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I really like an important tableau of the saints—15, 20, 30 people surrounding Mary or Jesus and facing us, their heads framed by halos as yellow because the sun. It’s like attending to see the members of the Justice League or the X-Men all together. There’s that game of attempting to see for those who can recognize all of them, remember their backstories and superpowers. But for me, it’s also reassuring to see all of them gathered together. Particularly in the event that they include greater than just celibate white men, it seems like a glimpse of the dominion of God, a house where there’s a spot for all of us.
But then a pair years ago, I used to be on the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles, showing some friends the gorgeous tapestries of the saints that line the partitions of the church. Created by the artist John Nava, they are only extraordinary—young people and old, Europeans, Africans, Asians, Latin Americans and Indigenous people, ladies and men all surrounding us and searching with us toward God.
When L.G.B.T. people have a look at the communion of the saints, we should always have the opportunity to see someone who looks like us.
As I sat there within the church with my guests, looking up in any respect these beautiful images, it suddenly hit me that not a single one in all these people has been identified as gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender, though undoubtedly a few of them were. The truth is, the Catholic Church has yet to acknowledge a single L.G.B.T. saint.
Now, depending on the way you were raised, just the proven fact that I’m raising this as an issue may appear scandalous. Truthfully, I instinctively feel that way myself, and I’m gay. Regardless of how much work Pope Francis, various bishops, clergy and others have done to try to normalize the place of L.G.B.T. people within the church, the very fact is, for a lot of Catholics of a certain age, being L.G.B.T. still seems improper or disobedient. It’s right there in the way in which the church has often tried to speak about L.G.B.T. people: “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Those that use this phrase argue that it makes clear that the issue with us isn’t our identities, but our acts and desires. However the line only identifies L.G.B.T. people as sinners. It teaches people to like us anyway. And whenever you hear that enough as an L.G.B.T. person, you begin to consider the identical.
So yes, in proposing that it’s an issue that there aren’t any L.G.B.T. saints, I feel like I’m saying something transgressive. But the very fact is, as Catholics we consider that every of us is born within the image and likeness of God. Not only straight people, white people or men—everyone. There isn’t any asterisk within the Catechism on this point. That is the teaching of the church, even when some Catholics discuss or treat us in ways in which suggest otherwise.
As Catholics we consider that every of us is born within the image and likeness of God. Not only straight people, white people or men—everyone.
It is that this truth of our faith, in actual fact, that allowed Francis to say, when asked a matter about gay priests, “If a gay person is in eager search of God, who am I to evaluate them?” It’s what has allowed him to praise the work of organizations like Recent Ways Ministry and folks like Jeannine Gramick, S.L., and my colleague James Martin, S.J., all of whom have been ministering to L.G.B.T. Catholics, in Sister Gramick’s case for over 50 years; or to invite a gaggle of transgender people to the Vatican to receive their Covid vaccine; or to revive the openly gay theologian Father James Alison to lively ministry after 20 years of what he described as a “Kafkaesque” nightmare through which he was not allowed to know what the costs against him were, couldn’t make legal representation of his case and was not allowed any appeal. If we’re children of God like everyone else, then we should always be afforded the identical care and respect that they’re. “Know that God created you, God loves you and God is in your side,” Cardinal Joseph Tobin and 13 other U.S. archbishops and bishops wrote in an announcement last December, chatting with L.G.B.T. youth.
But there’s more to it than respect and love. To say that God created us or that we’re made in God’s image is to say that we provide a glimpse of who God is, that we’re each a method by which other people can know that they, too, are a picture of God, seen and loved by Him. It’s an incredible statement, to think that any of us might be such a present, a way by which others may come to know God and themselves higher. And yet we consider that to be true of all human beings.
There are such a lot of L.G.B.T. individuals who have dedicated their lives to being this sort of hope and consolation for others. Just like the Recent York City fire chaplain and Franciscan priest Mychal Judge, who died on 9/11 while encouraging rescue employees within the lobby of the World Trade Center’s North Tower. In his life, Father Judge arrange one in all the primary ministries in Recent York City to serve individuals with H.I.V. or AIDS. He advocated for the homeless and ministered to alcoholics after going through A.A. himself. And for the last 10 years of his life, he worked as chaplain for the Recent York City fire department. He was gay, he helped a variety of people, they usually speak now of the ways he inspired them. And there’s a growing call for his canonization.
Those of us who’re L.G.B.T. and Catholic know only too well the hardship that comes with accepting ourselves, and the compassion that it teaches.
Or take the Dutch theologian Father Henri Nouwen. His spiritual writings have helped hundreds of thousands of individuals to attach with God. And after many years spent teaching at Yale and Harvard’s divinity schools, he dedicated the ultimate a part of his life to living and dealing with disabled adults in L’Arche communities. His life was a profound witness of service, simplicity and friendship.
Nouwen never publicly identified as gay; from his journals it is obvious that his ongoing struggle to integrate his sexuality into his life was a difficult burden that he resolved only in his latter years. And yet it was also clearly an engine for his ministry, something that allowed him to talk to struggling individuals with insight and empathy.
Those of us who’re L.G.B.T. and Catholic know only too well the hardship that comes with accepting ourselves, and the compassion that it teaches. Who higher to be a saint than someone who has been down that path?
I hope it’s clear that I don’t think naming saints must be nearly giving a community a saint “of our own.” Nouwen and Judge dedicated their lives to helping a big selection of individuals, they usually have been acknowledged as holy by them. Their sanctity is a function not of their sexuality but of the gift they’ve been to the entire church.
At the identical time, it’s also value saying it’s rough being an L.G.B.T. Catholic. I’m sure some Catholics get bored with us wheeling out Pope Francis’ “Who am I to evaluate?” But for a lot of us, Francis’ statement was the primary time in our lives that we had been afforded any type of public permission to exist as ourselves within the church.
As we have a look at church history, we’d reconsider the stories of St. Brigid and Sister Darlughdach, who resided together, worked together and shared a bed; of St. John Henry Newman and Father Ambrose St. John, who lived together for 32 years and shared a grave, or of the Venerable Juana Inés de la Cruz, who believed that God had modified her gender within the womb and imagined Jesus might be mother or father, wife or husband, depending on the needs of those that seek for him. But our actual existence within the history of the church has never been acknowledged, nor have any blessings we might need brought. Nowhere will we discover statues of individuals like us. We’re included in no Catholic tableaux. At best, we are only guests within the story of salvation. More often we’re like Abraham’s second wife, Hagar, exiled to another land.
While the ways through which they could describe themselves in earlier eras can be different, L.G.B.T. people have been an element of the church from its beginnings. Some have contributed to its mission in inspiring and holy ways. And in lots of cases, like Nouwen, they did so while silently carrying a terrible burden. It’s time they were allowed their place within the church’s story.
When L.G.B.T. people have a look at the communion of the saints, we should always have the opportunity to see someone who looks like us. And it isn’t due to who we’re, but due to who those individuals were and what they did.
