When the Grace Runs Out, Part 1
Or getting kicked out of woke church
In July of 2024 I joined a liberal Mennonite church in Germantown, a neighborhood in NW Philadelphia. This is a summary of some of my experiences during my time there, as well as some of my experience after being kicked out of the church.
July 2024
I remember the first time I had a one-on-one interaction with Jay, the non-binary pastor of the woke Mennonite church I was thinking of joining. We met up at a hip queer-friendly bar in Germantown, my neighborhood and the neighborhood of the church here in NW Philadelphia.
I wanted to see if I was welcome in the congregation, given that I saw Jay as a man.
Subconsciously, I was looking for someone to save me from my departure from liberalism. I was looking for a daddy. And Jay, ironically, picked up on that.
I had been stepping out of liberal culture for several years. I married a detransitioner (my wife Annika used to identify as a man, and now lives as her biological sex), and had heard firsthand her struggles with gender identity. I had also seen and heard a lot of the ills of “wokeness” but had never experienced anything first-hand.
But leaving liberalism was also terrifying, and I wanted a way back in. I had recently stepped into Christianity after being a life-long liberal Jew. I had lost family over it, friends. Maybe this was the way to straddle both worlds, to finally be “at home”.
I made it clear to Jay that I saw him as a man, and that I believed that there were two genders and that men could be feminine and women masculine. Jay seemed to vaguely agree with me, and then we found more and more topics of agreement, the kind of thing you do on a first date with someone you don’t really know.
Because that is what it felt like, a date with a non-binary pastor who was going to take the place of daddy in my life.
But if I had known what was going to happen in March of 2025, I might have just walked away from the bar then and there.
March 2025
I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, legs shaking, heart pounding. Sitting next to me is a congregant whose adult child is transgender. There is a transgender adult in the audience as well. My throat constricts, it is hard to swallow.
It’s the sharing time in the service, where congregants can stand up and speak to what is on their mind, ostensibly to be heard in prayer requests.
In reality, it it usually a forum where people mix genuine concerns with bypassing, pushing away anxiety, and rambling on about topics that are better left for the memo app on your iPhone.
But today I have the sense I will be doing something important.
So I stand, go up to the microphone, clear my throat, and begin to speak.
Things haven’t always been this tense at church, or with Jay.
My mind goes back to August of 2024, the golden days.
August 2024
At this point, Jay has become my spiritual daddy.
I call him when things between Annika and I get too tense, when I fall into a spiritual slump, or when things just aren’t going my way.
He…they listen patiently on the other end of the line, usually just saying things like “well, I don’t really know what to say, but that sounds hard”.
And after having received dose after dose of bad advice from everyone and everywhere, it truly felt like grace to receive what sounded a lot like non-judgmental feedback.
I felt safe, and continued to call Jay often.
A part of me misses that now, now that I shared what I did.
March 2024
It wasn’t going to be an average share.
My wife Annika and I had just gotten back from Washington D.C. after participating in Detrans Day of Awareness.
For those not in the know, Detrans Day of Awareness is a day dedicated to the experience of detransitioners, as well as an opportunity to educate the public on the harms and ills of medical transitioning. And Annika had let the congregation know that we would be excited to report on our experience upon getting back.
And so I reported.
I reported on going to the Heritage Foundation building (yes, the Project 2025 people), to take part in a reception for everyone involved with Detrans Day of Awareness.
I reported on being equal parts terrified and excited, walking into that building.
I reported on witnessing a leather-jacket-clad butch lesbian getting to know a conservative Christian man.
On witnessing gender non-conforming teenagers snag another piece of cheese off the serving tray, while a man from Gays against Groomers talked to a woman from Moms for Liberty.
On witnessing people who were black, and brown, and white all talking together freely, enjoying each other’s company.
In short, I reported on witnessing a miracle of true diversity: diversity of thought, of expression of one’s biological sex, of race, of humanity.
At… the Heritage Foundation.
And I reported on the feeling of ease and grace that I felt in that environment. On Annika and I coming more alive and more ourselves than we had in months.
And certainly more alive and at ease than at GMC, even before the election.
October 2024
It was pre-election season, and the fear was palpable.
At this point I had re-indoctrinated Annika into liberal culture, and she came to church with me on Sundays. She was cancelled repeatedly in Portland by liberal communities she had belonged to. But my loyal wife came with met the church I had apparently committed myself to.
During the potlucks I heard people mentioning about how terrible it would be if Trump got elected.
And I felt fear.
Because I was excited to vote for Trump.
And the rescue calls continued, and Jay continued to be my daddy.
