warning: this post is about S-E-X

Not long ago, I was studying in a coffee shop in the late hours of the evening.  It’s a beautiful place to read—high ceilings of hammered tin, warm woods, a banistered staircase to the loft-style art gallery above.  It’s also a place with which I have a slightly uncomfortable relationship.

A Little Religion With Your Coffee (it's not just a UU thing)

A Little Religion With Your Coffee (it’s not just a UU thing)

Just being there feels like bordercrossing, a bit—and perhaps it alerts me to some borders within myself.  The large bookstore, adjacent, features the writings of Sarah Palin and Dinesh D’Souza, centerpieces of what I can only describe as a wall of conservatism.  The news rack next to the coffee counter has a guide to “local Christian-owned businesses.”  And the clientele . . . as in the numerous other coffee bars in town, most of us are students of one kind or another—but these students, though they look the same—look like sorority girls, philosophy majors, ultimate Frisbee players—talk with one another differently.

I know this because the line between private and public speech seems to blur a bit in this space.  I keep headphones handy at all times not so much because I must have music while I write, but because I was once, in a different cafe, an unintentional recipient of an entire psychological history, transmitted by an applicant to a local assistance program to his case manager.

It’s an odd dynamic, those of us who share nothing interspersed like conversational hedgerows among those who share everything.  And here, those who share aloud are often talking about their faith.  So it is that I once sat adjacent to a truly engaging, multi-hour conversation between two young women—they may have been 20—about the movement of God in their lives and their sense of life as a spiritual journey.  Wow, I thought—one does not hear this sort of thing every day . . . or even most Sundays.  Another evening I attempted to finish an essay amidst a spirited and silly conversation about old testament justice (wishing, by the end of it, to enact a little “old testament justice” myself).  And many times I’ve found myself reflecting upon my own prayers in light of those being offered nearby; these are generally both stirring in their earnestness and grating in their reliance on “Jesus, wejus . . .” as invocation.


I was thus not surprised to discover, rising to get some water, that a lively discussion had begun at a table nearby.  The dynamic evolved, even as I watched, from a paired study table with occasional questions or asides to the larger group, to a preach-and-teach session, drawing in even those at surrounding tables.  A man, later identified as a local youth pastor, held court.  Josh was thirty-something, married, parent of an infant, handsome . . . and loud.  And his selected topic for the evening was birth control.

We have begun to talk with one another in our Unitarian Universalist churches about the current focus on Reproductive Justice and what it might mean—and how, for those of us in states advocating for a complete overturn of Roe, we might engage the question politically.  In these discussions, birth control has been mentioned, in fear and anger, as the next frontier of the conversation.  And honestly, I haven’t entirely understood this.  As someone who desires to see major cross-spectrum efforts to reduce our abortion rates by supporting women, families, and best practices in early childhood ed, the assertion that “they’re coming for the birth control next!” has boggled my mind.  In short, why on earth would anyone–on either side of the aisle–argue for something likely to cause more unwanted pregnancies?

While I’ve mentioned that I can be a bit slow on the uptake, I think my incomprehension is partly related to how we have talked in this season—and how we haven’t—about the larger social implications of reproductive justice.  So great is our fear and our rage that we have been ineffective in framing connections between what’s happening to abortion rights, what might happen next with birth control, and what it all means in a larger social picture.  We, smart, savvy, dedicated people come together and, attempting to communicate the enormity of what is changing, find ourselves sputtering “patriarchy . . . control over women . . . turning back the clock . . . GAH!”

This matters, friends.  If I don’t understand–and believe me, I genuinely want to–we face a double challenge in trying to communicate with those who would just as soon remain apathetic or unconvinced. As individuals and as a movement, we have to prod ourselves to ask the larger question of why we might be seeing a coordinated social movement to disempower women, particularly those of lesser means.  And when we do ask, we need to manage our own anxiety, that we might wait long enough to hear the answers, and that we may wrestle expansively enough with them to begin to understand how to work in partnership with others concerned.  We are a gentle, angry people . . . perhaps we could add “curious and questioning” to our social justice repertoire.

