This has been a chaotic, terrifying week in many respects. To be honest, so much has happened that it’s hard to hold onto everything- the most apparent issue, at the moment, is the Muslim ban imposed by Donald Trump, but it is certainly not the first of many questionable, objectionable, and (in my opinion) immoral actions since his inauguration a week and a half ago.
In light of this, it is easy to feel overwhelmed. We are all expending so much emotional energy on the issues of the day- calling representatives to encourage them to block Betsy DeVos’ confirmation, or supporting people still fighting against the Dakota Access Pipeline, or making signs and showing up to airport protests, or fighting to keep Planned Parenthood funded, or simply trying to make it through the day- it can be hard to find space in our lives for anything that isn’t pressing in this moment. And every moment seems to bring a new pressing issue, until it is easy to feel fatigued, overwhelmed, and burnt out. Sometimes, it feels like we have nothing left to give to the issues that are coming, and we don’t have the capacity to spend time and energy on issues that are not front-and-center.
How, then, do we maintain relevance in our discussions of sexuality and bodies? How do we ask people to care about something that, while important, isn’t making the news cycles time and again?
As an avid lover of West Wing, there is a quote that comes in one of the later seasons: “Don’t let the urgent crowd out the important.” It is something that has stuck with me, because I see us at a crossroads now, one in which we are marshalling our strength and energy for the long fights ahead, and we need to put our resources where they will have the most impact. And quite frankly, I understand those who might feel that the inclusion of eros, the focus on sexuality, the self-acceptance of our own bodies, the drive to welcome other bodies might seem important, but can be left behind in favor of more pressing issues.
And yet… at the same time, I think when we look around at the issues that are coming up
and the fights that are building, to not have the discussions around bodies and sex leaves us at a loss for connectivity but, more importantly, loses sight of a key point that interconnects so many of the issues. Most obviously, we exist and enter the world through our physical manifestations- our bodies- and through our bodies do we find our voice. But more importantly, we note that so many of these assaults are assaults on bodies: on women, on people of color, on manifestations of religion, on restrictions to our sexuality. The issues Robin and I seek to address are at the center of the national debate, if only we as a community and country are willing to see them.
So why is it important that we continue to come back to bodies, to sex, to eros, to love, to faith?
Because our bodies are our mechanism of resistance. They are the forms that we take to protests, they are the voices with which we call our representatives and speak our truths, they are the hands with which we carry signs and sign petitions, they are minds that debate the role and use of violence and the bodies that carry those beliefs to actions, they are the skin that faces undue prejudice directly proportional to the amount of melanin present, they are the configurations of trans and gender nonconforming bodies that face violence. Our bodies have been weaponized, some of them against our will.
We run the risk of becoming cold, hardened, robotic. In the frenzy of back-to-back protests and social media explosions and fights with in-laws and a constant barrage of bad news, we become desensitized and, ultimately, burnt out. Our bodies become tools, rather than whole, complex, organic beings. Our mechanisms for self-care become more vital to stave off the fatigue. Self-care is important, and we cannot let the urgency of the news of the day crowd out the importance of self-care.
And how do we find self-care? In so many ways, but for many, that care may come through connection, and one means of connection is our sexual selves. In the article, “Queer Sex is Our Greatest Act of Resistance,” Alex Gamer talks about the how our sexual selves are part of our resistance. In response to fear, he says, “Now is the time to be unapologetically queer and that must include our sex. When we fuck it has value and meaning and no policy or lawmaker can ever take that away from us.”
For me, “fucking” is an act of defiance. “Fucking” is also different than “intimacy,” “making love,” or “having sex.” Perhaps the crassness of the language is offputting to some, but I personally believe there is a time and a place to use certain language, and “fuck” as a term of passionate, visceral, raw exchange of sexual energy is a powerful word in the face of censorship.
Recently, I wrote the following piece, “Fuck Me Fiercely” about fucking as an act of resistance, about harnessing the raw power of anger and drive into sexual relations. Content warning: it uses plenty of crass language, but that is also the intent.
Fuck me fiercely, like your hands and lips and cock are instruments of dissent. I want to hear your guttural, the sounds in your throat that echo orgasm and rage.
Fuck me like fucking is an act of defiance, an unapologetic stand, a shameless gauntlet thrown down to the streets.
Fuck me like “Fuck You!” sounds when it’s screamed like war cries. Hold my hips like you are holding my hand and running into the fire.
Fuck me with the passion of enough. Fuck me like fucking is adrenaline embodied, like we are fighting back by loving fiercely, loving recklessly, loving fully.
