As I mentioned in this post, I believe we each carry sacred stories. Stories that shape us. Stories that heal us. Stories that guide us. And just as these stories shape the teller, they also have the power to shape the listener; bringing those who have ears to hear companionship, drawing them closer to shalom.

Katrina sent me this story in response to the post “God Sticks and Shame Caves, which has moved many of you to tell your tales. She is someone I trust, whose wisdom is not theoretical but lived–hard won from experience and reflection. I’m grateful to Katrina for guest posting today, and feel confident that her story will give many of you hope and inspiration for the journey.

Sensuality Recovered
Guest Post: Katrina

I was staffing at a women’s retreat a few months ago, and a woman who had been an exotic dancer in a younger life and who was trained in various “tantric healing” techniques led us in some fascinating processes. She told us her own story of being lured into prostitution as a young girl, and of her escape, as well as her journey of fully embracing herself as a sexual, sensual woman who has truly freed herself from shame. She led us in a long exercise of breathingand meditation designed to cleanse us of our own shame, whether assigned to us by ourselves or others. We held hands and talked each other through a variety of memories: from the disquieting sensation “not feeling pretty enough” to the violence of rape and molestation.

After some tear-shedding and embracing, the energy in the room was lighter, freer. From that perspective, we moved into movement and dance, and eventually into sensual dance. Many of the women were overweight and/or middle-aged, and there was, at first, palpable resistance. The facilitator told us stories of how sensuality has been taught in other, older—surely wiser–cultures. It was the women, the elder-women, who had taught the younger women how to move, how to dance, how to be sexy, how to feel sensual. It was not the pressure of the media or the men, or the market forces felt by women to compete for scarce resources of desirable mates. We marveled at the thought… what if sensuality could be like treasured knowledge, passed down at the appropriate time from woman to woman, like sacred family recipes or heirlooms?

We were all instructed to get a chair. Yes, we were going to do “chair dancing.” (i.e., using chairs as a prop for dancing, see Cabaret or Flashdance for suggestions…) We began to use our new props with some hesitation and awkwardness. Thenthe facilitator did something brilliant. She instructed us to blindfold ourselves. With our self-consciousness visibly muted and with a little help from some encouraging music, we were transformed into smokin-hot middle-aged goddesses. Then the blindfolds came off, and we gathered in a circle and danced for each other. We danced individually, in pairs, in groups, with and without chairs, sarongs, and other props. We encouraged each other on to be as sexy as possible, sexier than we thought was possible, egging each other on with whoops and catcalls. Women who would barely dance an hour earlier were “shaking what their mommas gave ‘em” with joy and abandonment. The women who left that night were not the same women who came in. They had regained, or perhaps even discovered for the very first time, a treasure buried deep within themselves: their own sensuality. Not the crude sexuality of an X-rated film or the performance of a stripper seeking tips from bachelor party participants, but the sensuality that represents our true sacred, feminine, creative selves. Through our dancing, we had celebrated ourselves as women created in the image of the Divine, and declared this creation “good.”

Katrina has gracious agreed to write a follow up post with her thoughts on connecting the dots between this experience, what she was taught as a young person, and what she is teaching her teenage daughter. Check back next week, or follow me on Twitter and I’ll let you know when it has arrived. Thank you for your presence here. -Rachelle

Follow this Series:

This I Believe: Why I’m not Teaching My Kids Abstinence

Thoughts from the Comment Gallery: Abstinence, Kids, and Faith

God Sticks and Shame Caves

Beyond Fear, Encouraging Each Other Towards Escape

The Care and Keeping of Sacred Stories

Click here to listen to this post!
editor’s note: the closing blessing in the audio version is attributed to clarrisa pinkola estes as below

Since I’ve let the cat out of the bag regarding what I truly believe about sexuality and faith (or at least some bits of it) women are finding me anyway they can. Through the comments and contact info on this site, via facebook and twitter, even in my flickr mail. Not to argue with me, or to tell me I’m wrong. But to give me the gift of their stories. Stories about receiving messages of shame regarding their bodies. Stories of regret regarding about not having sex, or feeling bad about it when they did. Stories of pain and loss and confusion. And best of all, stories of recovery and hope.

Dear ones, we must to do something about taking care of all these precious stories.

My soulsister Jen Lemen has embedded the importance of stories deep in my being. Like her, I am “helplessly in love with the idea that stories can change you and me forever.” Furthermore, this I believe: it is within our power to allow our stories to shape us for the good, to bring us healing, and to draw us towards shalom.

I am still relatively new to this world of stories and am I’m learning to harness their redemptive power. Still, I am sure, that together we can we can hold these stories “in all tenderness,” and let their power sing from the rooftops.

