This sermon was preached by Aaron Scott, Staff Officer for Gender Justice, Presiding Bishop's Staff, at Virginia Theological Seminary on Monday, November 18, 2024.
This is a hard day to mark. It’s a hard day to stand up here. I know I’m not alone in feeling that way. I struggle enough on Trans Day of Remembrance that I have honestly spent more of them hiding out at home than I am proud to admit. Every single year, I can’t stand hearing this list of names—this list that is overwhelmingly Black trans women’s names, almost exclusively of trans women and femmes, almost exclusively trans people of color—robbed violently of their God-given, divine right to life and dignity. That list of names, worldwide, is 350 people long this year—a significant increase from last year.
Per Forbes Magazine, “One in four of those murdered were aged between 19 and 25. There were also 15 recorded murders of trans youth under the age of 18 […]”
And it’s important for us to note, as a global church--
“The majority of the murders were committed in Latin America and the Caribbean. For the 17th consecutive year, Brazil has seen the highest number of murders, accounting for 3 in ten (30%) cases.
“Nine cases were recorded in Africa for this monitoring period, more than double the previous highest annual total since the project began. Notably, there were also rises in the U.S.
“Yet again the report found that most victims were Black and migrant trans women of colour and trans sex workers. Nine in ten (93%) of the reported murders were of Black or Brown trans people, a 14% increase from last year. Sex workers remain the most targeted group of all known occupations.”
It’s also important to note that this list does not include the names of people who have lost their lives to suicide, which is a form of murder driven primarily by policy violence and spiritual violence. A peer-reviewed study from the Trevor Project reported in September, that:
“… when states pass anti-transgender laws… suicide attempts among trans and nonbinary youth ages 13 to 17 increased from 7% to 72%.”
I often question why and how we mark these deaths every year. Many years I worry that we are turning the brutal murders of these young, brilliant people into a kind of spectacle, to make ourselves feel like we are actually doing something—without taking on the necessary responsibility and action to stop trans people, and Black and Brown people, and women, and specifically Black and Brown trans women from being continually murdered in this sick society.
There have been years when Trans Day of Remembrance events remind me a little too much of God’s indictment in Isaiah 58: “Is such the fast that I choose, a day for a person to humble themself? Is it to bow down their head like a reed, and to spread sackcloth and ashes under themself? Will you call this a fast, and a day acceptable to the Lord?”
So I am hoping, in the bleakness of this particular year, this particular November of 2024, we can choose today instead as a day to begin fully living into the next verse: “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry; and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not hide yourself from your own flesh?”
We as trans and non-binary people come from a long line of sacred people. We are a holy lineage, older than the Bible and showing up again and again just about everywhere on earth. But when I think about the specific lineage of the contemporary movement for trans justice in this nation, under the boot of this empire, I think first of Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera—may they rest in peace and rise in power. Two saints of God who shared every last scrap of their bread with the hungry even as they were hungry themselves. Who fought for and provided shelter and housing for the homeless even as they themselves survived the streets again and again, as Black and Latinx trans women trying to survive America’s racial capitalism. Who never hid themselves from their own kin despite being thrown under the bus repeatedly by whiter, wealthier, cisgender people and organizations who sought to be accommodated by this empire more than they sought to be liberated from underneath the boot of it.
It seems very clear now, in the wake of this election, just where that obsession with being accommodated by empire—rather than liberated from it—has gotten us. When our movements have chosen to pursue imperial accommodation to the point where we have cut loose all our solidarity to the most vulnerable, we inevitably also become the vulnerable, the scapegoated. We reap what we sow.
I have been thinking a lot about Ephesians 6:10-20 since the morning after Election Day:
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in God’s mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness and against the spiritual forces of wickedness in high places. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.
Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mysteryof the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.
When I read the verse that says “We wrestle not against flesh and blood,” I think that’s means three important things right now for trans and non-binary people.
First: our humanity is not the problem. Our own vulnerable human bodies are not to blame for the violence that is being enacted against us at just about every level of the American legislative process. I know how easy it can be for us to blame ourselves for how we respond to every threat and every blow that lands on us. How easy it is for us to feel ashamed of our truth, of our bodies, of our own existence. And so if you have felt that way—if you have been feeling too afraid or ashamed to swagger, to be fabulous, to shine just as bright as God made you—I want you to look up right now. Lift your head. Stick out your chin. Straighten your back. I want you to take a deep breath right now, feel it fill your chest, let it out, and then you go and take up three more inches of physical space in every goddamn room you enter from here on out because we are not going anywhere.
