Five Stones and a Burnt Stick

"We have been created for intimacy: intimacy with God and intimacy with others", says God in the opening chapter of 'Five Stones and a Burnt Stick' by Ernesto Lozada-Uzuriaga Steele. This short book is an exploration of what it means to experience an intimate relationship with God and with other people, intermingling Moses' encounter with God in the burning bush with preparations for his return to his people, ready to lead them out of oppression and slavery in Egypt. While it makes connections with the Biblical narrative in Exodus, the book is an imaginative exploration which aims to open up Moses' character and familial relationships in a deeper way.

 

In the burning bush sections, God reveals some of the secrets of intimacy to Moses, which include Demarcation, Difference, Dwelling, Disclosure, Discovery and the Sacred Fire. Demarcation is about needing to maintain boundaries for our own protection and in order to respect the integrity of others, while Difference unsurprisingly means recognising and affirming that which makes us all unique, seeing our differences as a gift and not a threat. In this, Steele picks up on similar ideas to those expressed by Rowan Williams in an essay on loneliness in 'Open to Judgement', in which the former Archbishop of Canterbury explores what it means to be human and to uniquely reflect God's image.

 

In a church environment often packed with words, Dwelling invites us to let our bodies go and simply to dance with God, as a way of expressing the language of our hearts. I love the image of the Trinity as being about the dance at the heart of the community of God, and here I feel Steele is inviting us to join in that risky but passionate movement. Disclosure offers an interesting take on original sin, with the fear that so often separates us from God and one another depicted as the mighty Leviathan, a beast that dwells in human hearts which must be disclosed, confronted, named and overcome, though as Steele indicates implicitly, the latter is ultimately God's work through Christ, rather than ours. Finally, Discovery acknowledges that intimacy is a lifelong journey, rather than something we acquire in a one-off event, and the Sacred Fire is much like the Quakers' idea of the light within, the indwelling of the Spirit which leads human beings into intimacy.

 

The narrative sections of the book explore Moses' relationships with God, his wife Zipporah, his son Gerson, his brother Aaron, and ultimately himself, prior to the exodus (the handing on of the tradition to Moses' daughter Miriam, who comes along after the exodus, bookends the main story). I found the reunion with Aaron and their discussion the most powerful of these, which shows something of Steele's passion for liberation theology and resonates with the depiction of the plight of the Israelites in the recent film 'Exodus: Gods and Kings'. The importance of Moses' artwork to the story also surely reflects Steele's own vocation as an artist, and I liked how the sharing of this with Zipporah and Gerson formed two of the most intimate and powerful sections of the story. However, I have to confess that I found the sexual scenes to be somewhat embarrassing to read; I hope I'm not prudish, but can't help feel there's such a thing as too much information!

 

This poetic and interesting book has much to recommend it, and I'm grateful for the gifts of a copy of the text and the invitation to write this review. Overall, I found the narrative less helpful than the burning bush sections of the book in exploring the nature of intimacy in a meaningful way, but there are useful ideas contained in both parts of the text which are worth exploring. Perhaps its biggest weakness is the dialogue, which at times felt unnatural and more like formal theological language lifted from an essay than anything one can imagine people actually saying in conversation. However, it's worth bearing with this to get to the gems therein, some of which this review has highlighted.

 

 

 

Five Stones & a Burnt Stick

 

Ernesto Lozada-Uzuriaga Steele

 

2014

 

Whispering Tree Original Books

 

ISBN: 978-0-9927363-1-6



Magic in the Moonlight

As part of the candidating process, I have to be ready to discuss and reflect theologically upon a theological book, a non-theological book, a film and an exhibition of some sort. For my film, I've chosen 'Magic in the Moonlight', a sweet romantic comedy written and directed by Woody Allen and starring Colin Firth and Emma Stone.

Stanley Crawford (Firth) is a magician who uses the stage name Wei Ling Soo; he specialises in vanishing elephants, sawing women in half and unexpected reappearances. His oriental illusionism is highly successful, and we first find him in Berlin, in the middle of a 1928 tour of Europe. In addition to his stage show, Stanley is a renowned skeptic when it comes to all things spiritual and religious. He has a reputation for unmasking fake mediums and utter contempt for the idea of there being anything beyond the material world, complete with an arrogance that would make Mr Darcy cringe! The story begins with him encountering an old friend and fellow magician, Howard, who asks for help in trying to rumble a young American medium called Sophie Baker (Stone), who is currently in the French Riviera with a rich American family, the Catledges. Never one to resist a challenge, Stanley agrees to go there and reveal another fraudster. However, things don't go quite as he anticipates...

Upon arrival, Stanley manages to get on the wrong side of Caroline Catledge and her husband George by implying that anyone taken in by a medium must be somewhat dim. He next succeeds in confusing Caroline's brother Brice, who is thoroughly smitten with Sophie and practicing serenading her, with his sarcasm and ridiculing tone. When he finally meets Sophie, who is chaperoned by her mother, she gets a 'mental impression' of him as being connected in some way with the Orient and having had recent business in Germany. This doesn't particularly impress him, but at a later séance, a candle that Howard confirms wasn't being manipulated in some way seemingly floats in mid air of its own accord. This does make him stop and think! Later, Sophie reveals his true identity as Wei Ling Soo, and in a subsequent visit to Stanley's beloved aunt Vanessa, appears to discern details of a secret love affair by handling a set of pearls. The latter is enough to convince Stanley that Sophie is not just another charlatan, but the real deal.

As the two talk, it becomes clear that Stanley sees himself as an ardent rationalist. For him, the notion of there being any meaning or purpose to life is just childish thinking, a crutch that people need to drop even if hanging onto such beliefs gives them hope or helps them cope with life's ups and downs. He sees spiritualists as preying on vulnerable people, and religion as a kind of comfort blanket; moreover, he states that the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche has dealt with the 'God matter'. Even his relationship with his fiancé Olivia has more to do with logic than love. Yet, meeting Sophie has begun to open his eyes to new possibilities. There's one scene where their car breaks down and they take shelter in an observatory Stanley once visited as a child; he talks about being freaked out by the vastness of the universe as a boy, but next to Sophie it doesn't feel intimidating. Instead, he agrees when she calls it romantic. They later spend a week together while Brice, who is keen to propose to Sophie and is planning an elaborate honeymoon, is away on business. It's clear that Sophie's growing increasingly close to him, and that she's enriched and brightened up his dull, pessimistic life. However, while Stanley is prepared to stand up in front of the press to affirm Sophie's gifts and tell the world he's been wrong all these years, he doesn't reciprocate her feelings.

Matters come to a head when, having just finished his press conference, Stanley is told that Vanessa has been in a car crash and is seriously injured. George drives him to the hospital, and he begins to pray for her safety. However, after rambling about having no right to ask anything of God, he snaps out of it and realises he's being played for a fool. He returns to the Catledges' house to confront Sophie - if she is what she says she is, why didn't she predict the accident? After he supposedly goes for a lie down, Howard and Sophie talk about the former's joy about finally having got one over on his old friend with the latter's help, getting a shock when Stanley unexpectedly reappears in a nearby chair. He initially refuses to forgive them, but a later conversation with a now recovered Vanessa helps him see that, irrational as it appears to be, he loves Sophie more than he admires Olivia. There's a wonderfully funny scene in which he tries to propose by telling Sophie how lucky she'd be to have someone like him (a genius, apparently!), as opposed to Brice and his money. Although initially unmoved, the film ends with the two kissing, having finally got there!

I love this film, partly because it's simply a very sweet, gentle comedy with a happy ending and much humour along the way, and partly because it raises some interesting questions. Sally and I saw it together and realised that many of the arguments we've had throughout our relationship about the place of science and rationality over against what I would regard as superstition and nonsense were being played out on the screen. Coming from a scientific background (I have a physics PhD), I'm deeply sceptical about things like stories of paranormal activity and claims to communicate with the dead, whereas I guess she's more open to those things as possibilities. However, I am a deeply committed Christian, which is something that I appreciate requires a leap of faith, a trust in something that cannot be verified using the scientific method.

In the film, Stanley is portrayed as a kind of cross between Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens, with a splash of Mr Darcy at his worst, who by his own admission towards the end of the film needed bringing down a peg or two. I'm ashamed to say it reminds me somewhat of my teenage self! He comes to realise that there is more to life than can simply be arrived at using cold logic, and that if nothing else, love certainly is a kind of magic. My own journey of coming to faith involved has been fundamentally shaped by a couple of encounters with God that don't make any sense if I try to explain them any other way. In later posts, I want to explore the relationship between the physical sciences and Christian faith in more depth, as the film asks the question of how a scientist can also believe in Gog, but for today, I want to finish by sharing one of my most powerful experiences of God at work in my life, confounding logic.

The first term of my PhD study in Durham was really tough, as I was moving into physics from pure mathematics and finding the graduate courses I had to do overwhelming, as well as home being a scary place for various reasons. At the end of that term, I went back to Bath for a few days to escape, and got cajoled into going to the CU carol service. The talk was basically about how babies are cute, so I tuned out and spent time admiring the Abbey ceiling. Something he said at the end of the talk (can’t remember what) must’ve touched something deep in me, though, as I burst into tears and couldn’t stop crying. A couple of days later, I found myself praying that if God really loved me, I needed to know for sure. Through a combination of circumstances, I found myself reading ‘The Growing Pains of Adrian Plass’ a few days later. In this book, there’s a passage where he imagines Jesus welcoming adopted children; even the kid who’s scared and hiding at the back gets a glimpse of Jesus’ smile and knows they’re loved. That touched something deep down inside; it was like the scared child within me getting a huge hug. That night, God’s love became a reality, rather than an intellectual construct.