So here friends, is what I know right now about telling stories:

• Embody your stories. Write them in a journal; capture them in images torn from magazines and picture books; jot them in lines of poems; create them in smears of color; or distill them into lists of words. Just sit down with a pen, or a keyboard, or a paintbrush and say “I don’t know, I don’t know…” until the knowing comes and the story flows. The first step is acknowledging they are real, that you are real.

• Name your stories. Give them titles and subtitles. Let them have a one-word identifier. Line them up in a number system. Naming is powerful. When we name something we can better hold it in our hands. When you hold a story cupped in your palm you can decide to continue holding it like a treasure –or you can let it slide past your finger tips and release it: to let it guide others; or to let it companion other story holders who have otherwise felt alone; or to watch slide away past your finger tips, because you no longer need to carry it.

• Speak your stories outloud. Let your voice sound out into an empty room. Tell a friend over tea. Record yourself on you cell phone’s voice mail. Giving voice, literally giving voice to your stories can be in turns affirming, empowering, releasing, and healing.

There is more here, waiting to be formed into words and continued into practice. There’s something about what to do with painful stories. How to say “this really happened.” How to know “I am bigger than this story.” How to let your painful stories catapult you onto bigger, better tales. I can’t quite get it into words yet, but it’s marinating. In time—with your help, with your stories and comments and ideas and intuitive know-how—we will find it together. In time, it will come.

Will you do this work with me? Will you be brave –a little or a lot—and let your stories sing? Start writing. Start blogging. Start painting. Start giving birth to the poet on your tongue. Start making lists of words you do not understand, drawing lines–literally, on the page with a marker, drawing lines–between things you did not know were connected. Start commenting. (Use a pseudonym if you want. I’ll screen all the comments. I won’t let anyone yell at you. I’ll do my best to keep your story safe.) In the worlds of my soulsister, “Something healing this way comes.”

I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you and that you will work them, and water them, with your blood and tears and laughter ‘till they bloom, ‘till you yourself burst into bloom.

-Clarissa Pinkola Estes

God Sticks and Shame Caves
More thoughts on what we teach our kids about sexuality.

As I wrote in my previous post, I’m not teaching my kids that abstinence until marriage is the best, only, or even necessarily the most preferable sexual option in the universe. Abstinence Only was taught to me as a child, and while it did keep me from joining the statistics on teenage pregnancy, the side effects of this puberty-long fast were pretty damaging.

Since beginning this conversation, I’ve experienced a virtual mind-flood of memories and ideas which have been floating around trying to organize themselves into a cohesive whole. Slowly they are settling into a couple of themed collections. Today’s Memory Collection: Messages of Shame.

Liz Hurly and the Ta-Ta’s of Death
In the first memory that’s been nagging at me to be told, I’m sitting around a conference table at a region-wide gathering of pastors for the denomination in which I am a minister. It’s a moderately conservative denomination and the particular congregation I have been hired to work at is urban, hip, and more willing to flex than most of the others in the area. I am the only woman in the room and several of my colleagues, most of whom are middle aged white men, are uncertain-to-down-right-sure as to whether or not I should be there. The leader of the meeting is on the fence at best, but to be fair, he is making tentative attempts at including the new girl in this fraternity of long-time buddies.

We have come to the portion of the meeting where the pastors share any new resources they’ve discovered. One man in particular is highly energized by a new sex-ed video he has been showing to his Jr. High youth group. He is relaying his favorite part of the video, in which the young, male, youth leader holds up a poster of Elizabeth Hurley and says something like this:

“Do you see this woman? This is a sexy, smokin’ hot woman. She has great legs. She shows a lot of cleavage. Her clothes are skin tight. Do you know who she was dating? Hugh Grant. And do you know what Hugh Grant did while he was dating her? He had sex with a prostitute. What does that tell you? I know what it tells me. It tells me that being with a woman who is smokin’ hot in the eyes of our fallen society only drives us to want more. Being with someone provocative like Elizabeth Hurly, just drives us deeper into sexual sin.”

Yes ladies and gentlemen—Hugh Grant engaged in prostitution not because he has issues; not because he was sexually addicted; not because he failed to respect his girlfriend or the woman he paid to have sex with, but because Elizabeth Hurly’s cleavage is dangerous.

I was having a hard time believing my ears. Here was a couple whose common law relationship had lasted longer than most of my college friend’s post-graduation “Christian” marriages. In spite of Grant’s truly bad betrayal, he and Hurly repaired their relationship and later their friendship to such an extent that even after their break up Hurly asked Grant to be the godfather of her child. Their relationship—at least the portion of it related to us in popular magazines—turned out to be a pretty stunning example of forgiveness, reconciliation, and compassion. But forget all of that, the real thing to remember here is that this woman’s ta-ta’s drove a man so wild with desire he had to pick up a prostitute.

