Category Archives: Celibacy

Protected by celibacy?

Posted on by

As we’ve been blogging, from time to time people have approached us with questions like, “Why do you care about LGBT people in the Church? You’re celibate. You don’t have anything to worry about.” People assume that because we’re celibate, we’ve checked the proverbial box that ensures that we’re safe in all Christian environments. Not to put too fine a point on our response, but that assumption couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Some people think that if we’re celibate, we’re not identifiable as members of the LGBT community. In truth, Lindsey’s never been able to pass as a cisgender, heterosexual person in terms of physical appearance. With a rather ambiguous build, short hair, and a penchant for khakis and button-down shirts, Lindsey fits many people’s stereotypes of what an LGBT person looks like. It doesn’t matter that Lindsey’s appearance has been mostly static since middle school. When Sarah is not with Lindsey, people generally assume Sarah–who has an unmistakably feminine appearance–is straight. However, we as a couple lose any privileges associated with passing as straight the instant Lindsey appears on the scene. To many people, that we show up as a pair and that and Lindsey is so visibly a member of the LGBT community are enough for them to make assumptions about our sexual ethics. Celibacy doesn’t even enter the picture.

Equally, our celibacy does not protect Sarah from facing backlash once people see us together. We’ve noticed in situation after situation how easily people’s comfort levels with Sarah change once they meet Lindsey and realize we’re together. One example of this came about when Lindsey was in the process of moving to Sarah’s city. During visits prior to the move, Lindsey attended services at Sarah’s parish with Sarah. Sarah had recently made that parish home, and was still relatively new there. While many people initially treated Sarah just like any other person, that began to change once they met Lindsey—and this was well before anyone had come to know us as a couple. Simply seeing us attend church together was enough to cause some to distance themselves from Sarah and hesitate to socialize with Lindsey at all.

Another issue is that a great many people have no understanding of what celibacy is and/or think “being gay” automatically means having sex. To these folks, the idea of celibacy as a way of life an LGBT person might adopt is foreign. The question they ask is not, “What is an appropriate sexual ethic for an LGBT person?” Instead, it’s, “Why isn’t this person willing to stop being gay?” When we are in the presence of people holding this perspective, our celibacy means nothing in conversation. If we try at all to discuss celibacy in response to someone’s assertion of, “The Church says you can’t be gay,” that gets us nowhere more often than not. Sometimes, the person will counter with, “Well, if you aren’t having sex, then you aren’t really gay,” followed by, “You could still get married to someone of the opposite sex if you wanted.” But generally, we don’t even get that much of a conversation going. The more typical response we hear is, “Huh?” with no further attempt at engaging us in discussion ever again. In these situations, our celibacy does nothing to protect us because the person isn’t comfortable talking about sexual ethics in the first place.

Additionally, people frequently associate celibacy with singleness. To these people, we cannot be celibate because we are in a relationship with one another. We find this assumption to be entirely problematic because it misrepresents celibacy. Celibacy as a way of life is deeply rooted in community. Monastic communities provide insight into how people have lived Christ-centered celibate lives for hundreds of years. Conversely, living alone in an apartment far from one’s family of origin is arguably one of the newest ways of life. Yet, an identifiably solitary life is the dominant image most people have of modern celibacy. Because many people associate celibacy with singleness, they cannot grasp the idea that we’re a celibate couple, let alone consider what that might mean for our lives as LGBT Christians. These people can only see us members of the LGBT community and make assumptions about our activity from there. We’re no strangers to the accusation that we have rejected a celibate way of life because we’re in a relationship.

We totally understand that celibacy is a queer calling. Many people just don’t get it. While at first glance it may seem that celibate LGBT people are protected by their celibacy, we (and other individuals in similar situations) often encounter a double helping of misconceptions about both celibacy and LGBT topics. We’re consistently read in social situations as “not heterosexual,” a reading which in and of itself invites a considerable amount of accusations.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Isn’t sex a good thing?

