I suspect I 'get away' with the two 'poems' on offer here. 'Get away' because they both need a lot of work to get them to be where I want them (as 'page poems') especially the first. 'Checklist for a Trans Person Entering Church' might yet work as a list poem, but I haven't had the energy to do anything with it since GB. 'Coming Out' is now significantly different, especially the closing section (Though every part has been sharpened up and shaped). I think that what matters about these pieces as you find them here is the rhetorical force rather than the craft. Performance is an odd thing. Jean Sprackland said to me recently that sometimes we might need different versions of the same poem for different settings. At GB I felt like I had a particular point about trans and church, so maybe these words aren't too bad.
Saturday, 25 October 2014
Saturday, 18 October 2014
I don’t usually use this blog for health updates, but this seemed the simplest, quickest way to tell the many kind friends and supporters who’ve asked about where things are up to. I’ll try and keep it brief!
On Friday 17th October I went to Manchester Royal Infirmary for an attempt to dilate a narrowed section of my ileum. As many of you will know I have Crohn’s and that led to the removal of my large intestine/colon in 2008 and the formation of a permanent ileostomy. Ongoing active Crohn’s has led to further damage in my remaining bowel, including a 15cm long severe stricture about 80cm proximal to my ileostomy. The stricture is c. 5mm wide which leads to pain and discomfort. My hope was that by stretching the bowel some relief might be had and I could get back to a more normal approach to eating. (Running alongside this plan has been an increase in the drug regimes that I’m on in the hope that my active Crohn’s Disease would be brought under control.)
I went to hospital with what I would call 'measured hope'. My consultant, Dr Rob Willerts is a regionally and nationally respected specialist and the one chap in the North West who combines the endoscopic skills and, more importantly, judgment to decide 'to dilate or not dilate' a stricture. If anyone was going to deal with the challenges, well, he’s the man. But I also knew that this procedure was exploratory – until the scope was inside the bowel, no one could be sure about the precise state of the stricture/s. Crucially, a balloon dilatation would only happen if they comprised scar tissue rather than active, ulcerating Crohn’s.
Alas, things have not gone quite as I’d hoped. When Rob and his team got to the stricture it was clear that the narrowing is full of active Crohn’s. As he explained afterwards, as soon as the scope touched the stricture it bled. That, however, is not the worst of it.
Rob did manage to get the scope through the stricture to take a look further up. Sadly there is further ulceration behind the stricture and it looks nasty, circumferential and active. At this point the team decided to end the procedure. It was not realistic to dilate the multiple problems.
In addition, there may be some Upper G.I. issues – apparently my scans show the possibility of a narrowing in the duodenal area. This is, of course, a wee bit worrying.
Where does this leave me? Well, it is a bit deflating. Despite being on high doses of advanced treatments for Crohn’s the disease has not been brought under control. It’s a reminder that my Crohn’s is of a complex variety.
I will be sent back to my team at Salford Royal and the hope is that the increase in some of my drugs will – over time – bring the active disease under control. There is a new Crohn’s drug Vedolizumab now coming on-line and that might be worth exploring. Obviously, drug treatments bring with them constant issues about side-effects, but I’ve been dealing with these for years and I’ve not been defeated yet! There is, of course, the shadow of surgery as well, but – given the fact that my previous, extensive adventures under the knife make that the very last resort – that will need to be considered with a calm and measured mind.
Those of you who know me best know that I am not easily deflated or knocked-back. I continue to try to be sensible with my energies and resources and, more often than not, end up acting like an idiot. I shall attempt to process this new info with sense and prayerful discernment. God, in my experience, is incredibly gracious and good, even in the midst of (quite literally) shit. I remain hopeful of a way ahead that is life-giving and flourishing.
I remain so energized by the opportunities ministry, the arts and, well, life throw my way. I actually believe that God is often most creative in the midst of the most troubling challenges life can throw at us. Until such time as I cannot, I shall just keep on keeping on. And in the meantime 'good news' will emerge, good news that is not predicated on some childish and easy myth of what 'good health' looks like.
Thank you for all your love, good vibes/prayers/crossed fingers/etc and support. It means so much. You’re wonderful. xx
Saturday, 11 October 2014
Perhaps ‘Coming Out’ shouldn’t matter. Perhaps we should live in a world where saying one is LGBT* is no more significant than saying one is ‘coming out’ as straight. But it does matter because we still live in a heteronormative world, especially in the church.
Yesterday I spoke at an Inter-Diocesan ‘Mental Health’ Day. I welcomed the opportunity to help people reflect on how both Church and Society can be places which have deleterious effects on the well-being of LGBT folk. Sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously, the Church creates environments in which LGBT people are encouraged to stay so far in the closet they’re stuck in a Narnia where Christmas never comes.
Being able to be safely congruent with friends, neighbours and society is one of the ways human flourishing works. This is one of the reasons why ‘coming out’ matters. And if you think there is too much ‘look at me’ in ‘coming out’ stories I invite you to take a good look at yourself. Heterosexuality and heteronormativity have their own ‘coming out’ narratives and we are expected to celebrate them. We call them things like ‘getting engaged’ and ‘getting marriage’. And, yes, these are things worth celebrating; it is just that they are so much part of the habitus of our lives that they conceal their nature as ‘coming out’ events. Being out is not about showing off; it’s about being congruent and being real. And for a lot of LGBT people it is still incredibly costly.
