Tag Archives: Changing Paths

Books, Gender and Sexuality, Paganism, Religion, Sexuality

Being gaily religious and religiously gay: Blogging freestyle for chapter 3 of “Changing Paths.”

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[Content Note: Frank sexual talk, including discussion of masturbation.]

This week, I want to blog about chapter three of Changing Paths by Yvonne Aburrow. This chapter is titled “Religion and Sexuailty.”

I’ve struggled a bit with figuring out how I want to handle this chapter. It’s the first chapter where none of the blog prompts really resonated with me in a way that made me think of a way to blog about them.1 So I’ve decided to “free-style” it and just share whatever thoughts on the topic came up while I was reading this chapter.

Of course, I’ve also struggled a bit with remembering what my thoughts and feelings were when reading this chapter. As of the time I’m writing this post, I’m ready to start chapter 11 in the book and will very likely have finished the entire book by the time it gets published. I guess that’s the one down side to establishing a posting schedule. But I shall do my best.

My relationship with my sexuality when I was an evangelical Christian was a complete mess, and not solely because I was gay. For those who may not be familiar with evangelical culture, purity culture is often a huge part of that, and my upbringing was no exception.

I will note that my experience with purity culture was not nearly as intense as some of my friends in the various deconstructing and former evangelical communities I’m involved with. While I got a few messages about how having sex before marriage makes you like a chewed up piece of gum or a tissue someone has already blown their nose into, I know many people who had those messages driven home to them far more frequently and emphatically than I ever did.

In some ways, I think I had it easier as a guy than many of my female friends did. There often seems to be a certain amount of “boys will be boys” mentality even among evangelicals when it comes to sex. This is not to say that boys get a free pass in purity culture, mind you. And there’s always that messaging that depicts men and boys as barely controlled monsters full of hormones and lust, so a lot of guys (and I wasn’t totally exempt from this myself) tend to have negative self-perceptions and internalize a lot of guilt and shame over perfectly normal urges.

That’s where it gets complicated for me. As a gay boy who is essentially a Kinsey 6. “Lusting”2 after girls and women was never really a problem. In fact, I remember trying to imagine kissing a female classmate when I was in high school and finding the idea weird and a little disturbing.

But when I eventually realized that I was attracted to male classmates, that became troubling. After all, the only thing worse (or so I thought) than lusting after a girl was lusting after a boy! I was devastated and spent years in denial, trying to convince myself that it was just a phase, then a few years trying to pray my way to deliverance from my “same sex attractions”3

As an aside, I was online acquaintances with Peterson Toscano and took part int he Beyond Ex-Gay website/movement, both of which got a mention in this chapter. That brought back pleasant memories.

In addition, like most teenage boys (and I suspect most teenagers in general), I greatly enjoyed pleasuring myself. I mean, why wouldn’t I? It feels good and offers some great health benefits. Granted, I didn’t know about the health benefits at the time. But it’s often difficult for a young person whose body is teaming with hormones to resist the urge. I did not resist them. Oh, I’d try, but I’d eventually give in and feel a mountain guilt over it.

In general, I’d say that purity culture tends to destroy young people’s connections to their bodies in addition to their sexuality in general. You’re taught to see your body as this great source of temptation and sinfulness, and that really messes you up. I know it certainly messed me up.

I think that’s one of the things that drew me to Freyja when I turned to Paganism. She is an unapologetically sexual goddess and owns her sexuality as something to be proud of. Furthermore, she embraces all expressions of sexuality, regardless of who you are attracted to or involved with.4 That’s something I needed, so I embraced her and learned to love myself, my body, and my sexuality.

It’s something I”m still working on in some ways, mind you. I do have certain body insecurities. But I know longer see my body or sexuality as a moral failing. And that’s a definite boon.