In the meantime, I finally began to understand, crossing borders in a coffeeshop, what I couldn’t quite get within our own movement.  Youth Pastor Josh said, leaning back in his chair and raising his arms for emphasis, “There are only three reasons for using birth control: fear of God’s will, covering for sin, and selfishness.”  One of the young women at the table began to challenge this, and Josh, gesturing a “down” motion with his palm, talked over her, saying, with an indulgent chuckle, “Wait, now.  I’ve been through this same thing with the young ladies on our Israel trip, and also with my wife, who was unchurched and had to come to these things gradually.  Let me explain.”  His explanation centered, unsurprisingly, on the obligation to trust that what happens is God’s will, paired with the assertion that the sole purpose and entire responsibility of sex is to create new life.  Later that evening, I posted the “three reasons” quote on Facebook, and a lively discussion followed, raising several points, of which I’ll deal with only one today: in avoiding a larger conversation about sex, we are allowing a discussion about birth control to frame our views of our sexuality, rather than vice versa.

Back in the midst of the in-person discussion, I didn’t have to wonder about the connection from the coffee house to the state house: Josh moved the conversation quite effortlessly toward a series of political actions.   In the OB exam room, no one should be able to ask if a pregnancy is planned—no one can plan pregnancies; that’s God’s job, and the question is a first step toward abortion counseling.  And we need to think very carefully about what it’s saying when we make birth control widely available—it shouldn’t be.  Birth control should be an option of last resort.  (Have we heard this before?  It’s what I believe about abortion . . . and I find myself wondering where I got that.)


It’s hard to see within the confines of a conversation like this, but the move to limit access to birth control is indeed about controlling and enforcing social norms—and that happens because we allow our thinking to be defined by someone else’s agenda.  I think there is something we can do about it.  It’s something apolitical, yet purely seditious.  It’s risky, but only in that it asks that we confront our own shame, and step out from behind it.  It’s free.  And it has the power to make a difference.

Friends, I think it’s time to talk honestly, frankly, and (here’s the social-norm-busting piece) publicly about sex.  To say that sex isn’t just about procreation.  To remind ourselves, and our policymakers, that it never has been.

Further, we need to assert that this statement is a religious one.  Sex within the context of a committed relationship is not only sanctioned, by sanctified—required, in fact—by the Talmud.  While procreation is certainly a sacred element, and one key purpose within this ethical framework, there are other purposes as well.  Spiritual and psychological unity of spouses, celebration of the gift of physical presence that God has bestowed upon us, a living opportunity for practicing whatever principles call us to value another’s happiness as well as to respect and care for ourselves.  Rabbi Shmuley Boteach celebrates these ideas, encouraging couples to remember and recognize the importance of their shared sexual life, in his book Kosher Sex.  And he’s not alone—a number evangelical Christian writers have made a similar argument (see, e.g., Intimacy Ignited, by Linda Dillow and Lorraine Pintus, together with their husbands, or the blog Hot, Holy and Humorous).

Woman's panties hanging on white background the cross brooch

Why, then, as a people of a less-restrictive faith—and one particularly concerned with reproductive justice–do we not address the often-unspoken cultural rules underlying the “3 reasons for birth control” argument?

In a sex-positive culture, it’s possible to recognize that are many reasons for birth control, and to separate a practical, effects-based conversation from a larger, ethics-based conversation.  Our culture, on the other hand, is sex-phobic.  As a natural and inevitable part of life, no social strictures are going to make sex disappear; we simply force it underground.  We hear from the exceptions, the extremes, the ethically challenged . . . and we pretend like sex belongs to them, instead of to each of us.  Could Unitarian Universalism and related movements take a meaningful stand to challenge this?

A few years ago, I read an argument that the unspoken reason for continued social resistance to normalizing homosexuality is because talking about it openly violates a key social rule: don’t require others to actually envision your sex life.  The topic is so deeply personal that it makes us uncomfortable—and in a way that seems almost innate–to speak publicly about sex in any real way.  It’s amazing, but words alone are sufficient to make us feel like intruders in a private space, or to draw us into unwanted intimacy.

So on that note, here’s the part that may cause some of you to go out-of-body.  If you can, I encourage you to stay with me, and to think about what you might say about your own life—about your own relationships.  A healthy sex life is a very important part of my adult, monogamous, family-centered relationship.  It bolsters and deepens the bonds of our marriage; that’s critical during these years of less time to talk and more chaos, of balancing less money with more decisions to make.  My husband and I are are two halves of a unified whole, and not in a way that could ever be true of a platonic friendship.

