EvanGENITALS: The Purity Culture Movement
I was twelve years old when my parents sat me down in their room, disgust etched on their faces. I still remember the palpable tension in the air as I waited for them to speak. "You're the only one in the family who looks at this stuff." They declared matter-of-factly. The weight of those words was overwhelming to me. "Pornography has no place in this home, nor in the life of a Christian. You're disgusting. I can't believe you would look at this." they continued. They promised to let everyone in the family and our church community know about my "dirty little secret" if I proceeded down this path. In their eyes, my innocent curiosity was not normal behavior for a boy my age. According to them, it was a sin that would lead to humiliation and judgment. So, I did what any pubescent boy would do. From that moment on, I went to extreme lengths to hide my "extracurricular activities".
Growing up in the evangelical world, my life was a mixture of deep spirituality and profoundly stifling legalism. I grew up during the peak of evangelical "Purity Culture," a movement that instilled guilt and shame around all things relating to sex and sexuality. As I reflect on those formative years of my life, only now do I realize how these beliefs shaped my understanding of relationships & sex, leaving me with a deep sense of guilt and fear for years.
The Evangelical Church taught that sex was sacred. It was designed to be enjoyed between one man and one woman, and solely within the context of marriage. Anything outside of this context was considered sin, and unrepentant sin would ultimately lead to eternal separation from God and loved ones, and conscious torment forever in hell. And for most, there was no safe place to be transparent or receive guidance in light of these teachings. This was especially true if you worked for or served at church. In those cases, an ongoing habit of sexual "sin" would disqualify you from ministry. As a result, purity culture left myself and countless others, isolated and ashamed with the threat of hell looming overhead.
I can’t even remember how many times I went forward during altar calls at Christian conferences and camps over the years. The speakers at these events often provided a chance to recommit to following Jesus if you felt you had strayed from the path. I can't recall a single occasion when I didn't wholeheartedly embrace that opportunity, seeking prayer and forgiveness for my transgressions. I loved the Jesus I learned about growing up. I wanted to follow him with my whole heart. I was terrified of going to hell. But I also really enjoyed sex and everything I was discovering about myself. It became a relentless cycle of guilt and shame, as predictably, I would "fall" back into my sin within a few weeks or sometimes days after the spiritual experience.
Purity Culture robbed us of our humanity. It took what ought to have been a natural process of curiosity and sexual development, something to be celebrated, and painted it as perversion, an urge to suppress, and a temptation to flee at, literally, all cost. I remember these words of Jesus being cited in sermons about sexual sin, "If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell." (Matthew 5:29-30). So...did this mean castration was on the table as a means to stop masturbating? No wonder these teachings bred so much trauma.
Purity culture made a lot of empty promises. It said that God had predestined one person for you to spend the rest of your life with. It said that, when you found this person, you would know beyond a shadow of a doubt. It promised that if you kept yourself "pure," your marriage and sex life would be blessed by God. It guaranteed that you're wedding night and all the sex you'd ever have with your spouse, would be "mind-blowing" and that you'd never be tempted to look for sexual gratification outside your marriage.
One insight I've gained in life is that harmful teachings, when given enough time, always manifest in harmful ways. We've witnessed this repeatedly in the aftermath of the purity culture movement. In purity culture, religion was prioritized over emotional or sexual connection. Many couples entered marriages based on societal expectations and norms, rather than authentic love and connection. This has contributed to high divorce rates among evangelicals. Among those who stay married, unsatisfactory sex lives are commonly reported. Additionally, many gay men and lesbian women were required to marry someone of the opposite sex to conform to the standards of purity culture. Then, there are the countless stories of Evangelical leaders' fall from grace due to sexual misconduct and infidelity. The harm of purity culture seems endless. Even Joshua Harris, the author of the influential book on purity culture, has distanced himself from Christianity and renounced his bestseller, "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" as harmful.
In hindsight, I'm grateful for the challenges I faced growing up. I'm grateful that I never could live up to purity culture's expectations. I don't mean to downplay the pain and difficulty of my journey, or anyone else's. For so many years, I felt like a failure, believing I would never be good enough for my family, the church, my future wife, or God. However, since stepping away from the church, I've gained a whole new perspective. I've come to understand that what were perceived as moral shortcomings in my sexual journey, were actually opportunities for me to explore my sexuality and grow in ways that my more "self-controlled" peers were closed off to. In a way, it kept me humble. It made me less judgmental of other people because I knew I had my own issues. It kept the door cracked open to the possibility that purity culture had got it wrong. And ultimately, it led to my rejection of the teachings altogether. Since then, my spiritual life, and my sex life, have never been more embodied, interconnected, and all-around better!
If any of this rings true with you, if you were guilted and shamed for your sexuality, you've got a place here. The American Heretics is deeply committed to building a community of open-minded people who fight for positive change while striving to live lives of love over fear and shame. Join our mailing list below! We won’t spam you, but we will keep you in the loop on new music, more of my writing, merchandise, events, and happenings within the community. Don't forget to sign up today!