Confessions of a Sexual Celibate

What can the 'Virgins' teach Jordan Peterson about gender?

Image of consecrated virgins from wikipedia.

Years ago, I used to laugh every time a feast day came around for a “virgin” of the church. I couldn’t help myself, poking fun at saints who the church only remembered for never getting laid. Is this the best we can do, I would think, are these the best models for holiness we have, sexless and puritanical?

But then I met the friars, a rag-tag troupe of celibate brothers. I fell in love and last month, I renewed my vows for the second time in the Franciscan order: vows of poverty, obedience, and of course chastity. Now, God is having the last laugh.

So what changed? I don't think sex is evil, or that celibacy is a holier way to heaven than any other. I am an unabashedly sexual being, embracing every part of my desires and sexual feelings as God-given. I thought the early virgins and celibate monks, nuns, and friars who would follow were out of touch with their bodies in unhealthy ways, ways that the gospel never intended.

I failed to recognize that the virgins’ rejection of sex in the early church radically defied the gender norms imposed on them by the political and economic systems of their day. Joining the friars taught me that, if lived well, celibacy could be a powerful witness to the dignity of all people, regardless of their identity or relationships.

All the Single Ladies

The dominant culture in the second and third centuries viewed women as reproductive tools essential for creating progeny and passing on an inheritance. A woman had dignity who was someone’s mother or someone’s husband. But the virgins were neither, rejecting marriage arrangements and family ties, living singly or together, building community and support for those on the margins.

Today, it’s easy to miss the greater significance of the virgins’ celibacy; easy to romanticize their choice as a virtuous life of purity and detatchment for the kingdom. But the virgin’s decision to leave family and country behind to live independently among the poor would have scandalized pagans and Christians alike. Theologian Sr. Sandra Schneider writes in her book Buying the Field,

“The Consecrated virgins made a radical choice against not only reproduction for the empire, but also reproduction for the family. In the virgin the family died out historically, something the virgin considered not a tragedy (like barrenness in the Jewish community) or a curse (like being born or made a eunuch), but a triumphal espousal of the Resurrection...”

The virgins, along with men and women religious after them, refused to be tools or “means-to-ends” within a patriarchal system. Celibacy as lived by consecrated religious makes radical claims about sexuality and gender, especially within systems of power and injustice. Celibacy means solidarity with the isolated and advocacy for those in relationships or lifestyles that deviate from the norm.

If marriage embodies “family values,” celibacy in religious life embodies “liminal values'' which seek to empower every person, regardless of their adherence to an ideal. Religious life at its best embodies the margins. While some people in power might denigrate individuals who fall outside the dominant culture, celibates argue that no one gives a person dignity except God.

Like a Virgin

Compare the virgins’ approach to living the gospel with someone like Jordan Peterson, who recently argued that “The Christian Church is there to remind people, young men included, and perhaps even first and foremost, that they have a woman to find, a garden to walk in, a family to nurture, an arc to build, a land to conquer.” The quote continues, but it’s fair to say that most consecrated religious would take some issue with his interpretation.

Peterson contributes to negative gender stereotypes that say men must be strong, dominating, and ruthless. In his own words, men should be monsters. But is this really the gospel, is this the Christian tradition being illuminated by consecrated religious over the centuries? Can we see in this interpretation the “meekness and gentleness of Christ,” who Paul, in his second letter to the Corinthians, urged Christians to imitate? While Peterson imagines an ideal man of great power and machismo, celibates radically defy such a restrictive and unjust ideal.

We consecrated religious do not marry or make families, we do not build great legacies or fortunes for ourselves or our children, we avoid using power or influence over others, and do not look for ways to be remembered forever. Peterson might say we are repressing our true nature as men (he'd probably say something similar for women religious too). But I'd argue that celibates give witness to the great diversity in gender and sexual expressions which are often condemned by Christians themselves.

In the last few years, the friars have encouraged me and my classmates to be healthy and integrated individuals. Every year we participate in workshops on sexuality. And while we all take the same vow of celibacy, consecrated religious run the whole spectrum of sexuality. The work of a celibate isn't to deny his/her desires, but to embrace and integrate all parts of themselves, even those parts that make them or others uncomfortable.

Celibacy is a gift to the church in the exact same way as every human person is a gift to the church. Celibates remind the church and the world that all people are loved by God in and of themselves; they remind the world not to take their ideas and conventions more seriously than people. My favorite image of a celibate is offered by spirituality writer Henri Nouwen who compares the mission of a celibate to the silly performances of clowns. He writes,

“The celibate is like the clown in the circus who, between the scary acts of the trapeze artists and lion tamers, fumbles and falls, reminding us that all human activities are ultimately not so important as the virtuosi make us believe."

Can consecrated religious today live out their celibacy in a way that cries out for the dignity of marginalized peoples like the LGBTQIA community, for example, divorced or remarried couples, or the elderly who so often find themselves alone? I wonder if celibates - like the early virgins before - have what it takes to live their vocation not just for their own personal sanctification, but for the betterment of all people?

Tyler Grudi is a Franciscan Friar ministering in NYC