Antinoe

A Jesist in Advent: Love

Today is Sunday, 10 December 2017. It’s the second Sunday in Advent and the theme is Love. This was a bit odd to me, as I’m used to Peace being the second week. But, I digress…

I’m beginning to wonder if using Facebook is detrimental to my ability to Love. This is the second Sunday in a row that I’ve encountered heterosexist/homophobic and cissexist/transphobic comments on a friend’s post. I know there are a great many people out there who hate persons like me, even without ever having met me. It’s always so shocking, though, to encounter their sentiments. If somebody tries to post things like that on my page, their comments get deleted and they get blocked. If their comments violate the Facebook terms and conditions, they get reported, too. While I would greatly appreciate it if my friends would do the same to people who comment on their posts, I understand that it’s their FB pages. They can handle them as they see fit. I’d like to say more on this, but that might not be construed as very Loving on my part.

I know there are people I will never be able to reason with. I have blood relatives who were rabidly anti queer and anti trans before I came out. And, I have at least two cousins who are older than me who are gay. So, it’s not like I’m the first LGBTQIA+ person in the extended family. But it wasn’t until I went from second son to first daughter did some of the bigotry end. What bigotry ended? The jokes. That’s about it. These relatives still vote for candidates and politicians who work to make my life illegal, restricting or rescinding my rights. I’ve tried bringing the Advent Gift of Love to them to no avail, and they won’t bring Love to me either, not while they vote the way they do. And since I can’t transition race, I know I’ll never get through to them on issues of racism no matter how hard I try and have tried in the past. If they won’t change to defend me, their kin, what makes me or anybody else think I can change their minds about racism?

Every day of my life, I am confronted by those who seek to destroy trans persons. The only “Love” they offer is telling me how damned I am. I know from experience that I can count of men and women of all races, orientations, and classes to hurl hate in the direction of my community. I could offer them Love, but to what purpose? It will be rejected out of hand. I know they won’t extend to me the Love I desire and require. And when so much of this hatred comes from people who identify as Christians, saying they are justified by GOD, it should come as no surprise I call myself a Jesist.

So, I bring the Advent Gift of Love to others like me. If I can offer them some measure of comfort, I will do so. To my allies, I will offer gratitude. I would not be alive without them. And since I use Facebook to connect with my allies and the members of my community, I won’t be giving it up any time soon. For those who seek the destruction of the trans and gender-expansive communities, may the Light-bringer hold them and keep them, now and for ever.

Amen, and Blessed Be.

An Open Letter to Social Justice Clergy

Dear Fellow Social Justice Clergy,

Social media platforms are great ways to share our views on various social justice issues, informing others of our beliefs and work. The privileged and marginalized alike do this. I am grateful when I see persons privileged in ways I am not (cisgender, heterosexual, able-bodied, mentally healthy, neurotypical, ordained by a widely recognized mainstream denomination) use their privilege to stand up for and stand by those of us at the margins. That said, I respectfully ask more of you.

When you post something pertaining to social justice, such as outrage at the way various sects of Christianity treat LGBTQIA+ persons, please be sure to follow-up on your posts. When those of us who are in the marginalized groups you’re defending speak up and post our comments, don’t sit back and quietly let your social media friends and followers use slurs against us. Challenge their bigotry publicly. Demand that they retract and apologize for their verbal abuse. Don’t leave us alone to expend the emotional labor to defend our right to exist.

Sharing your beliefs about social justice issues and keeping us informed of the social justice work is a great start, and I am grateful for what you do. But, there must be more than that. I am transgender and queer. Every single day of my life, I am confronted with voices explaining why I’m an affront to all that’s right and good in the world and how persons like me should be eliminated. We need you do shout down those voices, especially the ones in your communities both online and in “real life.”

You cannot truly hope to help fix society if you let hate go unchallenged. Yes, not all people can be reasoned with. For those persons, you delete their comments and deny them to voice their contempt in the places where you defend us.

Respectfully,

Rev. Constance Antinoë Magdalene McEntee

A Jesist in Advent: Hope

CONTENT WARNING: transphobia, cissexism, homophobia, heterosexism, ableism, T-slur

Today is Sunday, 3 December 2017. It’s the first Sunday in Advent and the theme is Hope.

