“Many trans folks feel cut off from the Divine because we are taught not to see ourselves in it.”
What is your relationship like to spirituality or religion? How do you see your gender connected or not connected to your spirituality? Have you felt belonging in spiritual communities?
Sacred Gender brought up questions for me I hadn’t considered before. I picked up this book on a whim from the bottom shelf of a bookstore focused on magic and the occult, with no expectations about what I might find. And while it may not feel relevant for everyone, I found some particularly interesting exercises around exploring self-identity and connections to trancestors (trans ancestors).
What is Sacred Gender?
Sacred Gender by Ariana Serpentine is, loosely, an instruction manual for making “trans and nonbinary spiritual connections.” It offers a history of trans and nonbinary spirituality in the Western world (shaped by the author’s experiences and cultural connections), exercises for self-exploration, and journal prompts for reflection.
Who is Sacred Gender for?
The book is broadly geared toward a trans audience. A lot of the exercises are focused on self-discovery, like using the “smile test” to figure out what kinds of language, clothing, or identity terms feel affirming. It also includes some “Trans 101” for folks who may be less familiar with language around trans identity or are looking for ways to make their own spiritual practice more inclusive of trans folks.
This doesn’t mean that there isn’t something to be found for people who don’t fit into one of these groups. I think this book can be impactful for anyone curious about the intersections of gender and spirituality. While Sacred Gender focuses on Pagan and Wiccan traditions and mythology, anyone interested in exploring their relationship to spirituality and gender can find something meaningful.
I went into this book with an open mind, and there were still plenty of things that did not resonate for me. I’m guessing that will be true for anyone who picks up the book. At the same time, I found certain passages, especially around the importance of seeing ourselves as a part of history and tradition, to be particularly impactful.
Seeing ourselves matters.
Sacred Gender repeatedly challenges the common myth that trans people are a “modern” thing. Instead, it reminds us of how integral trans folks have been in historical and religious contexts alike, with trans and nonbinary people positioned in unique roles based on unique experiences with gender. It makes the fundamental assertion that “trans people are a part of humanity.” While this may not feel particularly subversive for trans folks to hear, I think it’s relevant to state outright while living in our current world, where trans people’s humanity and belonging are constantly under threat, as a reminder to ourselves and others.
I imagine these messages are especially powerful for someone to hear when they are just beginning to explore the possibility of being trans or shifting their gender expression.
At the same time, the book feels very grounded in the realities of existing as a trans person in the world right now. Depending on where you live, the people in your life, and other factors, it may not feel safe to play with gender expression or to try out a different name or pronouns. Serpentine expresses a keen awareness for the current political and cultural landscape we are living in, along with the harm that has often kept trans and nonbinary people at a distance from spiritual traditions. She writes:
“Increased visibility of transgender people without increased education and humanization has led to increased violence and hostility toward people who don’t conform to the binary or who are otherwise perceived as transgender.”
Many trans and nonbinary people have been hurt by religion and religious institutions. As Serpentine writes, this isn’t confined to dominant forms of religion like Christianity in the US. She recognizes that cissexism has been pervasive in many spiritual traditions, including Paganism. Even when trying to connect with a spiritual community we expect to be more affirming, trans and nonbinary people are often excluded from these spaces based around binary expectations of gender.
Several historical examples of trans and nonbinary people in spiritually significant roles also remind us that our current cultural reality and treatment of trans people is not the only option.
“We are, and no laws, no cultures, no social mores prevent us from being born into humanity and existing.”
How we see ourselves matters.
One outcome both of state-sanctioned hate and the trauma that trans survivors experience in many areas of our lives is the loss of autonomy over our own narratives. It can be hard to let go of the way anti-trans rhetoric and violence cloud our understanding of our own experiences. One of the most powerful aspects of Sacred Gender, for me, are the exercises that encourage meditation or exploration of the language we use to describe our gender (or lack of gender) and the ways that we express ourselves outwardly to the world.
Serpentine offers many different exercises, ranging from something as simple as the “smile test” to explore what forms of self-expression feel affirming, to more involved rituals that can feel connecting to a spiritual tradition when we engage with them. For example, she describes “initiation rituals” that someone might take part in when they first come out to themselves, or when sharing their identity with their community.
I like looking at these exercises as starting points and imagining how they might look in our own lives and communities. We don’t necessarily need to follow a script to mark the importance of coming out to ourselves, but it may serve as a useful tool for folks who are looking for something more structured and connected to past traditions.
For survivors, I think this is particularly relevant. Sacred Gender encourages us to define ourselves and our stories using words that are meaningful to us, not necessarily to others. This means honoring our wholeness: “Every part of you, every piece, can be blessed and honored as it is now, as it was before, and however it changes over time,” and recognizing that our identities and the words we use for them are not stagnant.
Finally, Serpentine shares her wish for gender to be something we play with.
“Gender is a sacred and powerful tool far too often used to harm, and above all else, I want people to be able to use it as a Toy, a thing of play, of joy, of connection…”
This may not resonate for everyone. For me, it feels meaningful to recognize the ways that gender binaries have often been used to impose strict expectations and divides between people. But when stripping away these external pressures, there is room for curiosity, messiness, and growth.
Understanding grief.
One of the most striking parts of this book, for me, was the focus on connecting with trancestors and developing spiritual practices around death. It is, unfortunately, difficult not to see murder and suicide as prevalent in trans communities. What do we do with that grief and loss outside of yearly events like Transgender Day of Remembrance?
Serpentine offers several exercises and examples of rituals for connecting with trans dead. This might look like making connections to a loved one who has died, making a shrine to honor our transcestors throughout history, or exploring personal practices for understanding death.
These practices could be integrated into our daily lives. They could be practices of joy and also grief andsim seeing ourselves as a part of a community with a long history and legacy.
Conclusion:
For some people, finding spiritual belonging can be a way of healing. Connection to community, history, and ritual can be critical for some folks. While this is not for everyone, especially considering how religion and spirituality are often sites of harm for trans and nonbinary people, Sacred Gender reminds us that there is a place for trans and nonbinary spirituality for those looking for it.