Tag Archives: celibacy

Boundaries and Celibate Partnership

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We always enjoy talking with people who read our blog. We’ve been engaging in an extended conversation in the comments section with Maria McDowell and her readers at Women in Theology. Many of Maria’s commenters have raised thoughtful questions. We didn’t have space to respond to them all during our last post, and we wanted to respond to some on our own blog lest we unintentionally dominate the comments at WIT. Today we’re taking some time to discuss the issue of boundaries and exclusivity as it pertains our relationship.

We’ve heard several variations on boundary questions. Some people have asked us if our relationship is really a committed relationship if we do not have certain forms of physical intimacy reserved just for one another. Other people are mystified by the notion that we can even make boundaries work at all in the context of a celibate relationship. What gives our relationship its sticking power if we’re not sexually active? Are we in a “one person only exclusive committed friendship for life” relationship? Virtually every form of these questions wants to tease out why we consider celibate an important modifier of partnership. In this post, we’re going to talk about how exclusivity does — and does not — exist/function in our relationship. Some disclaimers before we get going: 1) we are not in any way, shape, or form in an “open relationship,” and 2) we are not trying to make generalizable claims about non-celibate relationships or celibate partnerships other than our own. This post should be read as a sharing of our own experiences and our observations of people closest to us.

As we reflected on where exclusivity does exist in our relationship, we found commitment to be at the heart of the question. We have made a commitment to be radically transparent, open, and honest with each other about everything at all times. Every day we talk about our successes, our failures, our triumphs, our anxieties, our fears, our shortcomings, things we realized while praying, happenings of the day, and places where we wouldn’t mind having a chance for a do-over. In a monastery, this sort of practice can be called the “confession of thoughts,” which is not to be confused with the mystery of confession. A “confession of thoughts” is a time to answer the question of “What have you been thinking about today?” thoroughly and prayerfully. Taking time to share the contents of our thoughts with one another helps us discern what steps God might be calling us to next. Sharing thoughts also connects us deeply with each other. Each of us has experienced innumerable benefits from having another person who cares to know about every thought, no matter how unimportant it may seem. To give but one example, being able to talk with Sarah about the stresses of the day has provided an entirely necessary valve on Lindsey’s temper. When we know the full picture of what’s going on, we’re able to offer each other much sounder counsel. 

Of course, we still share our lives fully with our spiritual directors and friends. However, sharing a household on a daily basis gives us a chance to be transparent with each other in a different way about matters big, small, and absolutely trivial. For example, if Sarah doesn’t do the dishes, Lindsey will check in with Sarah to ask what’s going on because this task is one of Sarah’s commitments for maintaining our household. Sarah might be exhausted after a long day of work, out late running a ton of errands, or simply forgetful. We discuss items like this all the time, and the openness has proven helpful in our spiritual growth. Though we do not hide anything from our spiritual fathers, our relationship gives us the advantage of having a deep connection with someone else who can help us make the right decisions day by day, sometimes hour by hour. Does anyone else need to know that Sarah forgot to do the dishes one day unless it falls into a bigger pattern worthy of concern? Probably not. Occasionally we choose to loop friends into particular situations where we share just as transparently with them as we would with each other, but we have made a solid commitment to share everything with each other always.

What we’ve just discussed is the most prominent example of exclusivity in our relationship. Despite the fact that we have committed to being 100% transparent with each other on a daily basis, our level of exclusivity seems distinct from what we’ve observed in many non-celibate relationships. We have enjoyed a profound degree of emotional intimacy with friends, we have no problems with how we naturally display physical affection to others, and we welcome guests regularly into our home.

