America was founded on the basis of the separation of church and state, yet religious jargon and Bible quoting is a regular part of our political experience. Recently, issues of birth control and abortion are on the surface of conservative and religious voices as a movement to promote and even enforce purity. This movement encourages an “ethics of passivity,” suppression of female bodies, and a return to traditional gender roles. The purity panic and sexual shame placed on women is an extremely powerful and effective oppressive form of social control religious leaders use to reinforce patriarchal values within the church community today.

            To start, defining what the Bible actually says about sex should be addressed. Male and female desire are most basically, defined by the Bible’s male writers. Of course, a problem arises here as female desire and more extensively, female roles are solely “dictated by male design and male fear.” One of the most famous and prized figures in scripture is the female virgin. In fact, virgin is an attribute only ascribed to females in the Bible and there seems to be no concept of male virgins. Even today, the words used to describe a woman are often interchanged with the word “virgin.” The Bible is filled with polygamists (even our favorite characters like Noah and Abraham), divine lines developed from incestuous relationships, adulterers, and abusers. Truthfully, the Bible tells stories of imperfect heroes who overcame pitfalls to pursue God’s plans for his people.

Since the Bible isn’t really a positive guide for marriage, sex, or equality, let’s examine God incarnate: Jesus. Discussing what God did with his body on earth is necessary because he is meant to be our guide for living. Jesus lived a life of love, compassion, and markedly human experiences. He associated with women more than culturally typical and often worked against patriarchal values rather than enforcing them. Jesus’ bodily experiences were some of his most important: incarnation, the Eucharist, healing through touch, anger, compassion, crucifixion, and resurrection. Moltmann-Wendel argues that “Jesus’ deepest divinity is found in his humanity. If we fail to see the body, we fail to see God.” Jesus’ mission was not to control those around him, but rather enter into relationships that were with people typically oppressed (the sick, the poor, women).

The first effort for anti-sexuality from the Christian church was at the Council of Elvira in 309 CE. Carter Heyward argues that this new policy undermined one of the main foundations of Christian identity: its role in resisting oppressive power structures. Since this period (and perhaps earlier) not only has sex been pinpointed as evil, but it’s also something as pertaining to women, so anti-sex attitudes also created anti-women attitudes as well: “Not only in Christian history but moreover in western history (in which social control has been dominated by the church), the connection between women and sex has been so close as to be synonymous” (Heyward).

Christian teaching on sexuality is caught between two extremes: the sinful and the sacred. Since pre-marital sin is constructed to be the sinful side, our general social construction of sexuality is bad as we grow up in the Church. Jessica Valenti’s book and documentary The Purity Myth seek to bring the virgin ideal to light as a movement meant to roll back women’s rights. This movement is not exclusive to a particular religion or political party (though Christian Republican heavy). By controlling our sex, they are controlling our bodies and controlling our personhood—patriarchy revived. The feminist movement has had countless gains (but also lots of unfinished business) for women and for feminist theology. Christian women can be liberated and redeemed by education, but that’s often not available for all women to obtain.

In recent (and continuing) news, Valenti’s coinage “the purity myth” is at work in full force. The debate (led mostly by male politicians) on birth control and abortion has launched numerous anti-abortion and anti-female health legislation working to shame women who use birth control or want to keep abortion as an option. Shaming is a big part of church teachings and enforcement of morality. McClintock identifies two types of shaming: first there is communal shame—the uses of shame to keep people “in line,” protect tradition, and keep religion sacred. Second, individual shame is felt internally and creates a sense of unworthiness.

Shaming is effective at both alienating people and keeping people conformed to particular social constructs. This form of hierarchal guilt-tripping eliminates acceptance of difference and does the opposite of what the church stands for: loving people the way Jesus loves us.  Perpetuating sexuality as bad (to standards of religious law) does much to establish other values as well and in turn shapes our idea of what morality is. Valenti fleshes out this idea fully in her discussion on the media’s virginity ideal as also being instrumental in shaping what morality is. She emphatically urges parents to instead of teaching our girls that not having sex makes a moral person to teach them that having good character makes a good person. Values like honesty and integrity are immensely more important to our judgments to what kind of human being we  and others are.