The state’s interest in marriage as a building block of society has been recognized again and again; I tell you, though: if we want healthy, functional families, we also want healthy adult sexuality, and political decisions that move us away from that possibility are likely to have unintended consequences.  And there’s more: my husband’s and my truth is that our sex life has been saving, for both of us.  If we truly trust God’s vision for humanity, rather than “fearing God’s will,” in Josh’s words, shall we not accept that in healthy sexuality God has given a great gift to us?  Shall we not celebrate this rather than seeking to subvert (and, inevitably, to pervert) our sexual identities?  Where’s the trust in that?

Sex, and sexuality, are part of the human condition.  They are part of relationships.  They are, potentially, a truly excellent part of marriage.  And you know what?  We needn’t apologize for that.  But we do need to speak up for it.  While this conversation may feel innately uncomfortable, I don’t believe that’s really the case.  There are people who would like us to see sex as dangerous, and bad, and something to be carefully regulated lest we lose all control.  Some people also feel this way about food; we fortunately have enough sense not to ask that they dictate dietary policy for the rest of us.

I have a right and a responsibility (born of self-love) to a healthy sex life.  The current political situation in my state seeks to take that away from me, and I think it’s time to speak out.  Those of us accustomed to merely sitting adacent to public dialogue, wearing headphones in the coffee bars of life–most of us, in other words–might be the ones from whom we all need to hear.  So let’s keep talking about abortion.  And yes, let’s talk about birth control.  But let’s also find a way to talk, individually and in the collective, about sex, and what that looks like in real life, and why it matters.  That’s what’s underneath all of this, friends . . . and our implicit don’t ask, don’t tell policy around the subject is allowing the terms of morality to be defined in a way that works for almost no one.

Thoughts?  Go.


16 thoughts on “warning: this post is about S-E-X

  1. Yes. My husband and I talk about our sexual relationship a lot. For us, it’s a healthy part of maintaining a healthy marriage. We’ve also talked about what would happen if one (or both) of us was suddenly unable to have sex, and the repercussions that would have on our relationship.

    Granted, I am not of a one-God religion, but was raised in one and, of course, have some thoughts on the matter.

    If God wants someone to get pregnant, that person is going to get pregnant, whether or not they’re practicing birth control. How many tubal ligations and vasectomies fail or reverse themselves? How many times does birth control fail? My son is a condom baby. With that said, I have a really hard time believing that a God who seems to have a pretty hands-off approach with the other things human beings do to each other would be super obsessed and involved with sex, ESPECIALLY sex between a loving and monogamous couple.

    These “three reasons” remind me a lot of that old joke of the person abandoned on the deserted island. They see a boat, a larger boat, and an airplane, and refuse to get on any of them saying that God will rescue them. When they die and show up in Heaven they are all, “WTF God?” and God was all, “Um, I sent you two boats and a plane, what more do you want of me?” I’m on the pill because my hormones are wacky. I have a really hard time believing that God would be all, “I know your hormones make you act like an unreasonable (censored) and there exists the technology (that I led you to, you’re welcome) to fix it, but I want you to go ahead and act like an unreasonable (censored) with your family.”

    I definitely agree that we need to look at things like abortion as it relates to sex. We need to take the shame out of sex. We need to stop teaching our kids that penis and vagina are bad words. We need to teach girls the different parts of their reproductive systems and how they work, so that not only will they not be embarrassed to tell their husbands how to help them enjoy sex, but they will be able to have healthier reproductive systems.

    And there’s my novel. 😀 (I loved reading this–thanks, my froggy friend! 🙂 -j)