We don’t hesitate to call on others during times of need. We have no illusions that we are somehow entirely sufficient for one another. We don’t consider ourselves one another’s “everything” — and we’ll expand on that thought in a post in the near future. We’ve learned who the other calls upon during especially stressful periods. When Lindsey receives a phone call from a particular childhood best friend, Sarah knows something is going on but waits to ask until Lindsey is ready to give the update, and trusts that Lindsey will offer it soon. Sometimes Sarah needs to go out for the evening to be with lots of local friends and share openly with them about a difficult situation. Lindsey understands that processing things with 10 (or more) people is just part of how Sarah’s extroverted brain works, and is confident that Sarah will share all the important details later. These examples probably speak to some people in healthy non-celibate relationships as well. However, based upon our own past experiences in non-celibate relationships, we are aware that some non-celibate couples have more difficulty sorting boundaries with friends (especially very attractive friends) than we do. Lindsey completely accepts that Sarah’s local friends include LGB women to whom Sarah is attracted, but still encourages Sarah to cultivate emotional intimacy with them. Sarah also accepts that many people Lindsey is emotionally close with have been past romantic partners or interests. Neither of us has ever had an ounce of concern about the possibility of unfaithfulness or our relationship being threatened by someone else. Neither of us has ever experienced even a hint of jealousy toward the other’s same-sex or opposite-sex friendships.

We have some truly fantastic friends, and we see the level of emotional intimacy we’re able to share with them as paramount to keeping our own relationship healthy. There are occasions when Lindsey is not able to attend to an immediate need of Sarah’s, and vice versa. In these cases, we know that we can rely upon our individual “circles of trust” to be there for whichever one of us is in the midst of a sudden crisis. As Sarah’s been coping with Meniere’s disease, Sarah has had some emotionally difficult days that have led at times to rough nights. Recently, Sarah spent almost an entire Friday night engaged in a text message conversation with one of our close mutual friends while Lindsey slept. The conversation was extremely helpful and exactly what Sarah needed, and both of us are certain that given the circumstances, Lindsey could not have provided the same level and kind of support so successfully. We accept these instances as signs of meaningful friendship with other people, and neither of us becomes angry, upset, frustrated, or suspicious of the other when they occur. In our own past experiences of non-celibate relationships, the story in this example would have had a very different ending. Neither of us has ever been in a non-celibate relationship where past partners would have considered having a midnight-to-5 AM text conversation with a close friend acceptable behavior.

Emotional intimacy goes two ways. One cannot expect to pour one’s heart out to one’s friends without also offering one’s own ears in return. We understand this reciprocity, and neither of us gets upset when the other spends considerable amounts of time being present for a friend. This past summer, Lindsey received a phone call nearly out of the blue from a past partner who was in a tough situation. Because of how Lindsey’s schedule worked out at the time, Lindsey called this friend on the way to and from work on a daily basis for several weeks. Commutes in our area are on the longer side, so it wasn’t uncommon for Lindsey to spend up to three hours a day talking with this past partner. The crisis reconnected them as friends. Lindsey now continues to talk with this friend regularly, and Sarah has no concerns about this arrangement.

One of the places where we most frequently confuse people regarding our boundaries relates to physical touch. Lindsey hugs truly are global public goods, and we’re both rather proficient snugglers. We have had several conversations with other people about what forms of affection are okay to share with friends and not saved exclusively for each other. Sarah has heard many variants of, “Would you be okay with Lindsey snuggling, dancing, or going out to dinner and a movie with someone else?” Our answer to these questions is always unequivocally yes. Then the questioner’s response is almost always, “You’re in the slim minority of opinion on that issue. I don’t know anyone else who would be okay with his/her partner doing those things.” We don’t doubt that at all. We both believe strongly that Western society today is far too afraid of physical affection. It seems to us that so many Westerners are afraid to be physically affectionate lest they be perceived as having particular romantic and sexual attachments. We won’t mince our words here: we think this social paranoia is stupid, cancerous, and outright deadly. Therefore, we have no problem with giving hugs, snuggling, embracing, and being fully present with other people. All people could benefit from having more folks who know, love, honor, accept, and cherish them. Why is it that we Westerners generally ween ourselves off of physically affectionate friendships after we’ve finished college?

The few bits of exclusivity in our relationship are primarily about supporting each other 100%. Each of us wants the other to grow as close to Christ as is humanly possible and to live an abundant life in the process. In our times together as a team, we frequently ask ourselves what would help us focus more outwardly instead of inwardly on ourselves and what makes us happy together. It’s hugely important for us that we are generous with emotional and practical support writ large, even as many people question how it’s possible that neither one of us is bothered by the way the other tries to love and serve the world. As we thought about the exclusivity question, we struggled to identify ways our relationship is exclusive. We’ve been amazed that as our relationship has deepened and matured, it has also become less and less exclusive. Our commitment to sharing our thoughts with each other transparently means that we have deep intimacy between the two of us. And ultimately, that intimacy serves to connect us to, rather than isolate us from, the world around 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.