Advent and Taking Stock

Today is the first Sunday of Advent, and the beginning of a new liturgical year. Having read this post by Miranda Threlfall-Holmes about taking stock of things at the end of the year, and realising both how much has happened in the past year and what is to come in the next few days, I've decided to do my own bit of reflection.

 

This time a year ago, I'd finally started the correct dose of testosterone after a cock-up by the gender clinic meant I was only taking one seventh of the right amount for three months! In that time, my body has changed enormously, which has done a great deal to relieve my gender dysphoria. It's even been worth going through a mini-menopause as well as second puberty! Perhaps the most significant changes have been that my voice has broken and my facial features have changed, meaning it's now fairly rare to get mis-gendered or hassled in public. I feel a whole lot happier and more comfortable in my own skin as a result, and I hope this is reflected in how I come across to others. I've also been working hard to prepare for my chest surgery; after seeing the surgeon in February (one day after my 30th birthday), I've lost over two stone and improved my fitness beyond all recognition in preparation for the operation, which will be on 4th December, all being well. I cannot deny being scared, but also cannot wait to be de-boobed, if I can put it like that!

 

Reckon I now scrub up pretty well!

 

I suppose the other big thing is that in September, I began the process of offering for Methodist presbyteral ministry. I started out going to the local (circuit) gathering and having my sense of calling unanimously affirmed by those who've got to know me over the past four years as something worth exploring further. That was pretty overwhelming; I don't know what I expected to happen, but it certainly wasn't such a resounding vote of confidence - I still get a tad choked-up about it, to be honest. Prior to that vote, I completed an eight-day placement in Leicester, back in June, which was really inspiring. The minister I shadowed, Dave, struck me as really living out what I think I'm called to do - to help people recognise that they matter and can make a difference in their community. Reflecting on that formed just one part of the work for my eight-thousand word portfolio which got submitted at the beginning of November, and I've also completed two assessed services, survived a psychotherapist appointment and filled in a thousand-and-one forms!

 

Having started out the process wondering what all the fuss was about, I now reckon that it's impossible to take it seriously and not end up being heavily emotionally invested in the whole business. I've found the journey thus far to be very affirming, and it's made me realise that whatever its outcome, I've got something to offer and I'm not wasting others' time by candidating! That isn't something I find easy, because while my self-esteem has improved beyond all recognition and my barriers don't immediately slam up these days, I still struggle with praise even more than criticism, and honesty forces me to admit that I don't always handle the latter very well. However, I've got my head around the idea that God has given me gifts with which to serve him, join her in building up the Kingdom, and play an active role in the life of the Church. If nothing else, the process has made that penny drop! The next step is regional (district) selection at the end of January.

 

This year has also been massive in that Sally and I have celebrated our first wedding anniversary. I feel very blessed to have someone as wonderful and zany as her in my life, who's willing to put up with me, even though I sing Beatles songs loudly and out of tune in the shower in the mornings, on the days when I've not just being grumpy! It's just one of a number of firsts for this year: I visited somewhere I've wanted to go for years (Canterbury Cathedral) at Easter, visited Madrid on multiple occasions with work while validating operational risk capital models, went to my first Glyndebourne, shaved my face for the first time, spoke at Greenbelt as part of a panel discussion, became an LGBT Champion at work and managed to run over ten kilometres without collapsing like an asthmatic wheezing wreck! I've enjoyed documenting the year with a picture for each day on Facebook, even though some days the evening's TV was the most exciting thing that happened...

 

As you can see, it's been a busy year. As a final thought for this post, I was at a Two23 meeting yesterday and we sang this song at the end, which with all the emotions around candidating and my upcoming surgery and how kind and encouraging and loving so many people have been to me individually and Sally and me as a couple, made me burst into tears. It's about God's love surrounding us, which is very much how it feels at the moment:

 

 

 

 

Rape, Forgiveness and Football

I came across an article in today’s Guardian saying that Ched Evans, the Sheffield United footballer convicted in April 2012 of raping a nineteen year-old woman in a hotel room, has been allowed to resume training following a request from the Professional Footballers’ Association to let him rebuild his fitness. In response, the club’s patron, Charlie Webster, has resigned from her role, arguing that someone convicted of such an offence should not be allowed to resume a career that involves being a role-model in the community, and in particular for young boys and men. This case raises complex and sensitive issues about how we respond as a society to sexual violence, how we treat people with criminal convictions upon release from prison, and how issues of fame and status influence these dynamics, upon which I want to offer a few tentative thoughts.

First though, some statistics: according to figures from the Ministry of Justice, Office for National Statistics and the Home Office released in January 2013, approximately 85,000 women are raped in England and Wales each year. This figure doesn’t include violence against men, or the many incidents that go unreported for a variety of reasons, such as fear of not being believed or the victim being blamed for what happened to them – Rape Crisis England and Wales say that from their experience, only 15% of victims report being attacked to the police. Various myths circulate around the nature of rape and it’s victims; the reality is that in around 90% of cases, the attacker is known to the victim beforehand, rather than being a stranger springing out of a dark alleyway, and the ‘false reporting’ rate is no higher than other crimes, with the Crown Prosecution Service estimating such instances to make up less than 1% of all cases. Moreover, there’s no such thing as a ‘typical’ rapist, and rape isn’t about sexual frustration; indeed, studies of victims’ accounts suggest many attackers find it difficult to maintain an erection. Rape is about violence, power and humiliation.

The impact of rape on the victim is huge. As the statistic on reporting rates suggests, coming forward isn’t easy, and many people internalise a sense of shame or blame themselves for what happened. The trauma that results doesn’t magically go away over time, and struggling to trust a potential partner again is a very common consequence of having suffered any kind of sexual assault. Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) can give rise to flashbacks, panic attacks, blackouts, freezing with fear and many other symptoms., which can be triggered by apparently unlikely things, or comments or situations that most people wouldn’t react to – it’s one of the reasons why the kind of ‘humour’ or ‘banter’ occasionally thrown about these days around rape is so unacceptable to many. I’ve sometimes found myself, having experienced life being read by others as both female and male at different times, pointing out to male friends that language they might think is ‘ironic’ or ‘tongue-in-cheek’ can have a profound and distressing impact on others.

It’s vitally important, therefore, that the gravity of what Evans has done is acknowledged and reflected in how he’s subsequently treated. However much he protests his innocence, and while the criminal justice system isn’t perfect, he was convicted of rape in a fair trial by a jury of his peers, and must be seen in that light. Many jobs involve a representative aspect and require the person to be a role-model in the community, but few also come with the fame, adulation and status associated with professional football. If Evans was to eventually be re-signed and allowed to carry on as if nothing of consequence happened, it risks trivialising his actions and their impact upon his victim, and facilitates a situation where young boys could get the impression that sexual violence against women isn’t a big deal. I think the way footballers get hero-worshipped in our society is profoundly unhealthy anyway; in Evans’ case, it would be deeply irresponsible to elevate him to that position once more.

I do think, however and more generally speaking, that our response to people who’ve been in prison and served their sentence often lacks compassion and precludes the possibility that someone can change their ways. Forgiveness isn’t a very fashionable word these days, and it seems that, despite much evidence that the best way to prevent reoffending is for someone to find stable and fulfilling employment, having a real fresh start after serving a sentence is very rare. Employers are reluctant to give someone a chance, and having been a prison visitor in the past and spoken with a variety of folks, several expressed the sentiment that the first time they were sent down was like getting a life-sentence, as they’ve been unable to build a ‘normal’ life for themselves afterwards. If we’re serious about our justice system having something to do with rehabilitation and not simply a dynamic of punishment and revenge, then we need to recognise, I would argue, that human beings are rarely black and white; there’s good and bad within all of us, and redemption has to be a real possibility.

Obviously, the practicalities of working the above out are complex, as Evans’ case demonstrates all too well, and it’s worth pausing at this point to think about exactly what we do and don’t mean when we talk about forgiveness. As an example, consider the Biblical story of David and Bathsheba in 2 Samuel 11 and 12. Just as God had warned Israel when they clamoured for a king, human beings all too easily abuse power for their own gain. In David’s case, he saw Bathsheba, a married woman, bathing and took rather a shine to her. Learning she had a husband didn’t deter him, and the text tells us that he sent for and seduced her (2 Samuel 11:4), though what chance she’d have had if she’d said no isn’t a point we usually worry ourselves about too much – make of that what you will. When David found out she was pregnant, he tried to engineer a situation where Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, could return from battle and sleep with her, so everyone including him would think the child was his. After this plan failed, David conspired to get Uriah killed in battle (2 Samuel 11:14), so he could step in and marry Bathsheba. Seemingly, all was well, though God knew what he’d done.

Nathan was a court prophet, and God used him to call David out on his abuse of power with a clever bit of preaching that brought home the reality of his actions. Upon being pulled up, David acknowledges the wrongness of what he’s done (2 Samuel 12:13) and he receives forgiveness from God. However, the consequences of his actions for himself, for Bathsheba and for his kingdom were profound; David could never be the one to build the Temple, political instability and rebellion ensued in the years up to his death and beyond, and the child that resulted from his forbidden liaison died. Forgiveness didn’t mean being able to sweep his actions and their impact on others under the carpet, nor did it mean being able to carry on the same as before. However, it also didn’t mean being cast out from God’s presence, that everything David had achieved beforehand needed to be erased from history, or that he was dismissed as evil or a monster; David was still a human being made in the image of God, as is Ched Evans, whatever his past.

