Although I’ve been preaching for five years, I’ve somehow avoided The Sex Sermon. I’ve certainly referenced sexuality in sermons but it hasn’t yet been the primary focus.
The good (and challenging) thing about preaching from the Lectionary is that it forces you to preach on passages you wouldn’t have chosen, part of the reason our church decided we needed to follow it.
And this week it’s led me right to a passage which, for the first time, will require me to tackle this topic directly. It’s normal, when doing something for the first time, to reflect on all the times you’ve seen someone else do it. When I do that, I don’t see any way that I, as a woman, can preach about sexuality.
Here’s why: because in most of the Sex Sermons I’ve heard, I’ve been the problem. Well, not me, personally, but women. All of the Sex Sermons I’ve heard have been preached by men and most of them have talked about controlling lusts (which is good). They’ve been appropriately transparent about their own temptations and the ways they have worked to honor the women in their lives (which is good). But since that’s the only perspective I’ve ever heard from a pulpit, it’s easy to think that’s the church’s main message about sexuality: Don’t think about women in certain ways.
It’s an important message, but it’s incomplete. And it’s very hard for a woman to preach that.
As a modest and Christian woman, I’ve been taught to dress so that I don’t draw attention to myself in a sexual way. Even more so as a female preacher. But I’ve learned that in clothing, there’s a fine line between feminine and sexy. And a male pastor may be able to reference his body parts—his legs, his chest—without it being inappropriate. But I do my best to avoid any references to my own body. Not that there’s something inherently evil about it, but in a culture that has a hard time seeing a female body without reference to some sexual standard, it’s hard to talk about it in a mixed-gender, Christian context.
In a culture where 33 percent of men in my church’s demographic think they may be addicted to pornography, I wonder how some of those men see me as I preach. In a culture that values women on the attractive-to-unattractive scale, I have to wonder: If someone finds me attractive, is that distracting? If they find me unattractive, does that mean I have nothing of value to offer?
So maybe it’s time for a woman’s take on sexuality from the pulpit. But what should that be? Is it my place to talk about pornography to the men in my congregation? I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that. Or maybe it’s time to add a woman’s perspective? There have been voices lately that have introduced the possibility that lust is not unique to men. And pornography is not only viewed by men. So is it my task to admit to my own desires in this Sex Sermon? Male preachers have received a lot of flak lately for calling their wives “hot.” The complaint was over the sexualization of their wives and the way it made other women in the congregation feel. If I stood before my congregation and called my husband “hot,” the problem might be a little different. Regardless of how a woman looks, for a woman to be sexually interested is for a woman to be sexually interesting. As a pastor, I work very hard to be publicly sexually uninteresting.
How do I toe that line? In her refreshing and helpful “Confessions of a Lustful Christian Woman,” Jonalyn Fincher writes, “I've learned to want my husband's frame, his uniqueness. I've learned to seek that look, to develop a taste for his body and soul.” It may be a good confession for the women in my congregation to hear, but I just can’t see myself using language like this in a sermon. I’m not sure I want to go there or take my parishioners’ minds there in that context. And yet, the Bible has language like this. Coming from the mouth of a woman. Thankfully, the Lectionary hasn’t led me to Song of Solomon … yet!
So what has the Lectionary has brought me this week? 1 Corinthians 6:12-20, a passage which requires me to say the words “prostitute” and “fornication” for the first time from the pulpit. But central to this passage is the truth that our bodies are members of Christ. It is our reminder that the deepest intimacy we could possibly long for is ours already—we have been offered the fullness of God’s spirit inhabiting these bodies.
Perhaps this is a message I can preach. Perhaps this is a way to avoid reacting to the way that this culture has shaped this conversation and a way to be a part of reshaping it. Perhaps here is a way to restore us as humans. And a way to restore this preacher.
Mandy Smith is lead pastor of University Christian Church in Cincinnati, Ohio.
