Eid. Today I am thinking of the debts I owe to friends. I was fifteen when I first came out. By the time I was sixteen, I’d sworn off religion altogether. The people who had hurt me most in the world were religious (other Christians), so I figured atheism was my best shot at self-protection. At eighteen, for the first time, I made friends with religious people who were extraordinarily science-minded, sharp-as-hell political debaters, and had zero qualms about my worth and rights as queer person. Not Episcopalians. Not UUs. Muslims. I nearly converted. This is not as unlikely as it might sound. If you were a gay, teenage, church-hurt, hick transplant to NYC—simultaneously starving for and terrified of God—you too would be overwhelmed with respect and gratitude for your unapologetically feminist, chain-smoking, hijab-and-velour-jumpsuit-wearing, loudmouth friends. Who triple-majored in pre-med, philosophy, and Mideast studies. Who, like me, held down multiple jobs throughout college and sometimes helped me find work. Who fed me when I failed to find work. Who, when I began to identify as trans, took time to strategize with me about attending mosque and navigating gender norms—and ultimately told me, “You need to present as the person you understand yourself to be before God. That is the most important thing.” Lo these 10+ years later, turns out my heart still belongs to Jesus. But our breakup/makeup story wouldn’t have happened without me first witnessing a new way to be faithful. And whatever, Jesus aside, some days I’m not sure I’d be alive without the witness of my friends. The tenderness I have received from Muslim friends has saved my ass more than once. Solidarity is the tenderness of the people. Solidarity saves.
Posted on: Tue, 29 Jul 2014 00:55:56 +0000
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