Love, Languages, and Logic

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A reflection by Lindsey

As I have been discerning my celibate vocation over the past few years, I’ve heard a lot of objections on various grounds. Many people say that celibacy cannot possibly be life-giving because physical touch is one of five “love languages.” Gary Chapman championed the concept in his 1995 book, which has spawned all sorts of spin-offs. I know people who have spent considerable time discerning how words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, and physical touch affect how they experience love. Some believe that if they understand their own love languages and how their loved ones have different native tongues, then they will be able to love much better.

There are merits to Chapman’s ideas. Anyone who has ever received a Lindsey hug knows how much I value my ability to speak the language of physical touch. But recent experiences have me questioning if love’s languages are quite so logically discernible.

Sarah is adjusting to life with Ménière’s disease, and it’s progressing quickly. If you’re like me, this is probably the first time you’ve ever heard of this condition. It’s a degenerative inner ear disorder that impacts hearing and balance. It causes unpredictable attacks of vertigo accompanied by fullness and ringing in the ears and temporary hearing loss. Over time, the hearing loss becomes permanent, ranging from mild to profound in severity depending upon the specific patient. Treatment involves trying to slow the degeneration, and the options are none too appealing. Speaking candidly, some are outright terrifying. Sometimes in frustration and sadness I find myself asking, who wakes up in the morning wondering whether within a few weeks/months/years, he or she will be trying to decide whether to go with steroidal injections that accelerate hearing loss or with a surgery to cut nerves of the balance and motion sensors? This condition is life-altering in many ways.

While some might argue that it’s Sarah’s diagnosis and not my responsibility to manage, it affects my life also. Daily, I get to make all kinds of fun choices. Drastically limiting sodium intake is a first line defense. I oscillate between being shocked by the amount of sodium in everything and feeling triumphant when I’ve managed to prepare surprisingly creative meals where all the ingredients combined have less than 400 mg of sodium. (And, being the engineer that I am, I tend to press a bit harder to see if I can keep that total reliably below 300 mg.) I have tried to transition our kitchen into a low sodium kitchen because it’s easier to avoid eating particular items if you don’t have them in the house at all. Restaurants rarely have meals that are low enough in sodium, so we’re having to rethink what we want to do when we want to be out and about in the city.

Despite our best efforts, Sarah continues to experience periods of temporary profound hearing loss, and over the past few weeks we’ve witnessed the level of permanent hearing loss increasing. I didn’t really gain any empathy for what Sarah has been experiencing until I played around with a hearing loss simulator. And…wow. My mind was completely blown. I didn’t realize that it was possible for people to lose the ability to hear certain letters. If you’re a hearing person, could you imagine living your life in a constant game of Wheel of Fortune? Sarah has been working with a great ear, nose, and throat (ENT) doctor who specializes in inner ear disorders, but Sarah’s audiograms show continuing declines in nerve function. We’re bracing ourselves because we anticipate doing what we can to preserve balance in at least one ear, which likely means we’ll make choices that accelerate Sarah’s hearing loss.

When faced with complete helplessness, I’m generally okay with searching for a way to do something rather than nothing. Sarah has a good number of close friends in the Deaf community. I’ve been doing what I can to develop survival ASL skills. So far, most of my letters are recognizable (by Sarah) even though I’m still trying way too hard and cramping my hands. We’ve been practicing my alphabet with the School Song from Matilda the Musical. I also know the exceptionally important signs for “hamster” and “squirrel” and can sign some of my most frequently used phrases. I sometimes join in as Sarah studies for ASL class. In addition to Sarah’s course, we’re looking forward to attending ASL sessions offered for free at the public library so I can expand my basic vocabulary.