What I suppose this all shows is that balancing justice and mercy is a highly complex business that throws up profoundly difficult questions. Moreover, while we may want to draw out general principles from sources like the Bible, each individual situation has its own nuances which need careful consideration. In Evans’ case, the status accorded to professional footballers and the consequent responsibilities make it, to my mind, highly inappropriate for him to be allowed to continue in that role. However, branding someone a monster or condemning them to never be allowed to rebuild a life for themselves is cruel and perpetuates misery and suffering, and that I feel cannot be right, either.

My own experience of escaping and surviving an emotionally, physically and sexually abusive relationship is that forgiveness isn’t about pretending nothing happened (even if that were possible, which it isn’t when the silliest of things can cause flashbacks), acting like it doesn’t matter or excusing the person’s behaviour; it’s vital that what happened and the pain and suffering caused is acknowledged. It does mean, though, a willingness to not hold what happened against the person, to lay their actions aside and see their humanity, which is bloody hard work and an on-going process rather than a one-off event. I made a conscious decision not to let my anger consume me, after realising all I was doing by hanging onto it was destroying myself from the inside. It doesn’t mean the scars aren’t still there and that they don’t itch sometimes, or that being able to trust another partner, as wonderful as I think she is, has been easy at all, but it does mean there’s room for God’s love to be at work in me where previously there was just hatred, and that has to make a difference for the better, right?

Journeying Out

As part of the process of offering for ordained ministry, I have to write short reviews of theological books, so I decided to re-read a text on mission: 'Journeying Out' by Ann Morisy. I first looked at this around five years ago, and while I found parts of it useful, like the material on apt liturgy I’ve reflected on elsewhere, I didn’t initially get a lot out of it. On a second reading, with more life experience and involvement in churches under my belt, I found it much more helpful, and indeed challenging in the present climate, with UKIP having got their first MP in a recent by-election, through taking in a defecting Tory.

Morisy begins by discussing David Bosch’s idea of holistic mission, which necessarily combines social action with evangelism; the Church needs to “journey out, embrace strangers, work for social peace and justice, and partake of God’s gracious gift of salvation” (pg. 5). This means acting authentically – “walking the talk” – so that evangelism can have integrity in a post-modern society. It’s about challenging the collusion with the rich and powerful that has often characterised Christianity in the Western world, and coming alongside the poor from a position of powerlessness. In the Beatitudes, the ‘blessed poor’ are not the respectable (deserving) poor, the penes who’re trying to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, but those whose circumstances have reduced them to begging, the ptochos, the undeserving poor. As such, it means a real stepping out of comfort zones for many Church members, setting aside the anxiety which often means a retreat into prejudice and judgmental behaviours.

Morisy contends that this holistic mission comes about as the “gracious outcome of other factors working effectively and appropriately”; as such, it’s something that happens obliquely, through “looking and journeying outward, rather than by means of a self-regarding and self-conscious process”. Drawing on John Kay’s observation that companies making the pursuit of profit their stated aim hinders their goal, and instead if the focus is on providing the best possible service, say, then the profits come along naturally, she argues that by journeying out in the way described above, “we will find ourselves creating church and being effective missioners” (pg. 17). This understanding permeates what follows in the later chapters of the book.

In the last twenty years, there’s been a boom in churches getting involved in community work, and Morisy highlights the danger of “unexamined involvement” in such ministry, which if it’s working well must “enhance the core functioning of the Church in the service of the Gospel” (pg. 23). It means both avoiding seeing social action as a means to the end of evangelism, as that falls short of what holistic mission is about, and resisting the temptation to focus purely on meeting needs. The latter can lead to professionalisation which catches us up in the “iron cage of bureaucracy” (pg. 30); the focus on participation “in a struggle” gets lost, along with the potential for transformation that brings. It also risks shifting the balance of power away from the needy, who are the ones carrying the “transformational potential” (pg. 27).

Just as Jesus turned upside down ideas about who’s first and last in the Kingdom of God, the challenge is to trust in these “Gospel reversals”, so the “secure, well-meaning and well-endowed” can be transformed (pg. 28). It means recognising what it means to be children of the same heavenly Father, seeing others as brothers and sisters rather than strangers, and necessitates allowing engagement in struggle and adversity by proxy (“what discipleship is all about” – pg. 37) to unleash “cascades of grace” that bring about unexpected gifts. This means the apparently ‘sorted’ folks in churches can truly come alongside the poor and those in need. However, to avoid romanticising the poor, such practice needs to be underpinned by both careful and regular reflection, and an acknowledgement of the “pervasiveness of sin” which infects us all (pg. 39).

Morisy goes on to talk about the importance of ‘bridging social capital’, which “builds trust beyond one’s own network and encourages smooth relations with strangers” (pg. 50). She contends that this is in short supply, meaning the kind of generalised reciprocity in which people perform acts of kindness for others without expecting anything in return, is also becoming rarer. While the ‘bonding social capital’ found in networks can foster a deep level of care for those in the group, it can also lead to a fear of ‘outsiders’, narrowing horizons and reducing the “radius of social trust” in communities (pg. 51). The involvement of voluntary organisations doesn’t always build up bridging social capital, because the priorities and ways of working all too often end up favouring the ‘service providers’ rather than the ‘clients’. The Church, on the other hand, is “uniquely placed” to build up a particular type of bridging social capital – ‘brave social capital’ – which means “a commitment to work for the well-being of those who are not just different, but perceived as carrying a threat or menace” (pg. 61).

Morisy writes of the power of a “story-rich life”, which creates “an oblique route by which to influence [our] lives, shape [our] character, and inform the priorities and decisions [we] make in the future” (pg. 70). Here, character is very much about values and the life lived as a result, as opposed to the cult of personality that dominates much of public life. Thus, “generative stories” (pg. 73) can be subversive and character-forming, transforming our perspectives, opening us up to the power of the Gospel, and enabling the possibility of seeing others as brothers and sisters, children of the same heavenly Father. For me, ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ by Harper Lee is one such influential story, which has shaped my values profoundly. However, this can work for both good and ill, so there’s a need to make space for reflection and perhaps gentle challenging of stories that emerge among participants in community ministry, as “the only check on negative stories is to counter them with other, more positive stories” (pg. 83).

To illustrate her argument, Morisy cites the story of the action taken by churches when Derek Hatton of the BNP became a local councillor for the Isle of Dogs. It’s an area of London with a large Bangladeshi community, and resentments about housing allocations were used to stir up divisions. This resonates very strongly with current times and the rise of the obnoxious UKIP as a serious political force. The pushing of extreme negative stories in the mass media is hard to counter using facts alone, as those on the Left trying to rebut the lies told about poverty and immigration have found. The lack of bridging social capital, together with increasing segregation in housing, schooling and so on along class lines, means many people don’t have meaningful encounters with economically disadvantaged members of the community. There’s then no effective counterpoint to the negativity. The coalition government have been able to take advantage of this to push through punitive welfare ‘reforms’, and it’s a climate that allows rhetoric like Osborne’s ‘strivers or skivers’ nonsense to get a hold on the public imagination. Even more worrying is the cynicism with which many greet genuine stories of hardship and the experiences of asylum seekers, for example. As Morisy notes, Jesus’ observation about needing ‘ears to hear’ is as pertinent today as it was back in his day (pg. 85).

Her comments on hegemony – an apparently “common-sense framework, reinforced by routine assumptions and practices” (pg. 120), which gives rise to a hard-to-counter narrative about how the world is – are powerful. It’s the pervasiveness of this systematic sin that allows prejudices like those described above to assume the status of orthodoxy. When both the working poor and the unemployed are branded as ‘feckless’ in the tabloid press, the assumption being pushed is that poverty results from individual moral failure, rather than through systematic injustices and sinful structures. Those of us challenging this view, drawing on resources like the report on poverty produced by the Joint Public Issues Team, for example, are often dismissed out of hand, because it means challenging the hegemonic order.

The most personally challenging material was about suburban living, and the need for the Church to challenge the dishonesty and hiding away of vulnerability that pervades in such settings. Morisy talks about the way in which suburban dwellers like her and me are often very good at setting life up so as to avoid discomfort at all costs! Moreover, the possibility of encounter with the poor and the needy is unsettling to cosy suburban dwellers, she argues, because it makes us aware of our own sinfulness, and lack of Omni-competence. Consequently, “the transformational potency of being without power in an encounter is essential to holistic mission” (pg. 99). Drawing on Jung’s concept of individuation, she talks about the need to become one’s own person, and community ministry acting as a way to undertake such a journey. It means being willing to accept vulnerability as a “non-negotiable fact of life” (pg. 114), rather than distracting ourselves with trivialities. How this process can be facilitated by the Church is elaborated in three chapters that explore different ways in which said Church connects with people:

·       The Explicit Domain is that which we normally operate in, characterised by public worship and being centred on the formularies of the Christian faith. Just as classical music has its own jargon that can be impenetrable to someone unfamiliar with it, so Morisy contends that many of the symbols of this explicit domain, such as sharing in bread and wine as partaking in the body and blood of Christ, hold little meaning for those on the outside, and can actually be repulsive. A lack of religious literacy and a tendency among some to view the material world as all there is, means that before people can engage with this explicit domain, foundations need to be laid. The “possibility of God” needs to be opened up.

