Sunday Musings: A Most Ludicrous Funeral

What we can learn from the recent event at St. Patrick's Cathedral

Photo by panyawat auitpol on Unsplash

They came dressed in their Sunday best. A bright purple sequined dresses. A long, sheer smock revealing a thong and corset. Veiled hats, feathery plumes, above-the-elbow gloves, 5-inch stilettos.

The pews at New York’s St. Patrick’s Cathedral swelled with guests (an unfamiliar sight in these days of waning catholicity); the nave reverberated with applause, laughter and chants of the deceased’s name.

“Cecilia! Cecilia! Cecilia!” the chorus rang, slowly pronouncing each syllable to elevate the intensity.

The funeral service (it was not a Mass; i.e., Communion was not distributed) for Cecilia Gentili, 52, brought together those who referred to each other as Gentili’s children, many of them trans women who looked to Gentili as a maternal figure.

They also referred to Gentili during the service as una puta, una gran puta - “a whore, a great whore.” According to some of Gentili’s friends, being called a whore was the highest compliment possible.

Who was Cecilia Gentili?

Cecilia Gentili was born in Argentina in 1972. Cecilia was born male, although Cecilia’s birth name appears to have vanished from record. It also wasn’t apparent while this article was being written whether Cecilia had had gender-changing surgery at some point or identified as female.

According to Gentili’s bio in Wikipedia, early life in Argentina was difficult.

“She was sexually abused by a neighbor throughout her childhood, beginning when she was six years old. She came out as gay at 12 years old, with her mother being more open-minded about her sexuality than her father, and her brother struggling to accept her…. She was verbally and physically attacked on the streets, sometimes by the local authorities as in the late 1980s and early 1990s it was illegal to wear clothing of the opposite sex in Argentina.”

While away at college, Gentili met a trans person, and began to identify as a woman. Gentili moved to the United States, illegally, at age 26. Two weeks after arriving in Miami, Gentili was arrested for prostitution.

These early experiences set the stage for what would become Gentili’s life mission: decriminalizing the sex trade, supporting migrants and fighting for rights for trans people.

Gentili’s fame spread beyond those communities. On the House floor, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez recently remembered Gentili as “a beacon of hope for so many communities in my district.” Cecilia, according to Ocasio-Cortez, was a leader in ensuring HIV/AIDS healthcare services and founded a free healthcare clinic in New York City.

Ocasio-Cortez added that Cecilia would have been opposed to the proposed Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA), which seeks to add levels of protection for young tech users but which some opponents say would keep youth from LGBTQ-related information. The bipartisan legislation recently received more than 60 Senate cosponsors, meaning that it can pass through the chamber.

In addition to advocating for several causes, Gentili was an author, an actress and a playwright.

An ‘icon’ remembered in an ‘iconic’ church

Gentili died on Feb. 6. No cause of death has so far been revealed. The communities supported by Gentili were saddened. Others extended their sympathies, including New York Gov. Kathy Hocul, who commented that “New York's LGBTQ+ community has lost a champion in trans icon Cecilia Gentili."

An “icon.” That’s how so many people referred to Gentili. The word was used in countless articles about Gentili’s death. It only seemed fitting to friends that an “icon” be remembered in an “iconic” cathedral.

Close friend Ceyenne Doroshow arranged for Gentili’s funeral service to be held at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Doroshow later admitted, rather proudly, that she didn’t tell the parish coordinator that Gentili was a trans woman.

Apparently, Doroshow also didn’t mention that Gentili was not a Catholic, practicing or non-practicing. Raised Baptist and Catholic, Gentili at the time of death was an atheist.

It seems incredible that no one at St. Patrick’s knew what was going on (Gentili was fairly well-known in New York City), especially as the service began. Some risque outfits in the church might have signified that this would be a less-than-dignified funeral service. Near the altar, a picture of a haloed Gentili was surrounded by the words “transvestite,” “whore,” “blessed” and “mother,” along with the words of Psalm 25, which includes the lines:

Show me your ways, Lord,
    teach me your paths.
⁵ Guide me in your truth and teach me,
    for you are God my Savior,
    and my hope is in you all day long.
⁶ Remember, Lord, your great mercy and love,
    for they are from of old.
⁷ Do not remember the sins of my youth
    and my rebellious ways;
according to your love remember me,
    for you, Lord, are good.above the text of Psalm 25, according to The Times.

In addition to a eulogy that described Gentili as “St. Cecilia, the mother of all whores,” a solemn rendition of “Ave Maria” was followed by a congregant changing the words to “Ave Cecilia,” as they danced around the cathedral.

Gentili is believed to be the first trans woman to have a funeral service at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

According to Time Magazine:

“The pearls and tulle worn at Gentili’s funeral are what Oscar Diaz, who identifies Gentili as their mother (a part of their chosen family), says best honors her ‘fabulous’ legacy. ‘It felt appropriate to send her off in this way, to give her her sainthood,’ they say.”

Many different reactions

Mainstream outlets that covered the funeral service recalled it as a historic event. “A jubilant funeral” on “the site of protests over the church’s position on homosexuality and AIDS,” proclaimed The New York Times. It was “an event with no likely precedent in Catholic history: the funeral of … a transgender activist and actress, former sex worker and self-professed atheist whose memorial functioned as both a celebration of her life and an exuberant piece of political theater.”