  2. This is really why OWL is so exciting to me…the idea that we can give our kids (and thank goodness at my church our adults too) a sense of a sex-positive culture. A few years ago my friend’s daughter and her friend (an OWL graduate) opened a sex-positive adult toy/literature store in the city where she was in college. They met resistance from other merchants where they were trying to open the store, and ultimately the landlord tried to back out of his lease with them. That’s when we started signing petitions and posting articles all over Facebook bringing attention to what these young women were doing. My sister, who is religiously as different from me as she could be, said to me in a tone I can only describe as condescending “What is so positive about pornography.” I talked to her about this very thing…about sex being a normal and important part of ALL of our lives and that we had to take it out of the hands of dimly lit seedy adult novelty stores and friggen’ Victoria Secrets destroying women’s self worth. And I’ll be damned if she didn’t get it…at least for a minute. [destroying women’s self worth–for money! “my body is beautiful the way God made it” doesn’t sell. Do you feel like OWL effectively counters these messages? I haven’t had any contact with OWL yet at all–next year is our family’s first year. -j Oh, and for you non-UU/UCC types, “OWL” is “Our Whole Lives,” a comprehensive, lifespan sex-ed program. 🙂 ]

  3. My thoughts on this issue are fairly convoluted and muddled, so I apologize in advance for my scattered reply. I wonder, if we talked more about sex, if it wouldn’t be so likely to turn into a weapon against women. We UUs champion healthy sexuality education, in OWL for all ages (my son partook in elementary OWL this year, and it was amazing. Education in healthy body image, respect of your own body and that of others, etc), and the parent education class was probably more uncomfortable than anything the kids experienced. We had to talk about sex! Our early experiences of learning about sex, what those looked like. Then we tried to decide whether our kids would be hearing the simple “sperm and egg” version of conception, or whether physical sex would be part of the equation. OH Was it ever uncomfortable. But why?

    I think if sex is so intimate and uncomfortable, the larger response should be NOT to talk about it, to NOT get involved in other people’s bedroom activities, from contraception to relationships. But obviously, that’s not how it’s being handled, so yes, maybe we need to change the conversation and say, FINE if you’re going to be so interested in what’s happening in my bedroom, LET ME TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT.

    Also, though, relationships are about so much more than sex, and when sex becomes the focus, yes, we get this response you’re talking about. But there comes a point in any relationship (hopefully far… far down the line) when sex becomes more or less a non-issue. And in those relationships, where sex is no longer part of the equation, there still should be the availability of sanctioned interconnection. Maybe it’s even MORE important in those relationships, where we can’t cause a physical sacred merging of two into one, to have the option of sanctified union.

    You said, “Some people also feel this way about food; we fortunately have enough sense not to ask that they dictate dietary policy for the rest of us.” But that’s not true. People try. They try hard. At the end of the day, whenever many people make a Choice, they want to justify their actions (or justify their regret) by forcing other people to make the same choice, or the opposite one.

    [on not butting into others’ business in the first place, here’s my take: we feel a lot of shame around sex–even talking about it can be a deeply shaming experience (as can hearing it talked about), so deep is the taboo. When we are in shame, the temptation is to move those feelings off of ourselves as quickly as possible, and an easy way to do that is to put them on someone else. Talking openly about sex combats this tendency in two ways: by addressing the root causes of our shame where they start, so that the topic isn’t so likely to cause an emotional and conversational paralysis, and by helping to humanize whatever constitutes “the other” vis-a-vis our own perspective. Where we draw the limits of that “other”–what, if anything, we’re going to legitimately wall out of this conversation, is what I think is at issue in your polyamory post on the FB page, and on the comment posted below by Dragynfire. Things that damage others are always going to be “other”–they are anathema to healthy sexuality, and hopefully to our UU movement as well. All is not relative here.

    So, acknowledging that a line must be drawn, where to draw it? Always an interesting conversation, and one that provokes a lot of anxiety–am I going to be labeled? Am I welcome here? Am I being shamed? Right now in our larger society, and particularly in places like Kansas, where I live, we are labeling all sorts of behaviors–and the people who engage in them–as “other.” Single moms, women in poverty, women who use birth control and want it to be covered by insurance, women who consider abortion, women who have an abortion, etc. Personally, I would love to see “men who are hypocrites” on this list, but so far, that doesn’t seem to be a source of shame in these parts. At any rate, because of our tendency to put all of our unwanted identities on those “others,” and because most of our sexual identities will remain unwanted as long as we feel like being an inherently sexual being is wrong, I think talking is the answer. Possibly the only answer, and definitely the one most easily at our disposal. -j]

