I cannot understand why this administration and so many Republican politicians have declared war on transgender people in our midst. There are countless problems with this aggressive campaign, but one especially disturbing example surfaced recently when self-proclaimed culture warrior Pete Hegseth championed an effort to deny retirement benefits to transgender members of the military who voluntarily retired under the new rules.
I would never claim expertise about the full range of transgender experience. But acknowledging my limitations does not mean I know nothing about gender, sexuality or the profound and often painful journeys many undertake to understand themselves.
Over the years, I have worked alongside LGBTQ+ individuals and have been privileged to gain enough trust to be invited to witness their courage. For those who have not walked their road—and I include my former self here—gender identity is not reducible to a simplistic question of anatomy. Human identity is far more complex.
Decades of scientific study have shown that biological characteristics, while important, do not define a person’s internal sense of gender. This is a truth that challenges long-held assumptions. And for some political leaders, who often react from inherited beliefs rather than from knowledge, that challenge appears intolerable.
Faith, Law, and the Constitution
My faith tells me we live in a Genesis 3 world—a world marked by struggle, limitation, and pain. It is the world all of us inhabit. None of us lives in the ease and harmony of Genesis 2, that brief and beautiful moment of Scripture. Every human being—regardless of identity—navigates some form of challenge, hurt or misunderstanding in life.
To be very clear: this does not mean that transgender or queer identities are “broken.” Identity itself is not the problem. What breaks us, and what breaks our neighbors, are the forces of rejection, injustice and exclusion that press on us and distort the world as God intends it to be.
The invitation of Christ is not to make LGBTQ+ people into something “acceptable,” but to join in the work of healing what harms us all. Discipleship, at its best, helps us recover and reclaim dignity—our own and that of others—within a world that too often forgets the sacred worth of every person.
My faith is my way of looking at and processing the world. It shapes my convictions deeply, but it is not law—nor should it ever be.
Faith-based beliefs about sex and sexuality are protected by the First Amendment. I am free to worship, pray, gather in church and pursue the spiritual life I choose. These freedoms are sacred.
But these beliefs do not govern our country.
It is profoundly dangerous to enshrine specific religious dogmas into civil law. This is among the central moral failures of our time.
The United States is governed by the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and the rule of law. Despite what some politicians claim, these protections extend to everyone within our borders.
Even a stranger in our midst is entitled to the same rights and human dignity as the rest of us.
Our Neighbors, Not “Others”
LGBTQ+ people—including transgender people—are not strangers. They are our family members, neighbors, colleagues, classmates and friends. Many grew up in our communities and our churches. My faith compels me to see them as my neighbors and, therefore, to love, care for and walk alongside them.
It is especially appalling that politicians who are only marginally religious have weaponized religion to oppress others. What they call “Christian conviction” is, in reality, a misuse of Scripture and a betrayal of the gospel’s most basic command: to love your neighbor as yourself.
And among the neighbors they are targeting are distinguished military veterans—people who have stepped forward to serve and protect this nation with courage and integrity.
No matter one’s faith tradition, political persuasion, or personal convictions, this kind of targeted cruelty should alarm us all.
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A private practice counselor working with veterans and survivors of trauma. Previously, Chancellor served four churches in Texas for 33 years, then ran a Mental Health Department of Alan B. Polunsky Maximum Security prison which houses death row.