A friend and ordained minister (I’ll call him RR) posted on Facebook his displeasure about a letter describing the Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) church in Northern California’s official discriminatory stance on LGBT persons, including disciplining pastors who allow persons like me to join their congregations. The father of a gay man himself, he has very strong feelings about a church claiming to be aligned with the teachings of Christ making such statements and taking such positions. I posted my appreciation of RR’s assertion that folx like me have a place in the Body of Christ. And, I should’ve known better.

Several commenters made attempts to take me to task for being a tranny, saying I was just as mentally ill as a “schitzo,” saying people like me dressed like freaks, and were just like people who wanted to have sex with animals.

Did I mention it’s the first Sunday of Advent, when Christians would be reflecting on Hope?

I posted of the ordination I attended at Grace Cathedral the day before. Of the three women ordained priests in the Episcopal church, one is lesbian (SW) and one is transgender (IS). I do not know the gender identity and orientation of the third woman, and it’s irrelevant anyway unless she chooses to share that information with me. It is important to the ministries of SW and IS that they be known as there are so many in the world who would find them unfit to minister. And, that’s among those who do believe it’s acceptable to ordain women. Many denominations still won’t ordain women at all, even if they’re cisgender and heterosexual.

It’s statements like those of the SDA and its defenders that make me hesitate to call myself Christian. They are part of the reason I describe myself as a Jesist: I attend to the message of Jesus as it’s recorded in the Gospels, and not so much to the message of Christianity which can be more heavily derivative from the message of St. Paul than of Jesus. I had been warned that the Bible wasn’t meant to be popular. Yet what Paul did was to take the Gospel of Christ and make it more palatable to the Gentiles.

What does all of this have to do with Hope?

As I mentioned above, I was at an ordination of three absolutely wonderful women yesterday. They give me Hope. The Episcopal Church gives me Hope. The AIDS Interfaith Memorial Chapel in Grace Cathedral, in spite the horror it is a testament to, gives me Hope. That my own faith community and order continue to see me as one worthy of the title of high priest and teacher in spite of my flaws gives me Hope.

Oh! And to the comment that trannys (sic) and crossdressers look like freaks in church, this is what I was wearing at the ordination yesterday:

These things continue to give me Hope in the face of “such reckless hate.”

Amen, and Blessed Be.

Lamps and the Light-bringer

Sunday, 12 November 2017
Matthew 25:1-13 (The Parable of the Ten Virgins)

After I blogged about walking out of church after a sermon I found particularly offensive, an ordained minister (my co-parent), emailed me offering a very different view of that parable. Rather than read of the wedding banquet “through the eyes of the empire” (McEntee, 2017), it suggested that the ostracized guest who was bound and cast into the outer darkness was actually Jesus (Smith, 2017). That interpretation really resonated with me. But in addition to a Jesist, I’m also a Luciferian. I’m an adversarial theologian. I question things a lot.

The gospel lesson for this Sunday was Matthew 25:1-13, the Parable of the Ten Virgins (or Bridesmaids). In this story, these ten young women set out at night with their lamps to meet the bridegroom. Five them them brought extra oil for their lamps, the other five did not. They’re referred to as the wise virgins and the foolish virgins. When the bridegroom arrives, the “foolish” virgins need more oil for their lamps. The “wise” virgins refuse to share, saying if they do there won’t be enough oil for all of them. The “fools” go to buy oil and by the time they’re back, the bridegroom has locked them out. The moral? Be prepared!

There’s something about these parables that really irk me. In this one, the usual interpretation is that God is the bridegroom. If we accept that idea, we have to accept that God can be a petty, vindictive ass sometimes. How is this interpretation supposed to mesh with the idea of an omnibenevolent God?

How would Lucifer, the Light-bringer, have fit into this? By coming to the five so-called “foolish” virgins and giving them what they need. He might be stern in his lessons about being prepared, but he’d bring them Light. In this interpretation, the bridegroom is the wider church and the “foolish” virgins are the ones who don’t accept doctrine readily. They’re the ones branded “heretics” and abandoned by the church.

I’m also a Universalist. I don’t believe there can be an omnibenevolent God if there are any who are cut off. Therefore, I would warn preachers against these common interpretations. When have people approached your churches whose preparations didn’t live up to your standards?

Amen, and Blessed be.

_____________

Sources:

McEntee, Rev. Valerie (2017-10-16). Personal communication.