If only she had worn more turtlenecks.

I held my tongue as the meeting went on, trying to formulate my thoughts in a way that would let me express them without being tagged as an “angry feminist” (a neat semantic trick which effectively prevents a woman’s story from being heard.) I waited to see if an appropriate opportunity would come up to shed some light on the topic.

Eventually the meeting moved into a discussion period where the staff could advise each other on things that were providing sticky in their individual congregations. One of the men raised a problem he was having at his church – the women wanted to introduce liturgical dance into the morning service. He wasn’t sure about this. Liturgical dance certainly didn’t speak to him, and he wasn’t sure there was a point to it. In an attempt to engage me in the conversation, this man turned to me and said, “As a woman, what do you think Rachelle?” My reply was something like this:

I understand that you don’t connect with liturgical dance. It’s not something that speaks to everyone. It’s not something that particularly speaks to me. But I think you should invite the women to introduce it to your congregation and I’ll tell you why. It will allow women to use their bodies as an expressive instrument in the midst of their community, and it will indirectly convey a message that women’s bodies are not inherently sinful. Women get the message in church quite a bit—that there is something wrong with their physical selves, that their bodies are dangerous and sinful. Can I give you and example?

I went on to explain how sex-ed video that had been mentioned might be consumed by the teenage girls. I pointed out how it took the burden of error off the shoulders of Hugh Grant, and planted it firmly on the um…shoulders…of Liz Hurley. I mentioned how this message – that women’s bodies were a temptation to men and should therefore be restrained, covered up, and hidden from view as much as possible, was a common message in the church. I explained that the only time women were mentioned as physical beings was in some story about how tempting they were, or perhaps to instruct them on a less revealing dress code while singing in the worship band. I explained how healing it is for some women to engage their bodies in dance, and how holistic it would be to introduce that option into their worship services. I tried to help them capture the idea that the dance of a few women might bring healing to many in their community.

The room was silent. Not the kind of silence that accompanies disagreement, but the kind that happens when a group of like-thinkers is introduced to a totally new concept. I think the word I’m looking for here is:stunned.

God Sticks and Shame Caves
This story about Liz Hurly came back to me of late while watching this Jon Stewart clip about the success (or lack thereof) of government funded Abstinence Only programs in schools. (Warning: this clip is NSFW and in the words of Ira Glass “does mention the existence of sex.”) In this footage, a female sexual health educator who had traveled with one of the abstinence educators testified that reluctant girls were repeatedly pulled to the front of the class and shown a dirty toothbrush that “looked like it had been used to clean a toilet.” The instructor then continued to say, “If you have sex before marriage, you are like a dirty toothbrush.”

So glad to see my tax dollars at work. (1.3 billion dollars over the past 11 years)

Jon Stewart’s response to this and other parts of the abstinence only assessment reports was to say: “Of course, we all know that! Boys have a God Stick and girls have a shame cave.” Now obviously, this was a joke and Jon was employing exaggeration to make a comic point. But I’ve got to tell you, he’s not far off. This is the message many young women receive when they are taught that the only acceptable course of action is for them not to have sex until marriage. Even if they are in love. Even if they are mature. Even if their body is screaming otherwise. Even if they don’t marry until 25, or 35, or 45.

True, in these abstinence programs, boys are also taught to refrain from sex before marriage. But somehow they are not shamed the way girls are. For instance, it’s not that boys that are not hauled up front of the class and told they are a dirty toothbrush. The language is different for boys than for girls. Boys “sow their wild oats.” Girls are “fallen women.” Boy’s may “lose their virginity,” but the girls “lose” their virginity tothe guy, who then gets to claim that he’s “popped her cherry.” It’s all just so discouraging. And speaking of how we use language, here’s one more story…

Bye Bye Miss American Pie
In college I read a piece about premarital sex in a religious magazine. The article began by telling a story. A group of girls were meeting in a dorm room. They were gathered around one girl’s bed, pouring champagne and toasting her success at having ‘lost’ her virginity the night before. In the article, this story was meant to be disturbing – it was pitched as being a sad way for these young women to behave, another example of “the world” celebrating sin rather than living a life of piety.

At the time I was well entrenched into my conservative religious world. Still, I can remember thinking, “That doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, that seems like a pretty good rite of passage to me.” Twenty years later I still think it’s not a bad idea. But I’d change the language. What is this crap about “losing” one’s virginity? Did it fall out of your purse when you went to pay the check? Did you forget it with your umbrella on the bus?