Posted on by

With some regularity, readers ask us if choosing celibacy means denying one’s sexuality and/or denying the existence of sexuality as a gift from God. About a month ago, one reader provided us with a great deal of information on the evolutionary aspects of sex and sexuality, following that information up with this set of questions: “I ask if [celibacy] is a denial of the gift God gives us in sex. I guess my question to you is, isn’t sex good? Isn’t it one of God’s greatest gifts to us? Aren’t we supposed to be sexual creatures?” After taking a few weeks to ponder how we would approach these questions, we have decided to address them directly today.

We’ll begin by giving the short, simple answer to the titular question of this post: yes. We do believe that sex is good. We believe it is a gift from God, and our Christian tradition influences our understanding of how God intends humans to use this gift. We also see a distinction between “sexual activity” and “sexuality,” and do not believe that absence of the first means avoidance of the second. We see celibacy as a means of living into the gift of sexuality rather than a denial of it. Our celibacy does not exclude us from existing as sexual creatures. We’ve both had enough experience in the past with attempting to deny or change our sexualities that we know how damaging suppression can be.

Concerning the idea that sex is, as our reader suggests, “one of God’s greatest gifts to us,” we would agree with that. Sexual activity enables humans to engage directly with God as co-creators, bringing new life into the world. It also enables couples to deepen their relationships with God by coming to know one another more intimately. That God has provided humans this means of connection with Him and with other humans is truly incredible. As such, we believe it would be foolish to deny that the capacity for sexual activity is one of God’s greatest gifts to humanity. That said, the decision to follow a vocational pathway that does not include sexual activity can provide means of engaging in other amazing gifts from God. One example of this is that celibacy offers the opportunity for connection to the world more generally, unlocking space for cultivating the gifts of intercession and mercy. When we are trying to relate to people who are not “family” connections, we find ourselves stretching to practice compassion. Directing compassion through Christ means prayerfully imaging him to the people we meet. We don’t always succeed in this, but working on it is one of the great challenges and joys of the celibate vocation. People who are married often feel called to take a more family-oriented approach to honing the gifts of intercession and mercy. Similarly, we feel called to engaging with God’s gift of sexuality in ways that do not involve sexual activity.

Another illustration that came to mind as we were discussing these questions is the various senses with which God has gifted humans. Generally, people are able to engage with the world using some combination of sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell, emotion, and so on. Not all humans are able to use all of these gifts, and we don’t have much choice concerning which of these we are and aren’t able to use. Even people who have the ability to communicate using all of the traditionally-named “five senses” tend to gravitate toward some more than others for communicating and making sense of the world. For example, Sarah has color-grapheme synesthesia—an involuntary phenomenon that causes her to see letters, numbers, and certain words in specific colors (i.e. “7” is green, “purpose” is red). Because of this, Sarah uses colors to understand most concepts when reading, writing, doing mathematics, translating from one written language to another, etc. However, this also complicates matters for Sarah’s engagement with the same concepts presented in oral format, so Sarah tends to rely more strongly on sight than any of the other senses. But engagement with one gift does not imply denial that others are good, or that others exist. Sarah’s understanding of things would differ significantly from that of a person who, for whatever reason, relies more consistently on the gift of touch to make sense of the world, but that doesn’t mean either has to deny the other’s experience.

The last question, “Aren’t we supposed to be sexual creatures?” is an important one. We want to be clear that we do see ourselves as sexual creatures even though we have chosen a way of life that does not involve sexual activity. We accept that both of us are attracted exclusively to women. Lindsey has been a strident advocate for celibates taking the approach of integrating rather than excising their sexualities. When one integrates one’s sexuality within the vocation of celibacy, one acknowledges that attraction is a gift from God and appreciates diverse kinds of beauty. Integrating one’s sexuality enables one to live within one’s body, becoming comfortable in one’s own skin. We have learned to celebrate our full humanity. We marvel at how being in relationship with each other has challenged us as individuals to grow in appreciation of our individual bodies while making space for another person to do the same.