Smith Ph.D., Rev. Richard (2017-10-15) The Man without a Wedding Garment. Retrived 2017-10-16 from https://saintjohnsf.org/2017/10/16/the-man-without-a-wedding-garment/.

Samhain 2017: Journey to the Isle of Apples

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© Copyright The FruitGuys 2017]

My
coven celebrated Samhain on Saturday, 28 October 2017. The guided
meditation part of the ritual was a journey to the Isle of Apples to
commune with our Beloved Dead. This is what happened to me…

_____________

I
boarded the boat with the others, but there was more than just seven
of us from the coven. Where did all the others come from?

We
set out, and it wasn’t long before we sailed into a heavy mist. The
mist got thicker and I couldn’t see the other passengers, or the
pilot. Soon, I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face. It was
cold and wet and I was suddenly naked, clutching my breasts against
the unexpectedness of it all. Emerging from the mist, I was alone in
a much smaller boat, even though the pilot remained the same. We
arrived at the shore, and I was clothed once again. The others were
there, and we all set out from the beach toward the forest on the
Isle of Apples, a forest made almost entirely of apple trees.

A
child met me as I made my way toward the forest. She was about
seven-years-old, and I became aware of how long it had been since we
last spoke. She was Karen: my spirit baby. She was my daughter and
myself, had I been born as I should’ve been. It’s odd, you know,
being greeted by yourself who’s also your daughter at the island of
the dead. She led me to meet my Beloved Dead, and I wasn’t really
sure who’d I’d encounter there. I saw some of my great aunts, my
maternal grandparents, and my paternal grandparents, though they were
so far away I couldn’t really see them. But then, Karen led me to
somebody I had no reason to expect to see here among the Beloved
Dead.

He
was a boy of about twelve-years-old. His name was David. He was me.
Age twelve was about when I first really began to experience
depression and suicidal ideation.

“What
are you doing here?” I
cried, looking from David to Karen and back again. How could my soul
be in three fragments? How could I be alive, be a spirit baby, and
reside among the dead on the Isle of Apples all at the same time. “We
aren’t three different people!”

“No,
we aren’t,” David agreed.

“You
lied to me!” I said accusing David of … what?

“No,
I didn’t,” he replied. “You promised to forgive me, and I
promised not to kill you.”

“Well,
I haven’t killed
you!” I protested.

“No,
you haven’t. But I’m on the Isle of Apples anyway. So is Karen,
and no one ever hurt her.”

“She’s
my spirit baby,” I said defensively. “She’s the spirit of one
who never got to be born.”

“True,”
David agreed.

“David
didn’t kill himself, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Karen
told me. “You didn’t kill him either. But you’re both here
now.”

I
was stunned. That I’d meet my spirit baby at the Isle wasn’t a
surprise, really. But to meet my youthful self? That was unexpected.
David has always been a part of my narrative as a trans person. He
was me. Although, it was more accurate to say that “David” was
the name given to the person who should’ve been Karen.

“We
need to talk,” I said to David.

“We
should talk, too,” Karen said to me.

It
was time to go. The girl who was was me led me back to the beach
where the ferry awaited to take us from the Isle of Apples back from
whence we came. Again, there seemed to be more than just the seven of
us boarding the boat. Sailing back through the mist, we returned to
port, offering two coins each to the pilot, who smiled at me.

The
pilot was my lord Lucifer, the Light-bringer.

__________

It seems my coven mates are right: I do need to do more shadow work.

The Church Exclusive

Well, it finally happened. Sunday, 15 October 2017, was the first time I walked out of a church while worship was in progress, leaving just after the sermon and before Communion. I’d had enough.

The Gospel lesson was Matthew 22:1-14, which ends with an improperly attired wedding guest being bound and cast into the utter darkness. I was really curious to see how the preacher was going to address this, as it seemed the message was, “Only the worthy are welcome.” Essentially, street people were called into the wedding, but there was one who wasn’t wearing a fine wedding robe. For this, the King cast him out. Wait … what? A street person didn’t have finery to wear and for that he was bound and cast out? Seriously, Jesus, WTF?