In the case of consensual sex one doesn’t ‘lose’ one’s virginity. One moves from being a virgin to being someone who has had sex. “Loss” connotes something regretful. It doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t have to lay that guilt trip on our girls—or on our boys for that matter. We don’t have to start our young people off on their sexual history with a tick in the losses column. We could, perhaps, celebrate his or her budding maturity. We could, perhaps, use language which honors moving into a new stage of sexual, emotional, and relational development. We could, perhaps, create a reality in which it is possible to have sex for the first time (married or otherwise) without a sense of loss, but rather with a sense of pride.

It’s just and idea. I’m just saying.

There’s a scene in the film Real Women Have Curves where the teenage heroine Ana, played by America Ferrara, decides to have sex for the first time with a boy she cares for and admires. They are graduating from high school and will not see each other anymore. She’s not fooling herself about that. She’s looking at the situation very clear-eyed, realizing that there will be no romantic movie ending. They will drift apart. They will find other people. But in the now, in the well considered now, Ana wants to be with him. While they are together in the bedroom, Ana gets up and walks to the mirror. She says something like “This is me. This is what I look like.” The moment is so real, so honest and confident. I remember being quite struck by it.

Since seeing that movie, I have logged more than a decade raising children—raising girl children, as a matter of fact. Now, years later, that scene floats up through my memory. I consider it and I decide, if my children have that kind of confidence, that kind of assuredness, that kind of certainty the first time they have sex, I’ll be a happy mom.

What about you? What kind of stories have shaped your sexual identity?….What have those stories given you to carry—a shame cave? A glass of champagne? Something in between? ….What kind of stories do you want to give your children about themselves as sexual beings?….What language will you use to talk about their bodies and their virginity (or the lack thereof?) The comments are open!

This is a repost from a series I began back in April about what we communicate to our children about their sexuality. I’m putting it up again now because I’d like to return to the topic and I thought it might help to bring new readers up to speed. At the bottom of this post are links to the follow-up posts that I’ve already written–which rely heavily upon the great input received in the comments. I’ll be posting the next installation sometime in the next 24 hrs. If this is a topic that rings with you, I hope you’ll jump into the discussion. Thanks for reading. - Rachelle

What I Think About Kids & Abstinence

“Don’t you remember at church, when they told us it was better for us to come home in a pine box than to lose our chastity?”

-Sarah Henrickson (18) to her brother Ben (16)
Big Love

I grew up in the church. The conservative evangelical church to be exact. Sundays and Wednesdays were spent at the Lutheran Church, and Monday-Friday at the Assemblies of God private school (chapel three times a week, Bible class every day, choir, and optional 7am prayer meetings.) If you’ve ever seen the fantastic dark-comedy Saved, then you have seen my life. It’s like a hidden camera reality show based on my high school, only with better hair.

Growing up, the message I received was that the absolute worst thing you could do was to have sex outside of marriage. It was worse than getting drunk. Hell, it was worse than DRIVING drunk. Sex, actual intercourse, was totally forbidden. All the other bases were either totally verbotten or pretty damn bad. Oral sex. Very Very Bad. Groping of all kinds. Bad. Making out in your boyfriend’s car. Not great. Kissing. Tolerated –but not on school grounds, of course, or you would be given a two day suspension. Holding hands? Well, okay, but only holding hands; certainly not putting your arms around someone’s shoulder. Anything and everything you might do with someone of the opposite sex was cloaked in shame. Tickling? Shoulder rubs? Boy-girl stunts in cheerleading? It was all highly suspicious. (Do I even have to mention that doing anything with someone of the same sex was completely off the charts? You might as well pick up a ‘go directly to hell’ card.)

We had sex education, once, in fifth grade. It was mostly to make sure everyone was in the know about getting your period. I suppose the boys had a similar filmstrip about unwelcomed erections, but I’m not sure. It was the 80’s and AIDS education was huge, so even in Christian school you got a little mention of condoms. You never actually saw one, no one ever demonstrated how to use one on a banana for instance, and they were definitely NOT distributed in health class. The main idea was, “Abstinence is the Answer”, and everyone from teachers to pastors to parents was 100% on-message. And the teens, well, everyone had to sign on. (Or at least pretend to.)

Over and over again the messages we received were distilled in our hormone-soaked brains down to this one echoing refrain:

“Sex is a terrible, awful, shameful thing you save for the one you love.”

I recall one youth group session in which a cartoon was placed on the overhead projector. It showed a pit dug into the ground with a ladder in it. Each rung of the ladder had a physical act on it. The top rung was holding hands, the next one down was kissing, then making out, petting…you get the idea. The last rung, in the bottom of the pit? Yep. Sex. This kind of illustration was pretty common, and usually came along with a sermon about how “your body is a temple” – followed by a round of fast food and artificially sweetened cola. One of my favorite variations of this youth-group sex scenario was told to me a few years ago by a fellow seminarian. He told me, in all seriousness, that he was teaching his youth group that “Sex is like a wild, vicious, hungry lion, and you DO NOT want to go putting your head anywhere near that lion’s mouth.” (How he got away with using “sex” and “head” in the same sentence in a room full of teenage boys without the place exploding into laughter is beyond me.)