We are not going anywhere.
Let these powers and principalities try it.
Let them find out what happens when they try to legislate the divine revelation of God out of us. The Bible has something to say about that. Pharaoh’s army drowned in the Red Sea.
God will only tolerate the brutality of empires for so long, this empire will reap what it has sown, and in all of that we only have one job: to remain free and to honor the revelation of God inside ourselves, inside our bodies, inside our souls. We are not the problem. Our flesh and blood are not the problem.
Second: it’s important for us to get very clear about who and what we are wrestling with, if not enemies of flesh and blood. Our struggle is not against other oppressed people. If we feel pitted against other struggling communities in this moment, we need to recognize that we and they have been set up—by this empire—to be at one another’s throats instead of looking up the food chain and recognizing that the same people throwing trans kids to the wolves are also gutting healthcare, public education, and what remains of the social safety net. We cannot win on our own. Our piety and our self-righteousness—legitimate as they may be as reactions to our trauma—will not protect us. Those things will only isolate us. We also do not have all the answers on our own—we have absolutely essential gifts and truths but we do not have the full map. We need to take on and take responsibility for our specific roles—spiritually, politically, collectively—in a broader massive struggle. This is the example of the Jesus movement—a mass movement of people at the bottom, people who were being crushed by empire in very disparate ways, pitted against one another by imperial design, but who refused to fall for it.
Third: we need to remember that when we say we are not wrestling against flesh and blood, we are inherently taking on a struggle that spans generations—not election cycles. It is going to be harder and more dangerous than usual for us, for quite some time. We will have to organize in new ways. We will have to do ministry with our people in new ways. On some fronts, we will need to be louder and more engaged than ever in our public witness—turning our congregations out to school board meetings, to city council meetings, to state legislatures. And then, on other fronts, at the same time, we will have to work very quietly, and in those times we will need to be very disciplined and very strategic—“wise as serpents, innocent as doves”—when it comes to providing sanctuary for vulnerable people in every possible way.
Finally: I want us to think spiritually, materially, and seriously together about our full armor of God. In the context of Ephesians, this was a direct counter to the armor of the emperor, of Caesar. You can find images the breastplate of Caesar if you look up the Augusta Prima Porta statue. What you see engraved on the breastplate of Caesar there is a symbolic and artistic rendering of the Pax Romana—the Roman “Peace”—which distorts the meaning of the word “peace” beyond all recognition. This kind of “peace” is state violence. This is the so-called “peace” that lynched Jesus. So if the “peace” of empire is structural and social violence, then our full armor of God has to be our relentless tenderness with one another, with all oppressed people, with all people who love mercy and do justice.
Also: if your full armor of God is your heels and lipstick, it’s your heels and lipstick. Put them on.
If your full armor of God is your suit and tie, it’s your suit and tie. Put that on.
If your full armor of God is your glitter and your eyeliner and your fishnets, then it’s your glitter and your eyeliner and your fishnets. Put those on.
Put your armor on.
Put your armor on.
Keep your armor on.
If you don’t feel safe putting your armor on and going outside, then you make sure to take some time and put it on for yourself and for God at home in front of your mirror—so that you can see yourself clearly, as God sees you, and so that you never forget why these powers and principalities fear us.
They fear us because we are powerful.
They fear us because we reveal things about the breadth, and depth, and truth of God that they cannot control or erase or manage to kill off—even in themselves—no matter how hard they try. This is at once our greatest vulnerability and our greatest strength, and we need to be organized to defend and nurture it in ourselves and in everyone else.
You and me are alive right now and therefore so is God. We have a right to live and thrive, in our full dignity and humanity, as bearers of the God who lives and breathes in us. When the powers and principalities of this world pass laws that seek to deny us our lives and our thriving, they are legislating against God’s own heart, God’s own incarnate body. When forces of “spiritual wickedness in high places” foment violence in the form of rhetoric and vigilantism against the vulnerable and the marginalized, this is idolatry and heresy of the highest order.
And when oppressed people are subject to violence and death then God, too, is subject to violence and death. God is not absent here. God is wholly present in our fear and rage and grief. Just as the infant Jesus relied entirely on his Mother for her boldness, her clarity, her skill, and her love that was tougher than the nails that would eventually pierce his hands and feet—so is God utterly dependent on us right now. God lives and breathes with our willingness and ability to protect and nurture the vulnerable, even when we ourselves are the vulnerable.
