Christmas Day

Paradox and Possibility

Isaiah 62:6-12; Psalm 97; Titus 3:4-7; Luke 2:(1-7), 8-20

It had been four years since Mom died, and the announcement of my impending gender change from male to female had hit Dad especially hard. He told me that he had spent three whole days with his pastor searching the scriptures to find anything that would support my changes, to no avail. Dad was clearly worried about me.

Dad lived in the home he and Mom had built in the North Georgia mountains, and I was visiting him before Christmas to help him prepare for the arrival of the family, both of my younger sisters and their husbands and children. We were having lunch in the best place in town, the cafeteria for the junior college.

“How are you doing?” Dad asked as we sat down with our lunch trays.

“Doing OK,” I replied, aware that this was the first time Dad and I had talked alone since my gender transition. “And you, Dad. How are you?”

“Lots of sadness,” he said. “about how much pain you must have been in all those years. It must have been terrible for you. I keep thinking about all the ways I must have made it worse.”

Warmth flushed my body as tears formed in my eyes. “No, Dad, you didn’t make it worse. You were the best Dad I could have had. You encouraged my music and didn’t push me into football. You taught me how to be a caring person. I just regret that I couldn’t trust you with my terrible secret.”

“I’m still sad,” he repeated. “It must be painful for you.” Dad was referring to my ongoing encounter with the Presbyterian Church over my ordination. I needed to retain my ordination as a Presbyterian minister for family reasons. What I didn’t know at the time was that no one had ever changed gender expression as an ordained minister and retained their ordination. I was breaking new ground.

“Dad. I feel nothing but gratitude for my life. My  life… my whole life… has been a gift to me. I loved my family. Being a husband and father taught me how to love and how to be loved. And I am very proud of my daughters. I can’t imagine a better way to have spent the last 40 years, and I feel especially privileged that I now get to experience a whole new perspective. I am thankful that I was a man and thankful that I now get to be a woman.”

Dad nodded quietly, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. “I’m trying to understand, really I am. I just worry I’ll say the wrong thing or not be supportive enough.” For a moment, we just sat together in silence, the weight of the years and our shared love filling the space between us. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand, hoping he could feel the honesty in my gratitude and the strength of our bond.

Christmas is paradox: a king born in a stable, wise men travelling great distances on foot in a couple of days, angels appearing to lowly shepherds. Our experience of Christmas can mirror this paradoxical story whether you are cis or trans. Loneliness abounds as memories of better times arise. Christmas Day, the central celebration of the Christian year, can be a reminder of losses. This can be especially true for people who are trans if they have lost connections with important family members.

Yet, within this season of contradictions, there is also an opportunity for hope and healing. The gatherings, songs, and rituals of Christmas serve as moments to reconnect, to bridge gaps that have formed, and to honor both who we have been and who we are becoming. Even amidst uncertainty and change, the essence of Christmas—love, acceptance, and renewal—remains accessible to us all, inviting us to embrace one another with compassion and understanding.

And as trans people we have a special quality that enhances the holiday, we hold the mystery of possibility and hope. Our lives express hope in a powerful way, particularly important in this time of turmoil.

This is the calling for transgender people during this holiday season. People going through a gender transition can lose vital connections with family. Finding acceptance among friends or support groups can help heal wounds and nurture a renewed sense of self-worth, and even establish new families for us.

Equally important is cultivating love and acceptance within ourselves—recognizing our own resilience, embracing our journey, and allowing hope to take root even in difficult times. During the holidays, it’s important to remember that compassion can be found in unexpected places, and that reaching out—whether for support or to offer it—can make a meaningful difference. Small gestures, like a kind word or a shared meal, can foster a sense of connection and remind us that we aren’t alone in navigating complex emotions. The spirit of Christmas encourages us to embrace both ourselves and others, creating space for healing and joy even when circumstances feel challenging.

This is the mystery of Christmas, joy found in a manger, a feed-trough for livestock in a humble stable. Dad and I were sitting in a noisy lunchroom with meatloaf on our plates. He reached out and touched me even in his hurt and confusion. Suddenly my loneliness seemed a distant memory

That Christmas with Dad was many years ago, and I don’t remember much about the holiday itself. But I do hold those precious moments with Dad in my heart. One of the most important things to remember as people of transgender experience is that we must remain open to the small things that touch our lives.

My gender transition was successful and was complete almost thirty years ago. The Presbyterian Church accepted my gender change, and I became the first mainstream minister to change gender expression and remain ordained.

The Reverend Erin K. Swenson, Th.M., Ph.D., was ordained as Eric Karl Swenson in 1973 by the Presbytery of Atlanta, which was then a part of the southern Presbyterian Church in the U.S. Twenty-three years later, after completing a gender transition from male to female, that ordination was sustained by the Presbytery of Greater Atlanta, PCUSA, making Erin the first known mainstream minister to transition from male to female while remaining in ordained office.

Erin is retired from her ministry, which was primarily counseling and psychotherapy with and for the transgender community in Atlanta, GA and across the country. Erin has also been a keynote speaker and presented at conferences at colleges and universities.

Erin is enjoying her retirement at Clairmont Place in Decatur, Georgia.