The system of obsessively controlling sexuality is powerful and powerfully oppressive. For women, the leaders controlling and restricting sex serve to reinforce patriarchal values that men are strong and in control while women are passive and lack control. It perpetuates sexism and traditional gender roles (wife, mother, heterosexual). It is spiritually oppressive and physically oppressive for women especially. The system of sexual control is an absolutely unacceptable form of Christian teaching and lifestyle enforcement. I am not suggesting that we should teach our youth to have sex and that is okay at any age, but I am definitely suggestion that we shouldn’t obsessively teach them not to. Let’s change the focus of our teaching to issues of character being about responsibility, integrity, and honesty—not whether or not we have sex.

Queer theology has liberating power not just for homosexuals seeking to find acceptance and meaning in their faith, but creates a more open and appropriate space for understanding of the body of Christ, Biblical symbols, and wider societal issues of power and gender relations.^[1] Contemporary church teachings (and conservative religious political figures) seem to focus on scraps of scripture to shun homosexuality. Copeland reasons boldly: “Church teaching repels gay and lesbian (anti)bodies to the periphery of the ecclesial body and may well disclose just how afraid the church may be of the body of Jesus of Nazareth.”^[2] It is important to mention that sexual orientation is a relatively new understanding and Biblical characters were more aware of (and some participated in) homoerotic experiences and sensuality.

The most obvious, yet cleverly avoided, connection to a queer symbol in the Bible is found both in Israel as the God’s bride and consequently, the Christ’s body on earth as his bride. Hebrew male elites were clearly uncomfortable with this imagery because they “had to imagine themselves collectively as female in relation to God.”^[3] Male leaders were also threatened by this imagery because of the danger that the females might possibly think of themselves as the “primary object of this spousal relationship”^[4] and isolated them further from positions of power and discourse. This symbol was used by prophets to oppose Israel’s alliances with foreign nations that were bringing corruption to Israel’s people and the overturn patriarchal pension for power.^[5]

The bride of Christ is best understood in the context of complementing roles and a multi-gendered body. Gerard Loughlin discusses the fluidity of the bridegroom symbol in the context of John and Jesus. John is seen as the virginal bride (paralleled to Mary) birthed with the help of divine intervention. He lived a life of integrity and dedication, prepared and betrothed to his groom, Jesus.^[6] Of course this interpretation is shocking, but not radical. We are all called, male and female, to be the bride of Christ. Jesus is marketed to women as a knight in shining armor to rescue and love them,^[7] like that ridiculously handsome guy in a popular chick flick. Of course this is a problematic and potentially oppressive way to think about Jesus, but gives women a sense of romantic love that men don’t receive. Thinking of the symbol more fluidly to overcome our homophobic interpretations creates a more inclusive and unified expression of love for a fuller understanding of being the bride of Christ.

Teachings in Churches on homosexuality are touchy and tense at best. Most, not all, contemporary churches communities believe general human rights be granted to homosexual couples, but when it comes to Christianity, they mustn’t be involved. The number of verses speaking on homosexuality is few yet by the way Christian and political leaders talk about it, one would think Jesus dedicated his life to a homophobic cause!  When examined critically as a complete narrative, the Bible’s themes of liberation, truth, and freedom are much more authoritative and consistent in scripture and should be the net in which we discover its interpretations.

Homosexual relationships threaten the most fundamental of patriarchal institutions—the family. Without heterosexual marriages (though perhaps the Church needs to turn its attention to the growing failure of heterosexual marriages and the implications for single-parented children), the balance of power is thrown off and the patriarchy is threatened. However, we must constantly be reminded of Jesus’ life on the margins.