Footnotes

  1. I will note, however, that I absolutely loved the meditation Yvonne included at the end of this chapter. I have done similar exercises in my own witchcraft practice before, including an exercise that my mentor and would-be initiator had me do when I was exploring the possibility of becoming an initiate of the Minoan Brotherhood, which Yvonne mentioned in this chapter. ↩︎
  2. I will note that the way that purity culture turns all sexual desire — and especially sexual desire that’s not “purified” by romance and/or marriage — into something sinful and dirty totally grinds my gears. To the point that I once wrote something on the topic and titled it “Sacred Lust.” ↩︎
  3. I have complicated feelings about that phrase, given the way it’s used in ex-gay ministries and among conversion therapists. I am so thankful I can abandon it these days and just say I’m gay. But such organizations have long pushed the idea that even identifying as gay rather than just saying you “struggle with same-sex attractions” is bad. I’ve addressed that before. ↩︎
  4. If my readers will allow me to throw a but of unconfirmed personal gnosis out there, the only way I’ve seen to piss off Freyja when it comes to love and sexuality is if you weaponize them to abuse or otherwise intetionally harm another person. You do that, you better watch out. ↩︎
Memories, Religion, Sexuality, Spiritual Development

Should I stay or should I go? Exploring a journal prompt from chapter 2 of “Changing Paths”

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[Content Warning: Mentions of suicidal ideation, religion trauma,]

Hello dear readers! It’s Friday morning so that means once again exploring a journal prompt from the wonderful book, Changing Paths by non-binary witch Yvonne Aburrow. This week’s prompt comes from chapter two, which is titled “Leaving Your Religion.”1 Today’s chosen prompt reads as follows:

Imagine yourself staying in your current situation, and fully inhabiting that choice. Fully experience all the emotions involved in that choice. Now imagine yourself leaving your current situation, and fully experience what that choice will be like. What feelings arise from that choice?

For this prompt, I’m going to hop into the wayback machine and share with you how I was feeling around the time I left Christianity, which was in early November 1998. I feel it’ll make for a far more interesting and instructive read that if I tried answering this question about my current religious path.

In the autumn of 1998, I was going through a bunch of emotional turmoil. I had come out as a gay man two and a half years ago and decided to accept that I was gay and that it was okay to pursue a romantic and sexual relationship with another man. I had even entered into such a relationship, which had just ended around this time due to a variety of reasons (which mostly boiled down to it was an unhealthy relationship and I probably wasn’t really ready for a relationship at the time.)

I had left my church in late August of that same year, but I still considered myself a Christian. I was still committed to Jesus, and thought he was the only way to heaven, though I was struggling with the thought that God would send some of my friends who I had recently come to rely on for support (I’ll talk more about them in a little bit) to hell just for not believing in Jesus.

I was also dealing with the religious trauma of growing up gay in a religious environment that told me gay people were bad little sinners who made God sad and/or angry as well as the emotional results of repressing my feelings for roughly a decade.2

I was also dealing with a lot of guilt at the time, and not just about being gay.3 I grew up in a church that really pushed the whole theology about people being sinners and unable to do anything for themselves about their retched state. So I had some serious self-esteem issues over my lack of perfection. So the fact that i had just watched my first relationship explode and watched the dissolution of dear friendship at the time — both of which I was largely responsible for — left me feeling extremely guilty and worthless. I also felt a great deal of guilt over the dissolution of my relationship because I was still operating under purity culture ideals, which told me that I should only ever have sex with one person (even if it was another guy), who would then be my lifetime partner. So I had failed in a great way in my mind and considered it a great moral failing.

This led to my second crisis and I realized that my feelings were slowly leading me to self-destruction. It became obvious to me that If I remained with the religion I was brought up, i wasn’t going to survive. So for the second time in my life, I chose survival over my religious indoctrination. I started looking at other religions.

So I found a religious tradition that saw me as inherently valuable rather than retched and in need of grace. I found a religion that looked at my flaws and told me that sure, I was flawed, but I could be so much better. Not only that, this new religion provided me motivation and the sense that such self-improvement was worthwhile rather than a hopelessly Sisyphean task.

As a result, I felt valued4 and hopeful. I felt freedom. I knew that this change was the right one for me. And I’ve never regretted it, no matter how difficult the transition and subsequent journey became.