I know that the intentions of my teachers, youth group leaders, pastors and parents were good. I know they were trying to protect us from getting in too deep, too fast. I know they wanted to save us from harm, hurt, and, I suppose, hell. But the reality is, all they did for me was create a space in which to grow shame, guilt and dysfunction. And oh, how it grew! Here’s a short list of the messages I carried away from my abstinence experience:

-Every physical impulse you have towards a boy is wrong–probably even sinful.

-All the natural, normal parts of growing up and falling in love –physicality of any kind—are wrong and unnatural.

-If my body want this, then my body is bad. (This combined with the typical magazine spreads with size 0 models and pimple-free skin, and you can see what that did for a teenage girl’s body image.)

-If you don’t plan for sex, it’s not as bad of a sin. (Therefore, don’t own birth control or condoms.)

In spite of this, there were boys who got lucky and girls who went all the way. There were girls swept off to the Crisis Pregnancy Centers and expelled from school—or worse yet, allowed to stay but banned from all extracurricular activities–like going to the basketball games or walking down the aisle at graduation. (The boys on the other hand, never seemed to get into much trouble. I don’t recall any of them getting kicked out or shamed out of leaving.) And if anyone ever had an abortion, well, they kept it as a dark secret, and went through the experience without any help or counseling.

Because of my experience in abstinence programs– and because of the way my experience was echoed again and again in the shameful tears full-grown women brought to me during my tenure as a pastor –I am not raising my children under the banner of abstinence. Being physical and having sex are natural normal parts of growing up. We are physically and chemically programmed for it. We are culturally conditioned for it. It is a part of our healthy emotional development. I want my children to grow up in an atmosphere that acknowledges this reality—one that is shame free, where their bodies are seen as being ‘fearfully and wonderfully made,” and where their hearts can be trusted to lead them in the right direction. My intention, my deep hope, is to raise them in such a way that they will carry with them these messages:

-Your body is amazing. You can trust it to tell you what you are physically ready to do.

-Your heart is your guide –you can trust the wisdom of your own intuition in making choices.

-Sex is something you move into one step at a time. Each step is good. Each step is appropriate. You– and only you–get to choose when you are ready for that step.

-As a romantic relationship grows deeper emotionally, it’s natural for it to grow deeper physically.

-Planning for sex and being prepared to protect yourself and your partner is smart, responsible, and essential.

-You have the right to say NO. And conversely, you have the right to say YES.

Rather than telling my kids “Sex is a terrible, awful, shameful thing you save for the one you love.” I want the messages I give them to be able to be boiled down to this:

“You are capable of building a relational history you can look back on without regret.”

A friend of mine bequeathed that turn of phrase to me. We were drinking margaritas and talking about sex. (What else do you talk about after you’ve had a couple of margaritas?) She was telling me about her major high school boyfriend, and being in love, and what her parents and his parents thought about them having sex (or not). She said, “I never wanted to have sex in the car. I always wanted to build a sexual history I could look back on without regret, and I didn’t think I could do that if I had sex in the back of his Camero.” That’s pretty self aware, don’t you think? Pretty well-reasoned for a seventeen year old. Build a history you can look back on without regret – or at least, with as little regret as possible. I think, all told, that’s the best we can do. That’s what we humans can hope for: safety, respect, and a collection of memories held without shame.

So when it comes to sex and all its accoutrements here’s my parenting pledge:

-I promise to make talking about sex as natural and open as possible. (We’ve already got quite a track record.)

-I promise to help you access birth control and protection. (Yes, even for the masculine kids in the family.)

-I promise to help you assess what your heart and body is ready for, if you want to talk to me about it.

-I promise to give you accurate information about your body and its needs, to the best of my ability.

-I promise not to shame you for wanting physical contact with someone you care about.

-I promise to do whatever I can to make sex a wonderful, beautiful, joyful thing you give to the one(s) you love.

What will you teach your kids about sex? Any conversational tricks to share? Stories that worked out well? Do tell…

Further posts on this topic:
Follow the Discussion here.
Thoughts from the comment gallery.

We in post-modern America live in a challenging moment in many regards, but especially when it comes to sex and kids. A sexually charged entertainment industry makes sure our children are exposed to body baring clothes and surgically enhanced bust lines as soon as they are old enough to watch cartoons. The infamous marketing machine sells dolls with cleavage, and journals about boyfriends to girls in their tweens; while teenagers watch television programs where actors in their twenties portray high school students ‘hooking up’ for the weekend. Pharmaceutical companies encourage inoculating girls as early as age 9 with the anti-HPV drug to stop the spread of a cancer-producing virus which can only be passed through intercourse. Women who overtly express their sexuality are lauded one news cycle and condemned the next. Porn is available at the click of a button; revealing sex scenes are no longer confined to Rated R movies; and virtual reality chat rooms allow users to do what they will in complete anonymity.