We’ve come to believe that yes, sex is a good thing while considering sexuality as a whole to be even more profoundly meaningful. As celibates, we see sexuality as a gift given to people by God, so we can connect with their bodies. People’s sexualities affect how they experience the world. We appreciate many diverse aspects of people’s sexualities and do not seek to deny other people their own experiences.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Terms of Engagement

Posted on by

A reflection by Sarah

On January 8, 2014, one evening before the opening session of the Gay Christian Network Conference, Lindsey and I visited a small, independent bookstore in Chicago. We had spent the entire day driving to the Midwest from our city, since 3 AM in fact, and were exhausted. I was still shaken from a car accident we had experienced just hours earlier, and after meeting up with our friend Alison at the last minute for dinner at a nearby Mediterranean restaurant I was ready to turn in for the evening. Still, Lindsey insisted that we take some time to stroll around the bookstore and see what hidden gems we might find. We split off into different sections for a while. Later, Lindsey met me in the adventure books where I was perusing a copy of Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues under the Sea. We began talking about all the amusing situations we’ve found ourselves in since we first met, and I noticed a positive shift in my mood. Ultimately, we ended up in a conversation about how our life together is turning out to be the craziest adventure upon which either of us has ever embarked.

That discussion was one I’m sure I’ll never forget. It was the evening when, after months of discernment, Lindsey and I affirmed to each other that we feel called to continue living our celibate vocations together for the rest of our lives. We came to a decision that after spending the next year to reflect further, we will pursue some form of legal protection and find the most appropriate way to honor and celebrate our family. A couple pursuing marriage (however one defines that term) might consider such discussions characteristic of “engagement.” But we aren’t preparing to enter a marriage, so most people we know are baffled by our discussions of commitment and share life.

As I’ve reflected before, Lindsey and I have always struggled to find the best words to describe our relationship and our way of life. The English language and societal expectations don’t make it an easy task: there isn’t exactly a concise term for “couple committed to living a celibate vocation together that isn’t a marriage, but still allows for financial security, the ability to make health care decisions for each other, etc., etc., etc.” There’s no option for “preparing to live fully into a lifelong celibate partnership” on Facebook’s “relationship” dropdown menu. Even more significant a complicating factor is that our Christian tradition offers us little language beyond “celibacy” for describing our vocation and no guidance at all for developing a meaningful way of life in our specific circumstance.

Another layer of difficulty in determining what language to employ is that people in our lives don’t always understand why we believe it important to use certain descriptors and not others. At one extreme, we have acquaintances who urge us not even to identify as being in a relationship with each other. They encourage us to describe ourselves as “best friends” and “roommates.” In most cases, these same people become uncomfortable when we use the phrase “lifelong commitment” in relation to each other, but experience no discomfort with the idea that monastics enter lifelong commitments to each other in their communities. On the other hand, we know people who have trouble recognizing why, as an LGBT couple doing life together in a committed relationship, we wouldn’t want that referred to as a marriage. Many of these folks urge us to discuss our relationship in spousal terms, and some have indicated that our disinterest in doing so sets us in opposition to the movement for marriage equality. With minimal availability of comfortable terminology and an abundant presence of people ready to tell us how we ought to define ourselves, the quest for the best words can leave a person (or a couple) feeling very isolated. Yet despite these experiences, we are heartened by the number of people who, in diverse ways, have been unapologetically supportive of us in our vocation. We have many friends who offer us encouragement daily and show interest in helping us engage with the tough questions, regardless of what conclusions we reach and how those may or may not match with their own conclusions.

As of now, we find that the terms “family” and “team” roll most naturally off the tongue when describing ourselves to others. “Partners” also seems to fit well because this word implies shared work and a shared journey. Despite the fact that many equate the word “partnership” with “sexually active relationship,” we feel drawn to the basic meaning of this term, as we do understand our vocation to be shared responsibility for serving others and serving Christ.