Fuck me like we do not have the luxury of fear. Like this moment, right here, is the dawn before the storm and we are fucking because we are alive, right now, and we do not have the privilege to expect tomorrow.
Fuck me like fucking is courageous. Like fucking is how we scream.
Fuck me with planning and care that goes to hell when the firebombs start. Fuck me like fucking is surviving and we are survivors, like we would fuck in the streets just to piss off someone who couldn’t stand the sight of you and me.
Fuck me like rebels and anarchists and radicals. Fuck me like you know the taste and shape of those words, how they fit in your mouth, and fuck with me the passion with which you left them behind.
Fuck me like you’re picking them up again.
Our bodies, how we relate to one another and ourselves is a part of our self-care, to combat the fatigue and daily assaults on who we are and how we live. They are the moments when we unravel and show our fear and vulnerability. They are the beating heart of who we are, and without that sense of connection to ourselves and one another, we would be little more than robots, constantly fighting with no end in sight, no moments of joy, no sense of solidarity and connection, no sense of being seen.
When we are seen and embraced, then we are able to relax, recharge, refuel. For some, this comes by means other than sex, particularly those who are asexual. But for others, the act of sex- the act of fucking- is where we can unwind and unravel, fall apart and put ourselves back together again. It is a moment that cannot be taken away by politics and fearmongering. It is the essence of being wholly, truly present, and in the moments after, we find ourselves truly alive.
Our bodies are more than tools; they are instruments that we play to the beat of the music we expose ourselves to. Sometimes it is chanting at a protest, sometimes it is challenging problematic language, and sometimes it’s the pure pleasure of being present.
We cannot ignore or minimize the discussions of our bodies, our sexuality, our eros, in these discussions. They are central to the assaults, yes, but they are also essential to the healing that comes so that we may persevere and thrive, regardless of the constant propaganda that we should be ashamed of who we are. We must not forget to live, to breathe, the embrace and enjoy the life we have now. If we forget to do that, they have won. If we sacrifice our joy for their fear, then we have given them the power to conquer our hearts.
Fuck fiercely. Love wholly. Embrace yourself and those around you. Find intimacy. Show people unconditional love. And never let the urgent news of the day diminish the need for important, radical self-care.
I am dismayed and distraught, and angry, at the flurry of orders that are passing for a working government in the ten days since the Presidential inauguration. It feels to me like we have an adult child who is playing a role, surrounded by people who either are afraid to tell him to stop or who also proceed from an immature understanding of the exercise of power and authority. Even more, some of those orders are having immediate negative consequences for people caught in the web of suspicion and fear that marks new national policies and priorities.
And yet I refuse to be governed by fear, my own as well as that driving the man who holds the title of President. I also refuse to be governed by anger, even though I will tap into it to claim my power to push back against fear. I learned long ago, from my old friend and mentor, Beverly Wildung Harrison, about the power of anger in the work of love.
I remember the 1960s when some said “make love not war.” Often, they meant, stop the fighting and have sex, stop beating people up and fuck instead. But there also was an edge to this, because they were angry about the senseless loss of life–not only U.S. service personnel but also the people of Vietnam and Cambodia. I remember the first time I heard “fuck” said in public was at an anti-war rally at the University of Michigan in 1966–and the speaker drew a contrast between two kinds: the one where both parties are enjoying it and the other where one is getting off at the expense, the dignity, the life/lives, of the other.
So, in my fear and anger, I remember I am called to love. And I am called to love, to fuck, in the first way with my husband, and to use the desire for community and care which is part of that to love others, too, as I do my part to resist a certain Bully in Chief before he does more of the second (which is not love only fuck without any care for those he violates).
You may think I, a 70-year-old married clergyman, have gone off the deep end, talking about sex in the midst of our national angst. We can talk about bodies—e.g., the immigrants’ bodies are being mistreated, and the bodies of those who lose health care will surely be adversely affected —and we surely can talk about spirit or spirituality. This focus on keeping people from countries with a Islamic majority in its citizenry out of our nation violates our long, and clearly continuing, struggle for religious tolerance and openness. That struggle reflects our national spirit from the days of Jefferson and Madison and many others. And that struggle against intolerance and prejudice is consonant with values in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam of welcoming and caring for the stranger, the sojourner, in the land.
But what about sex? Is it even appropriate, at times like these, to admit we’re having sex? And forget about admitting is: Is it even appropriate to be sexual at all? Can we have fun in the bedroom, or wherever, when there is so much angst? And if we are engaging in sexual activity, and we want to talk about it, what language do we use?
My answer to both questions—whether to have sex and whether to admit it—is an unequivocal yes! Here’s why I feel so strongly about this (some thoughts on language a little later).