Periodically over the last several weeks, these realities have hit me hard. I reflect frequently on what it means to me to tell Sarah that I’m opting in, 100%. I’m still in, and I have no intention of going anywhere. The mindboggling “logic” of love continues to surprise me. I’m learning something about how Christ neither leaves nor forsakes us. I see a great deal of wisdom in doing what I can to adapt to changing situations rather than focusing all of my efforts into praying that Christ would magically restore Sarah’s hearing. To be sure, I pray about the situation constantly. Yet my mind constantly wanders towards how hearing people have a number of misconceptions about deaf and hard of hearing people. When I get into engineering mode, I think about designing something that has broad import and meets Sarah’s needs. I think about how having even basic conversation skills in ASL will enable me to connect to a whole new group of people.

As I’ve learned to live into my celibate vocation, the word “choice” has taken on new meaning for me. The easiest thing for me to control in this situation is my attitude. I have made different choices regarding my personal level of investment. It’s easier for me to zoom in my energies on mastering low sodium cooking than it is for me to learn ASL. Vocations tend to work best when people can build upon their natural strengths. Nonetheless, the cost of living one’s vocation is high. I really dislike the idea that Sarah and I need to figure out other ways to have fun. Restaurants offered such a perfect solution for my introversion and Sarah’s extroversion. A desire to empathize with Sarah has changed my understanding of what it means when a person is deaf or hard of hearing. I’ve been praying about how Christ wants this new understanding to impact my life, and I sense that I will have more and more opportunities to interact with people who are deaf or hard of hearing.

We’ve written a number of posts where commenters have asked us, “How is what you’re talking about different from a marriage?” I’d like to pre-empt that question a bit. Over the last several weeks, I’ve noticed some interesting trends in my thoughts:

  • I keep thinking about the people I haven’t met yet. I have at least four (five, if you count Sarah) friends who are deaf, hard of hearing, or in the process of losing hearing. But I find myself prayerfully musing on the people I will meet as Sarah develops greater confidence in conversing in ASL.
  • The engineer in me is pretty frustrated with the state of our technological solutions for people who lose their hearing after growing up in the hearing world. I’m keeping a notebook of ideas to see if I can work with people to develop the ideas further.
  • I reflect on people I’ve met while supporting Sarah with other health concerns.

We talk often about how the celibate vocation enables people to love and serve the world differently. While I certainly do not want to lose the ability to communicate effectively with Sarah, my thoughts turn quickly towards other people in similar situations. The fact that Sarah is hurting is a comparatively minimal part of my outrage at the state of things. I should note that my outrage is reasonably massive, but it’s clear that the situation developing within our community of two will spur action that extends far beyond our little family. Mother Maria of Paris frequently wrote on the need to serve people on the margins of society. I find myself asking for her intercession as I work to discern my next steps.

I am not the only person who has had to navigate receiving tough health news within his or her family. Many people give their all to caring for and advocating on behalf of their loved ones. I have been amazed to watch parents and children rallying together during health crises, and in no way do I want to belittle the selfless gifts of those who are not living celibate vocations. They give themselves to each other as a family. Monastics will frequently devote themselves to caring for one another, explaining their actions in terms of attending to their brothers or sisters. I’ve noticed that through this most recent health ordeal, God is challenging me to open my heart that much more towards people as he keeps reminding me over and over again that Sarah is human. I’m not quite sure what to make of that rather consistent nudge in my prayer life, but I’m seeing how it directs me towards loving and serving the world in a way that is unlike any I’ve ever known.

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.

Loving Celibacy until Life’s Twilight — Fr. Matthew Kelty

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Everyone has role models when it comes to living their vocations. As we’ve stated before, we want to share stories of people whose lives and celibate vocations have inspired us. We draw on historic examples as well as people we know currently living celibate vocations. Every celibate person provides insight into the unique textures of this type of vocation. Today, we would like to introduce our readers to Fr. Matthew Kelty.

Fr. Matthew (1915-2011) is best known as Fr. Thomas Merton’s confessor. Born Charles Richard Kelty Junior, he was ordained in 1946. He served as a missionary in Papua New Guinea from 1947 to 1951 and eventually made his way to the monastery at Gethsemani near Bardstown, Kentucky in 1960. He wrote an autobiographical spiritual reflection called Flute Song, where he described the processes of discernment being analogous to finding the song that lives in a flute. Readers can get a further glimpse into his spiritual wisdom by reading his homilies delivered at the monastery. After Fr. Matthew had reposed, news outlets took note of his essay entitled “Celibacy and the Gift of Gay” that appeared as an epilogue to My Song is of Mercy.