Earlier I was thinking about how tricky it is to come out, especially in the Church. This will be the case for the foreseeable future. I know people find it hard enough in liberal church contexts like those reasonably common in a diocese like Manchester. How much more so in less diverse church settings?
As I thought about these issues I concluded how extraordinary it would be to hear some messages of support from those in authority in the church for those who are using this day to ‘come out’.
Maybe I’m a fool, but I like to imagine a day when on social media and such like, you will be able to read a whole load of messages from bishops and archdeacons and, hey, even a few more lowly vicars like me saying, ‘Love, prayers and support for all coming out today.’ Of course it would signal an extraordinary shift in the fabric of the church and perhaps such a shift is impossible. But as long as the church and its leadership remains committed to a vision of human flourishing predicated on being our true selves in the reality of God, such a shift is surely possible. For the shalom of God can never based on living a lie, but on being honest to God, self and community.
Thursday, 21 August 2014
A poem about my experience of 'Coming Out' as trans. It's still a work in progress, but I think it has some energy & is worth sharing.
A quick note: I say, 'On this day when I'm talking about 'coming out and Zacchaeus' in my opening spiel. I was asked to offer some thoughts on Luke 19 for Diverse Church, which I did in a longer post before I put this together! I shall probably link that here at some point.
Sunday, 17 August 2014
‘When are the shared conversations starting and who’s going to be involved?’
I’ve heard and been asked these two questions in various settings over the months since The Pilling Report came out.
The Pilling Report commended a process of ‘facilitated conversation’ as a way of moving forward discussion and relationships within the Church of England on all things LGBT. In light of the House of Bishops’ meeting earlier this year, the notion of ‘facilitated conversation’ shifted towards ‘shared conversations’ between various interested parties, leading up to a discussion in General Synod in 2016. (One assumes that the term ‘facilitated’ was troublesome because it held the implication that healing and mediation might be necessary.)
As I understand it, this formal process of shared conversation begins after a meeting of the College of Bishops this coming autumn. Diocesan bishops will then nominate representatives for regional discussions, including LGBT reps and a mix of lay and ordained.
I’ve been thinking an awful lot about this (by church standards!) imminent process in the past couple of weeks. While this fact is no doubt a symptom of my need to get out more, my rumination is also unsurprising. Like pretty much every LGBT person who has chosen to stick around within the church I am profoundly conscious of the extent to which ‘we’ have been treated as something to be talked about, as an issue. So there’s a part of me that’s intrigued by the possibility that we might be talked to. Really talked to.
And, yet, the Pilling Report was also, supposedly, part of a process of being talked to and with. As someone who conversed at length with members of the Pilling Committee I’m not especially convinced I was listened to. It would not be beyond the possibility that I might the kind of person who was asked to participate in the upcoming conversations. (And I suspect there will be a goodly number of people who – as much out of a desire to know what this process will involve – will be keen to participate.) And yet that previous experience has made me suspicious of the whole process.
In some respects it feels like the world is changing fast. The number of ‘coming outs’ recently, including Vicky Beeching, has hopefully left some church people thinking, ‘are there actually any straight people in the church?’ (;-D). However, the treatment of Jeremy Pemberton and the patchy nature of support for LGBT people in the C of E should give pause. As someone said to me recently, ‘We live in a bubble in Manchester diocese.’ It is a place where – more or less – LGBT lay and ordained can thrive and feel supported. You don’t have to travel too far outside the bounds of the city to experience a quite different reality.
Why am I suspicious about the ‘shared conversation’ process? Partly because ‘conversations’ have been going on in one form or another since at least the Consultations of the ‘70s. And yet it’s not clear that the C of E institution qua institution has shifted that much.
However, I am more concerned about whether the conversations will truly be conversations. The notion of ‘conversation’ includes the meanings of a ‘turning together’ or a ‘changing together’ as well as a living amongst or dwelling together. It is a mesmerizing possibility, but given things like the House of Bishops’ Pastoral Statement (aka The Valentine’s Day Massacre) it’s difficult for those of us who have been traditionally excluded from welcome in the church to trust that those with power, privilege and authority will genuinely place their privilege at risk of conversion, of conversation.
I believe that, in conversation, a mutual conversion to one other is certainly possible and I guess many of us would still be willing to give it a go. But we’d better hope God is around to give all participants a reality check, a regular kick in the shins.
Monday, 4 August 2014
he is sitting in a high-backed chair watching fat wrestlers on TV
the screen thicker than a cartoon character’s glasses
his shirt grimy collared fraying around the cuffs his trousers
great clown-worthy trousers imprisoned in braces
and a belt surely made from the side of a cow
the liver-spotted arms the muscles thin as his hair
that finger the third on his left hand knuckled short
as if a knife has been taken to it as vicious as the one he uses
to de-string sausages for tea
and the sigh he gives when
I ask how the finger was lost
the words he speaks
Mametz Neuve Chappelle Wipers and finally
Passchendaele said as if his mouth is clotted with mud
Some days we receive them as gift,
held above us like snow falling,
yet seeming to rise, threads packed thickly,
heavy with names. Threatening to wipe away
the familiar paths beneath our feet.
Down here there is nothing,
but waiting, trying to remember
the lessons that would make us safe,
forgetting how when the storm comes we shall
find nothing to cling to, the night
slick with ice; how it is possible for frost to be made
in summer, how there can be emblems waved,
celebrations at which no one is found.