I taught my first class of the spring semester last week, and, as
I usually do, I went through my whole “functional extrovert” speech. The gist of it is that while I know not
everyone is an extrovert—and indeed, many people who go into professional
ministry are introverts [and there’s nothing wrong with that!]—all public minsters
must be able to function as extroverts when the occasion calls for it. That means that in certain settings, in
certain situations, with certain groups of people, all public ministers need to
be able to present themselves as extroverts:
actually seeking out and initiating contact and conversation with a wide
variety of people, greeting them warmly and with enthusiasm, and being one of
the last to leave the party. [It’s OK to
go home and crash when it’s over.] Therefore, in my class, I also insist on
active participation in discussions from everyone, even the introverts; I tell
them this is a good time to start practicing their extroverted behavior.
Now, the reality is, of course, that few people, if any, are pure
extroverts or introverts. Instead, we
all exist somewhere on the spectrum, and our place on that spectrum isn’t
fixed. I know people whose Myers-Briggs profile switched over time, after they found themselves
in a new job, a new location, a new family situation, etc., etc. The reality is that our identities always are
constructed: they are a combination of
our internal dispositions, feelings, orientations, and self-understanding; and
our external environments, social networks, vocational demands and contextual
surroundings. How we self-identify and publicly perform evolves over time, from our youth, through college, and into
adulthood, maturity and old age. I think
this openness and flexibility is a good thing for most of us, as it helps us
grow, change, and respond positively and constructively to new people and new
situations.
This was all in the back of my mind when I read the story
published in The New York Times on Feb.
3rd, 2015—here’s the link: A Third Gender: Neutral. The story was titled, “A University
Recognized a Third Gender: Neutral,” and
it was about the decision that the University of Vermont made to enable
students to choose their own first name—legal or not—and also their own preferred pronouns. [The article reproduced a chart, created by the L.G.B.T. Resource Center at the University of
Wisconsin, offering options: “e/ey,” “he,”
“she,” “per,” “zie,” “they,” “ve,” & “sie”—with corresponding pronouns in different
grammatical cases.] In case you are
wondering, the University’s investment in this commitment included the money
needed to make these choices possible in the campus-wide database, so that
professors and others would all have access to this information, without making
the student have to explain “zirself” over and over again. [Another option is foregoing pronouns altogether,
and using “name only,” which is actually what many theologians do when speaking
of God. Hmmm….might we have something to
learn from the LGBTQI community here?]
As an outsider, and someone who doesn’t have any transgender
or genderqueer friends, I don’t know from personal experience what it is like
to find oneself caught between the male/female dichotomy that allows no grey
area, no fluidity. But, I do know what
it feels like to be put into a box that doesn’t quite fit—a box that I might be
fine with sometimes, but I definitely don’t want the lid closed: I want to be able to get out when I choose,
too. When people label me as an
academic, a Christian, an athlete, a football fan—whatever—those label carry
all sorts of connotations, good and bad; some of them fit, and some of them don’t. Some of them I welcome, and some of them I
resist. I want the freedom to be who I
am, the freedom to show different faces to the world, the freedom to evolve and change over time, the freedom to be one thing and another--or both things at once.
Listen to this exchange with a student who was interviewed
for the article: “Identifying as genderqueer
is an opportunity to self-invent, unburdened from social expectations about
dress and behavior. Occasionally [the student] Gieselman wishes for a lower
voice and flatter chest, but other times feels O.K. with, even happy about,
having a feminine physique. ‘Even within the same day or the next day I can
suddenly really love how my chest looks in a sundress’, said Gieselman, who
wears two small nose rings. In the bedroom closet hang T-shirts, flannels,
dresses and a rack of bow ties.”
How is our theology making room for people like Gieselman? How are we allowing ourselves to be taught by
‘them’ [Gieselman’s preferred pronoun]?
What can we learn about our understanding of the imago Dei, of creation, of sin and redemption? Lots, I imagine; and it will be a better
world for us all when our understanding of personhood isn’t so fixed, and when
we all have a greater degree of fluidity as we seek to be the people God
created us to be: loving God, loving
ourselves, and loving others.