Lindsey first encountered Fr. Matthew’s story shortly after reading Wesley Hill’s Washed and Waiting. Lindsey felt that it did not deliver on it’s promise to discuss how gay Christians could experience God’s favor and blessing, and experienced a sense of sadness after reading it. But not two weeks later, Lindsey learned about Fr. Matthew and jumped to read more because “Celibacy and the Gift of Gay” seemed an entirely intriguing concept.

We find Fr. Matthew inspiring because he provided thoughtful spiritual guidance to his congregation while being openly gay. His homilies included organic references to issues within the gay community far before efforts to create inclusive churches. Many of his writings drip with wisdom. Consider, for example:

There are many kinds of men, there are many kinds of gay. There are many ways of explaining the genesis of what it is to be gay, just as there are many ways of living out that gift (pg. 256).

He describes how a celibate gay person can work on integrating his or her sexuality when he says:

For the gay must become comfortable with his being a human, two dimensional, tough and tender, strong and gentle. His search for wholeness is not a search for personality, but for Christ, who cannot be met by anything less than a person, let alone be loved. The love of God is possible in depth only to the whole person, at least the beginnings of one. From there on the limit is no limit (pg. 258).

His writings are challenging and include exhortations that would cause many people to question their received understanding of sexuality. His discussion of communal love is thought-provoking:

Communal love is a Godsend, be it formal or unstructured, yet only when men are free of the shackles that inhibit. And since those who tend to worry will worry here about sex, the answer is simple: sex is no problem. Love is. Where there is no love you can expect sex to emerge. All men want love, celibates too. Sex can be one way of loving, but it is absurd to say: no sex is no love, as absurd as saying sex is love (pg. 259).

It’s rather incredible to us that Fr. Matthew was writing these quotes in 1994.

Fr. Matthew had lived the majority of his life before he wrote “Celibacy and the Gift of Gay.” When Lindsey first read his essay, in addition to his autobiography and homilies, it became abundantly clear that Fr. Matthew saw himself integrating his sexuality rather than oppressing it. His tone was never in-your-face, but he wrote as a person fundamentally connected with himself through contemplative prayer. He reminded us of the importance of looking for people who have discovered how celibate vocations give life, even into our twilight years.

Trying to make sense of your celibate vocation can be hard when you are in your twenties. You have the bulk of your life still to live. It’s great to meet people old enough to be your grandparents or great-grandparents who are relishing in their celibate vocations. They’ve lived their lives and discerned their ways by asking difficult questions. Fr. Matthew lived through some pretty incredible times, but he came out at the end still singing about the celibate vocation. His song gives us a lot of hope.

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.

Celibate Gay Christians, Recovering Addicts, and Communities of Abstinence

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A reflection by Sarah

It seems that once every few weeks, there’s a news story about some pastor, activist, celebrity, or politician who has made a comparison between recovering addicts and gay people who abstain from sexual activity. The most recent of these has resulted from a post on the Family Research Council’s blog, in which Peter Sprigg uses Robin Williams’ death and history of addictions treatment as a jumping off point for an argument in favor of sexual orientation change efforts. As I read that post, I was absolutely mortified. It has made me even more certain that the topic of “homosexuality and addiction” warrants further discussion. As of now, the conversation is relatively shallow: mostly folks on one side of the aisle or the other yelling back and forth about whether they’re looking at apples and oranges, or apples and apples.

I wrote once before on why making certain comparisons between homosexuality and addiction is problematic. It doesn’t matter if the person making the analogy is suggesting that gay people can become straight or sexually active gay people could become celibate if treatment programs were offered. The comparison between homosexuality and addiction is rife with misconceptions about both gay people and addicts, and I believe that dispelling these is exceptionally important. But when we who write on this topic focus exclusively on pointing out all the ways that homosexuality is or is not like addiction, we miss opportunities to consider this topic from alternative angles. Today, I’d like to begin exploring one of these other dimensions.

