On a Brooklyn street corner

On a recent visit to New York City, one of my traveling companions decided to look up a young man she knew of who was living hand to mouth in Brooklyn. The 19-year-old had declared his independence from his parents and the church and was pursuing his goal of transitioning from a male to a female.

Lo and behold, we succeeded in making contact, and Liam (not his real name) agreed to meet us at a certain street corner. As he appeared in our line of sight he cut a striking figure with his tall and lanky body, long blond hair, white short-waist jacket trimmed with white fir, a white fitted skirt, a see-through lace bodice with padded black bra, and black stiletto heels. My friend had ascertained on the phone that Liam wasn’t eating well, so she had stopped the car for groceries at one of the many mom-and-pop stores lining the grim urban street. Liam was grateful for the groceries.

The sidewalk huddle lasted a little more than an hour. We learned that Liam had easily found lodging and myriad social services upon his arrival in New York through a transgender advocacy agency called Ali Forney. We learned he is scheduled for gender reassignment surgery the following week—a shorter wait time than most Canadians seeking cancer treatment. He appeared to have had no trouble convincing a series of doctors to sign off on the operation. And it was suddenly easy for me to see why: In a conversation between a wishy-washy and politically correct professional class with no absolutes regarding human nature on the one hand and a passionately persuasive supplicant on the other hand, there is no contest as to who will cave in to whom.

My friends interacted brilliantly, I thought. (I said next to nothing.) They reminded him of the irreversibleness of what he was planning to do and urged him to think more about it. One told him that when she was his age, she had contemplated suicide daily but is glad now she had resisted the transitory urge and lived to see happier days. Liam was polite but unpersuaded.

When I got home my husband asked, “Did you tell him what the Word of God says about those who practice such things not entering the kingdom of God?” (Galatians 5:19-21; 1 Corinthians 6:9; Revelation 22:15). “Did you tell him that gender reassignment surgery is mutilation of the imageness of God?” I was embarrassed to say that we did not. And I felt like the Apostle Peter must have felt when upbraided by Paul for going soft on doctrine when the persuasive Judaizers came to town (Galatians 2:11-14).

Young Liam walked off into the night atop his stiletto heels, grocery bags in hand, to do whatever he will do. We prayed on the drive home for a change of mind. But when someone is already so far gone, I wish we had sounded a less wimpy warning from the Scriptures that would ring in his ears, and Lord willing, his heart, long after we drove back down the New Jersey turnpike and out of his life.