·        The Foundational Domain is about hospitality to “all kinds and areas of experience”, allowing people to see pointers to a deeper ‘something’, and creating space to introduce Jesus’ teaching and compassion into people’s consciousness. Apt liturgy can provide people with “new concepts and a new perspective”. It also “gives an imitation of hope” (pg. 160). At its best, it enables people to articulate their emotions and express solidarity with others. It may involve introducing a story of Jesus’ life or teaching, space to pray and quietly reflect, putting people’s emotions in context and enabling them to connect their situation to wider struggles, some symbolic act that points to hope, and acknowledgement of God’s care and concern (pg. 161). It means respecting the autonomy of others, while hopefully building bridges that may one day allow people to cross into the explicit domain.

·       The Vocational Domain is about creating space for Christians and non-Christians alike to exercise vocation and discipleship by participating in holistic mission. To take the risk of “venturesome love” (pg. 204) enables people to discover truth “in the face of the other” (pg. 211) and develop “moral selves”. She points to the character-building potential of such missional work. This means opening community ministry up to those outside the Church, as was the case with the example of the winter night shelter programme run by churches in Hackney; this drew in those from the wider community and enabled them to have meaningful encounters with people they may have been fearful of in the past.

As I hope comes across, Journeying Out has given me much food for thought. I now have a very well-annotated copy of a text that asks some hard questions, not least that if mission is best done obliquely, then why do I chair a mission committee?!

Reflecting on September 11th

I spent September 11th this year planting poppies at the Tower of London. Created by the artist Paul Cummins, the aim of the project is to plant nearly 900,000 poppies in memory of those who died in the First World War. I understand that the project is currently around half way through, and the plan is to be finished by a week before Armistice Day. My being there was part of Santander's corporate responsibility and community involvement stuff, and there were a good number of us from across different parts of the business there planting our five thousand poppies.

 

 

Poppies at the Tower of London

 

I enjoyed the day, and it felt like a real privilege to be able to take part. It was hard-going, though; constructing the poppies involves forcing variously sized washers onto a steel peg, and as these all seemed to be different sizes, it required a good deal of force. My arms haven't hurt so much in ages! It makes me realise how cushy my job is; I sit in a nice air-conditioned office in nice clothes doing work I find stimulating and enjoyable, and drinking coffee and chatting form a goodly part of my day! It's a good bit easier than manual labour, yet we don't value manual jobs as well in terms of material rewards, which isn't right.

 

In the evening, I preached a sermon at the local preachers' meeting about my memories of September 11th 2001, and how we might find resurrection hope in dark times. With all this remembering going on, it seemed apt. I've decided it'd be good to share it below, though readers are advised to bear in mind that it's based on Luke 24:13-35, aimed at a gathering of preachers during a communion service and written by someone candidating for ministry:

 

Do any of you recognise the painting below? It’s by the Italian artist Caravaggio, and it shows the moment where two disciples, one of whom we know to be Cleopas, recognise the risen Christ in the breaking of the bread, having unknowingly walked home with him the seven miles from Jerusalem. It’s a painting loaded with symbolism; for example, Cleopas is probably the guy on the right with his arms outstretched in the shape of the cross, thus keeping the events of Good Friday firmly in the picture. Notice also that, like the two men must’ve felt after the emotional rollercoaster they’d been on, the basket of food they’re about to share sits perilously close to the edge of the table, poised to fall off at any moment. I love just gazing at this painting and the sheer astonishment of the disciples, particularly the chap on the left, as they realise Jesus is risen while their server looks on obliviously. For me, it’s one of the highlights of any visit to the National Gallery, and I’d love to get the chance to see its sister painting in Milan one day.

Caravaggio's' Emmaus Meal

The Road to Emmaus story captures one of those many moments recorded in the Gospels and depicted by artists down the centuries where the resurrection transformed the lives of those who witnessed it first-hand. To put this story into context: the two disciples began their walk home in a state of utter dejection. They’d believed this Jesus of Nazareth to be a prophet, and not just any old prophet, but the long-awaited Messiah who would finally redeem Israel. They hoped he’d put them back on top of the pile and destroy the hated Roman occupiers once-and-for-all. However, their expectations had been dashed as their religious leaders and the secular authorities found this Jesus too hot to handle, and conspired to have him cruelly executed on the cross. All his powerful words and deeds had apparently come to nothing. And yet that same morning, some of the women from their party claimed to have seen angels saying Jesus was alive, and still others had found his tomb empty. Cleopas and his friend needed to make sense of it all, to thrash it out between the two of them and figure out what on earth was going on. And that’s when they met the stranger on the road.

This mysterious fellow, who invited himself to join their conversation, asked them what they were chatting about and was greeted with sheer astonishment in response. Had he buried his head in the sand these last three days? How could he not know what was on everybody’s lips? When Cleopas and companion had dispelled the stranger’s apparent ignorance, they found themselves immediately confronted with their own. Had they not listened to what their history was screaming out to them about the Messiah? Had they not heeded the words of the prophets from Moses onwards? Jesus proceeded to set their hearts on fire by opening up their Scriptures to them and spelling out where Israel’s long journey with God had been leading up to, and yet they still didn’t recognise him. It was only later, when they’d invited this stranger into their home to share their meal, that Jesus was revealed to them in the blessing and breaking of the bread. Shaking off any tiredness, or concern for their safety on the dark road back to Jerusalem, they raced off to tell their friends that it was true; Jesus is risen, and that changes everything.

I love this story, and for me it highlights what I think our call as preachers is all about: we’re to set people’s hearts on fire by opening up the Scriptures for them, so that they can recognise the risen Jesus and be transformed. Sometimes, we’ll be asked to do this in times of celebration and joy, when it somehow seems easier to believe that God’s real and present among us. On other occasions, we’ll be called upon to bring resurrection hope to bear, to keep the rumour of God alive, in dark and difficult times, when it feels like God’s profoundly absent and everything’s falling apart around us.

I don’t know if you remember where you were on this day thirteen years ago, when planes slammed into the World Trade Centre and the Pentagon, but that day will forever be etched on my memory. I was seventeen and just starting the second year of my ‘A’ levels; I remember it was a Tuesday afternoon and we’d had double economics. It was before the days of smartphones and instant internet access, and so while there were murmurs that something was wrong when we were waiting for the college bus home, it was only when I walked into my living room and saw the TV that I discovered what’d happened. The BBC kept showing a loop of the planes hitting the towers, slamming into them over and over again, as if seeing it often enough might help it sink in. It didn’t; it all felt unreal, like watching a disaster movie where you expect Nicolas Cage or somebody to run into the mess and save the day. The real-life stories of the emergency services personnel, such as the New York firemen, who did run in, and died trying to help those trapped, still reduce me to tears. How do you proclaim hope at a time like that?

Rowan Williams happened to be at a church gathering a couple of blocks from the World Trade Centre on that day, and in his book Writing in the Dust, he contrasts the last words of some of the passengers on those planes to their loved ones with those apparently given by one of the terrorists as ‘spiritual advice’. He says, “The religious words are, in the cold light of day, the words that murderers are saying to themselves to make a martyr’s dream out of a crime. The nonreligious words are testimony to what religious language is supposed to be about – the triumph of pointless, gratuitous love, the affirming of faithfulness even when there’s nothing to be done or salvaged”

I think it’s that love that lies at the heart of the Emmaus story, and that which we’re called as preachers to proclaim; resurrection hope is, at its core, about the persistence of love when everything seems lost, pointless, empty, and goodness incarnate gets nailed to that cross again. So if we ever find ourselves slipping into using glib clichés or reducing our faith to nice, neat formulae, then this should pull us up short. It’s in the silence of Golgotha on Good Friday, and the utter shock of the women who first found the empty tomb, that our preaching gets its integrity and purpose. It’s from these places, from this centre, that we can seek to be community storytellers, setting people’s hearts on fire by opening up the Scriptures and pointing them again to the truth of God, so that they might encounter the risen Christ, and be ready to keep the rumour of God alive.

In a few minutes, we’re going to share in bread and wine together. While others can administer this sacrament in certain circumstances, for me it’s very much at the centre of both what a presbyter does, but more fundamentally what a presbyter is in the first place. It’s from here that my sense of being called to explore ordained ministry stems, and where I think resurrection hope is most obviously found. When I had a breakdown in my early twenties, it was pretty much only the Eucharist that stopped me from being swallowed up by the darkness I felt was enveloping me. Knowing I was meeting with the risen Christ in his brokenness, and could only receive his presence in bread and wine once the bread had itself been broken, helped me to find hope and keep hanging on in there. It wasn’t as dramatic and unexpected as the Emmaus story, but it did have a transformational effect on my life.

Through a ministry of Word and Sacrament, presbyters are called, as Jesus did on the road to Emmaus, to set people’s hearts on fire, and help them to recognise the presence of the risen Christ among them. In that, they model what we’re all called to do as members of the body of Christ, to keep the rumour of God alive in times of joy and times of despair. As a gathering of preachers, we have a particular role in bringing the treasures of our faith to life, so as we celebrate this sacrament together, on this particular date, let us thank God for the gifts he’s stirred up within us, and pray for the courage to proclaim “the triumph of pointless, gratuitous love, the affirming of faithfulness even when there’s nothing to be done or salvaged”. Amen

Reflections of a First-Time Christian Speaker

As I type, I've just returned home from my sixth trip to the Greenbelt festival, this time held at the beautiful Boughton House, just outside Kettering. This year was different, though, as it's the first time I've been a contributor. I took part in two events, firstly by sharing some of the more comical aspects of my story of going through gender reassignment, as part of the Tenx9 storytelling programme run by the lovely Padraig O'Tuama and his partner Paul Doran, and secondly by taking part in a panel discussion in the Big Top entitled 'We're Not an Issue; We're a Gift', about queer people in the church. I wanted to reflect on this experience and offer a few thoughts on wider issues that I've been pondering now I've caught up on sleep!

