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“Do Christians idolize virginity?”

In a post today on Rachel Held Evans’s fabulous blog (1), she posed the following questions:

“Does the Christian culture idolize virginity?”

and

“How should our narratives surrounding sex, virginity, and purity change, particularly as they concern women?”

I feel compelled to respond.

Whether the Christian culture idolizes virginity depends entirely on your definition of “the Christian culture.” I am reminded of the book The Purity Myth by Jessica Valenti (2), which I read in 2012. In it, Valenti decries what she interchangeably refers to as “the purity myth” and “the virginity movement,” for maintaining the myths that men are uncontrollably interested in sex and women aren’t interested all, for shaming women who have sex outside of wedlock, and for fostering hierarchical relationships (in which men have authority and women submit to them).

Like Valenti, I neither believe that men can’t control themselves nor that women don’t have sex drives.

I am opposed to shaming people who have nonmarital sex.

I am so opposed to hierarchical relationships that I had to stop reading blogs by the people who are for ’em, for the sake of my health (I’m lookin’ at you, Tim Challies.).

But I’m also a 27-year-old virgin.

Who sometimes speaks to youth groups about saving sex.

Who won’t date guys who can’t handle no sex until marriage.

I don’t save sex because I will be “impure” if I don’t. I save sex because I believe saving sex aligns with love like Jesus defines it.

And because “in not knowing what I’m doing [on my wedding night], I can express confidence in my spouse’s commitment to me. In not knowing what to expect, I can infuse my vows with authenticity.”

And because the pursuit of premarital sexual compatibility is at the expense of something more valuable. Because “maybe it’s to a relationship’s disadvantage to pick a partner with whom you’re effortlessly sexually compatible over a partner who is willing to work through conflict. Maybe we do each other a disservice when we search for consistently gratifying sex but avoid opportunities to become people who can communicate when it isn’t. Maybe how willing we are to practice and communicate, and to be uncomfortable and vulnerable in sex [i.e., on the wedding night, if you haven’t slept yet with the guy or the girl you just married] predicts how willing we’ll be to do those things in other parts of a relationship.”

Valenti reserves the right to define “the purity myth” and the “virginity movement” however she wants. But in the book, she did it with disregard for shades of gray. The truth is this isn’t always either/or. It can be both/and. I both am a proponent of chastity (and therefore of abstinence until marriage) and agree that most of what Valenti decries in the book should be decried (I decry it myself!).

All of that is to say this:

If you define “the Christian culture” the way Valenti defines “the purity myth,” then the Christian culture puts virgins on a pedestal. It says “Girls have to cover up so boys don’t objectify them,” which implies it’s the woman’s fault if she stumbles, and it’s the woman’s fault if he stumbles. It perpetuates the maintenance of gender roles at the expense of authenticity. It always says you’re “good” until you’ve had sex, and never says you are still good afterward.

But is that Christian culture the same one that walks the narrow road?

I have a hunch it isn’t.

Which brings us to RHE’s second question: How should our narratives change (presumably in order that they won’t perpetuate Valenti’s purity myth), particularly as they concern women?

We must include men. The “Christian culture” – as implicitly defined by the bloggers RHE quoted in today’s post – takes the onus for upholding purity and puts it on women. Women have to cover up so men don’t sin. Women have to be virgins for their fathers first, and then for their husbands. The result is stuff like the kind but frustrating emails I get in which fans of my work write they wish more women lived like I do, that if all women were chaste the world would be a better place.

As if men have no influence on the state of the world.

We must talk more about sex. People who host purity balls, or call sexually experienced single people “damaged goods,” routinely say “don’t have sex until you’re married” but provide few reasons other than “God says so.” They say “don’t have sex until you’re married” and never talk about sex. But is sex what sex is in our culture because kids got too much accurate information about it?

And we must be explicit. The world doesn’t get to define chastity. I get to define chastity. (Technically, the Catholic Church gets to define it, and I get to borrow its definition. But you catch my drift.) And I have to define it explicitly. The chastity Valenti describes is not the chastity I practice. If I keep my mouth shut about the difference, then I say “I practice chastity” and a lot of people hear “I promote rigid gender roles.” The result, when we aren’t explicit, is a world (plus a segment of the church) that thinks “Christian culture” is a culture that damages women.

If that is “Christian culture,” I frankly want no part.

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1. Click here to read the post on RHE’s blog.

2. Click here to read what I wrote last year about The Purity Myth.

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The goal of chastity.

I have suspected for awhile now that there is little clarity in our culture regarding the goal of chastity.