You are not alone and you are not powerless. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, and your love and power have never been more needed by this world.
Keep your head up. You are loved.
This is a hard day to mark. It’s a hard day to stand up here. I know I’m not alone in feeling that way. I struggle enough on Trans Day of Remembrance that I have honestly spent more of them hiding out at home than I am proud to admit. Every single year, I can’t stand hearing this list of names—this list that is overwhelmingly Black trans women’s names, almost exclusively of trans women and femmes, almost exclusively trans people of color—robbed violently of their God-given, divine right to life and dignity. That list of names, worldwide, is 350 people long this year—a significant increase from last year.
Per Forbes Magazine, “One in four of those murdered were aged between 19 and 25. There were also 15 recorded murders of trans youth under the age of 18 […]”
And it’s important for us to note, as a global church--
“The majority of the murders were committed in Latin America and the Caribbean. For the 17th consecutive year, Brazil has seen the highest number of murders, accounting for 3 in ten (30%) cases.
“Nine cases were recorded in Africa for this monitoring period, more than double the previous highest annual total since the project began. Notably, there were also rises in the U.S.
“Yet again the report found that most victims were Black and migrant trans women of colour and trans sex workers. Nine in ten (93%) of the reported murders were of Black or Brown trans people, a 14% increase from last year. Sex workers remain the most targeted group of all known occupations.”
It’s also important to note that this list does not include the names of people who have lost their lives to suicide, which is a form of murder driven primarily by policy violence and spiritual violence. A peer-reviewed study from the Trevor Project reported in September, that:
“… when states pass anti-transgender laws… suicide attempts among trans and nonbinary youth ages 13 to 17 increased from 7% to 72%.”
I often question why and how we mark these deaths every year. Many years I worry that we are turning the brutal murders of these young, brilliant people into a kind of spectacle, to make ourselves feel like we are actually doing something—without taking on the necessary responsibility and action to stop trans people, and Black and Brown people, and women, and specifically Black and Brown trans women from being continually murdered in this sick society.
There have been years when Trans Day of Remembrance events remind me a little too much of God’s indictment in Isaiah 58: “Is such the fast that I choose, a day for a person to humble themself? Is it to bow down their head like a reed, and to spread sackcloth and ashes under themself? Will you call this a fast, and a day acceptable to the Lord?”
So I am hoping, in the bleakness of this particular year, this particular November of 2024, we can choose today instead as a day to begin fully living into the next verse: “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry; and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not hide yourself from your own flesh?”
We as trans and non-binary people come from a long line of sacred people. We are a holy lineage, older than the Bible and showing up again and again just about everywhere on earth. But when I think about the specific lineage of the contemporary movement for trans justice in this nation, under the boot of this empire, I think first of Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera—may they rest in peace and rise in power. Two saints of God who shared every last scrap of their bread with the hungry even as they were hungry themselves. Who fought for and provided shelter and housing for the homeless even as they themselves survived the streets again and again, as Black and Latinx trans women trying to survive America’s racial capitalism. Who never hid themselves from their own kin despite being thrown under the bus repeatedly by whiter, wealthier, cisgender people and organizations who sought to be accommodated by this empire more than they sought to be liberated from underneath the boot of it.
It seems very clear now, in the wake of this election, just where that obsession with being accommodated by empire—rather than liberated from it—has gotten us. When our movements have chosen to pursue imperial accommodation to the point where we have cut loose all our solidarity to the most vulnerable, we inevitably also become the vulnerable, the scapegoated. We reap what we sow.
I have been thinking a lot about Ephesians 6:10-20 since the morning after Election Day:
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in God’s mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness and against the spiritual forces of wickedness in high places. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.
Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mysteryof the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.
When I read the verse that says “We wrestle not against flesh and blood,” I think that’s means three important things right now for trans and non-binary people.
First: our humanity is not the problem. Our own vulnerable human bodies are not to blame for the violence that is being enacted against us at just about every level of the American legislative process. I know how easy it can be for us to blame ourselves for how we respond to every threat and every blow that lands on us. How easy it is for us to feel ashamed of our truth, of our bodies, of our own existence. And so if you have felt that way—if you have been feeling too afraid or ashamed to swagger, to be fabulous, to shine just as bright as God made you—I want you to look up right now. Lift your head. Stick out your chin. Straighten your back. I want you to take a deep breath right now, feel it fill your chest, let it out, and then you go and take up three more inches of physical space in every goddamn room you enter from here on out because we are not going anywhere.
We are not going anywhere.