 

This year, Greenbelt have been making a conscious effort to include a wider variety of voices as they move to a new location and try to get back to their roots to some extent. As such, there was a call for submissions a few months beforehand. Having sat there listening to others say their piece in previous years, I've thought it'd be fun to have a crack at doing a talk, so I submitted a proposal for what I guess was an extended theological reflection: using my experiences of facilitating Transgender Day of Remembrance events in Milton Keynes as a lens, I planned to reflect on how we might make connections with groups such as (but not limited to) LGBTQI people, who have often been hostile to church with good reasons, using Ann Morisy's work on 'apt liturgy' from her book 'Journeying Out'. It later turned into a small group session I led, and a blog post on sacred spaces. From the response I got, I think my proposal was a little misunderstood by the Greenbelt talks team, but it seems it led in the fullness of time to the invitation to be on this panel. The storytelling, by contrast, came about through me volunteering in the week before the festival; I thought it would be a laugh!

 

Tenx9 involves getting nine people to tell real-life stories of up to ten minutes in length. The theme for the session I took part in was 'change', and as it turns out, I was one of three trans people taking part. Someone told the very moving story of the impact on their life of a gas explosion in their neighbour's house, and another guy had us all laughing with the story of how he once accidentally made a nun say 'penis'. I love the variety of stories and storytellers at these events, which are very democratic. We had two 'famous Christians', if I can use that term, as contributors, along with a guitarist who once played the Albert Hall; the rest of us were ordinary peeps from all sorts of backgrounds. People seemed to enjoy what I had to say, which felt kinda good if I'm honest. Transitioning can be bloody hard going at times, and it's nice to be able to share the ample humour I've found during that journey. It felt very comfortable as it was held in one of the smaller venues, and through my local preaching I'm used to addressing a room like that.

 

The panel discussion was a whole different kettle of fish! Beforehand, Sally and I had joked about Adrian Plass' 'Sacred Diary' books and his fictional alter ego's experiences as a Christian speaker; with that in mind, it all felt like entering a rather alien little world. It was my first time doing anything like that, and especially given all the others on the panel (Rachel Mann, Sara Miles, Padraig O'Tuama and Tracey Byrne) were all experienced at this sort of thing, I felt very nervous. If I'm honest, I also felt like a bit of an imposter. I know through personal experiences and community activism type stuff I've done, I had useful things to say, and I'd like to think I'm not completely theologically illiterate. However, I did find myself wondering what I was doing there - have I become a sort of professional trans man by accident? Would anyone take what I have to say seriously, or just wonder why this odd little guy with his skinny tie and spikey hair was even there?

 

I don't think it went too badly in the end, though being very tired, having cold and wet feet (thus meaning I was shivering all the way through) and being put on the spot a few times didn't help with the whole 'thinking on my feet' thing. It was great certain people were trying to be so affirming, but I guess I need to have the confidence to say so when I'm not sure I have much to say for myself! I did manage to stammer out the couple of (hopefully) semi-intelligent things I'd figured out beforehand, and I hope I didn't sound too daft or self-centred the rest of the time! Afterwards, I had some really good conversations, including with someone I'd last had any contact with two years ago, and feel it was worth the uncomfortableness I felt before and during. It may sound silly, but it was good to feel I was being taken seriously by people like Rachel, who are properly clever (her background is in philosophy) and whom I like and respect. However, it all got me thinking about how strange the Christian bubble(s) can be, and reflecting on some of the less healthy aspects of it all.

 

First up, I wonder if we are in danger of creating a bunch of 'Christian celebrities', if you see what I mean, out of a group of people who just happen to be queer. Contrary to Mark Driscoll's complaint about the comparative lack of famous pastors or preachers on this side of the pond, I think it's healthy that we don't seem to go in for putting certain people on pedestals as much, not least because everyone has feet of clay when it comes down to it, and the only way to go once on a pedestal is splat on the floor! However, it does seem that this is beginning to happen to a bunch of people like Vicky Beeching (who chose to come out recently) and Sally Hitcher (who was publically outted against her will), for example, which is neither a good sign, nor something they've necessarily sought out.

There's a risk that, when we make heroes of such people, we end up (inadvertently?) reducing them to simply one-dimensional representative figures, focusing so much on their queerness that we miss out on what else they are and have to offer. I no more want to be the 'go-to trans man', as someone put it to me, than I'm sure anyone wants to be typecast or pigeon-holed in this  way, but when we make celebrities of people that's exactly the risk we run.

 

Secondly, one of the good things about Greenbelt opening things up like this is that it's a move towards greater democratisation.  However, there's still a question there about who gets to have a public voice and on what basis. Looking around me, I can't help but feel that being ordained, being part of the academy or being involved in things like community activism as a full-time thing means someone is taken more seriously than people not in those brackets might be. It strikes me that, even in denominations like the Methodist Church, which are better than many at affirming certain lay ministries, there's a tendency towards clericalism and professionalisation that means someone who has much to offer and good things to say, but does things like preaching, leading worship or community activism alongside other paid work and/or caring responsibilities, just isn't usually given the same platform to speak, something that particularly impacts lay women. There are exceptions, but it's rare in my experience.

It's something I personally find frustrating as someone with a background in academic research working outside of academia (I'd love to do a talk on how Christianity and mathematics interact, but not being in the employ of a university wonder if anyone would consider giving me that chance?), but has a far wider scope: how much of an opportunity are we missing to hear valuable ideas and perspectives because of the (unrecognised?) prejudices of those in a position to act as gatekeepers? How far do the choices of those gatekeepers reflect the prejudices of the paying punters like me? Moreover, did being Dr Karl mean I got this chance when plain Mr Karl might've been overlooked?

 

Thirdly and more theologically, it seems to me that praise and adoration can actually be far more dangerous than criticism in throwing someone off course. The Gospels show that, time and again, Jesus had to deal with people who were all too ready to pull him to pieces, and faced with that degree of hostility, many of us would be tempted to back away from what we were doing. However, the greater danger came from the people who wanted to put Jesus on a pedestal, even to make him king at one point before he walked away. Praise can be seductive, as much as anything else because I suppose most of us want to be liked by others, and being well thought of feels pretty good. How many of us have done something we later regret because we got suckered in by flattery?

It's no accident, I would argue, that two out of the three temptations Jesus faced in the desert were to do with acting in ways that would've set him up as a kind of hero; instead, he chose the path of self-emptying rather than self-gratification. This isn't to say that there's no place for encouraging and affirming people; clearly there is, and much damage can be done by pushing messages that result in people struggling to see their own intrinsic value. Again, it's something that women often bare the brunt of, through people telling them they should never think of themselves and their needs. It does mean, though, that we need to be really careful in how we treat well-known or famous Christians at events like Greenbelt.

 

There's an accidental three-point sermon for you. I'm now off to do the laundry!

Three Weekends of Adventures

After my last two posts were both rather serious, I thought I'd do something a little more light-hearted today and write about what I've been up to in the last three Saturdays.

 

Two weeks ago today (Saturday 19th July), I went to Glyndebourne for the first time to see a production of Don Giovanni. I got into opera as a bit of a teenage rebellion thing; most people went out drinking and things, I joined the Socialist Workers and got into Mozart! Glyndebourne is notoriously expensive, and I've never both been able to afford it and able to justify spending that kind of money on myself. However, when you get a ticket bought for you as an anniversary gift, it'd be churlish to refuse!

 

As they say themselves, Glyndebourne isn't just about the opera, but about the whole experience. I got to Lewes station after a sweaty trip from Victoria station (it was around twenty-nine degrees) and onto the bus they lay on to get there, and then promptly got lost trying to find the cloakrooms! After I did manage to dump my suitcase, I went and bought some ridiculously overpriced sandwiches and drinks from the bar, found a nice shaded spot in the gardens, and largely stayed there while people had their picnics. I did go for a bit of a stroll, but it was very hot in the compulsory dinner suit, and I wanted to make it to the opera without passing out!

 

The actual production was superb. I had what the ticket said was a 'restricted view', but I could see pretty much everything that was happening without problem, and the captions meant my rusty Italian wasn't tested too much! It was particularly impressive given the singer playing one of the main characters had a throat infection and couldn't perform, so his replacement had to step into the breach. I think they brought the comedy out very well and did justice to Mozart's music.

 

During the long interval, I had an excellent three-course dinner and chatted to random people who'd also asked to be seated on a shared table. It struck me, interestingly, that the older folks there were much easier to get one with (and substantially less arrogant) than many of the younger lads in particular. I particularly enjoyed the pudding - strawberries and custard - and had difficulty staying awake on a full stomach in the second half (thank goodness for air conditioning!).

 

Last weekend in a very different sort of evening, we went to listen to a folk singer called Seth Lakeman as part of the ten-day International Festival being held in Milton Keynes. I gather he's folk royalty, but I'd not heard him before. The actual venue was interesting, in that we were sat around long tables on picnic chairs in a huge tent that had been kitted out to look like a pub. It was packed - I'm guessing there were around two hundred people there.

