One of my favourite shows is Skins (UK). It is a raucous, irreverent show from the ‘00s with more grace and style than many similar shows today. And there’s this quote from Anwar’s (Muslim) dad about his gay friend that’s stuck with me ever since I first watched the show:
“I’ve got my God. He speaks to me every day. Some things I can’t work out, so I leave them be. Okay? Even if I think they’re wrong, because I know one day he’ll make me understand. I’ve got that trust; it’s called belief.”
It’s strange to frame God in this way that reconciles one’s moral understanding with one’s belief. I think it’s really beautiful, though, and I come back to this quote again and again because I find comfort in the reminder of my smallness and unknowingness, even in spite of my supposed moral compass that’s been configured by my Reformed upbringing.
But I don’t know how to configure myself in the face of transgender people. I’ve recently become friends with someone who is good and kind and warm, whose friendship I value, and who also happens to be preparing to surgically transition to become a woman. The fact that they’re transitioning hasn’t had any effect on our relationship, and I am more than happy to give them unused makeup and nail polish and talk about personal drama. But there is still a current of unease.
Unease because I generally opt for the social interpretation of the gospel and default to sitting on the edges of all those pesky grey areas. So I sit here, and it’s a good position to see good views, but I feel as though I ought to have a more bold and discrete position, one way or the other. It makes me uncomfortable, knowing that most people expect me to have a position when push comes to shove. I am fearful of judgement for not having made a judgement on my friend. If I introduce my friend to my parents, my mother will inevitably initiate a stilted and passive-aggressive conversation after about them, and she won’t listen to me and I won’t listen to her.
We’ve talked about religion and spirituality, my friend and I. They told me they were surprised to learn I was Christian. I’ve always been secretly pleased when I’m able to make a good impression on people before they learn of my religious affiliation because, well, you’re reading the post calvin and you know how we love our religious angst. I don’t know what they think of me—if they, too, expect some sort of judgement from me—and, in a way, I hope I never have to. I want to try to be “just friends” and tiptoe around the sleeping bear and never wake it.
But even if I think they’re wrong, I believe I’ll understand one day.
Well said, Anna. I think many of the worst impulses of Reformed intellectualism can be tempered by the humility of admitting God is much bigger than our moral categories. Finnely’s December piece on mysticism ties in nicely here, I think. Mysticism is good at reminding us to be humble in the face of a complex creator and a complex creation.