It’s regrettable that people in various types of relationships aren’t always free to define those relationships such that all involved parties feel comfortable with the language used. Language around relationships is highly politicized. How one identifies one’s relationship can raise all kinds of associations for other people. In America, both religions and the government define marriage. In the eyes of a public audience, one’s willingness or unwillingness to define a particular relationship as a marriage often carries ideological connotations, regardless of whether one actually identifies with said ideologies. If any freedom to define one’s relationship and not be pigeonholed into a political category ever did exist, it seems that freedom is now gone. The terms of engagement for discussing our own life situation do not belong to us, and that will never change unless we make an active decision to take them back. With this post, consider it done. Lindsey and I are a team, a family, and a partnership, even if those words don’t have the same meanings for you as they do for us.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Actively Cultivating a Celibate Vocation

Posted on by

A reflection by Lindsey

We’ve made a general practice of not giving advice on this blog. We are keepers of our own story, and we are not interested in telling another person what his or her story should be. Nonetheless, I was struck a few weeks ago when Eve Tushnet said that there was a place in these discussions for people to cry, “This is the path! Follow me!” lest we become an echo chamber. We’ve also had multiple people sending us emails asking us for more guidance on actively trying to cultivate a celibate vocation. I’ve spent nearly a decade trying to sort these questions for myself, have journeyed alongside tens of other people trying to cultivate celibate vocations themselves, and think that I can highlight some practical elements of actively cultivating a celibate vocation. So, in this reflection, I’m going to make a brief trip to how-to land.

Some disclaimers: I’m going to talk about cultivating a celibate vocation in generalities rather than zooming in on the experience of cultivating a celibate partnership. I’ve shared before about my experiences with a failed celibate relationship, and I know other people who have been profoundly hurt by starting their explorations of celibacy in the context of an intimate relationship. While I have spent a lot of time myself trying to cultivate a celibate vocation, I don’t regard myself as an authority at any level.

Get to know people who live a celibate vocation
Finding active models of a celibate life worth living is hard. I spent time hanging out at monasteries and reading memoirs of people who remained single throughout their entire life. One of the most helpful books for me is My Song is Of Mercy by Fr. Matthew Kelty because Fr. Matthew is living out a celibate vocation as a gay man. Fr. Matthew’s sermons include occasional examples from the gay community that show he integrated his sexuality into his life. But getting to know monastics from different communities showed me that there is a lot of variety within the celibate vocation. It’s okay if not every celibate person inspires you with a vision for what your vocation can look like. In many ways, it’s probably better for you if there’s a subset of celibate people you love and admire. I tended to look towards people in religious communities, but many people from different walks of life have lived a celibate vocation. Find a few models that resonate with you and provide a glimpse into the kind of life you’d like to cultivate.

Spend real time with married people
One thing I’ve noticed is that many LGBT people who feel compelled to explore a celibate vocation because of their faith convictions are prone to crafting a utopian vision of marriage. Marriage can become a wished-for, yet completely unattainable, happy place where people are never lonely, social get-togethers are awesome, and God totally pours out blessing after blessing. Yet, spending time with married people I admire showed me that married people and celibate people face many of the same struggles when it comes to finding our places in this world. Additionally, I learned that married people who make the practice of opening their homes to others have this odd gift of making me feel like a part of the family in a very short time. I’ve had the privilege of reading bedtime stories to kids and I’ve experienced why families with kids might try to hightail it out of social engagements before the kids have a meltdown. When you meet real married people, marriage doesn’t look so utopian after all.

