Embracing the Current - A Pride Month Reflection from Rev. Godfree McIntyre

I am a nonbinary trans guy

I live in liminal spaces

I spent most of my life trying to fit in

Trying to find a container that

Could hold all of me

I failed.

I spilled over

I caused disruption

I aggravated and frustrated

The lovely boxes

That made so much sense

To the rest

And they pushed me out

Pushed me over

Tried to crush my soul.

Liminal spaces.

They are part of life.

Those seasons of transition when things are disorganized and we are

dis-or-iented.

Sometimes it feels like a baptism…a crossing that is fairly calm and

even liberating.

Other times it is like fording a raging river.

Still others, it’s like watching your house burn to the ground.

In any case, there is a before…and there is an after –

and never the twain shall meet (or so we are led to believe).

I spent a great deal of my life feeling like I was going from one crisis

To another

It seemed I could not escape it.

No matter what side I tried to choose

I kept being pushed back into

The in between.

I really thought there was something wrong with me

Like I was allergic to stability.

The second time I was homeless with my children, they were 7, 6, and 4 years old. A friend had sold me an old Monte Carlo for a hundred bucks. The front seat was my room. The back seat was their room. And the trunk was the closet and fridge. We stayed down by the river in the early summer months. I loved the river. We would go on long explores, and I would teach them about edible, medicinal, and poisonous plants. We would feed the ducks and geese, and squirrels. At night, I would read to them and sing to them. They thought we were on vacation.

As they played by the river’s edge, I would go for short swims in the current. It was my space for contemplation, five minutes at a time. As the water rushed over my body stretched out and exerted with and against the power of the torrent, the world would disappear in the pause as in a dervish dance. It offered me life-replenishing moments. I needed those moments.

One day, as the children were creating waterways around the sandcastle we had built together, I decided to go for a swim. We went over the rules: stay out of the water, stay together, stay in place, be nice, don’t talk to anyone. They would never be out of my sight, but they would be out of my reach while I enjoyed the dip. But we had done this many times. I trusted they would be fine.

My God, wading into the cold sanctuary of the current felt good. The sun was warm, reflecting brightly on the water. I turned and spied the spot where I would make land about 50 yards away. I checked the children one more time. They were busy digging little ditches. I dove in and let the current carry me. It was like flying. My heart settled. My mind quieted. My spirit opened.

I rested into it a little too long. I came to myself and began swimming against the current to get back to the children. I swam with all my might, beating the water, gasping for breath. I was too far out. If I couldn’t get out of the current, I would soon be pulled under in the deep water. I fought the tide until I became exhausted. I started to go under. I began to cry for help. I thought I might die and was terrified of leaving my poor children to fend for themselves. Desperately, I fought for my life.

A bystander on the shore saw me and raced into the water. I felt hope…a grasping hope that wanted to cling to her. She swiftly swam to where I was floundering. I was reaching for her…thanking God.

She stood up.

She stood up and shouted to me, “Stand up! Stand up!”

Mental shift met slowed time.

In my bewilderment, to my astonishment, my feet found the river bottom.

To my embarrassment and my utter gratitude, the water was only waist deep.

I was weak from the fight and unstable. She took my arm and helped me to shallow water.

I wept and gushed with thanks.

The others on the shore applauded.

The children ran into my embrace.

You might think, as I have, the lesson was not to swim in the river. But I love to swim in the river.

You might think, as I also have, the lesson is to stand up when I feel overwhelmed. But, in the overwhelm, I don’t have the wherewithal to stand up.

I didn’t get the lesson that day. I just stayed a little closer to the shore.

But, over the years, I realized that I am not a shore bird, and I am not a waterfowl. I am a bird for liminal spaces. I am not made for the quiet water or for the solid ground. I am made for the current. And that means that, sometimes, the current may get the best of me. I may find myself in the overwhelm fighting for my life. I live between worlds, and when the crush of it takes my strength and breath, I have learned to ask for help. I might have drowned in waist-deep water that day. I needed help. I needed that outside perspective. I need the voice of reason and wisdom. I cried out and God answered me through the compassion of a willing soul.

No, I didn’t learn my lesson that day. I continued to move from crisis to crisis because I continued to try to find solid ground or calm water that would hold me. Truly, embracing the in between, the liminal space, where the current is swift and constant, where change is emergent, this is where I found my feet. And when it overwhelms me, help us, just an ask away.

Psalm 46:1-3: God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.

I have learned that God works through people, and I am not alone. Now, as I am moving into the exam stage of my Ph.D., having completed my coursework with a 4.0 GPA, I continue in liminal spaces where the current of transformational transition continues to flow. And, yes, some days it still gets the best of me. But I am stronger and farther in my journey than I have ever been, and my footing more sure than ever before. I have the support of the Disciples Seminary Foundation and Claremont School of Theology to thank. I could not have come so far without your help. God bless you.

I am working to create expansive, inclusive spaces by serving as an anti-racism trainer in my region and working with an amazing team of creative risk-takers to continually renew the vitality and relevance of our programming. I have been making music and writing poetry to release creative prophetic voice that speaks to the heart. I am collaborating with people of like mind to create a virtual collective for mutuality of care and flourishing called Society of Flourishing where I hope to provide a gathering place for creative expression of Spirit infused life and justice. Wherever I go, I am a voice crying in one wilderness or another, “Make way for the Spirit of Love.”

My hope for the church is to do the hard work of living fully into the Love that Christ calls us to, and to embrace the current of Spirit’s movement in the present time and space. We may not all be birds in the current. Some of us are land birds and some of us are waterfowl. But there is no life without movement. Looking ahead to the Beloved Community to which Communion directs us, may we indeed press toward the mark of the high calling of God in Christ together…in all our glorious wild rainbow colors. Happy Pride!!