Footnotes

  1. I would note that this chapter is not about how to leave your religion, but provides insights into the kinds of questions and ideas you might want to explore when trying to decide if it’s time to leave. It’s entirely possible you could read this chapter and come to the conclusion that you want to stick it out instead. ↩︎
  2. At one point, I realized that I did not emotionally feel like I was 24, which was my biological age at the time. When I considered how old I felt, I realized that I seemed to be emotionally fourteen trying to live in the adult world. I’m not sure when exactly it happened, but I’m glad my emotional development eventually caught up with my body. I now fully feel like a guy about to turn fifty. (How I feel about being about to turn fifty is a whole other conversation.) ↩︎
  3. To be honest, being gay was the one thing I didn’t feel guilty about. My coming out experience two and a half years prior had been its own crisis that almost did not end well. As a result, I don’t think I’ve ever looked back and wondered “what if I was right the first time and my feelings toward other guys are sinful. I will note, however, that there were other issues surrounding my sexuality. For example, see my reaction to the dissolution of my first relationship, which is describe later in this post. ↩︎
  4. There’s a reason one of my favorite personal slogans is “Jesus loved me. Freyja taught me to love myself.” ↩︎
Paganism, Religion, Spiritual Development, Witchcraft

Ritual style preferences: Exploring a journal prompt from chapter 1 of “Changing Paths”

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Earlier this week, I decided to start reading Changing Paths by Wiccan author Yvonne Aburrow. I’ve decided that as part of my effort to get back into blogging, I’m going to take one or more journal prompt Yvonne asks at the end of each chapter every Friday and blog about it here. This week, I’ll be covering a blog prompt from chapter 1, which is titled “What is Religion?” Here’s the prompt I chose:

What type of ritual do you prefer? Formal or informal, structured or spontaneous? Are you drawn to liturgical, celebratory, or magical styles of ritual?

To explore this question, it’s helpful to briefly summarize the types of styles of ritual Yvonne mentions and what they’re characterized:

  • Liturgical rituals are communal rites that are often structured and formalized. Yvonne suggests that they are designed to “avoid outbursts of emotion or spontaneity.
  • Celebratory rituals tend to be informal and involved elements of spontaneity. They note that these tend to be intended to release or unleash power.
  • Magical rituals involve wielding power and directing it toward a desired end.
  • Ceremonial rituals are those in which power is honored and existing power structures are maintained.

As I think of these styles, I find all four styles — or at least elements from them — appealing. I certainly like the familiarity of certain liturgical elements whose symbolism and meanings I can fall upon. Yet I’m not big on “avoiding outbursts of emotion” or embracing a total lack of spontaneity. So I prefer repeating a ritual structure that has been carefully thought out and contains deep meaning for me, yet leaves space for moments from the heart and the interjection of Divine (or human) ecstasy into a particular rite as well.

Of course, it’s no surprise that I like magical rites. After all, magic and witchcraft goes hand in hand (especially if a witch like me who thinks that the very process of connecting with the Divine and/or other people is magical in itself). I also feel that the magical aspect of ritual is what moves me from a mere participant or servant of the Divine to a co-creator with other humans and event he Divine themselves.

Possibly the least ritual style I’m interested in is ceremonial ritual. I’m not a fan of honoring power and maintaining existing power structures. Perhaps it’s just the connotations I personally have with the phrasing Yvonne for it, but the description of ceremonial ritual screams authoritarianism and I tend to be staunchly anti-authoritarian.

And yet, I want to pause and explore my assumptions in my assessment. After all, there are structures that I do think are worth preserving and even necessary. The thing is, I think those structures aren’t authoritarian. And I realize that the idea of non-authoritarian and non-authoritarian structures often feels like an oxymoron, but I do think they exist. We just tend to refer to them by other terms, like “networks” and “communities.”

So could there be a ceremonial ritual that celebrates community and mutual commitment and is designed to strengthen community ties and bonds behind people. Or to put it in terms of Heathen practice, would a Sumble focused primarily and building bonds n the community be seen as ceremonial? Or would it fall under a different style? I’d love to hear people’s thoughts in the comments.