 

 

 

Seth was supported by Lisbee Stainton, a young singer-songwriter we'd heard previously at The Stables, and the two of them had an obvious bond. She played the banjo and sang backing vocals, while Lakeman was on the violin and guitar. The most moving bit of the evening was when Lakeman sang a song penned by a veteran of the Normandy landings, which was beautiful and powerful, the sort of song that makes one appreciate never having had to face the horrors of war. Other songs were the kind that get people up on their feet. All in all, a good evening.

 

Today, we went to Milton Keynes Museum for the first time. It's easy to think of Milton Keynes as being so new it doesn't have much history, but in reality, the new town swallowed up existing and much older towns and villages. Wolverton, where the Museum is, dates back to the Victorian period; it was a railway town. This is reflected in that most of the displays date back to that period and come up to the present day, the collection of mobile phones being a prime example of the more modern stuff, alongside a mock town centre shopping street from the Victorian era.

 

There are eight separate buildings altogether, housing diverse displays such as old transport vehicles and not so old ones like a BT advertising bus, to an old-fashioned tea room to a shopping street to a room full of phones and early computers to a gift shop. Sally and I thoroughly enjoyed our wander around, and listening to both older people reminisce about their childhoods, and children discovering the past for the first time.

 

I got a bit excited about the chance to cook some toast over an open fire - think the old ladies watching thought I was sweet, in a 'wanting to pat me on the head' way! I think they also thought I'm Sally's son, which is another story! I'd thoroughly recommend the Museum for a trip out, but be aware that you have to walk between buildings and on days like today, that means getting wet!

 

That's three weekends of very varied activities; it's been good to have time out to relax in the midst of life being very busy, and to spend time chilling with Sally. Hope this gives a flavour of what I've been up to!

 

Transgender Survival Guide

I'm now approximately two and a half years into my transition, and so have decided to put together a transgender survival guide to help others contemplating transitioning or struggling with gender-related discomfort. Please feel free to share this with others.

 

Disclaimer: it is both rather long, by necessity autobiographical, and aimed primarily at other female-to-male transsexuals, though I hope it'll be helpful to other transgender people and their friends and families. It will hopefully also be useful to those wanting to learn more about transgender issues.

What does 'transgender' mean?

'Transgender' is an umbrella term for a variety of experiences, from people who occasionally choose to cross-dress for pleasure or comfort (some use the term transvestites), to people who feel they are both male and female, neither of these, beyond gender or who experience gender as fluid (gender-queer), through to people undergoing social, hormonal and sometimes surgical gender reassignment or affirmation processes (transsexuals).

 

When we're born, we're assigned as 'male' or 'female' based on our genitalia (intersex people are those born with both male and female genitals or ambiguous genitals), and it is assumed that this decision based on these primary sex characteristics (biological) reflects the person's inner sense of who they are, the ontological. As we make culturally-grounded assumptions about how to treat someone and what's considered 'typical' or 'normal' behaviour based on the biological, this profoundly impacts the social aspects of our lives. Most of the time, the biological and ontological match up and there's no problem, though we may struggle with prescribed gender roles. However, around one percent of the population experience some degree of mismatch between the biological and ontological, which causes distress and leads to social assumptions being made about them which don't match up to the person's sense of their gender identity. This sense of discomfort, dysphoria, is called Gender Identity Disorder.

 

Check out this TED talk by comedian Sam Killermann if you want to think more about what gender, gender identity and gender roles are all about; it's very funny yet draws out the complex ontological, biological and social aspects and their interplay.

What causes gender dysphoria?

The GIRES website is very good if you want to learn more about the causes of transgenderism. No-one's one hundred percent sure, but it's thought to be caused by hormones in the womb not doing their job around the eight-week point when the foetus goes from having one sex chromosome (the mother's X) to two as the father's X or Y kicks into action. The body develops in one way but the brain in another, giving rise to gender dysphoria through there being a body-brain mismatch. One legacy of it having previously been understood as a psychological problem is that getting treatment means negotiating mental heath services.

How do you know things don't match up?

Like a lot of transsexuals, I realised at a young age that something wasn't right. Starting primary school was the first time I'd been around lots of other children, and I couldn't fathom why I was being told to dress like a girl, play with the other girls and act in a 'girly' way. It was profoundly distressing to me, and I think it's one of the main reasons I acted up a lot during my first months there; I didn't have the language to express what was going on, but felt it acutely. These feelings persisted, though being and looking incredibly tomboy-ish, and being able to 'pass'/'be read' as a boy if I wanted to, helped a lot. I used to like writing stories and illustrating them, and my little imaginary worlds were exclusively male domains. My cuddly toys were also all male, and apparently when presented with a doll on one occasion, it got banished to the wardrobe without a second look! I shrugged off criticism from teachers for not being 'ladylike' enough, and things weren't too bad.

However, when I hit puberty, things changed. I went from being flat-chested to a DD cup in little under a year, which meant I could no longer pass. Periods made me feel dirty and felt fundamentally unnatural. As I got older, I experimented with cross-dressing in the privacy of my bedroom, and the rush that gave me was both almost orgasmic and very confusing. I eventually came to the conclusion that there was something wrong with me (I had never even heard the word 'transgender' before, nor had any idea that there are others who felt like I did), so I determined to bottle these feelings up and repressed them deeply for a long time. In the fullness of time, though, with the support of my now wife, my friends and my then boss, I felt I could both acknowledge who I am really am and begin the process of transition, so that the biological will finally reflect the ontological, which will in turn mean the social reflects the ontological.

My story is not unusual; while some children do experience the kind of confusion I did when younger but things settle down as they get older, for me the discomfort stayed and it's only through transitioning that I've found any relief. Others begin to experience gender dysphoria in adolescence and others in adulthood. For some people, their feelings can be relieved through things like binding their breasts or selecting hair styles and clothes that give them a more androgynous appearance, For others, hormone treatment alone does the trick, and some may opt for surgery but no hormones; others like me go for both. It's important to stress that everyone is different, and pushing people down a route that isn't for them is wrong.

If you want to learn more about gender dysphoria and hear some other people's experiences, check out this page from the NHS website. There's also an excellent series in the Guardian by Juliet Jacques, who is a male-to-female transsexual, and it details her story from starting out to recovering from her surgery.

Could you not have just had counselling?

Nope! This has been tried in the past and caused a great deal of damage to many people. I did have some counselling around three years ago, but that was to help me deal with my fears about coming out as transgender and how people would react. There are world standards of care for transgender people which make it very clear that the best way to help transgender people relieve their gender dysphoria and feel comfortable in their bodies is by offering options for changing outward appearance in some form, perhaps as mentioned above through clothing and other external choices, or perhaps by hormones and/or surgery if that is right for that individual.

What did you do about it, then?

Well, not having the faintest idea where to start, I did some asking about among my friends in the LGBT community (before I came out as a transsexual man, I identified as a lesbian) and came across a local trans activist called Delia. We had lunch and she talked me through what was involved in the process of transitioning and the good and bad things about how the NHS handles it all. This did scare me somewhat, as many people have had bad experiences of the NHS, but I think has made me a lot more realistic about what the process involves and what I wanted to get out of it.

 

I decided to tell the outgoing boss of my team at work, on the basis that if he reacted badly, he was leaving anyway! As it turned out, he was great and suggested that his successor would be a great person to support me. I then spoke with the equalities person in HR, and between the three of us, we put together a plan to 'manage' my coming out. Around that time, I decided on a new name, Karl, and began to use it with my partner and certain close friends. In February 2012, I began negotiating the NHS 'care pathway', and came out at work and changed my name by Deed Poll a month later.

What about negotiating the NHS pathway?

The NHS refers to the treatment options as a 'care pathway', which sadly still strikes me as a bit of a misnomer, as the early stages at least seemed more diagnostic than caring. The first step was going to see my GP and asking to be referred to the local mental health team for an assessment. I think the need for a local assessment might vary from place to place. I'm also not sure whether for younger trans people, the first stop would necessarily be the local Child and Adolescent Mental Health team. Either way, I was pretty scared before my GP appointment, and wasn't sure how he would react to me; others have had bad experiences at the hands of GPs who don't understand trans issues or have shown blatant prejudice (if this happens to you, insist on your right to see another doctor). While he admitted that, like the majority of GPs, he'd never met a trans person before, he was supportive but needed telling what to do.

This highlights one of the problems I've found with the NHS - you have to be an expert patient. I went into the surgery that day - by the way, book a double appointment - armed with useful leaflets I got from the GIRES website, which explained what 'transsexual' means, what treatments I needed and what my GP needed to do to ensure the funding was put into place for these. Things have improved considerably in England in the last couple of years, in that the money now comes from NHS England, rather than the local Primary Care Trust, meaning someone transitioning is no longer tired down to one area while they go through treatment, which takes a number of years. Anyway, this meant I could give him some bedtime reading to do, and not have to worry about chasing up funding myself.

One thing the NHS isn't very good about is helping with the practicalities of everyday life in the intervening period before treatment starts. As there is a requirement (the 'real life experience') to live in one's preferred gender role for at least six months to a year before beginning hormone treatment for adults (see below for a note on teenagers and hormone blockers), this can create problems. I mentioned earlier that periods were very distressing for me; I asked for female contraceptive injections that would stop (or at least notably reduce) my periods at that same appointment. Annoyingly, I got passed onto a female GP who couldn't get her head around things and gave me a lecture on safe sex (despite my saying I have a long-term female partner), but I got them nonetheless. I needed to be the one asking for this; my GP wouldn't have thought to suggest it.