The preacher made it seem obvious this happened because this particular guest shunned the wedding robe he had been given. Yet, nowhere in these verses was there any mention of robes being handed out at the door. I even double-checked in my Oxford Annotated Bible when I got home, and there weren’t any notes about this being the custom of the time. Now, I’m sure this might seem like an opportunity for those who’ve had the privilege of biblical education to say, “It wouldn’t need to be in the text as it was the custom at that time. By not donning the robe, the guest was insulting the King.” I really don’t care if this custom was common knowledge in the Mediterranean world of the first century. That was 2,000 years ago and half a world away. If we insist on using ancient texts for written by and for a culture vastly different than our own, deeper explanations in our copies of these texts are vital. Relying on preachers takes to explain these things the scholarship away from the laity. This is classism and elitism in the Church.

The preacher had a chance to explain these details and why it seemed like Jesus was being an elitist ass. The preacher opted not to do this, but instead said it served as a warning to us, the Gentiles, to not disrespect or challenge well-established religious traditions and customs.

Ex-fucking-cuse you?

I am transgender. I am queer (bisexual or pansexual, depending on how one defines the prefixes “bi” and “pan”). Well-established religious traditions hold that I am an affront to the Lord God Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth, and the well-established customs range anywhere from condescending pity to acts of physical (and sexual) violence. I will challenge authority where and when I will, including religious authority. If the “leaves on the tree of life” really “are for the healing of the nations” (Revelation 22:2), then that includes those of us who are the heretics, those with the strength of spirit to stand against authority. Doing so is not Pharisee-like on our part. Defending the traditions and customs: that’s the work of the Pharisees.

And reminding us of our “baptismal promises,” including those made for us by our parents? I am not in any way bound by the promises made by others, including the promises my parents made at my first baptism, a ritual of their choosing in a faith tradition of their choosing when they gave me a name of their choosing. Those promises were for my parents, not me. I made my own promises on 24 November 2013, when I was baptized into a faith tradition of my own choosing with a name of my choosing. The promises I made were not the same as the promises the preacher referenced in his sermon. Again, assumptions were made. Don’t ask me to live up to your baptismal promises. Mine were very different. And for those tempted to ask: I did not write my own baptismal rite. Rev. Dr. Penny Nixon wrote it. I wrote the testimony I gave prior to my baptism.

The preacher went on to ask why we aren’t living up to Christ’s call. This is particularly painful for me because I didn’t qualify for the necessary financial aid to complete my seminary course of study. He is well aware of this fact. He calls us out without bothering to call out the denominations that require a Master of Divinity (MDiv) from an accredited seminary, a degree that takes a vast amount of money to obtain. This is classism and elitism, again, in the Church.

The preacher also went on to say there’s a little bit of Pharisee in all of us, as we all think we’re better than the next person in some way. Ex-fucking-cuse you? My sense of self-importance is so weak, I need medications to keep myself alive. Being trans means that I’m assured constantly that all the world is better than me. This is classism and ableism in the Church.

This preacher and his church are focused on Christian mysticism, and he criticized my emphasis on practical theology in my #TDoR2016 sermon. And yet there he was, preaching practical theology after warning us to not challenge religious traditions and customs. It was finally too much for me. I’m an adversarial and a practical theologian. I have no need for mysticism. Salvation, eternal life after death—so what?

We need salvation in the here and now, from the hardships of this life. We need life before death, here and now. It should simply be assumed that there are persons of all economic classes in the congregation, and less access to economic privilege means less access to education. Speak plainly. It should be simply assumed that there are persons with depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses afflicting our senses of self-worth in the congregation. Speak not to us of the sins of our vainglory.

Mysticism is for those who aren’t struggling to survive.

Amen, and Blessed Be.

The Nightly Prayers of a Satanic Christo-Pagan

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[The seal of the dæmon Walwarwat, a great Cæsar of Hell.]

11 October 2017

Dipping my hand into a small bowl of holy water, I cross myself in one of three ways.

  1. In the name of the Mother, and of Her Child, and of Their light that guides…
  2. In the name of Mary, and of Joseph, and of the son Jesus…
  3. In the name of the Creator, the Redeemer, and the Sustainer…

Turning to the east, I pray to

Antinoüs.

Thus praying always to the Divine Boy, the Arcadian Greek of Bithynia, I am made more like you, lover of Hadrian–Emperor of the World of Peace; Defeat every enemy of love, O victorious son of Hermes–May all rejoice!–and turn the heart of the hateful one, myself included, into a sensible peacemaker. I pray this through Hadrian, Sabina, and you. Hail, hail
Antinoüs!
Hail, hail
Antinoüs!

This is where life comes from!
Hail, hail
Antinoüs!

