Our Pride Celebration Has Ended, Now Our Service Begins

[Note: Today’s guest bloger is Suzanne DeWitt Hall (she/they). Suzanne is the author of THE LANGUAGE OF BODIES, which Wally Lamb called “…a film noir between covers—dark, tense, and sexy.” Other books include Where True Love Is devotionals, the Living in Hope series which supports the family and friends of transgender people, The Path of Unlearning faith deconstruction books, and the Rumplepimple adventures. In addition, Suzanne is a regular preacher and minister at Spiritus’ weekday masses. Thank you Suzanne!]

In the spring of 2025, a few months after my partner, Declan, and I moved back to Rochester, a 15-year-old transgender student named Katelyn Rinetta Benoit stepped off the edge of the roof of her high school (SOTA). Her spirit had broken under the weight of humanity’s inhumanity toward her and others like her. We attended Katelyn’s memorial service and were moved by the hundreds of people offering love to her devastated family. Since that time the local news all-too-frequently reports other trans lives lost to despair or violence.

For the past decade, Declan and I have dedicated our lives to building queer-affirming community nationally and internationally around themes of love and inclusion. In the face of increasingly exclusionary and defamatory politics, the work has been vital. We’ve heard stories about how our efforts saved marriages, family relationships, and lives. We’ve also heard hard news about the deaths of people we loved, who like Katelyn, simply couldn’t hold up under the onslaught of ugliness. National community building, message development, and advocacy is critical, and we’re committed to continuing it. But it’s also draining and distancing, because while we’re reaching hundreds of thousands of people each month, you can only conceptualize those numbers in the abstract. Each day we repeat our mantra, which is to reach just one person, as a way of acknowledging the inherent worth and value of every individual, and as a way of making the vastness of the need, the vastness of the problems, the vastness of the crowd of humanity feel less abstract.

It’s good, this broad-based work. Necessary. But something shifted when we read the news of Katelyn’s death and sat in the presence of her mother and sibling’s inconsolable pain. In that space a voice whispered about doing a new thing. A local thing. An embodied thing. A live-rather-than-virtual-community thing. We weren’t sure what it meant, that voice, and couldn’t visualize what it might look like, especially since we were new in town.

A few months later we arrived at a 9:30 Sunday service at Spiritus Christi and never stopped returning. While there, we contemplate the wisdom of a collection of powerful voices, and observe the interconnection of church, community, and human services which Spiritus manifests. Attending Spiritus Christi invites us to face the reality of our privilege in light of the vastness of need presented in the circle of asphalt, brick, and beating hearts which surround the church buildings. We’ve seen how much good Spiritus Christi does day after day and have evaluated how to contribute our own time and talents to reach additional people in desperate need.

As a result, a few months ago we committed to working alongside Deacon. Lauren and Brother Peter in LGBTQIA+ ministry. Queer inclusion and affirmation are part of Spiritus Christi’s origin story, arising from the demands of its founding era. While progress was made over the decades since then, reversals are in play, and the needs of the present day have grown dire, particularly for transgender individuals. Supporting the increasingly marginalized queer community feels like both a continuation of Spiritus’ founding legacy and a pivot point in it’s unfolding future. The wheels of time, turning and returning. Empire ever rising up. Enslaved peoples ever needing Exodus.

The activities Declan and I worked on for Pride month meant engaging with human beings in the flesh, rather than virtually. We looked into actual eyes, hugged actual bodies, and sat around tables filled with diversity in order to listen, observe, and learn. That’s a very different thing from the virtual community building we’ve done over the past decade. And it’s a priceless gift. 

Here’s one example:

During coffee hour after the Queer Bodies as Temples of the Holy Spirit event at 9:30 July 26, I talked with one of our invited participants about her experiences with church and faith. She’s a trans woman who somehow manages to exude peace and grace despite the present sociopolitical climate, probably due to her deep spirituality. During our conversation, she told me a close family member accused her of being possessed by an evil spirit, and said she needs exorcism. 

Take a moment with me now and imagine how that would feel, coming from someone you love. Imagine what it would be like to receive that degree of misunderstanding, condemnation, and judgement simply for stepping out publicly as your authentic self. A self God created, the God who makes no mistakes. The God of effulgent, puzzling, gorgeous, mind-boggling, glorious diversity.

This dear, deep soul wasn’t sure if she could or should take communion during that morning’s mass, having been raised with the Roman Catholic understanding of “outsiders” not being permitted. She arrived at church uncertain, despite having been invited. She left fed, reassured, thanked, appreciated, and tearful.

Her story is not unusual. Her pain and discomfort are the norm for many in the LGBTQIA+ community, particularly our transgender siblings. This is why we need Pride month. This is why we need pockets of joy and sanctuary spaces where queer people can recharge their emotional and spiritual batteries. Without them, young people walk off roofs. 

Literally.

Spiritus was birthed through courageous, traumatic acts of queer inclusion and affirmation. In 2026 we’ve returned to an era when courageous actions of allyship are needed. Trans people are literally demonized (“you need an exorcism!”) and used as political tools rather than being treated with the dignity every human being deserves. Rights for healthcare, inclusion, and anti-discriminatory treatment are threatened. Spiritus Christi is once again being called into active service to stand against these injustices. 

Called by God. 

Called by hurting humanity. 

Called by history.

In future months Declan and I will focus on both inreach to the LGBTQIA+ members of Spiritus, and outreach to the broader community. A queer ministry page has been added to the website, with more content to come. We’re planning to increase Spiritus’ visibility in queer spaces around the Rochester area to reach those who might not know they’re safe here. We’ll distribute a survey to assess the needs of LGBTQIA+ folx who’re already part of the Spiritus family. Perhaps most importantly, we’ll conduct a listening session of queer voices centering people of color, transgender identity, and intersectionalities of disability and neurodiversity. Our goal will be to work toward creating a hub of queer diverse Christian inclusion and activism, defined and driven by those with the closest insight into lived realities. We view our roles as facilitators, doulas, midwives of a new thing which is intrinsically and simultaneously Spiritus Christi at its core. We request your prayers as we attempt to live out this legacy, and this divine invitation.

Our Pride celebration has ended. Now our service begins. 

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If you weren’t able to attend a Pride Liturgy service, I encourage you to watch online:

In it you’ll hear a summary of some of the wonderful things which took place during Pride month, along with thank yous to those who participated, volunteered, and supported various events.