This is probably in part because there is little clarity regarding the difference between abstinence (which ends at marriage) and chastity (which never ends). But it is also probably in part because chastity contradicts the ways of life our culture encourages us to pursue (and in case it needs to be said, chastity isn’t one of them).

In other words, it’s really freakin’ difficult for the average, unchaste American to wrap his or her head around the concept.

Which isn’t an insult. (It’s an observation.)

A case in point comes from an anonymous comment somebody left on my site the other day, regarding my choice to save sex for marriage, which is rooted in chastity:

“Your options, and the available pool of accomplished men … is severely limited. 99.9% of all the men will have nothing to do with you, and you know it.”

Which is an observation. (But I think it was supposed to be an insult.)

Whoever left the comment is right, and may as well have quoted Jesus:

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.”

1. There are fewer fish in our sea.

but

2. Chaste daters learn not to worry about finding the needle in the haystack (and not solely because we can’t find the right haystack).

The difference between people who practice chastity and people like the one who wrote the comment is this: We are ok with points 1 and 2. They aren’t.

Our ok-ness with points 1 and 2 is the result of knowing the goal of chastity.

Of knowing few people in our culture find a man or a woman dateable who isn’t going to have sex with them before marriage.

Of knowing this is a non-issue if what you intend to accomplish by dating is to meet somebody who would suit you as a spouse.

Of knowing that if you are saving sex, somebody who is not saving sex is not suitable for you.

Of knowing, when you meet someone not suitable, how to suck it up and move along.

When author Elna Baker wrote about sex for Glamour, she called virginity a disadvantage in dating. In the same way, the anonymous comment implies chastity is a disadvantage. As if the small pool of people from which chaste daters can choose is proof our way of life doesn’t work.

But the “good luck with thats” and the “you’ll be single forevers” and the anonymous comments like the one around which this post revolves are proof of this:

People don’t get our way of life.

The goal of chastity is love.

It’s about death to self and self mastery, which require abstinence until marriage, and celibacy if you aren’t married. It’s about upholding the intrinsic value of the human, which requires us neither to use nor objectify each other, which requires us to reject relationships that are based solely on emotions or sensations (to reject, in other words, relationships based solely on what use they are of to me).

And it does, in fact, mean that “99.9% of all the men” will have nothing to do with me.

Which, believe it or not, makes practicing it a lot easier.

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[Guest Post] Why chastity is easy.

[callout]This is a guest post by blogger Jake Nelko.[/callout]

Anyone who has remained chaste until marriage will tell you it’s not easy.

As humans, we are constantly bombarded with the temptation to throw chastity out the window and do whatever we need to acquire the sexual pleasure we want. American society certainly puts these things on our plate daily through the media, trickling down into our day-to-day life.

In other words, there are pretty girls everywhere and they dress pretty and carry themselves pretty and talk pretty and smile pretty and there aren’t a lot of factors in society telling me to not try to have sex with them. Is that direct enough?

So, why haven’t I had sex yet? Well, there have been several factors that have made this decision not only attainable, but easy (relatively speaking).

It was described to me early on in life that maintaining my virginity for the future Mrs. Nelko would be one of the best gifts I could offer. Holding on to that special gift to give to one and only one person would be the greatest thing I could offer. Think about it, though. How many things or acts can you suggest are given to only one person? If we receive a gift that is only received by one person, this allows us to feel like the most special person in his or her life.

Also, I believe in a God who is bigger than I am. This isn’t the most “practical” reason, but it’s certainly the backbone of why I’ve made this life decision. I am a Christian and believe in loving God and others above myself. The best way for me to love God through my sexual life is by not putting sex above Him. When we choose to have sex outside marriage, we choose to selfishly fulfill our desires. I say “we” because I am certainly a twenty-something man who has deviated sexually on my own, as almost every man has. When we do this, it’s an act of choosing ourselves above God.

In the same vein, I believe in loving others above myself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about seeking my own pleasure from relationships of any kind with females, it’s that we, as men, are called to protect the hearts of our sisters by loving them as sisters. Sex outside of marriage creates a certain confusion through selfishness. Connecting with someone on a sexual level is a connection that is not shared often (I’d hope) and, therefore, is a special connection not to be taken lightly. Sharing sex with someone outside of a committed relationship shows a lack of care for the feelings and heart of the other person through this confusion of feelings and emotions.

As a result of these things, here is my practical response: I do my best to avoid situations where I may be tempted sexually. With the guidance of a mentor at my campus ministry in college, I laid out some ground rules for myself that I follow with lady friends. I generally don’t kiss girls with whom I am not in a relationship. I don’t hold hands with girls I’m not dating. I avoid spending one-on-one time with a girl after midnight. I don’t touch girls areas normally covered by bathing suits or see them naked. I avoid the gray areas, so the temptation to progress further can be avoided.