It is in this milieu that we are raising our children.

In the face of so much overt sexuality, it is easy to default to a defense position wherein the most radical steps are taken to keep our children ‘safe.’ Ironically, our very attempts at defense and protection can also create much dysfunction.

There may be no definitive answer to the question, “What should I convey to my children about sex.” And there is certainly no quick chapter and verse that will give us an easy answer. In an issue this nuanced and complicated no parent or mentor will have a perfect track record. Each approach will have its pros and cons, its detractors and its supporters. Because of the complexity of our situation, and the centrality of our sexual identity in defining ourselves as humans, we must find a way to enter into an honest dialogue with one another. The language of debate will only dissolve our opportunity to create new and re-newed approaches to sexual education and sexual identity for the upcoming generations.

That is why I am so pleased by the tone of the conversation going on in the comments around this topic. Chris Brogan, a guest writer at Problogger has said that the best material on his website can be found in the comments. This is a sentiment with which I whole heartedly agree. I want to say ‘Thank You’ to everyone who is participating in this intriguing conversation. Furthermore, I’d like to invite you all to continue on with this important discussion.

There were a couple of themes that emerged out of the comments that I want to think through together a little bit more.

Physical. Relational. Emotional. Phsyical.
Bob and Beth both brought up the idea that perhaps sex is not only physical and relational, but also spiritual in nature. This is something that has intrigued me recently. In the past few years I’ve expanded my friendship circle beyond the walls of the evangelical church. Now, many of my atheistic and/or scientific friends insist that sex is all about brain chemistry and physical relief. (This is the initial argument of the intriguing film, Dopamine.) Meanwhile my artistic and/or spiritual director friends insist that there is a scared component of sexual union that cannot be ignored—especially for women, who hold within their own bodies the power to bring into existence new people! (Ten years after first bearing children this creative reality still blows my mind.)

Which is it? Brain chemistry or emotional and spiritual union? I think the answer is both/and. As the women on Sex and the City are sure to attest, sometimes sex is just a physical release–a hedonistic pleasure that lasts for a moment, and then passes by. Other times, as is captured halfway through the movie Fever Pitch, sex does connect people on an emotional level, and sometimes in a sacramental dynamic. (No good example there…anyone else got one?) If sex is–at least sometimes and perhaps at all times—more than a physical act, then the question becomes: How do I communicate to my children that sex and physical intimacy can contain some, all, or none of these aspects; and that an awareness of this is necessary in order to make good sexual decisions?

When Do I Have to Decide?
Monica brings up the concern that as her children age, her time is running out to log an opinion on abstinence vs. responsible sexual activity. Which raises still more questions such as: When do we start talking to our children about sex? Is there an age, a stage of development, or a certain number of candles on the birthday cake when the topic becomes daily news? Or, is everything we communicate to our children about their bodies bedrock for a growing collection of topics about physicality and sexuality? Is there a way for us to include our children in our own evolving understanding of sex and intimacy? Or must we have all of the answers prior to the time our kids hit their teens? What do you think?

The Message or the Method?
DD asks two good questions: Is it the message of abstinence that causes dysfunction, or the method? Is there a way to teach abstinence until marriage that would not carry with it a subtext of shame and guilt? Here I’d like to proffer a fairly clear opinion. No, there isn’t. Or perhaps a more gentle way of phrasing it might be, if there is, I haven’t seen it. Insisting on abstinence until marriage for every person on the globe does not take into account the human reality of personal individuation and cultural diversity. It treats people as objects which can be placed into the proper equation for optimal health and wellness, and not as humans with differing needs and with varying ways of interacting with the world. In a culture where people may marry at 18 or 45, procreate in their teens or in the 50’s, a one-reality-fits-all is simply inadequate.

Jesus, Sex, and Culture
Which leads to DD’s next question: is Christianity here to acquiesce to culture or to transform culture? Yes, Jesus spoke about transforming culture. But not in the way the Christianity has tried to transform culture. Christianity has spent it’s long years trying to transform the minor issues such as drinking, smoking, swearing, gambling, and sex; while systematically ignoring the major transformational needs Jesus focused on—providing for the poor and the widow; inviting the outsider to the table; spending time with the marginalized; releasing captives; and seeking justice in the face of religious legalism and political tyranny. Sure there were and are break-through moments where Wilberforce and his community used the convictions of their faith to end the British slave trade; or where Wallis and his community got modern America to think more widely about political and economic justice. But overall, we’ve just spent a lot of time preaching to the choir while the rest of our culture was left to its own accord. As my friend Mr. Jim says, sometimes the question we should ask is not only WWJD, but WDJD—What didn’t Jesus do? Either way, it’s pretty clear he didn’t worry too much about sex.