After publishing my own post about why homosexuality and addiction analogies fall short, I began to reflect on some of the the unexpected similarities between communities that celibate LGBT people form and fellowships that recovering addicts form. As I have shared before, I am both a celibate gay Christian and a recovering addict. Over time, I’ve come across phenomenal groups of people in each of these worlds, and I’ve found that the best communities of celibate gay Christians share certain attributes in common with the best recovery communities. But unfortunately, both tend to be characterized incorrectly in similar ways by outsiders. Those looking in from the outside often assume that these communities are focused exclusively on abstinence and have little else to offer their members.

I’ve had dozens of conversations with people who have not experienced either type of community, but nonetheless envision both celibates and recovering addicts as constantly white-knuckling their abstinence. All too frequently, outsiders frame addiction recovery as, “Just stop doing/using (the addictive behavior or substance).” And I must admit, I held this assumption when I first began addressing my own addictions. When I began seeking treatment for bulimia, I believed naively that if I could learn how to force myself to eat normally, all would be perfect in my universe. It didn’t take long before I realized that nothing about recovery is this simple. When an addict tries to explain that it’s difficult to stop using a substance or engaging in a behavior, it’s easy for those who don’t understand this experience to imagine that the addict will spend the rest of his or her life hanging onto a metaphorical ledge by a fingernail.  Every minute a person spends abstaining is then perceived as torturous. With some regularity, I have to clarify that this is not my experience of recovery, and after doing so I’m often met with confusion: “If you and most of your friends at your meetings aren’t struggling regularly to stay in recovery, why go? What’s the point?” Similarly, many outsiders to celibate LGBT communities posit that celibacy is nearly impossible, and that those who do succeed must live in constant agony, ready to bend and break at any moment. Once I began discussing my celibacy openly, I noticed that the majority of people in my life had the same reactions as when I’d become more comfortable sharing my seriousness about recovery: “That’s a long, hard road, Sarah. You’ll be fighting temptation for the rest of your life. What a struggle it must be for you to avoid slipping.” And I’ve lost count of how many friends have suggested that I’m denying myself one of life’s greatest pleasures, and I must have no reason to interact with other gay celibates beyond helping them not to have sex and asking them to support me in not having sex.

A related misunderstanding about both addiction recovery and celibate LGBT communities is that when we aren’t white-knuckling together, we must be commiserating instead. Truth be told, trying to live intentionally — whether as a husband or wife, a celibate, a person in recovery, or a person in any number of other life situations — is full of difficulties. Sometimes, making decisions aligned with a particular way of life is incredibly hard. However, neither my recovery journey nor my commitment to celibacy can be characterized only by the tough parts. It’s not unusual for people in my life to ask me about my support group meetings, “Do you all just sit around and talk about how much it sucks not to be able to do x, y, or z anymore?” And as I share about my experience of fellowship with other celibate gay Christians, the same folks usually ask the exact same question. Non-celibate people, both LGBT and straight, often want to know what celibate LGBT spaces, both in person and online, are like. But it can be challenging to hold that discussion with interested outsiders who first conceive of these spaces as dreary, mournful corners of the internet where everyone bemoans his or her sexual orientation and the challenges of living celibacy. It takes a great deal of time to show others that a commitment to celibacy doesn’t necessarily indicate that life is absolutely horrible and meaningless on just about every metric of human flourishing.

A third common misconception about these two types of communities is that we look down upon others who are not part of our circles. To an extent, outsiders who perceive our communities in this way probably have good reasons. When a person adopts a new way of life, he or she can be especially zealous. For example, it’s not unheard of for an alcoholic who has just begun attending recovery meetings to begin assessing all of his or her friends’ levels of alcohol use. Similarly, I’ve known folks who have spent their first few months of committed celibacy critically examining their other LGBT friends’ non-celibacy. Very few people are comfortably “out” regarding their statuses as recovering addicts or celibate LGBT Christians. But because so many people in my life have had negative experiences with folks in either group (or both), I am told with some regularity that forcing others into a certain way of life is the only reason someone might share openly about his or her journey in a community of abstinence. I’ve lost count of the number of times an acquaintance has told me, “The problem with celibate gays is they all demand that every other gay person has to become celibate.” Yet despite these sentiments from people outside the celibate gay community, rarely have I met a celibate gay Christian who would actively approach a non-celibate gay person with a wagging finger, spouting choice bits of Christianese, and inquiring about the specifics of that person’s sexual behaviors. Likewise, I’ve found that members of addiction recovery communities who would engage in this sort of behavior toward outsiders are very much in the minority.