    • Mandie, I think honest conversations about sex is the KEY to ending its use as a weapon. Women want sex, like sex, don’t have to be a size 2 (or a size 38 D or aged 21 wink wink) to be great at it, to love it, or to be incredibly attractive. When we de mystify sex and talk about it as something people, all people participate in at some level, we start unpacking the myth that it is a gift for those of privilege and youth. When we acknowledge that our grandparents, as grandparents, are still sexual beings who crave physical connection and relationships…gosh how can sex continue to be defined by a sports illustrated model? And you know what, once it is more normalized you stop thinking about what other people are doing in their bedrooms. I certainly don’t think about any of my friends having sex with their partners be they straight, gay or polyamorus (and yep, I do have poly friends). And because I’m single and not interested in developing a romantic relationship right now, I don’t imagine my friends are sitting around trying to picture my sex life either. [I agree with the idea that dealing with our own shame/sense of taboo around sex allows us to get out of the bedrooms, mentally and conversationally, of others. Imagine if we spent the time and energy focusing on our own sex lives that we spend judging others for theirs. World peace beckons, friends. 😉 -j]

    • This bold reply thing is a little confusing, if only because it now looks like I’m replying to my own comment instead of your reply to my comment. 🙂

      As for where to draw the line, I think “consenting adults” has a nice ring to it, don’t you?

      • ok, let’s try this and see how it works. it drove me nuts before, but perhaps for long comments in an already-started chain, this will work.

        On to the heart of things: “between consenting adults” is indeed a beautiful phrase. And yet not one that always works well in a covenanted community. I think “between consenting adults, while respecting the bonds and covenants made with others” may be where I stand on this for the moment. This gets at issues of power-imbalance ickiness . . . a minister wondering whether to act on romantic feelings toward a congregant . . . as well as my main issue with the poly thing, which is that I have not always felt that, as practiced, it respects the relationships of others (specifically my marital relationship, specifically in my own congregation).

        I would hope our church community feels covenanted to support and encourage my husband and me in our marriage the same as if we had been married among this congregation–this is the vow that our assembled village did undertake in the ELCA church, and, actual parties to the covenant or not, I expect nothing less than respect for that among our current community. Yet I haven’t always felt that this is the case, and that’s a problem–not just because of the disrespect it communicates, but because one of our jobs as a community is to support and care for one another.

        Marriage is a wonderful partnership–and a real challenge, at times. Life as a young family is beautiful but also exhausting. I want to know that I am among people who have our backs, and not just individually, but as a couple whom God has joined, when things get rough. This is not the impression I have when church feels like a meat market, and that has, rarely and unfortunately, been the case. This doesn’t mean we can’t talk about sex at church, if that’s relevant, but let’s bring some basic respect with us to the conversation: respect for ourselves, respect for others, respect for the gathered community. That may mean . . . in fact, I think it does mean . . . that there are some rules, and that they go a bit farther than “consenting adults.” [steps down from soapbox] -j

      • Yes, and now this is so threaded I can’t reply to your reply, so I get your point.

        I like what you’ve said, though, “between consenting adults, while respecting the bonds and covenants made with others.” I think this boundary is necessary in all kind of relationships, gay, straight, poly, mono, anything in-between and beyond, especially, as you said, in covenanted community. In fact, a healthy polyamorous relationship group will have a covenant of their own, covering these sorts of things – how the inter-group relationships and extra-group relationships are handled. But, just like with monogamous straight people, not all relationships are healthy. I’ve actually heard that there is often contention in poly communities for this reason – because the people who don’t respect the relationships of others give the polyamorous orientation/lifestyle a bad name.

        I am curious to see where this issue goes, and whether the “slippery slope” fears will be realized, once the gay marriage battle is won.

      • Something I would like to add to this particular part of the conversation is knowledgeable. This is part of why I support OWL- especially at the young adult/adult level where too many of us have missed out on the quality of sex ed OWL gives. Just being the legal age of majority doesn’t feel enough for me. We all need to be empowered with a greater understanding of what we’re consenting to.