I have just typed 1,095 words –far too many for a blog post. And of course, being who I am, there are plenty more to come. But I am a firm believer that one voice from the pulpit is an imperfect model at best; and I wholeheartedly embrace the benefits of a teaching-learning community. So please, carry this conversation on. What thoughts come to mind for you on these ideas? What questions have they raised? Has this helped you reach any decisions about how you will present sex to your kids? Are you revisiting stories from your own coming-of-age years and seeing them in a new light? I’d love to hear what you have to say, here or on your own blogs. Drop your ideas in the comments below, or leave us a link to what you have to say about the topic over at your place.

There’s a lot more burning in my brain about sexuality and faith, and I’ll still be posting again on this topic in the days to come. I’ve got a story about Hugh Grant and another about America Fererra. There’s something in there about pouring champagne to celebrate the end of virginity, and thoughts about the language we use to describe that experience. The issue Susan raised about the difference between glossy sex and earthy sex seems pivotal; and Monica’s questions and Another Rachelle’s experience has inspired me to work up a post about the myths Christianity teaches about sexual ‘consequences.’ A thought or two about the current Miley Cyrus ruckus is also in the offing, along with whatever else comes up in the comments. So please, stick around. It seems like we have some work to do–and it’s work that can best be accomplished together.

Yours in the Journey,

Rachelle

Hello friends! I want to thank everyone who commented so thoughtfully on my post “Why I’m Not Teaching My Kids Abstinence.” I’m really please with both the quality and the tone of the dialgoue and I want to thank you all for your input.

I’m working on a follow up post focusing on the ideas you have presented and hope to have it up in the next day or two. I’d love it if y’all could come back and keep this discussion going. I think it’s important for our kids, and perhaps for healing ourselves.

If you want a very brief head’s up when I have new posts online, you can follow me on Twitter. It’s free and painless. Click here to link.

Yours in the Journey,

Rachelle

This is an installment of “This I Believe…”, a series of posts focused around one topic. The first series is on Sexuality and Body Image.

What I Think About Kids & Abstinence

“Don’t you remember at church, when they told us it was better for us to come home in a pine box than to lose our chastity?”

-Sarah Henrickson (18) to her brother Ben (16)
Big Love

I grew up in the church. The conservative evangelical church to be exact. Sundays and Wednesdays were spent at the Lutheran Church, and Monday-Friday at the Assemblies of God private school (chapel three times a week, Bible class every day, choir, and optional 7am prayer meetings.) If you’ve ever seen the fantastic dark-comedy Saved, then you have seen my life. It’s like a hidden camera reality show based on my high school, only with better hair.

Growing up, the message I received was that the absolute worst thing you could do was to have sex outside of marriage. It was worse than getting drunk. Hell, it was worse than DRIVING drunk. Sex, actual intercourse, was totally forbidden. All the other bases were either totally verbotten or pretty damn bad. Oral sex. Very Very Bad. Groping of all kinds. Bad. Making out in your boyfriend’s car. Not great. Kissing. Tolerated –but not on school grounds, of course, or you would be given a two day suspension. Holding hands? Well, okay, but only holding hands; certainly not putting your arms around someone’s shoulder. Anything and everything you might do with someone of the opposite sex was cloaked in shame. Tickling? Shoulder rubs? Boy-girl stunts in cheerleading? It was all highly suspicious. (Do I even have to mention that doing anything with someone of the same sex was completely off the charts? You might as well pick up a ‘go directly to hell’ card.)

We had sex education, once, in fifth grade. It was mostly to make sure everyone was in the know about getting your period. I suppose the boys had a similar filmstrip about unwelcomed erections, but I’m not sure. It was the 80’s and AIDS education was huge, so even in Christian school you got a little mention of condoms. You never actually saw one, no one ever demonstrated how to use one on a banana for instance, and they were definitely NOT distributed in health class. The main idea was, “Abstinence is the Answer”, and everyone from teachers to pastors to parents was 100% on-message. And the teens, well, everyone had to sign on. (Or at least pretend to.)

Over and over again the messages we received were distilled in our hormone-soaked brains down to this one echoing refrain:

“Sex is a terrible, awful, shameful thing you save for the one you love.”