Getting through the local psychiatric assessment was pretty straightforward; I got grilled on my childhood and past relationships, as well as how the people around me were handling things. I think it helped that I come from an academic background and had already been grilled by supportive people with a knowledge of the issues, so I knew what was coming and didn't feel intimidated by the doctors. This highlights another issue: being educated and middle-class really helped when dealing with certain medical professionals. An acquaintance of mine, who found it harder to express what he was feeling, got quite a bumpy ride from the same people. One tip, therefore, would be to talk over how you feel with people you can trust and work out what you want to get across beforehand, so you can be clear and articulate. Be ready to be asked about some difficult things, and for it to feel like being put through the mill if the conservation goes to places you normally keep closed off; exercise judgment in what you say, and be gentle to yourself.

Eight months later, I finally got my first appointment at the gender clinic. Where you get sent will depend on where you live; I got sent to Charing Cross, which deals with London and surrounding areas. There is a useful list of the different clinics on the NHS website. Two psychiatrists have to agree on a diagnosis and the appropriateness of treatment, as well as one meeting the real-life experience requirements, to allow hormone treatment to commence. The questions were the same, but the tone was different. It came across as someone with a checklist and an agenda, and at times I felt pushed into simplifying my story and omitting certain things. For me, it's one of the problems with this model of treatment; the gender clinic staff are the gatekeepers of further treatment, and the resulting power dynamic, together with time constraints on the staff, can create tensions that might hinder honest conversations. I got past these hurdles, and started taking testosterone gel in September, and was referred for chest surgery at the same time.

Word of warning: Charing Cross have the worst administration of any organisation I've ever dealt with! I was supposed to take one 50mg sachet of Testogel each day, but was initially told once a week thanks to a clerical error, which is a bit of a difference - I'd wondered why it wasn't doing anything! I've also had to do a lot of chasing up if I've needed anything from them, such as help getting my hormone balance right. They also don't seem to have discovered the 21st century and e-mail seems quite beyond them!

How did you handle coming out at work?

As I've already outlined, my coming out at work was helped by having a supportive boss and HR department. Having already come out as gay, I was acutely aware of the differences; in one sense, nothing changed when I announced I had fallen in love with a woman and being attracted to women was part of who I am. This time, my name and the pronouns I'd be asking people to use would change, along with my appearance to some extent, though I'd long since given up any pretence to feminine dressing and wore a suit and tie to work. I was also nervous because people have been hounded out of jobs, and unemployment among transgender people is historically higher than among the general populous.  Having the support, therefore, was crucial to my sense of well-being during this time.

I work for Santander, and the equalities person from HR hadn't met a transgender person before, so once again I found myself having to be the expert. This guide for employers from Stonewall Scotland was particularly helpful. Again, though, what made this a good experience was the willingness of others to listen to my story and do their research to figure out how they could help me negotiate coming out. It was a pretty rocky time as my partner and family struggled to accept what was happening, and my boss really went above and beyond the call of duty in supporting me and keeping me on the rails during that time. When I'd seen my GP and felt ready, my boss was with me when I told my team, and then she told the rest of the department on my behalf so I didn't have to, which made it a lot less daunting prospect. HR had already sorted things so I could have a new e-mail address with my new name, and when I'd done the Deed Pool, I formally changed my details on the payroll, with my bank and other companies.
 

What about people in schools, youth groups and so on?

Again, Stonewall Scotland have some great resources for schools which provide advice on how to support transgender students, and there is a useful guide on the GIRES site for youth group leaders on making their group trans-friendly. There are also organisations like Gendered Intelligence which offer workshops for schools, resource-sharing sites like Schools Out, and many LGBT youth groups around the country. In my experiences and sadly that of countless others, being different in any way can make school a thoroughly shitty experience, and while I've not always got on too well with trans support groups, they can be a lifeline for both the person themselves and their families. It may well be worth having a trawl online and seeing what you can find, and there are some suggestions below. There is a Home Office guide on dealing with transphobic bullying that schools can access easily and should be putting to practice.

How do you change your name?

I used Deed Poll, which is one of two options; the other is to make a statutory declaration. People have gone for cheaper options and been fine, but I used the site linked to on the Passport Office website. It cost me £50, and involved sending for the form online, getting it signed and witnessed and then sending it back to get the final certificate. I've had no problems with using it to get a new passport (along with a letter from my GP saying the change is permanent and my gender identity is stable), or updating bank accounts, National Insurance and tax details, and so on. To change the gender marker on some paperwork (such as getting a new birth certificate) requires a Gender Recognition Certificate - see below.

 

Coping with everyday life: Friends and family

Telling friends and family is one of the most difficult bits of the journey in my opinion. As I've already hinted, it was hard for my now wife to come to terms with, as much as anything else because it created questions of identity for her: can she still be a lesbian if she's with a man? (Answer: of course!) My parents seemed alright at first and then exploded later when the reality hit them. Over time, things have got better, and in their own (unique) way my mum and dad now are great about it all, but they still find it a struggle. Some of my relationships with other family members have become strained, as they won't use Karl and misgender (refer to me as female) me constantly. That hurts like crazy.

Thankfully, things have been much more positive in terms of my friends; a couple of people did walk away, but everyone else has been really supportive, which has made such a difference. At our wedding last year, people I hadn't seen since I started transitioning came, and their acceptance of me just as I am was one of the things that made it such a special day. Work being safe has also helped, and I've not had any problems making new friends, in both professional and other settings, as a result of my transition.

One thing I hadn't expected was that some people, notably my partner, expressed a sense of grief when I started transitioning. They felt they were losing someone they cared about, and I found that incomprehensible at first, because for me it was a liberating experience. Having to be honest with each other and deal with painful stuff, as well as find language for what we were both experiencing, has brought my partner and I closer together, but has been very hard, with lots of tears shed along the way. It doesn't help that the NHS process focuses on the person, but there's not so much there for partners and family, especially if formal support groups aren't your bag. Thus, finding someone your partner/parents/other family/friends can talk to, who isn't you(!) about their feelings is important, in helping them come to terms with what, after all, is a big change.

 

Coping with everyday life: Support networks

On a related note, one thing I've learnt really helps is having people about with a bit of knowledge of the issues who are willing to listen, ask the hard questions and give hugs when they're needed. For me, one of those key people has been my minister at church, who is also a GP and has supported trans people before. She both helped me get to the point where I was ready to transition and dealt with curious questions from people in the churches I worship and lead worship in, meaning this part of my life (being a Methodist local preacher) has been able to continue perfectly happily since coming out. In addition, she led a naming ceremony for me in church when I wanted to reaffirm my commitment to God but use my new name, whereas when I was confirmed and first made that commitment, it was in my old name.

Coping with everyday life: Language and pronouns

Getting the language right is something that is very important, but can be hard for people. It takes time for people to change to using 'he', 'him', 'his' and so on, when they've been used to the female versions. Other people prefer 'they' or other neutral terms, and that seems to be quite beyond a lot of people to get right! One of the hardest things I found in the pre-hormones period was trying to live as a man but still sounding and looking female. It meant that even after binding my breasts and wearing a suit and tie, people got it wrong. Places that were very keen to affirm and welcome gay people were the worst - I think they assumed I was a butch lesbian! It's irritating, but you have to be patient with people, as it's very rarely borne from maliciousness. Now my voice has broken, things are a lot better, but it does take time for people to adapt to new language. Check out this TED guide for more on use of language.

 

Coping with everyday life: To disclose or not to disclose?

How to talk about my past is another question that arises: should I be open, or just not say anything that could give away that I'm a transsexual? It's a complex question, with implications for people around me too, which I've not fully resolved yet. For example, can I talk about childhood or teenage experiences that I wouldn't have had if I hadn't been assigned female at birth? I think each person has to make their own mind up on this one, and so far I've chosen to be open most of the time. However, there are situations where that can make life awkward, and I don't know what I'll do beforehand. As an example, I was asked while on a church placement about when I got married and whether it was in church. I really didn't want to go into the complexities and avoided the question, but other times have told the person what the deal is, so it depends on the situation. Perhaps ask me again in a year's time on this one!

It helps that my relationship has survived the process, so I've not got the complexities of dating to deal with. The only thing I would say is that I'd hope that, if something happens and I end up single again, I wouldn't want to have sex with someone I couldn't trust to tell I'm transgender. If they couldn't handle that or insisted upon thinking of me as a woman, I'd be out of there!

Coping with everyday life: Binding breasts safely

I started binding my breasts after coming out, mostly because I was worried about how to do so safely. I'd met people who use elastic that binds so tightly it restricts breathing and causes pain, which is obviously not good. I'd also come across full upper body binders, which given I'm a tad on the larger side seemed a recipe for sweating and discomfort. In the end, I settled on sports bra-style chest binders from a company called Peecock Products, which had to be shipped over here and cost around £30, but which when worn with a bra underneath provided a good degree of binding and gave me a much flatter chest, but still left the area below my breasts free to breathe. They didn't work for me without a bra; my breasts fell out! One of the disadvantages of wearing this was that the bottom curls up sometimes, and can crease shirts and other tops. They do show through some clothes, but I reckon just look like you're wearing a vest.

The important thing with binding is to do it safely. I met a trans man who bound his breasts day and night for years, and did so that tightly that he hyperventilated when he took the elastic off, because his lungs weren't used to so much air! As a general rule, if you're struggling to breathe or in pain, you're binding too tightly. Once I got used to the new binders, I found them really liberating, as having a much flatter (though there's only so much you can do with DD cups!) chest gave me the confidence to use the gents' toilets rather than the disabled loo, and to feel confident challenging people about using the wrong pronouns. Binding reduces breast size over time, so one's chest appears less feminine as a result, though having squashy breasts might be off-putting for some people. The downside is that even with ones that don't cover the whole chest, they do trap a lot of heat and can be very sweaty and itchy in summer.

