On a recent evening, a sign hung by the entrance to the sanctuary at Beloved Community Church in Birmingham’s Avondale neighborhood. Glittery trans pride flags decorated the sign, which included written messages from the congregation such as “Glad you’re here” and “You are beloved & you always have a home here.”
Hannah Hurley’s long hair swayed as they walked around the sanctuary wearing a shirt that read “Always knew God would be one of the girls.” They were preparing for an event that would be unusual for most churches: a trans injection clinic.
Plenty of religious voices are hostile to the LGBTQ+ community. But others, such as those with Beloved Community Church, have worked to welcome, celebrate and keep queer people safe.
“I am in the queer world. With that comes a lot of religious trauma in the South. So I never thought I would kind of find church, even if I found God on my own,” said Hurley, who is part of the church’s leadership.
The church has been a regular venue for the injection clinic hosted by From the Mud Aid, a mutual-aid group based in Birmingham. Participants don’t actually take injections in the church. Instead, the event is educational, intended as a safe space where people can learn how to administer injections, a common form of hormone replacement therapy or HRT.
HRT, explained
HRT is a treatment where patients take hormones that their body doesn’t produce or doesn't produce at the level that they need. Women experiencing menopause or who get hysterectomies may take HRT, as well as men who want to boost testosterone. Transgender patients take these hormones to attain and maintain the body that feels right for them. Those looking for more feminine characteristics would take estrogen, and those looking for more masculine ones would take testosterone.
As people trickled into the clinic, they caught up with one another while Sloan Bartell, a registered nurse, and Wren Phillips, the organizer, set up. To kick things off, Phillips stood at the podium and shared remarks that connected the struggles of transgender people in the audience to global issues such as conflicts in Sudan and Palestine.
“By any means necessary, we must do something. Better yet, we must do everything. Everything our bodies allow us. The alternative is death. The alternative is nothingness,” Phillips said. “ We're tired of excuses. From the mud, we'll give everything. It will not just be me or you, it will be all of us. We will all lift up each other. We will all have a hand in this future.”
Bartell, who wore cat ears and a tail, began her presentation using prop flesh and syringes of varying sizes to demonstrate injection angles and the differences between needle types. As she spoke, she fielded questions from the audience.
Bartell said her goals for the audience are simple: she wants them to know how to not end up in the emergency room, avoid infections and bruising, and make sure the hormones go in the right place.
Faith and healing in the trans community
Bartell grew up Christian, but when she was a teenager, her family left the church.
“I wouldn’t consider myself a Christian, just a big fan of Jesus,” she said.
When asked what she thought Jesus would make of the clinic, Bartell answered quickly.
“Jesus would be a very big fan of this clinic, and Jesus would also probably recommend that we open up the seats to homeless people in the area afterward,” Bartell said.
Hurley, from Beloved, said the event's ability to help people feel more comfortable with themselves is a holy endeavor. They shared a quote attributed to writer Julian K. Jarboe they like in relation to their transness.
“God created trans people in the same way that they created wheat, but not bread, and grapes, but not wine, and it’s so that we too can take part in this holy act of creation,” they said. “And what is that if not HRT and transitioning, right?”
Participant Kaden Woods said he has been taking injections for two years, but the anxiety of knowing he’d have to take shots all the time kept him from getting care for a while. Now that he’s been on HRT, he said he feels more comfortable in his body. When he learned that the event would be at a church, he was a bit nervous.
“I grew up incredibly religious myself. But being queer, it burns you a bit sometimes,” he said.
Woods appreciated Beloved’s work to make their sanctuary welcoming.
“To know that there’s a church that is not only okay with the thought of trans people existing, but okay with us getting the care that we need is really exciting and heartwarming,” Woods said.
Vahini Shori is a Report for America corps member covering faith and culture for WBHM.
This reporting is supported by WBHM’s Local Journalism Innovation Fund. Find out more about the fund and how to donate here.