Healthy communities of any kind focus on a positive vision for life. If someone where to ask me how I’ve benefited from participation in addiction recovery communities and celibate gay communities, I couldn’t conceive of responding with a simple, “They helped me to stop doing a, b, and c.” My active participation in addiction recovery communities has brought numerous gifts. I have received support for living a way of life that is purposeful and fulfilling. I’ve come to see that being accountable is not merely providing an answer to, “Have you avoided particular behaviors?” but is instead thinking deeply, “Am I living a way of life that promotes wellness on multiple axes?” I know that no matter what, I will find acceptance, love, and compassion in these communities. No one is going to shame, berate, browbeat, or belittle me if I experience a relapse. Instead, they’re all going to be there for me as they love me, embrace me warmly, care for me, and remain with me through my challenges. They won’t see me as a hypocrite; they’ll see me as a human. They can witness my struggles and defects of character while at the same time seeing me as a human being worthy of love. I’ve been blessed to observe these same dynamics at play in celibate gay communities. Members of celibate gay communities know that it’s essential to help each other discern a way of life that extends far beyond what we aren’t doing: most of us are much more interested in learning how to draw near to God than in policing whether anyone else is having sex. Having a foot in both of these worlds has taught me that any community of abstinence is healthiest when it is uplifting and welcoming rather than fear-based and forceful.

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.

When Marriage Becomes the Default Vocation

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One benefit of cultivating a celibate vocation is that we get to know other people who live celibacy. It can be reasonably challenging to find celibates until one figures out where to look for them. Unfortunately, it’s rare to see celibacy discussed much, if at all, in the majority of Christian traditions outside the question of whether LGBT people should be celibate. Some argue that LGBT people do not have any opportunity to discern their vocations because so many Christian traditions seem to present celibacy as the default option. We’ve seen these types of conversations ourselves, so we have no doubts that some churches give LGBT people unfunded mandates to be celibate without providing any practical support. Additionally, we believe that many who criticize “celibacy as a default” overlook how conversations about sexual ethics in some traditions emphasize marriage as the default vocation for all people.

Consider the ways Christians are taught about sexual ethics. Many denominations exhort people to “save sex until marriage” and believe that “true love waits.” We know several LGBT Christians with relatively progressive sexual ethics in terms of same-sex marriage who are completely committed to waiting until they are married to have sex. Justin Lee, the executive director of the Gay Christian Network, articulates his convictions that sex should be reserved for marriage. Matthew Vines, author of God and the Gay Christian, has defended his commitment to stay abstinent until his wedding day. So many people define a Christian sexual ethic as not having sex outside of the marriage covenant. But by presenting sexual ethics solely in this manner, many traditions unwittingly overlook how Christians cultivate chastity by learning to steward their bodies responsibly.

We have engaged in conversations where people argue that sexual ethics should focus primarily on the choices humans make about when and with whom to have sex. We agree resolutely that the choice to have sex is deeply personal. Whether any other person on the planet is having sex is none of our business. However, emphasizing the permissibility of sex as the primary issue makes an assumption that every person is looking for an opportunity to have sex.

Celibacy is not a new idea within Christianity. Catholicism, Orthodoxy, Anglicanism, and some other Christian traditions have well developed views on the marital vocation, celibate vocations, and the discernment process. The two of us have had different levels of experience with a range of other Christian traditions and have discovered that celibacy is rarely discussed, except in the context of spiritual gifts. Lindsey has seen spiritual gift inventories that ask people questions about their levels of sexual desire in an effort to discern the gift of celibacy. Often, these inventories posit that only asexual people or those with very low sex drives have been gifted with celibacy. We’re left asking, “What happens when any person who does not fit this description wants to explore the possibilities of celibacy?”

