Love your neighbor: Protect trans people
It doesn’t matter if you think trans people aren’t real.
It doesn’t matter if you think the Bible condemns trans people. (It doesn’t.)
It doesn’t matter if you think God only made two sexes. (There are several sexes and we’ve known this for hundreds of years.)
We can agree on one thing. We are called to love our neighbor.
Right?
And loving our neighbor, at its minimum, according to the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37), includes ensuring that people don’t die.
Right? RIGHT?
If all you have to do is mind your business and not make lives unbearable, and you insist on doing the exact opposite of that, you aren’t loving your neighbor.
And, really, that’s all the discussion we need to have. No Bible verse battle. No Twitter rant. No blog post full of stats and theological positions.
If being right and separated from people who make you uncomfortable is more important than giving people basic healthcare to improve their lives, or even keep them alive, we really have nothing to discuss, until you are willing to see trans people as people.
That’s not being passive. That’s directing my energy into efforts that will actually keep people I love alive.
If you want to have a deeper conversation, then you have to demonstrate you actually love your trans neighbor. Too far? How about your trans co-worker? Your trans student? Your trans child?
Like you, probably, I’ve known the story of the Good Samaritan since I was a kid. My teachers always focused on the first part.
A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.
And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side.
But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, and went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.
I learned (in the King James Version) all about the dangers of the Jericho road, what priests and Levites were, and why they wouldn’t touch a person in a ditch. It was great drama and I loved great drama. This story with four characters, the repetitive action, and a moral made for a great skit.
But that was never the part that intrigued me. It was the next part.
And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.
As a kid I knew a night even at a cheap motel was expensive. This person was willing to spend a lot on one person they didn’t even know to make sure they were going to be ok. To me, helping a person in a ditch was just basic decency. What really struck me was the commitment to the injured person’s wellbeing. This was not just a good deed. This was compassion.
Here’s how I’m loving my trans neighbor. Transphobic hate crimes are on the rise in Canada. In my province. In my city. I’m writing to my politicians to demand protection for and celebration of my 2SLGBTQ+ family. I’m signing up to volunteer with a local advocacy group. And when I can’t show up, I’m donating money. It may not be much, but I’m not leaving my trans neighbors and loved ones to fight for their lives alone.
