using my gifts of theological studies.

So, after a sermon I gave recently, I was able to name the fact that I am not a pastor, but I am a preacher. I am one who studies the inner depths of scripture and reports back the message that I feel called to share with others. Most of the time, I do this with young children in a religious education setting. But occasionally I get those opportunities to preach to adults and it is always a wonderful time in my spiritual life.


But none of that means that I wish to be ordained.

No, my love is for the studying itself, and the passing on of the understandings that I've gleaned. My heart is in the individual letters of the texts, right down to the vowel pointing in the original Hebrew writings. I gain my greatest fulfillment in parsing out the hidden ideas and ideals in ancient phrases passed down through an oral tradition and then captured in the markings that can relate them to those who will never hear the tales. I adore the process of entering into a narrative and searching throughout it, attempting to find a way that leads to something greater than just the text itself. That is a gift I wholly enjoy.

Preacher man.

So, I know that I want to keep going with what I do. I want to share my deep and profound love of finding truth and meaning in texts that are thousands of years old. I want to share the history, the words, the images, and the ideas that recount the faith of generations upon generations. And I need to communicate these things in all that I do. I need to commit to my passion. And I need to be present to my call in this direction.

Thank you for being present with me on this part of the journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

- Ari