Experience has shown us that many Christians tend to diminish the presence people exploring celibacy. If someone visits a new congregation alone, greeters will ask the visitor if he or she is married and has children. Newly engaged friends can tell all their single friends not to worry because, “Eventually, your day will come.” Singles ministries provide people with ample time to mix and mingle. Conversations at church frequently check in on how someone’s children are doing. When you comment that you’re not married, some people go so far as to shoot you a pitiful glance before quickly exiting the conversation. In Lindsey’s former Christian tradition, Lindsey frequently heard other people laughing and ridiculing the idea that anyone would have the “gift of celibacy.” They would ask jokingly, “How is it even possible that a person has such a low level of sexual desire?” and imply that Paul must have been crazy if he suggested not wanting sex was a spiritual gift.

Within some Christian traditions, an LGBT person who indicates that he or she might be considering celibacy frequently receives a hostile reception. Celibacy is treated as a code word for internalized homophobia, self-hatred, self-loathing, religious oppression, patriarchy, absurd self-denial, or sexual deviancy. In the last two weeks alone on the internet, we’ve seen significant evidence of this hostility. One author suggested that people pursuing celibacy “will almost always end up having sex on the DL anyway, and that leads to higher rates of HIV transmission” and lead lives that are analogous to cutting fruits and vegetables out of their diets. Another author said that encouraging celibacy is linked to any number of negative health outcomes including “depression, anxiety, self-destructive behavior, sexual dysfunction, avoidance of intimacy, loss of faith and spirituality, and the reinforcement of internalized homophobia and self-hatred, to name a few.” A recent internet meme portrays a celibate person as experiencing intense desires for sex only to say, “No! I mustn’t!” Another recent article runs through a list of passages, which we’ve termed the other clobber passages, to make an argument that celibacy is rare, difficult, and a “nearly impossible vocation.” These assertions, while disappointing, are far from surprising as we’ve encountered similar sentiments when we’ve visited Open and Affirming congregations.

The net consequence of these discussions is that it’s incredibly easy for people to get the message that marriage is the default vocation for all. Marriage becomes a rite of passage to adulthood, and being unmarried is a stigma in some faith communities. When people within a Christian tradition argue that the celibate vocation is incredibly rare, they are making an argument that essentially says, “99.99% of people marry. There might be a very small number of people gifted with celibacy, but the chances that you might be one of this minority are slim. So there’s no real reason to consider the possibility.” We believe that the Church as a whole is impoverished when Christians never anticipate meeting a person with a celibate vocation.

We understand why people want to affirm that some are gifted with celibacy and emphasize that this gift may be rare. Paul clearly references the gift of celibacy in the Scriptures. But of equal importance is that people have diverse reasons for entering celibate vocations. These reasons include, but are not limited to, having a passion to love and serve the world differently than a married person, developing an affinity for a particular monastic community, not perceiving a call towards parenthood, deciding one’s spirituality is more focused on God when one is not pursuing a marriage relationship, enjoying one’s life as it is without marital obligations, or sensing that one has the gift of celibacy. It’s also not terribly uncommon for people to embrace the celibate vocation out of obedience: they sense that God is asking them to commit to celibacy for reasons they do not understand, they respect their Christian tradition’s teachings on marriage and realize that they are not keen on embracing a marital vocation, or they want to remain faithful to their sexual ethics despite an extended season of involuntary celibacy. The exact reasons why people have embraced celibacy are between them and their spiritual advisors unless they choose to share with others.

When people acknowledge and affirm a broader set of reasons to embrace celibate vocations, it becomes more obvious that God is not asking every person to enter a martial relationship. Vocational discernment becomes prayerfully seeking answers to the questions, “God, what would You have me do as I seek to love You more? Who have You created to me to be? How can I more fully image Christ’s likeness to everyone I meet?”

Christians need to stop mocking the gift of celibacy by suggesting that living the celibate vocation requires superhuman strength and a nearly complete absence of sexual desire. When celibacy is presented in this way, it becomes an inhuman way of life to the point of being seen as inhumane. However, celibacy is an entirely human vocation. Real men and women have borne witness to the kingdom of God for centuries through myriad celibate vocations. Christians would benefit from getting to know real people who live celibacy — some of whom might be in their midst without their awareness. Why did they embrace celibacy? How did celibacy provide a way for them to learn to love themselves, their neighbors, and God? What gifts did they share with the world as they embraced their vocations fully?

(Stay tuned for more profiles of real celibates!)

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