Regard the things in which you find great delight as sacred
It can be hard as a celibate person to communicate why a certain action “counts” as intimate and meaningful. Our culture, and even the culture within our churches, has primed us to view sex as the only expression of intimacy worth saving for special people. Yet, each and every one of us has things that we especially enjoy doing, and we want to save particular experiences for sharing with special people. It doesn’t matter if your special things are going to a concert, sharing a meal together, playing board games, going geocaching, geeking out over Latin word roots, or any number of other things. Your special things are still special, they make you the unique human you are, and they are worth sharing with special people in your life. Treasure the unique parts of yourself as sacred. Treat them with care. As you grow closer to particular people, allow them to see more of you. I found that treating my love of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies, my excitability when going to concerts, and my tendency to relish in a good hug with sacred appreciation enabled me to experience significantly more intimacy across a wide range of relationships.

Find a rhythm in your own life that includes prayer and positive self-care
In trying to discern my celibate vocation, I worked with the examples I found in monasteries. Life in a monastery is centered upon communal and individual prayer. When I talked with monastics, they told me they entered the monastery because they felt a vocation to prayer. Yet, a lot of life in the monastery also involved caring for the community. Monastics prepare common meals, take one another to seek medical care when needed, go shopping, and work together to support the monastery. As I got to know monastics, I realized that monastic lives are indeed very human lives. An abbess once shared with me that if I wanted to explore the possibility that I was called to monasticism, I would be served by trying to put monastic life into practice as much as possible in my daily life. I’ve experimented with incorporating different regular devotions into my day and preparing proper meals. These disciplines have shown me that I have in-built settings that need to be acknowledged if I’m going to take care of myself.

Share life meaningfully with others wherever possible
When I started actively trying to cultivate a celibate vocation, I did not have a clue how to share life meaningfully with other people. I had to overcome significant cultural programming that the only “real” meaningful relationship would blossom into a marriage. Since I had to start somewhere, I started by asking God to show me the meaningful relationships present in my life. God showed me that I did have profoundly meaningful relationships already present in my life and that I had the potential to develop meaningful relationships with people I was only just getting to know. In shifting my focus away from cultivating one marital relationship, I was able to see myself in a network of other relationships. As a direct consequence of living this way, I have numerous friends–married and celibate–for whom the word “friend’ fails communicate the depth of intimacy we experience in those relationships.

Practice serving others regularly
Getting out and doing something to help people is a great way to see past the end of your own nose. I also found that being positioned to see others’ needs helped me consider how I could be a blessing to them and how they could bless me. As I began to cultivate a celibate vocation, I drove a one-day shift with Meals on Wheels in a low-income area of my town. Visiting briefly with the clients on my route allowed me to make those tentative spaces of connection. Seeing them week after week, I practiced making friends who were in a very different state of life than I was. It wasn’t a huge obligation, but I found myself missing the regular interaction when I moved abroad for a season. I’ve learned that I’m happiest when I’m giving to others in a consistent way. As time has gone on, I’ve shifted where I’ve invested my energies. Please know that serving others is a balance. Too much serving can lead to frustration that you’re always pouring yourself out and not receiving anything in return. I’ve come to ask myself, “Do I find this act of service meaningful and life-giving or am I doing it out of a fundamental sense of obligation?” The question has helped me find meaningful and life-giving ways to serve others. For folks looking for a number, I’ve found that I do best with 1 regular weekly commitment. I can usually find at least 2 hours in my week to serve others in an intentional way.

As this post was a brief venture into how-to land, I’m sure that your mileage will vary if you were to put these ideas into practice. This list reflects how I actively cultivated a celibate vocation. I’d love to hear from other people who have chosen to cultivate a celibate vocation about what they’re doing.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Children, Connectedness, and the Vocation to Celibacy

