From Paul, who was bowled over in the street by God and never complained, to Timothy, my dearly beloved son: Grace, mercy, and peace. You headline my prayers, night and day, and I call to mind our transmasculine ancestors before addressing God directly, in gratitude and praise; greatly desiring to see you that I might be joyful again.
When I call to remembrance the root and the rock of faith within you, which you got from your grandmother Lois and your mother, Eunice, inasmuch as in your transition you have not attempted to divest yourself of what you have inherited from women. What good dwells in them, I am persuaded, dwells in thee also. Within thee, I should clarify! Looks-wise, you’re so masc it makes my teeth hurt, but you’ve simultaneously managed to completely avoid any sort of performative, self-conscious masculinity, as God has not given us a spirit of anxiety but of power, and love, and of sound mind, that you need not be ashamed of me or of being weirdly religious sometimes. And as we have been called with a holy calling, not according to our own designs but according to his own purposes, which was given to us in Christ who transitioned before the world began (it is a cliché to say Christ transitioned as we have transitioned, and yet our own transitions were prefigured in his), wherefore I have been appointed a preacher, and an apostle, and a teacher.
Wherefore, if I’m honest, I have also been appointed suffering. But I’m not embarrassed by it—at least not beyond the standard, as the natural transmasculine condition is one of embarrassment—and neither should you be. Hold fast to the form of the sound words of faith and love we last exchanged with one another, that good thing that was committed to you by the Holy Ghost, and all of our friends with long names who are not afraid to greet us in public. Onesiphorus, for example. (I told him not to pick it, but … You know how it goes with they who are newly out; you can’t tell them anything. There are those older in service and transition than me who counseled me not to write this epistle. Give it a few years to settle, Paul, they advised me; just because you have a testosterone prescription and a new sense of exhilaration doesn’t mean you have to go around setting down your life story, maybe save the memoir for next year. Nuts to them.) Kindly do not give my regards to Phygelus and Hermogenes, and be sure to write back and let me know if they’ve registered the snub.
Anyhow, just a few reminders about your transition: be strong. If you hear people say nice things about me, as always, please feel free to pass that information along!! Be prepared to hear a great deal of unsolicited nonsense from all corners. Remember that we live together in the body of Christ first, then in the body of believers, then in the body individual; all are necessary. Deny none of them.
Remind the people that there’s nothing wrong with having a set limit to how much time you want to dedicate as a community to wrangling over the specificities of language. Obviously you’re all going to do some wrangling. I’m not saying no wrangling, I’m just saying maybe sometimes it will help to ask yourselves: Does this directly address material reality that isn’t currently being served by preexisting language? And if the answer is “Not really,” maybe you can all agree to move on. And if you must fight, assume that you both wish to do well, unless it’s with an absolute human canker like Hymenaeus and Philetus, in which case do whatever you have to do, because I wouldn’t believe them if they told me their own names.
Understand that the remedy to difficult times can be found in me: my teachings, my way of life, my purpose, my faith, my love, everything that happened to me, etc. And I could write a whole list of everyone who is making the times difficult, the boastful, the arrogant, the treacherous, the ones who chase recklessly after pleasure and call it restoration, everyone who wants to blame trans men generally and me specifically for the fact that they can’t find a butch date in Antioch or Lystra, but you know who everybody is already, because nobody’s half as good at concealing their worst impulse as they think they are. I know I sound difficult. Exacting. Petty, or pettish. Defensive. I’m sorry. It’s been a long ministry, and I miss Lois, and I wish I hadn’t fought so much with Phygelus, and I just don’t want to see you make the same mistakes I made. Watch, and endure. Resist fables. Hold out for proof. God, I’m ready to sit down.
When it comes to my upcoming travel plans: You know how it is. Demas is finding himself in Thessalonica (??); Crescens is I have no idea where. It’s basically me and Luke, which is what you get when you try communal living with only a verbal agreement to fall back on. So when you come visit please bring something we can all write on to turn back to when we all hate one another. And bring me something to wear I can actually fit in, I’ve been bulking. :)
Say hello to everybody, especially Onesiphorus. Everybody in Corinth says hi, even Claudia, who I didn’t even think liked you. Now I must be about my father’s business—
Paul. (I’m thinking of just going by P. What do you think? Once I started “passing”—not that I think the language of passing is, like, tcch, obviously it’s just a certain type of shorthand and not something we should aspire to, you know what I mean—I started thinking that maybe I am more comfortable with flagging non-binary, so I’m trying out P for now, but just trying it out, thanks for witnessing this stage of my life journey.)
Paul.