I recall one youth group session in which a cartoon was placed on the overhead projector. It showed a pit dug into the ground with a ladder in it. Each rung of the ladder had a physical act on it. The top rung was holding hands, the next one down was kissing, then making out, petting…you get the idea. The last rung, in the bottom of the pit? Yep. Sex. This kind of illustration was pretty common, and usually came along with a sermon about how “your body is a temple” – followed by a round of fast food and artificially sweetened cola. One of my favorite variations of this youth-group sex scenario was told to me a few years ago by a fellow seminarian. He told me, in all seriousness, that he was teaching his youth group that “Sex is like a wild, vicious, hungry lion, and you DO NOT want to go putting your head anywhere near that lion’s mouth.” (How he got away with using “sex” and “head” in the same sentence in a room full of teenage boys without the place exploding into laughter is beyond me.)

I know that the intentions of my teachers, youth group leaders, pastors and parents were good. I know they were trying to protect us from getting in too deep, too fast. I know they wanted to save us from harm, hurt, and, I suppose, hell. But the reality is, all they did for me was create a space in which to grow shame, guilt and dysfunction. And oh, how it grew! Here’s a short list of the messages I carried away from my abstinence experience:

-Every physical impulse you have towards a boy is wrong–probably even sinful.

-All the natural, normal parts of growing up and falling in love –physicality of any kind—are wrong and unnatural.

-If my body want this, then my body is bad. (This combined with the typical magazine spreads with size 0 models and pimple-free skin, and you can see what that did for a teenage girl’s body image.)

-If you don’t plan for sex, it’s not as bad of a sin. (Therefore, don’t own birth control or condoms.)

In spite of this, there were boys who got lucky and girls who went all the way. There were girls swept off to the Crisis Pregnancy Centers and expelled from school—or worse yet, allowed to stay but banned from all extracurricular activities–like going to the basketball games or walking down the aisle at graduation. (The boys on the other hand, never seemed to get into much trouble. I don’t recall any of them getting kicked out or shamed out of leaving.) And if anyone ever had an abortion, well, they kept it as a dark secret, and went through the experience without any help or counseling.

Because of my experience in abstinence programs– and because of the way my experience was echoed again and again in the shameful tears full-grown women brought to me during my tenure as a pastor –I am not raising my children under the banner of abstinence. Being physical and having sex are natural normal parts of growing up. We are physically and chemically programmed for it. We are culturally conditioned for it. It is a part of our healthy emotional development. I want my children to grow up in an atmosphere that acknowledges this reality—one that is shame free, where their bodies are seen as being ‘fearfully and wonderfully made,” and where their hearts can be trusted to lead them in the right direction. My intention, my deep hope, is to raise them in such a way that they will carry with them these messages:

-Your body is amazing. You can trust it to tell you what you are physically ready to do.

-Your heart is your guide –you can trust the wisdom of your own intuition in making choices.

-Sex is something you move into one step at a time. Each step is good. Each step is appropriate. You– and only you–get to choose when you are ready for that step.

-As a romantic relationship grows deeper emotionally, it’s natural for it to grow deeper physically.

-Planning for sex and being prepared to protect yourself and your partner is smart, responsible, and essential.

-You have the right to say NO. And conversely, you have the right to say YES.

Rather than telling my kids “Sex is a terrible, awful, shameful thing you save for the one you love.” I want the messages I give them to be able to be boiled down to this:

“You are capable of building a relational history you can look back on without regret.”

A friend of mine bequeathed that turn of phrase to me. We were drinking margaritas and talking about sex. (What else do you talk about after you’ve had a couple of margaritas?) She was telling me about her major high school boyfriend, and being in love, and what her parents and his parents thought about them having sex (or not). She said, “I never wanted to have sex in the car. I always wanted to build a sexual history I could look back on without regret, and I didn’t think I could do that if I had sex in the back of his Camero.” That’s pretty self aware, don’t you think? Pretty well-reasoned for a seventeen year old. Build a history you can look back on without regret – or at least, with as little regret as possible. I think, all told, that’s the best we can do. That’s what we humans can hope for: safety, respect, and a collection of memories held without shame.

So when it comes to sex and all its accoutrements here’s my parenting pledge:

-I promise to make talking about sex as natural and open as possible. (We’ve already got quite a track record.)

-I promise to help you access birth control and protection. (Yes, even for the masculine kids in the family.)

-I promise to help you assess what your heart and body is ready for, if you want to talk to me about it.

-I promise to give you accurate information about your body and its needs, to the best of my ability.

-I promise not to shame you for wanting physical contact with someone you care about.

-I promise to do whatever I can to make sex a wonderful, beautiful, joyful thing you give to the one(s) you love.

What will you teach your kids about sex? Any conversational tricks to share? Stories that worked out well? Do tell…

Rachelle Mee-Chapman is a 30-something minister, mother and artist. She is currently living with her husband and 2 school-aged girls in Copenhagen, Denmark; while her teenage boy adopted-by-affection forges his own path back home in Seattle, WA. This piece is available for publication. Contact: moi @ magpie-girl dot com.