But all that changed in one day, with one share.
March 2025
My share gets serious.
I mention that many in the trans community say that there is a “trans holocaust” happening.
And I say that I believe there is a trans holocaust happening.
And it is happening to our children.
The beautiful children that we are meant to protect.
And that we are mutilating their breasts, removing their genitals, subjecting them to experimental chemicals, all in the name of helping, but in reality abusing the very children we are trying to help.
And the room goes silent.
And after a few passing remarks, I end my share with the customary “God of Grace, hear our prayer.”.
The silence feels exactly like it did the first time I shared something not welcome at GMC.
November 2024
Trump had just won the election.
And while Annika and I were celebrating, the congregation was silent, anxious, fearful.
And I made my first controversial share in front of everyone.
While others shared their fears and their commitments to “fight back”, I shared about having voted for Trump.
About having been excited for him winning.
And I invited people in the congregation to talk to me, to ask me questions, to let me know what they think about that.
And, to their credit, a few people did ask me about my views.
And most took a step back, didn’t smile nearly as much at me, and stopped following up on potential dinner plans with Annika and I.
Jay also took my calls less after this.
And I took a step back in church, preferring to have Annika do the work.
February 2025
Annika took the lead at church. She brought organic empanadas, soups, and desserts to the potluck, went to the women’s retreat (led by Jay), and was more and more well known in the community.
In the realm of politics, congregants were starting to speak more and more openly about their fears, which felt a bit more real.
Jay spoke of turning to God during these times, and that we need not fear.
We didn’t talk much on the phone anymore.
But that distance was nothing compared to what happened after my share.
March 2025
Annika and I are banned from sharing in church and removed from the church listserv two days after my share about childhood transitioning.
I receive this information in the form of an email from Jay.
He mentions that my comments have caused “a lot of anger and concern in the congregation”. He mentions that the community is a “safe haven for queer and trans people, and one that loves all our children, including our trans and gender-non-conforming youth”.
And then he declares that both Annika and I are no longer allowed to share at church, and that he has had us removed from the church listserv.
No dialogue.
No negotiation.
No grace.
I ask Jay to reconsider, I ask the church council, they say no.
I ask them to meet with me just to have a conversation, they deny me three times.
I call Jay, but he does not pick up.
And, on the Saturday following my share, I received an additional email that I am banned from services.
March 2025
It is the first Sunday following my share, and I am not allowed in the building for services.
So I bring a sign and stand outside.
“PROTECT TRANS KIDS” it says, in not-so-neatly drawn block letters on an old whiteboard Annika loaned me.
There are four members of the congregation waiting outside for me when I get there. I think they assume that I will try to storm the building January 6th style, or commit a hate crime.
Instead, I stand outside on the sidewalk, asking the questions I wish that Jay or the council would answer:
“Why am I being shunned without any clear answers?”
“What rules did I break?”
“Why will no one speak to me?”
I am given a few half answers, some recommendations to talk to church leadership.
And then I am shunned all the more, with more than half an hour of silence in response to my questions.
At the end of my time there, I say “see you next week!”.
March 2025
I come back the week after, this time with a sign that says “Why have you shunned me without a conversation?”
This time there are three queer women I don’t know waiting for me.
They mostly don’t speak to me as well; they smoke their cigarettes, talk about how to have respectful relationships, and do a bad job hiding that they are shaking from fear of the trans-phobic fascist bigot who is calmly asking them questions from the sidewalk next to the church driveway.
One woman films me the whole time I am there, and takes a picture of my license plate when I finally drive away.
April 2025
It is my third week standing outside GMC.
I am holding a sign that says “Love thy neighbor”.
Before experiencing all of this, I had heard of the horrors of woke communities and cancel culture, but had never really experienced it first-hand.
However, since posting about my share in church, I’ve been shunned by the greater NW Philadelphia community, called a fascist, a bigot, a transphobe, a cancer on the community and more. I’ve had my livelihood threatened, and have had people try to ban me from several music organizations.
I will write more about this in another post, but for now, to all those who have tried to “educate” me over the past few weeks, I want to say thank you. It really has been an education.
Because your hatred and intolerance has shown me just how important it is to advocate for the vulnerable in our population, most especially the children who are being subjected to these horrors.
My commitment and my vow to the children who are in need of protection is best said by Saint Ignatius of Loyola:
Lord, teach me to be generous,
to serve you as you deserve,
to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and not to seek for rest,
to labor and not to look for any reward,
save that of knowing that I do your holy will.
I will fight, and I will not rest until these children are safe.
More to come.
My sign from that Sunday.