Let these powers and principalities try it.
Let them find out what happens when they try to legislate the divine revelation of God out of us. The Bible has something to say about that. Pharaoh’s army drowned in the Red Sea.
God will only tolerate the brutality of empires for so long, this empire will reap what it has sown, and in all of that we only have one job: to remain free and to honor the revelation of God inside ourselves, inside our bodies, inside our souls. We are not the problem. Our flesh and blood are not the problem.
Second: it’s important for us to get very clear about who and what we are wrestling with, if not enemies of flesh and blood. Our struggle is not against other oppressed people. If we feel pitted against other struggling communities in this moment, we need to recognize that we and they have been set up—by this empire—to be at one another’s throats instead of looking up the food chain and recognizing that the same people throwing trans kids to the wolves are also gutting healthcare, public education, and what remains of the social safety net. We cannot win on our own. Our piety and our self-righteousness—legitimate as they may be as reactions to our trauma—will not protect us. Those things will only isolate us. We also do not have all the answers on our own—we have absolutely essential gifts and truths but we do not have the full map. We need to take on and take responsibility for our specific roles—spiritually, politically, collectively—in a broader massive struggle. This is the example of the Jesus movement—a mass movement of people at the bottom, people who were being crushed by empire in very disparate ways, pitted against one another by imperial design, but who refused to fall for it.
Third: we need to remember that when we say we are not wrestling against flesh and blood, we are inherently taking on a struggle that spans generations—not election cycles. It is going to be harder and more dangerous than usual for us, for quite some time. We will have to organize in new ways. We will have to do ministry with our people in new ways. On some fronts, we will need to be louder and more engaged than ever in our public witness—turning our congregations out to school board meetings, to city council meetings, to state legislatures. And then, on other fronts, at the same time, we will have to work very quietly, and in those times we will need to be very disciplined and very strategic—“wise as serpents, innocent as doves”—when it comes to providing sanctuary for vulnerable people in every possible way.
Finally: I want us to think spiritually, materially, and seriously together about our full armor of God. In the context of Ephesians, this was a direct counter to the armor of the emperor, of Caesar. You can find images the breastplate of Caesar if you look up the Augusta Prima Porta statue. What you see engraved on the breastplate of Caesar there is a symbolic and artistic rendering of the Pax Romana—the Roman “Peace”—which distorts the meaning of the word “peace” beyond all recognition. This kind of “peace” is state violence. This is the so-called “peace” that lynched Jesus. So if the “peace” of empire is structural and social violence, then our full armor of God has to be our relentless tenderness with one another, with all oppressed people, with all people who love mercy and do justice.
Also: if your full armor of God is your heels and lipstick, it’s your heels and lipstick. Put them on.
If your full armor of God is your suit and tie, it’s your suit and tie. Put that on.
If your full armor of God is your glitter and your eyeliner and your fishnets, then it’s your glitter and your eyeliner and your fishnets. Put those on.
Put your armor on.
Put your armor on.
Keep your armor on.
If you don’t feel safe putting your armor on and going outside, then you make sure to take some time and put it on for yourself and for God at home in front of your mirror—so that you can see yourself clearly, as God sees you, and so that you never forget why these powers and principalities fear us.
They fear us because we are powerful.
They fear us because we reveal things about the breadth, and depth, and truth of God that they cannot control or erase or manage to kill off—even in themselves—no matter how hard they try. This is at once our greatest vulnerability and our greatest strength, and we need to be organized to defend and nurture it in ourselves and in everyone else.
You and me are alive right now and therefore so is God. We have a right to live and thrive, in our full dignity and humanity, as bearers of the God who lives and breathes in us. When the powers and principalities of this world pass laws that seek to deny us our lives and our thriving, they are legislating against God’s own heart, God’s own incarnate body. When forces of “spiritual wickedness in high places” foment violence in the form of rhetoric and vigilantism against the vulnerable and the marginalized, this is idolatry and heresy of the highest order.
And when oppressed people are subject to violence and death then God, too, is subject to violence and death. God is not absent here. God is wholly present in our fear and rage and grief. Just as the infant Jesus relied entirely on his Mother for her boldness, her clarity, her skill, and her love that was tougher than the nails that would eventually pierce his hands and feet—so is God utterly dependent on us right now. God lives and breathes with our willingness and ability to protect and nurture the vulnerable, even when we ourselves are the vulnerable.
You are not alone and you are not powerless. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, and your love and power have never been more needed by this world.
Keep your head up. You are loved.
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