When I was a student, we witnessed and participated in a language shift. As we became more aware of inequalities between men and women, we started to avoid using male words to describe all humans. A simple example of this is the word chairman. As we realized that women are capable leaders, the term wasn’t inclusive enough. We began to say “chairperson.” Making our language more inclusive made sense to me. I have benefitted greatly from the leadership and lessons of capable female leaders and teachers. Inclusive language also matched my theology and my understanding of God. I do not believe that God is limited to a single gender. Thinking about God as exclusively male doesn’t make sense to me. There were some places, however, where I continued to use traditional language. I read scripture using the words that have been given to us by the translators. I don’t feel that I have the authority to change the language unilaterally. I embrace new translations produced by teams of scholars and I understand that language is not static, but I also acknowledge that language is a vehicle through which our faith has been passed on for generations. Historic societies were more paternalistic than the community we aspire to create. We acknowledge the limitations of patriarchy and strive to have a more egalitarian society. At the same time, pretending that the patriarchy never existed and that we don’t come from a heritage of people who participated in injustices is a way of denying our common history.

I remember very well a conversation about language that focused on the beginning of the prayer of Jesus. The traditional beginning of that prayer is, “Our Father . . .” Participating in the conversation was a woman who had experienced violent abuse at the hands of her father. It had taken her years to heal from the trauma she experienced as a child. For her addressing God as “Our father” made not sense whatsoever. God is not at all like her experience of her father. She found the words of the prayer as commonly prayed in churches around the world to be offensive and hurtful. Yet she was a committed Christian. She participated in a congregation where the prayer was repeated every week. She simply did not say those words out loud and she silently addressed God as “Almighty,” or “Creator.” In that same group, sharing the same conversation were those of us who had positive relationships with our fathers and who experienced parental love as particularly nurturing. While we do not equate God with our human fathers, addressing God with a family name is comfortable for us. All of us, however, could see how that prayer of Jesus could be a barrier to faith for people who had experienced certain traumas and pain in life. I have since become very comfortable worshiping in communities where a variety of words are spoken in that prayer. In our current congregation, different worshipers use different words when we pray together. That multiplicity of words seems very appropriate where we honor our tradition while acknowledging that faith demands more than us than simple repetition of tradition.

Over the years, our use of language has gradually shifted. Inclusive language has become part of our everyday use, part of the hymns we sing, and part of the liturgy we use in worship. Faithful translations of scripture that are more aware of and careful with the use of inclusive language have become available.

Language, however, continues to shift and change. One of the challenges of my life these days is learning to use plural pronouns when referring to people who identify as non-binary. As was the case with the woman who had experienced abuse from her father, my experience is different from that of other people. I have always felt at home as a male. It is natural for me to hear myself referred to has he and him. I was very fortunate to meet my wife and life partner at an early age and our relationship is a key to my identity and the way I think of myself. I have thought of other people in male and female terms for many years and only recently became aware of those who are uncomfortable with that dichotomy. My closest transgender friends experienced being different from the gender identified at their birth and have transitioned from one gender to another. Switching pronouns for them was not a problem for me because they were intentional about making a definite change and were at home with their new pronouns. They did not seem to be rejecting the duality of male and female, rather they were embracing a change from one gender to the other.

There are, however, people who don’t feel completely at home in either gender. Some of those people identify as non-binary and prefer the use of the plural pronouns they, them, and theirs. It makes sense to me in my mind, but old habits are deeply engrained. Even though they have been clear to me about their gender identity, I still think of them as being a single gender. I still make language mistakes when talking with or about people who are important in my life. Fortunately, most of my non-binary friends are patient with me, correct me gently, and allow me to struggle with learning to use new language.

As a way of practicing and learning, I am trying to be intentional with the use of plural pronouns when I do not know the gender of the person to whom I am referring. For example, when another driver makes a dangerous maneuver, I try to say, “They cut me off!” instead of “He cut me off!” I say, “They don’t know where they are going,” instead of “He doesn’t know where he is going.” I am even learning to catch myself when I slip back into my old ways of speaking.

I am just one person and my struggles to be more aware and to change my use of language doesn’t shift the way that language is used by the wider society. Change takes time. I sense the impatience of others, especially folk who are younger than I. As I grow older, however, I have become a bit more patient, at least with myself. It is going to take time for me to adopt new ways of thinking and speaking. In the meantime, I expect to hear voices correcting my mistakes and challenging me to continue to learn and grow.