TransPreacher

You are loved.

In all of who you are, you are loved.

In your multiple identities, you are loved.

In the pieces of you that make you special and vulnerable at the same time, you are loved.

In the times that your heart sings, in the moments that the burden feels too heavy to carry, you are loved.

If you leave here today remembering nothing except the message that you are loved, that is enough.

My name is Joelle Henneman, my pronouns are she/her, and I am the pastor of the United Methodist Church for All People.

We come here on this Transgender Day of Remembrance to remember and to love those whose may not have anyone else to honor them besides us.

We remember people killed simply because of who they are.

Approximately 30 people in the United States, 350 people killed around the world.

While these numbers are heartbreaking, they are the ones we know. In actuality, they are the tip of the iceberg. We only know of those who have been killed because of media reports. But so many more have been killed than reported. So many have been killed and their death isn’t even a statistic. So many have died without being fully known. So many took their own lives before ever sharing their true, full self.

The majority of transgender people killed do not look like me. In this country the faces of those murdered are primarily young, Black, transgender women.

In the world, the most vulnerable are in Latin America and particularly in Brazil, which has the highest number of transgender people violently killed.

Around the world, 93 percent of transgender people killed are Black or Brown. Nearly half are sex workers.

While these numbers are difficult to put our head around, they are not numbers, they are souls. People of sacred value and divine worth.

Among those killed in the United States is Kassim Omar, a Somalian refugee who lived here in Columbus. A transgender woman who came here looking for a better life only to be shot and killed in her apartment.

The most vulnerable of the most vulnerable.

After the last couple of weeks, we all feel vulnerable.

We feel vulnerable after political campaigns that spent tens of millions of dollars targeting us transgender folk. Using lies about us to instill fear in the place where we live.

We feel vulnerable after the Ohio Senate passed a bathroom bill last week that will increase bullying against transgender youth.

We feel vulnerable after seeing nazi flags waving on High St.

We come here today remembering those who others have forgotten and as we remember them we are reminded of our own mortality.

But let us not cower in fear, let us take the emotions we feel today and use them to dedicate ourselves to the work of justice.

We will not rest until there are no names to be read, until this service is no longer necessary.

We will continue to say their names as long as their sacred and beautiful lives are cut short. 

We dedicate ourselves to protect the most vulnerable amongst us and we live in a state that is working against us. Transgender youth already face disproportionate rates of anxiety, depression, and suicidality. The antidote to that is access to health care that the Ohio legislature has taken away. We will not rest until our children are safe.

Tonight we remember, we say their names, and we work to keep people alive. We work to keep each other alive.

The work we do is hard 

Remembering is hard

Working for justice is hard

If during this service or after you need to step out for a break, I will be in the chapel and am available to talk or just be present.

After tonight, you can reach out to me or any of us leading this service. We are all in this together. You are not alone.

Who we are as transgender people, queer people, and allies is a beautiful gift, living it out in this world can be incredibly difficulty.

Tonight, let us remember together and stand together as one.

We come together in grief, acknowledging our human loss.

May you receive grace, that in pain we may find comfort, in sorrow hope, in death resurrection.