Trans Catholic: Encounter with Pope Francis Opened My Heart

Scott Pignatella with Pope Francis in St. Peter’s Square

Today’s post is from guest contributor James Scott P. Pignatella, who was among the transgender Catholics greeted by Pope Francis during an audience in St. Peter’s Square in October.

I was prepared. I was concentrating on what I was going to say to him, in Spanish, his native language. I knew I would only have a short moment. I wanted to be impactful with that time.

“Hola Papa Francisco. Yo soy Scotty Pignatella, soy americano, ingeniero eléctrico, y transexuale.”

All I had time for as we touched hands was “Hola Papa Francisco, yo soy Scotty Pignatella.” Francis, seated in a wheelchair and surrounded by assistants, was moved on quickly to my companions on my right. I’d barely gotten my name out, and I wasn’t sure he’d heard that.

I had no time to define myself to the successor to Peter, the representative of Jesus Christ on earth, as we Catholics understand the Pope’s role. I was so very disappointed. This amazing opportunity in which I traveled with other transgender men to have a few moments with the pope had been carefully planned. My participation was a last minute semi-miracle, as I was asked if I was available for an opening eleven days prior to the meeting. My travel plans coalesced astoundingly quickly.

When the opportunity to be part of this papal encounter presented itself, it was never a question of ‘if” I’d be willing to go. How many chances in a lifetime does one get to meet a pope?! Even more so, how many such chances are offered up to transgender men and women? For me, the only doubt was how I felt about going on a very Catholic trip. I have not been a stalwart of the Faith. I consider myself Catholic, but my irritation with the Church has been a wedge.

For the past couple of decades, I’ve felt like Catholic LGBTQ+ people, particularly the trans folks, have been treated as the modern-day lepers. I felt like Pope Benedict XVI slammed the church door in our faces when, in a Christmas address, he said that trans folks “should be pruned like weeds in a garden.” All the chatter about “gender ideology” just adds to treating trans people as an abstraction to be theologically (and legally) debated over instead of flesh-and-blood human beings who are generally very self-aware and self-assured of their identities. Unfortunately, too many people make prejudiced assumptions and conclusions about us before ever meeting or talking to any of us. The constant streams of misinformation, disinformation, unintentional and willful ignorance, let alone the scapegoating, is doing us all a disservice.

I had not received Communion since before the Diocese of Marquette, under Bishop John Doerfler, decided to make a pronouncement that trans people were not welcome to receive Communion in the church unless they “fully repent.” I was so angry that I couldn’t bring myself to receive Communion. I have nothing to repent for in fully living my life. Given the Catholic view of the Real Presence of God in the Eucharist, and even for the other branches that take it as a symbolic representation only, I had too much rage to bring God in.

The first night we were in Rome, the guys wanted to attend a 6:30 pm Mass before going to dinner. “When in Rome,” I chuckled to myself. I knew that this particular week was going to be more like a retreat, so I needed to open up to the possibilities. I received Communion for the first time in probably a few years.

The night before we were going to meet Pope Francis, the four of us were out having dinner when the topic of tattoos arose. George wanted to get a new one to remember this trip. Possible designs and ideas were discussed for a while until I landed on the Sacred Heart. George added that it should have Divine Mercy colors. That felt right, and Google helped me find a place that was a combination whisky bar and tattoo parlor. We literally crossed the Tiber to get my first tattoo. Given that I’ve gone back and forth between the American Episcopal Church and the Catholic Church a few times, and my partner in tattoo mischief is an Anglican convert to Catholicism, the river crossing also seems symbolically profound.

On the day of the meeting, we were seated on the dais of St. Peter’s Basilica, mere yards from the outside platform where the pope delivers his weekly general audience.There could have been up to a thousand on the dais with thousands more in the square below.

Suzanne, our translator, told me that everyone who meets the pope comes away changed, somehow.

The Scripture reading during the audience was 1 John 4:7-8: “Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”

That reading brought tears to my eyes. It all felt so “right,” particularly with the new Sacred Heart tattoo pulsing on my right bicep.

Until it didn’t feel right.

I was very happy that my companions were able to say what they intended, that their interactions, while also time-limited, were profound. Their pictures captured joy. My picture showed a serious face that I don’t wear as often. My disappointment for myself was deep. I had wanted to do more.

I fell asleep quickly after dinner that night, and at 2 a.m. was wide awake, so I sat down to write. In the darkness of night, punctuated by the sirens of Roman ambulances, I realized how vain I had been. I was determined that I had to be an influence. I have spent most of my life being the solo advocate for myself as a trans man. I have had to push to choose my Confirmation name, to wear pants to my high school graduation, to start medical care, to keep my job, to change documents, and so much more that I had to figure out all on my own, before the internet information age. I am used to having to hold up that flag, be the example, teach others factually about being trans, as well as how to be kind and empathetic, and make progress for those coming after me. I felt so compelled to BE an example for the pope.

You don’t always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.

At about 4:00 a.m., I broke down in tears over my journal. It hit like a brick that I did not have to be the example anymore. I am home. I am part of a community, and the other guys made their marks. I felt loved, on so many levels. Now I can put my burden down, because I am not the only one carrying it. I am not alone anymore.

Since coming home, my boyfriend observed that “my heart is more open.” I asked him for an example of how he experienced that openness and he said that I was more relaxed and more verbally expressive. I do not think I would have had the cracks for that expansion without him, without Communion, and without the experience of coming away from the papal encounter changed.

—James Scott P. Pignatella, December 23, 2024