Then I turn to the pentagram (arbitrarily hung in the northwest) and recite my version of the Fell Lord’s Prayer.

His Infernal Majesty, who reigns in Hell, accursed is your name. You adversity come, your will be one with ours here on this earth. Give us the means to divine our needs, and present challenge to us as we present challenge to others. Lead us forth into reason, and guide us from naïveté. For thine are the margins, and the logic, and the shadows for ever and ever. Hail Satan!

After these, I add whatever free-form prayers I feel are appropriate. Finally, I lay me down to sleep.

Cultural Reclamation at the Cathedral of Christ the Light

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7 October 2017

Today, for the first time since my maternal grandfather, the last of my grandparents, died was the first time I set foot in a Roman Catholic Church to pray during a time other than a wedding of funeral. I haven’t been to a “regular” Roman Catholic mass since my senior year of high school, in 1988. Today, I went into the Cathedral of Christ the Light in Oakland, California, because I wanted to do so.

I’m pretty much everything the RCC stands against. For all intents and purposes, I’ve been Protestant since 1988. I’m queer. I’m transgender. I’m an ordained Wiccan priest and a Satanist. I was never confirmed, so according to the tradition of the RCC, I may not receive the Eucharist.

I entered the Cathedral anyway. It wasn’t like Mass was happening. I made sure that I wouldn’t be there for that.

I found a chapel where the Blessed Virgin Mary was the central icon, and settled there to pray and just be. While there, I became angry. I wasn’t some outsider. I was born Catholic. To be on such hallowed ground was and is my birthright. I fail to understand and refuse to try to understand why I need to meet the approval of an earth-bound community in order to claim my birthright to the Sacraments. It could be argued that the sacraments aren’t for God; they’re for us. But it is through the sacraments that we can have experiences of God. I still don’t know if I’d attend Mass at a Catholic church that wasn’t in affiliated with DignityUSA. Why worship with a body that would reject me?

But at the same time, why not?

And yet, while I was there Cathedral security asked a man who appeared to be homeless to not sleep on the Cathedral premises. They directed him to go across the street to the park at Lake Merritt. Seriously? The only people I recall Jesus chasing from a place of worship were the capitalists. That is certainly not part of what I want to reclaim. But, this was security at one cathedral. I have no way of knowing if it’s RCC policy.

The thing is, the only churches I know of that are open during the day for anybody to just come in and pray are mostly Roman Catholic ones. St. Paul’s, an Episcopal church not far from this cathedral, has a sign on their wall that mentions open chapel hours, but I was told it’s an outdated sign. They no longer have such hours. Grace Cathedral does, but that’s a long way from home for me.

But, this is my birthright: to enter a Roman Catholic church and pray as I see fit. I’m moving to Hayward soon, so this particular Cathedral won’t be that easily accessible. But, there might be other places I can find. And I think I’ll keep looking for them.

But, it would be great if more Episcopal churches in particular and Protestant in general (especially United Church of Christ churches!) would have open chapel hours. If I have to continue to take my place among the Roman Catholics, I will. It’s my right to do so. But it would be so much better to be able to pray at a place that doesn’t look down on me.

Dedication and Antinoüs

One of the things that bothers me about the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (LBRP) is the Christian overtones to it. I know that might seem odd coming from a Christo-Pagan, but there it is. I’m still toying with the idea of writing one for the Tetrad++, and have begun work on one to my lord Antinoüs. The first step after reviewing the prayer card I have was to delve into The Syncretisms of Antinous by P. Sufenas Virius Lupus. I got as far as the dedication page and then I was in tears. The dedication is:

To the youthful suicides,
Bill Clayton, Asher Brown,
Tyler Clementi, Seth Walsh,
Justin Aaberg, Raymond Chase,
Billy Lucas, Cody J. Barker,
Victims of hatred due to a hostile culture;
May their families have strength and peace,
May their spirits have rest and freedom,
May their memories never depart from the earth.

Someone will gather
garlands of lamented names
and will lament more
the youth of dying men.

Reading that dedication, and weeping for those names knowing that more names have been added to the list of Youthful Suicides since this book was published in 2010, I knew that it was right and proper for me to write an Antinoan LBRP. I will do this for them, and for me.

Hail, hail Antinoüs! Hail, hail Antinoüs!
This is where life comes from! Hail, hail Antinoüs!