Coping with everyday life: Toilets and other gendered spaces

Negotiating gendered spaces can be tricky at first, especially in the period before starting hormone treatment. I'd never considered how difficult going to the toilet could be before beginning transition. One thing to make clear is that you're entitled to use the toilets of your preferred gender or the disabled facilities as you feel comfortable; if someone tells you it's illegal then they don't know what they're talking about. In my experience, I didn't feel confident to use the gents at first, so I used the disabled loos wherever I could. This was hard in some places like some pubs, as it required having a RADAR key and I didn't want to have to explain to the people behind the bar why I wanted to use that toilet and not one of the others. It meant knowing where I could go that was nearby, or simply avoiding certain places. As time went on, I got more confident and started to use the gents regularly at work, and later in public places that felt safe.

Over time, this has got easier as I have been binding for a while and my breasts have shrunk, my appearance is more masculine and my voice has broken. However, changing rooms haven't yet become any easier, as when I take off my clothes I still have a female-appearing body, meaning using the gents is out, but the hormones have made me rather hairy, and especially with a deep voice, it means I can no longer just use the women's changing rooms and keep quiet about my gender identity. When looking for a gym to join, therefore, checking out the disabled facilities was important, as was letting the staff know the situation and that I would need to use these. I mention this as my gym has a notice on the door of the disabled changing room telling people it's just for wheelchair users, so it helps if they are aware in case, as has happened to me once, someone takes offence to you apparently breaking the rules!

Coping with everyday life: Shopping

One situation that can become more difficult when transitioning is shopping, not least because there's another changing room situation to negotiate, and while some stores have gender-neutral changing rooms, many don't and that can cause problems. Once, I was shopping for a new shirt and got told I couldn't use the men's changing rooms, so reluctantly went to the women's section. They told me they wouldn't let me in with a man's shirt. H&M lost £30 worth of custom that day! My worst experience was in BHS in Milton Keynes; I went into try on some short-sleeve summer shirts for the office, and after my experience in H&M decided to use the women's changing rooms. The women minding them reported me to security as a potential shoplifter, and I was then followed around the store! Again, as time has gone on, things have got better, partly because I 'pass' more readily and partly because we've found shops that are more transgender-friendly. House of Fraser, Marks and Spencer's and Hawes and Curtis in Milton Keynes have been great for clothes, and Schuh and Doc Martens for shoes.

Another issue that arises for me is to do with sizes. I'm 5ft 2 and have proportionally short arms and small feet! This means I have to get shirt and jacket sleeves shortened, and because most places stock men's shoes from size six upwards and I'm a size five, I buy gender-neutral shoes like Doc Martens. I did try junior shoes, but they looked like they were for kids, so wouldn't really work on a thirty-year old! Finding a place that will do clothes adjustments can really help, especially if like me you work in a professional occupation and are expected to dress smartly. Learning what your size is when you start transitioning can be tricky; be willing to do a certain amount of trial and error until you get it right, and don't be afraid to ask for things in smaller sizes if you need them.

Coping with everyday life: Getting hassled

Sadly, being perceived as 'different' in some sense can put one at risk of harassment when out and about, and as transgender people challenge people's often rigid ideas about what is socially acceptable for males and females, simply by being ourselves and not hiding away, we often come in for more than our fair share of hassle, particularly trans women. I think my experience hasn't been too bad partly because I've often been viewed as simply a butch woman, and there's far more freedom for women to appear masculine then men to appear feminine in our society, something I think it is bond up with misogyny, homophobia and transphobia intersecting. However, I've nonetheless had to develop a thick skin.

Just to tell one story to illustrate: I was out for a lunchtime walk in Regent's Park, which is near work, a few weeks ago and wearing a suit and tie. I thought I looked pretty dapper for what it's worth, and was just enjoying my stroll. There are some benches by the lake, and that day they were full of French school kids. The children on the first bench pointed at me, laughed and started loudly speculating about my gender, which encouraged all the rest to do the same. One lad openly stared open-mouthed at me, and then nudged his friend and got him to do the same. I felt like a zoo exhibit! I've also had abuse (both homophobic and transphobic) shouted at me, been threatened and pushed about, chased and spat at, and one guy tried to punch me in a pub toilet. Thankfully he was drunk and he missed, but it was scary.

If you do experience harassment - verbally, physically or sexually - then please do report it rather than suffer in silence. Most councils have hate crime officers, and the police do want to help in my experience. It may help to get to know officers working with the LGBT community, as they've had specialist training in things like transgender issues. In Milton Keynes, we've built up good links with Thames Valley Police, and they've sent officers along to community events such as Pride and the Transgender Day of Remembrance. Employers also have a duty under the 2010 Equality Act to deal with discrimination against transgender people, and it is illegal to fire somebody for intending to, going through or having been through gender reassignment; it's worth getting to know your rights.

What about teenagers and hormone blockers?

Hormone blockers can be very useful for teenagers, in that they can stall the process of puberty and give the young person breathing space to work out what (if any) treatment they want to have as they get older. If you want to learn more, check out this guide on the GIRES website, or have a look at my previous blog post on the subject. Additionally, there is a great TED talk by Norman Spack, who has helped young trans people for years, which is about hormone blockers.

 

What happens when you take testosterone?

After negotiating my way through the NHS system, I eventually started taking Testogel at 50mg once a day. I began in December 2013 and have noticed significant changes, despite transitioning with gel being slower than injections. I'm scared of needles and didn't want the aggression after an injection and the gloom in the run-up to the next one. The most notable change is that my voice has broken, and after going through a phase of being squeaky, has settled down to a nice, deep tone. It does crack and squeak still while singing, so someone concerned about this might want to do voice exercises like singers do a little more diligently than I did! This has been really liberating for me, as now I don't get misgendered over the phone or anywhere near as often in person, and I feel more confident in handling gendered spaces and social situations.

Other changes have thus far included development of muscle mass, particularly in my legs and shoulders, increased stamina, growth of body hair on my legs, arms, back, chest and shoulders, the beginnings of facial hair, being more (but not hugely more) short-tempered, increased sex drive and an enlarged and more sensitive clitoris, increased sweating and spots. I think my face looks more masculine, and my skin is a bit tighter around there. The spots have been easy to deal with, but the sweating harder. I occasionally get hot flushes, and feel like a teenage boy crossed with a menopausal woman! My periods had stopped but have recently restarted, which has been quite distressing, so it evidentially takes time to get the level of testosterone right. One thing that hasn't happened is that I haven't suddenly become really aggressive, something I was worried about beforehand; I'm still just a weedy mathematician!

Overall, I have found taking hormones to be a good experience, though one thing that has taken a bit of getting used to is how my sexual orientation has shifted. I'd now say I'm bisexual but still much prefer women to men. I'd heard this could happen, but it's taken me a while to get used to it. Taking hormones does mean needing regular blood tests, as cholesterol levels can shoot up, and increased red blood cell count can cause problems, among other issues. I dread these, as it's not easy to get blood out of me. I'm told I have bendy veins! Hormones are something I'll need for the rest of my life, as without them, certain characteristics (such as facial appearance) will begin to regress, and  because I'll need them to maintain a healthy body when I've had my hysterectomy - see below.

If you want to know more about how the hormones work and what the risks are, check out this NHS guide.

What surgical options are there?

I have decided to have what's commonly called 'upper surgery', which means having my breasts removed and a male-appearing chest constructed in their place. As I noted earlier, I've been stuck with DD cup breasts since around twelve years old, which has been a source of great distress to me. Even if the world around me was more tolerant of gender variance, I'd still have to look at them every time I take my clothes off. I'm really looking forward to the surgery (hopefully in October 2014) and have been working hard to lose weight so I can get good results from it and recover more quickly.

I've elected not to have any lower surgery (penis construction) because to my mind, the dangers outweigh the benefits by quite a way. I'm told around 5% of trans men opt for this treatment, which involves using arm tissue to construct a phallus. I will need to have a hysterectomy, though, as otherwise the thickened womb lining caused by the testosterone can give rise to problems, and there's an increased cervical cancer risk. I'm quite nervous about that operation, to be honest, but at least it means I'll never have another period.

 

If you want to know more about what it's like to go through chest surgery, check out this Guardian article by a trans man called Fred McConnell, or the ever-helpful GIRES website again, which also talks about options for lower surgery.

What is a Gender Recognition Certificate?

The Gender Recognition Act 2004 allows someone who has transitioned to obtain a new birth certificate with their new name and the correct gender. It also affords the person extra legal protections, and it is illegal for someone to 'out' someone as having a gender history. To obtain this, one has to have lived in one's preferred gender for at least two years and have changed appearance sufficiently. It has implications for marital status: someone in a civil partnership will have to transfer to a marriage before obtaining a Gender Recognition Certificate (GRC). Everyone will have to have written confirmation from the partner, sworn before a solicitor, that they are happy to remain married. This is called the spousal veto, and has the potential to cause issues when nasty break-ups occur...

For more information on the Gender Recognition Act, check out this guide to the process of obtaining a GRC.

Where can I go for support and advice?

There are various websites worth checking out if you want further help and advice. One very good list has been compiled by Juilet Jacques in the Guardian. There is also a new book called 'Trans Bodies, Trans Selves' which may be worth a read, and there's an associated website to check out. Finally, there are local groups out there, so have a hunt around the internet and ask about.