I also keep people around who will keep me accountable. I am a pretty open book and wear my heart on my sleeve, so it’s difficult for me to hide the truth when asked. I keep strong Christian men around me who will ask difficult questions and make sure that I’m treating women with the love and respect they deserve as God’s children. If we aren’t asked challenging questions and, instead, are left to our own devices, we certainly will make decisions that benefit ourselves and no one else.

These reasons may or may not resonate with you, but they’re my reasons. Chastity has been easy because I’ve made good, selfless decisions. I’ve made plenty of little mistakes, but the Lord has provided the strength and guidance needed, as well as the support around me, to make sure this has been possible.

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About the blogger: Jake Nelko, 27, lives in Tacoma, WA, while his heart resides in Pittsburgh, PA. He makes a living as a Career Development Specialist at the University of Washington Tacoma and spends his free time covering new music for Ear to the Ground Music, writing for his own personal blog, and playing drums for the gangster folk band Michelle from the Club.

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Virginity in print.

As it turns out, I am not the only woman who has put her virginity in print.

Another is a woman named Elna Baker, who in 2009 wrote an essay for Glamour called “Yes, I’m a 27-Year-Old Virgin.” But her story and mine are very different. In hers, she wrote of frequent close calls in beds with men and the Mormon roots that repeatedly compelled her to stop just short of sex.

And in 2011, Baker wrote a follow-up essay for Glamour. It’s called “Guess What? I’m Not a Virgin Anymore!”

Both essays are charming. Both are well written. And I have a few things to say in response to snippets of both. Read on.

From what Baker wrote before she had sex:

1. …everything I knew about sex I learned in church. I remember a Sunday school class on chastity when I was 13. The teacher walked into the classroom and slammed a tray of cookies onto the table with a loud clank.

“Does anyone want a cookie?” she asked in an aggressive tone. We perked up in our seats. Chastity class was always easier to endure when the teacher brought food, but something was amiss. Upon further inspection, the cookies were half-eaten, broken and sprinkled with dirt. “Anyone?” When no one answered, she nodded emphatically and said, “That’s right, no one wants a dirty, half-eaten cookie.” And that, my friends, is how I learned not to have sex.

For Baker’s Sunday school teacher to call what she taught “chastity” is unfortunate. Chastity is “the successful integration of sexuality within the person and thus the inner unity of man in his bodily and spiritual being. … Chastity includes an apprenticeship in self-mastery which is a training in human freedom. The alternative is clear: either man governs his passions and finds peace, or he lets himself be dominated by them and becomes unhappy. … The virtue of chastity comes under the cardinal virtue of temperance, which seeks to permeate the passions and appetites of the senses with reason.”* Dirty cookies are irrelevant to chastity. They’re frankly irrelevant to abstinence, too.

2. Although my virginity was a disadvantage, I stayed hopeful about dating.  … Right there on the floor of the yoga studio, despite everything my parents and religion taught me, I decided to change the rules. I, Elna Baker, could have premarital sex. My criteria were pretty simple: It had to be with someone I trusted (no one-night stands). Most important, I would not cave to pressure from anyone. I had to make the decision for myself.

Over the next year, instead of just kissing sitting up, I started kissing lying down (the gateway drug to sex). And my dating life actually improved. By not taking sex off the table right away, I made it past the four-week mark in relationships with several different guys.

That guys won’t date you for more than a month because you’re saving sex does not mean virginity is a disadvantage. It means you’re dating the wrong guys. (And convinced, perhaps, that no other kind of guy exists.)

From what Baker wrote after she had sex: 

1. I thought it would help to go public about my virginity in a magazine; it ended up turning me into a reluctant spokesperson for abstinence. There were perks—the supportive e-mails I got from strangers were moving—but because I was so out there about it, Google soon became my biggest cock block. Guys would look me up and just think, No way. And to be honest, I had grown used to the fascination, disgust and confusion my virginity elicited in men.

So it’s a bad thing that guys who can’t handle your virginity don’t want to date you? Because I prefer that they don’t try.

2. And then it really hit me: I wasn’t a virgin anymore. That part of my identity was gone, and I had to face the fact that, at 28, I had no idea who I was.

This – virginity as part of identity – is a sad side effect of being taught abstinence outside of the context of chastity. Chastity is a way of life livable by people who are single, married or celibate. Chastity as part of identity is safe, because chastity never ends.

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Click here to read what Baker wrote before she had sex.

Click here to read what she wrote afterward.

Click here to read what I most recently put in print about virginity.