Posted on by

A reflection by Sarah

Four afternoons a week, I have the pleasure of watching a delightful little girl whom I’ll call Ksenia. Each afternoon, like now, I’lI sit in the same spot beside her crib with my laptop and ear buds as I try to steal some writing time while watching her nap peacefully. I feel as though I’ve known her since before she was born: over a year before she came into this world, I was giving her mother English lessons in preparation for entry to an American law school. I began watching now-seventeen-month-old Ksenia during her eighth month of life, and our first moment of real bonding came when she laughed at my pathetic rendition of “Rainbow Connection” during an attempt at rocking her to sleep. Since then, I’ve come to know her as a tiny human with a vibrant personality. Far more active than any child her age I’ve ever known, Ksenia has taught me not to turn my head for more than a second lest I find her standing atop the dresser or scaling the nearest bookcase. Preferring borscht and hotdogs over most other foods, she seems oddly aware of her parents’ wish that she grow up proudly Russian, yet undeniably American. Each afternoon I spend with her, I find myself entering a world where old boxes transform into caves, happiness is plunging both hands into a container of homemade finger paint, and a walk outside brings pure enchantment. And though it may sound unusual, because of the time I spend with Ksenia, I return home in the evenings feeling strengthened in my vocation to celibacy.

Like many gay and lesbian young people, I was terrified upon realizing my sexual orientation. However, I remember clearly that my first fearful question was not, “How will I tell my parents?” or “What will my church community think?” It was, “How can I make it through life without having children?” For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a strong maternal instinct. I recall that as early as age five, I had imagined becoming a mother. Since the 8th grade, I’ve known that if I ever have a son or daughter, his or her name will be Patrick or Catherine. And from high school forward, I began keeping in mind the possibility that someday I might take a break from my future career to fill the role of homeschool mom. As a young woman coming to full acceptance of myself as a lesbian in the midst of a life stage when my biological clock was ticking loudly, I found the prospect of never giving birth to children especially difficult to swallow. This didn’t become any easier after discovering my vocation to celibacy. Instead, it became significantly harder.

For years, I’ve gone around in circles with questions regarding how best to welcome children into my life. Certain as I am that God has called me to celibacy, I’m equally confident that my vocation involves loving and caring for children in some capacity. I’ve spent a great deal of time over the past decade exploring ways that I can extend hospitality to kids at a variety of ages. I’ve taught Sunday school—every class from toddler to teen. I’ve volunteered with camps and summer education programs for elementary school children, and participated in social justice projects focused on improving early literacy and parent-child bonding. For three years, I provided homework help in inner city public school classrooms. Currently, in addition to watching Ksenia, I’m tutoring Jacob, a high school senior, in calculus and Sam, his eight-year-old brother, in reading skills. Sam and I have just begun reading Charlotte’s Web, one of my favorite children’s novels, and he’s trying every trick in the book to get me to reveal Charlotte’s plan for saving Wilbur before we arrive at that chapter. Over time, I’m discovering that in witnessing Sam’s eagerness to devour a story, Jacob’s smile when he finally succeeds at calculating an integral, and Ksenia’s excitement about spotting a dog on our afternoon walk, I experience the rich connectedness that makes my vocation a joyous one.

As we’ve mentioned on more than one occasion, Lindsey and I spend a lot of time praying about how to extend hospitality to others. That necessarily includes children despite the fact that our society often treats them as lesser humans who can be ridiculed without consequence, and many churches treat them as nuisances who ought not to be welcomed fully in worship as members of the Body of Christ. If I were to make a guess at where God might be leading us on this question, I’d say that a substantial part of our extending hospitality to children means being there for future nieces and nephews in ways that aren’t part of their parents’ roles. There are advantages to being the cool aunt with a history of crazy life experiences: sometimes, I think I’d rather be the adult who can offer nonjudgmental advice to an adolescent on the tough stuff than the adult charged with enforcing proper discipline when that same young rebel breaks curfew. Truth be told, I’m not well suited to the latter. I have no idea what God’s plans are for us with regard to welcoming children into our lives in the future, but I savor every moment of time we get with Lindsey’s nephew, and I look forward to the day when my sister will tell me that she and my brother-in-law have decided to become parents. And for now, I cherish each moment I get with my favorite Russian toddler and her magical cardboard box.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.