  4. I find this sentence interesting: “And because I’m single and not interested in developing a romantic relationship right now, I don’t imagine my friends are sitting around trying to picture my sex life either.”
    It seems to me that we tend to talk about adult sex primarily in the context of long-term committed relationships. Let’s be honest, sex is fun and feels good. While procreation isn’t the only purpose for sex, neither is emotional connection.
    I recently was talking to one of my friends about someone I’m dating, and said that there was definitely some chemistry between us. My friend responded “Keep your pants on!”. She was joking, but the judgement was there. I felt shame for even wanting to have sex with someone with whom I openly admitted I was just having fun (no plans on committing). Despite the fact that she’s a wonderful, liberal, open, justice-seeking UU, I somehow feel like her response might have been different had I been a male making a similar comment.
    I had a conversation with my minister once in which I mentioned polyamory within our congregation. She was visibly shocked and expressed that that she didn’t think there were really that many people who practiced that anymore. I happened to know differently.
    Yes, we need to be able to talk about sex openly. It’s easy to talk about sex in the context in which we’re comfortable and familiar, but we also need to be prepared to be faced with the fact that as open and liberal as we see ourselves, we may be inadvertently expressing some of the very same thoughts that are causing women- and others- to feel shamed in our society. [I wrote you and Mandie both a novel–see comment above–on polyamory discussion, though not answering the actual should/shouldn’t question (which I don’t see you asking here, anyway, but is in play in the Washington Post article on the FB page). For me, personally, I draw a bit of a boundary at commitment-free, “just-for-fun” sex. Not in a way tied to ethics or morality, but to personal concern–sex is one of the most powerful tools for emotional bonding we know. Probably third after eye contact and non-sexual physical touch. Knowing that power, is it something to be enjoyed and celebrated exclusively within a committed relationship? The answer depends on the person and the situation, but I think we give parts of our hearts–and maybe our souls, too–away when we give our bodies away. To me, sex is sacred, and to try to make it about only physical pleasure, in isolation (and I’m not saying you are in this argument, or in life, but I think that’s the extreme of the argument we’re analyzing) is to discount how deeply we are wired for connection. I think we ignore that aspect at our peril–in or out of an official relationship. ]

    • I agree, Dragynfire, that stretching our comfort zone is always a challenge, no matter how wide that circle may begin.

      As to the response, J said, “For me, personally, I draw a bit of a boundary at commitment-free, “just-for-fun” sex. Not in a way tied to ethics or morality, but to personal concern–sex is one of the most powerful tools for emotional bonding we know. Probably third after eye contact and non-sexual physical touch.”
      –it’s interesting to me that you put sex as an emotional bonding tool after eye contact and non-sexual physical touch, yet no one suggests (in our culture, anyway) that women stop making eye contact with anyone but their immediate families, or that we reserve our hugs only for our husbands. Food for thought, at any rate.

  5. To answer your question, yes I do believe OWL addresses it…but you have to remember OWL has a lot of ground to cover. But the reason OWL belongs in a church isn’t because it just isn’t happening somewhere else…it’s because sex is a pivotal place in which we as beings interface with our world. Our understanding of sexual relationships, sexual culture and sexual health shape us from an early age and throughout our lives (hence the name of the curricula).

    With your passion for the subject matter, I highly recommend you take part in an OWL facilitator training. Even if you never end up teaching, you would find it a life altering experience (an exhausting live altering experience)

  6. It’s so easy for people who will never be pregnant to argue that birth control is a luxury or defying “God’s Will.”

  7. It might be good to have all such decisions about birth control and abortion be decided by women who can no longer become pregnant but who once were able to. Oh, how dangerous us women are, at any point of our lives!

  8. I can’t wait to go back and read the other comments, but first my own comment :D. I have to laugh at the notion of talking about sexuality… because I already do it. All the time, in many places and many ways. I write erotica and erotic romance. I blog about it. I share sex blogger friends’ post- funny store there, I had to see a gynecologist for problem periods and when I asked about PCOS because a sex blogger friend had written an article recently, I got an eyebrow raise from the doctor. I mean- a gynecologist lol? But anyway, the one thing I always come back to is the fact that I don’t separate my spirituality or religion from my sexuality; I think being a UU gives me both the freedom and responsibility to keep them wound within me. In my writing this often means I have UU characters, conversations where a UU could point to discussion of UU principles, even if they aren’t named. Although I do that as well- I have a few scenes with fictional UU ministers in my writing. I’ve had people tell me that being so open about my religion will cause me not to sell books (selling books is normally among an author’s goals), but I refuse to go back in the closet on anything. I’ve spent my life in too many closets.

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