Jesus of Nazareth declared himself with and for others—the poor, the excluded, and despised—and offered a new ‘way’ and new freedom to all who would hear and follow him, we may be confident that the Christ of our faith is for gay and lesbian people. Conversely, if the risen Christ cannot identify with gay and lesbian people then the gospel announces no good news and the reign of God presents no real alternative to the ‘reign of sin.’^[8]

Copeland’s words are deeply convicting. The church is supposed to be the most welcoming community our earth has to offer, yet it is quick to exclude and cast shame on individuals with difference.

Ultimately, Jesus represents a multi-gendered body because the body of Christ remaining incarnate in each of his followers is a multi-gendered one as well. As our society grows and changes, the church must do the same. If we truly want to follow Christ, we will do as he did and passionately accept and embrace all persons.^[9] Doing so will generate freedom from homophobic oppression and a greater sense for multi-gendered love. Elizabeth Stuart argues, “For the church is the only community under a mandate to be queer and it is under such a mandate because its eschatological horizon teaches it that gender and sexual identity are not of ultimate concern thus opening the possibility for love.”^[10] Thus, an understanding of queer theology liberates us to love freely and requires us to live more like Jesus.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately on body theology. Body theology, for those of you like me who didn’t know there was such a thing, is an extremely necessary and often forgotten discussion. Theology of embodiment has been a source of liberation for many feminist theologians…here’s why.

If you think about it, Christianity by nature is filled with themes of embodiment: creation, recreation, physical healing, sacraments (communion, baptism), touch, and most profoundly with the incarnation of God in Jesus. With the Protestant Reformation, focus turned away from a sensual experience of God towards a mental engagement, suppressing the body as a source of sin. The body was despised rather than celebrated. Of course there is some truth to this discussion—especially as Protestants were tired of the corruption and sexual impieties in the Catholic Church. So much has been lost and suppressed because of this shift, namely, women’s bodies are often blamed for impiety—especially sexual ones—and in turn, hidden away from and feared by religious leadership.

Unfortunately, women are taught to be women from the eyes and voices of men. The Bible was written by men and a large majority of our clergy are men. Because we are taught—by society and our churches—to control, manipulate, and dominate our bodies, women are taught that our bodies are sources of sin and are reserved for our husbands by our fathers. Of course not all of us are taught this explicitly, and a lot of the time it’s a subconscious part of religious education. Nonetheless, Christian women often accept and embrace the notions that our purpose and roles center around being modest/prudent wives and mothers. 

Frankly, I am tired of it. In recent months I have read a lot on women’s rights/studies/issues and have been continually convicted that my own religion plays a vital role in the reinforcement of patriarchal values. Do I believe God is oppressive? No. Do I believe the Bible was written by people in a patriarchal cultural mindset? Absolutely. I refuse to take the Bible literally. If that’s how it’s supposed to be, then I’m not a Christian. There’s more to unpack in issues of interpretation and redemption for women in the Bible than I’m willing to write in one blog post, but I like to believe that as a human race we have grown in our cultural, theological, and moral mindsets and can be willing to accept that the cultural norms represented in the Bible aren’t necessarily authoritative for today’s world.

Back to bodies. Feminist theologians study bodies because the liberation of our bodies is the liberation of women. Yes, women are allowed to be members of clergy in a few denominations (praise!), but the way we are taught to be women is continually entrenched with oppressive and patriarchal value. Here’s the thing: I AM MY BODY. My body is my presence, my body is my voice, my body is me. I am tired of suppressing, hiding, controlling it. I want to celebrate and love my body, not despise and exclude it from theological discussion. Jesus had very profound bodily experiences: he got angry, he was compassionate, he healed with his touch. His outpouring of love and healing came from his body. Rebecca Chopp says, “Jesus’ divinity is found in his deepest humanity. If we fail to see his body, we fail to see God.”

I (along with my feminist theologian friends) use the body, specifically women’s bodies, to critique religious oppression. We are made to feel like aliens in our own skin. My challenge and inspiration is to use my body as a way to create new space and find empowerment through the marginalized position my body is placed. Freedom is found in embodied participation in Christianity and the living Word.

If you’ve made it this far, you’ve read all my ramblings. And for that, I thank you. Peace.