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Last Wednesday night, my Common Sanctuary support group for LGBTQIA+ adults met for the third time at my church, The Quest. It was a small gathering of trans and nonbinary folks who all knew each other from previous meetings. We had just started our check-ins when a new attendee walked in and joined our circle. He looked a little nervous, so I welcomed him, shared a little bit about myself and the group, and invited him to settle in as we continued.
Before anyone else could share, though, he interrupted and asked to go next. He wasn’t sure if he belonged in the group—and for good reason. As he awkwardly began to explain, he wasn’t queer himself. He was happily married to his wife of many years, and they had two children, one of whom is gay (“and I don’t have any problem with it!”), but the reason he had come that night was because he had “a son who wants to be a girl,” and he was really struggling with that. He didn’t understand why he was struggling. He said he had always been an ally, had always had gay friends, and had fully accepted his gay child. But this…? This was different. This was throwing him for a loop. And he needed to talk about it.
Before we continued, I paused to check in with the rest of the group. This space was intended to be for LGBTQIA+ people only, and even though this man seemed sincere and well-intentioned, his presence wasn’t what we had planned for. I made it clear that it was up to them: we could absolutely ask him to leave and connect him with other resources that wouldn’t compromise the integrity of this space. But after a few minutes of discussion, each participant said they were happy to have him stay. They were touched by his desire to learn and to be a good dad to his trans daughter, and they wanted to help.
What unfolded over the next 90 minutes was a beautiful example of the generosity and open-heartedness of the queer community. I got to sit back and bear witness as four trans and nonbinary people shared their stories—their experiences of coming out to their parents, the complicated, painful, funny, and heartwarming memories of how people had gotten it right, and how people had gotten it wrong. We laughed together and shed a few tears. I watched our guest begin to open up too. He grew more comfortable, and his language started to shift. He began to speak of his “daughter” and use she/her pronouns. He realized he was truly safe to ask questions, and he felt welcome and supported.
As our time together drew to a close, I exchanged numbers with him and told him he was welcome to reach out anytime. It was a simple 90-minute group session, but the impact felt much greater than I could have imagined when I had set out the chairs and made the coffee. I was so moved by the generosity of these queer folks. They didn’t have to welcome him into their fellowship that evening. They certainly didn’t have to open their lives to him with such vulnerability. But they did.
And moments like these feel even more sacred given the larger context we’re living in. At this moment in our nation’s history, transgender and nonbinary individuals are facing a multifaceted and intensifying wave of legislative, legal, and cultural attacks. Since returning to office, President Trump has issued a series of executive orders that significantly undermine the rights of transgender and nonbinary people. State legislatures have introduced and passed a record number of anti-LGBTQ+ bills, many targeting transgender and nonbinary individuals. Access to gender-affirming healthcare is being curtailed through both federal and state actions. Recent court decisions have redefined legal interpretations of gender, impacting fundamental rights and protections. And beyond legislation, transgender and nonbinary individuals face growing cultural and political hostility.
And yet. On a Wednesday night, in a little church building in Novato, California, I watched four beautiful trans people minister to a parent in need. This is the kind of love that will overcome the hatred. And while this wasn’t a religious gathering, I couldn’t help but think of the words from John’s gospel: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).