CNN declared that mourners came “to pay their respects to a woman venerated as a saint.” The outlet also quoted one of the funeral organizers: “To have St. Patrick’s Cathedral full of trans and queer folks, sex workers, immigrants, Black and brown folks, folks in solidarity with Palestinians — a crowd roaring her name — cements the sainthood of the legacy she left behind.”

Initially, Rev. James Martin, a Jesuit priest who advocates for the LGBTQ community, praised the event. “To celebrate the funeral Mass of a transgender woman at St. Patrick’s is a powerful reminder, during Lent, that LGBTQ people are as much a part of the church as anyone else,” he told the New York Times. “I wonder if it would have happened a generation ago.”

Later, when the full extent of the service was revealed, Rev. Martin took to X to explain that his comments “were given before the service and assuming that St. Patrick’s Cathedral had approved the service, which seemed like a compassionate gesture towards the deceased’s family and friends. And I also assumed, based on the fact that the service was being held at St. Patrick’s, Ms. Gentili was a believer, which according to the New York Times, she is not.

“I’ve seen the whole service as recorded, but some actions I’ve seen struck me as…disrespectful of the sacred space that is St. Patrick’s Cathedral….When in a church, synagogue or mosque, or any sacred space, I feel that you should always err on the side of respect and prudence.”

Other Catholics were tougher on the event. Many priests, bishops and laity voiced their displeasure. Articles condemning the service sprang up across religious news agencies. Eventually, the New York Diocese, headed by Cardinal Timothy Dolan, denounced the funeral service.

Then came word that St. Patrick’s Cathedral did not know about the intentions of the funeral service before it took place.

The pastor of St. Patrick’s, Fr. Enrique Salvo, issued a statement saying that “the Cathedral only knew that family and friends were requesting a funeral Mass for a Catholic, and had no idea our welcome and prayer would be degraded in such a sacrilegious and deceptive way.”

Fr. Salvo also noted that Cardinal Dolan had called for a Mass of Reparation following the funeral service. A Mass of Reparation makes the church ready again to hold sacred celebrations.

Even if the cathedral didn’t know before the service took place, they certainly could have figured it out as preparations began for the service. Yet it went on as planned. At one point, Fr. Edward Dougherty, who presided over the funeral, looked upon the rows of mourners and said, “Except on Easter Sunday, we don’t really have a crowd that is this well turned out,” which led to uproarious laughter and cheers from the crowd. Was it a nervous comment coming from someone completely unaware of what he was a part of, or was he quite comfortable with the situation? So far, we don’t know.

The significance of it all

Cecilia Gentili was a human being, and every human deserves to be treated with goodness. If Gentili had been a Catholic and had requested a Catholic burial, hearts might have softened. As archdiocesan spokesman Joseph Zwilling said, “A funeral is one of the corporal works of mercy” and “a model for how we should treat all others, as if they were Christ in disguise.”

We know, though, that Gentili did not seem to have a connection to the Catholic Faith. We also know that Gentili was at one point a sex worker and supported sex workers for years. The Catholic Church opposes sex work as morally wrong. Still, we learn about biblical figures who did such things and much worse and were welcomed into partnership with Christ.

Ah, but here’s the difference. Those people desired to change their lives. They knew that something was missing, that their way of living wasn’t according to God’s plan. They sought to be whole, to be forgiven. Did Cecilia Gentili? If so, referring to Gentili as “the mother of all whores” seems like a great insult rather than the compliment it supposedly was.

Catholics believe, though, that anyone can ask for forgiveness at any point in their lives, up to the moment of death. Remember the criminal who was crucified alongside Christ? Before his death, he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Christ’s response? "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." There is always the hope that Gentili spoke similar words before dying.

What of the many trans mourners who showed up to remember Gentili? While the event itself reeks of sacrilege, one can’t help but feel saddened. Gentili was their “mother,” their “saint,” their “icon.” Many of these people certainly were let down by loved ones in the past. They were not understood; they were often ridiculed. Then they saw someone who believed in them. They found hope.

If only they had looked at the crucifix in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, they might have seen where hope can truly be found. Gentili could not offer them lifelong strength for all the twists and turns in life. Their lives go well beyond sex work and gender. They have a calling, like everyone else. They could have been uplifted by the words of Christ:

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Instead, they chose to make a mockery of the Church. A statement released by the family of Gentili stated, “We brought precious life and radical joy to the Cathedral in historic defiance of the Church’s hypocrisy and anti-trans hatred. We bestow sainthood upon Cecilia, for her life’s work….Her heart and hands reached those the sanctimonious Church continues to belittle, oppress, chastise….The only deception present at St. Patrick’s Cathedral is that it claims to be a welcoming place for all.”

And what about the rest of us? How should we react? We can and should be scandalized by the bawdy funeral service. We could chastise secular news agencies for disrespecting our religion. We should encourage our parishes to vet funerals and other ceremonies. (Most do. By its size, St. Patrick’s may have less of a chance to do so.)

Maybe, though, this is a good time to also look inward. How are we presenting ourselves at church, if we’re showing up at all? Are we living our lives without consideration of what God wants from us? Or perhaps we’re pointing out the splinter in our neighbor’s eye without admitting to the wooden beam in our own.

God never expects us to be perfect, thankfully, but he does expect us to try. We can ponder the life of Cecilia Gentili, but only if we’re also thinking about how we’re living our own.