Good Christian Sex: Not an Oxymoron

Guest Post, by Bromleigh McCleneghan

Last spring, I told the committee that hired me as the new associate pastor that I was writing a book about sex, both in the interest of full-disclosure and as a bit of self-defense. They couldn’t complain later if they didn’t complain initially, right?

They didn’t complain. They are lovely. Though the congregation has taken to teasing me ever so slightly, especially as my book received its title (Good Christian Sex). Apparently it will receive a mention in the skit at the bi-annual fundraiser.

I was still a fairly new member of the staff when I was called upon to hook up my laptop to the projector in order to show our Executive Council a short video. Suddenly, in glaring type, were the first few sentences of the chapter draft I’d been working on earlier in the day:

Touching feels good:

That book, the one my parents handed me as a preteen, has a chapter called “touching feels good.”

Of all the things I remember about my childhood, of all the clear memories I have of playing legos and Barbies and lipsyncing to Cats and Smokey Robinson for audiences of playmates and parents, I cannot recall whether this formative text, and that particular chapter, provided me with new information or the affirmation of something I had already experienced.

As soon as I realized what was staring at me from the six foot screen, I started sputtering and stammering…”Oh, this is for my book – just a draft – don’t read…”

Oh my sweet Lord. “Bromleigh,” asked one of the council members, “are you blushing?”

And then I couldn’t close out of the document and MSWord kept asking me if I wanted to save “Touching feels good.”

Mortifying.

As I’ve been preparing for the release of this book, I’ve thought a lot about shame and mortification, about what is sinful and what is private, about what it means to be a Christian.  For the first time, I’ve been called names by strangers on the internet, who read the subtitle of my book (Why Chastity is Not the Only Option and Other Things the Bible Says About Sex) and accuse me of perverting God’s Word and leading people into sin. They insist I should be ashamed of myself.

I embarrass easily (see above), but I refuse to accept the shame these commentators are offering. Which is not to say I don’t believe that shame, or, better, guilt, don’t have their place.  I totally think preachers who spout dangerous garbage and nonsense ought to be ashamed of themselves. I wonder, frequently, how Kenneth Copeland and Creflo Dollar and all the others can sleep at night. (Google megachurch pastor scandal and see how many hits you get. Try it, I’ll wait.)

But while feeling guilty, or even ashamed, for doing something actually wrong or harmful is probably a good thing – it’s a sign we’re not sociopaths! – unwarranted shame is harmful in its own right, and counter to the freedom and assurance of the Gospel.

I once knew a kid who went through a period of relative fascination with her body, in what I’d consider developmentally appropriate ways. She’d pick up her dress and show her undies to the congregation during the children’s message, or, according to her mother, sit with her hands down her pants at bedtime.  Her older sister would sometimes scold her, her disgusted tone already manifesting society’s discomfort with female bodies and sexuality as she attempted to police her younger sister’s innocent play and exploration. That sort of shaming is decidedly harmful – and sad to see coming from one so young who had already begun to internalize it.

The negative commenters on my book, those afraid I’m leading the faithful down the primrose path, certainly think I should be more than embarrassed. They’re not just mad about my lack of propriety, but my downright shameful exploration of a topic they think is beyond examination. They are less likely to think of our sexuality as a part of who we are, but rather as acts we perform that do or do not conform to the standards God has (clearly and obviously) laid out in the Bible.

I am accused of redefining sin, of ignoring the Bible, of tempting God’s punishment and courting Satan.  (Erin assures me she has endured worse, and welcomes me to the club.) I am accused of all these things, though truly I fear my proposals are overly modest.  I suggest, primarily, that marriage is not a sufficient norm for ethical, Christian sex. Sex and love and marriage are all related, usually, but they are not one and the same.

What is most frustrating, though perhaps not surprising, is the way that some commenters immediately assume that I think that our practiced sexuality should be a free-for-all. “Now that homosexuality, fornication and adultery are okay….” one complained, and I thought immediately, No, not adultery!

The work for progressive Christians regarding sexuality is not to throw up our hands and say, “Whatever floats your boat!”–nor to suggest that we never have anything to be ashamed of– but to do the hard work of discerning what is right and good and holy in our most intimate relationships. We need to avoid false equivalencies. Homosexuality and sex between enthusiastically consenting adults are not the same as breaking vows through adultery. There are, surely, sexual sins we need to face, but they’re probably not the ones my angry commentators are worried about: one of the clearest and most egregious in my estimation is the way many Christians perpetuate and participate in rape culture. What makes something sinful is the harm it brings to self, God, and others.

Erin is working on a book of progressive Christian family values. I am so grateful for her work, and look forward to its publication.  I’m hopeful that my book will be a similarly useful tool for helping Christians to think in positive terms about what faithful sexuality looks like (since “don’t do it” is not very inspiring, theologically or otherwise). And If my book helps others cast off unwarranted shame, the mortification I experienced in that disastrous council meeting will all have been worth it. Maybe?

Totally.

Bromleigh McCleneghan serves as Associate Pastor for Ministry with Families at Union Church of Hinsdale (UCC), in suburban Chicago. Her new book, Good Christian Sex, is available now from HarperOne. She blogs at bromleighm.com, and is also a Christian Century contributor.