A time of difficulty is precisely a good time to feel the power of one’s own body and soul. To acknowledge, and draw upon, our own erotic power provides a sense of well-being and stability at times when both are in question. The strength of our response to trouble(s) can be enhanced by how well we are connected to others, especially other loved ones, as well as our own inner and embodied selves.
The more all of us, whatever our orientation(s), understand the power of the erotic to guide our lives into wholeness the better people we will be and the safer and saner the world will be. Fucking, including our self-pleasuring, is a delight for us and our partners and is a vital way to heal the planet and our nation and ourselves. It also is an expression of embodied power.
The reason for this is the exchange of energy that happens when we are erotically engaged—whether it is solo or coupled or group or monogamous or polyamorous or “vanilla” or BDSM, or anything else.
We must talk about, even celebrate, these exchanges—because we cannot give all the conversational space over to those who are creating the angst and anger, or even to those of us who engage in resistance. Indeed, resistance really depends on our being centered and strong. When we deny our erotic core, even in the cause of working and witnessing for justice and peace, we weaken our participation. I am reminded of a saying attributed to 20th Century socialist/anarchist Emma Goldman, “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.”
Authoritarian regimes, fascist movements, even fundamentalist religious and political movements and leaders, want to keep people under control. They do not want sprouts of life to emerge, they do not want joy to bud unless it is the sort authored by the power they create and use to bring what they consider order to society.
Thus, our resistance to control needs not only to be direct opposition—protests, marches, letter-writing, phone calls, etc.—but also expressions of alternative visions of life, ways of bearing witness to how God calls us to connect with each other, with all others, in love and hope and gratitude for life. A key mechanism of connection is eros, acknowledging and acting on our desire to be in positive, healthy relation with all that is life-giving.
God is not as interested in order as in fullness of life, nor, I believe, is God’s sense of order too much like ours—which is why the uprising within ourselves of desire, sometimes seeming to come at odd or inconvenient moments or in ways we may not always understand, can seem disorderly. But in God’s realm, such moments are very much in order. Indeed, in the midst of this writing, I felt a powerful urge to masturbate, a desire to which I yielded in joy and gratitude all the way to feeling divine energy rising in and out through my cock. I know it helped me get clearer about what I want and need to say (and that is not far from the first time that has happened).
That does not mean we have to have sex with everyone, and it certainly does not mean coercing others to engage in something not agreeable to them, but it does mean that we find ways to express the erotic through our bodies, spirits, and minds. I know a couple who have been partnered for quite some time who are now seeing a sex therapist to deal with fears and blockages in their intimate life. This couple just recently experienced anal intercourse in a way they had long avoided, and it is opening them up to more—right in the midst of their own fears over the way the country is moving.
I also think we need to pay attention to our language. Malachi and I generally avoid using “street language” here, while at the same time trying to be honest. I used “fuck” above for the first time here (by me) because I believe at a time of crisis, a time of widespread angst and anger, our language must be direct. We don’t need to be rude, but we can claim the power not only of our bodies but also our language.
I try not to use the term “fuck” to connote negative situations (I choose not to say, “Fuck You” in anger, including even about major political figures with whom I am very angry), because it is a good earthy term to describe a powerful experience that is intended, by God I believe, to bless us and our partner(s). So when others are hurting people through their policies and actions, I believe a good fuck creates powerful, authentic energy. That’s the same way I feel about sucking, and jerking off, and licking, not to mention names for body parts that convey connection deeper than formal medical anatomical terms.
I continue to believe that the church has missed major opportunities over two millennia to engage the sexual, the sensual, the erotic, in powerful ways to show people how God works in and through us. Our Jewish roots are far more earthy than Christian theology and practice has recognized. I believe Jesus would be talking about sex, certainly sharing ways to resist modern-day Pharaohs through our embodied presence and action and challenging the sex phobia of so much religious teaching.
In these times, let us get real, and let us undermine the powers that seek to control by celebrating, even flaunting, our freedom, our call to be the whole people God wants us to be—including our genitals and the entirety of our bodies (every square inch of which are, at least some times, glorious erogenous zones).
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Help Make this a Conversation!
Did you participate in a local march or action? Did you feel included or did you feel “othered” by those around you? What are your thoughts on protest in the coming weeks, months, and years? Please share your thoughts, your heart, on these questions or anything else this blog raises for you (see “Leave a Comment” link on upper left, underneath categories and tags), or box below, or write Malachi and/or Robin at the emails listed above their pictures on the right.
Join Us Third Thursdays!
Please join us THURSDAY, February 16th for Sex, Bodies, Spirit Online from 3-4:00 EST/19:00 UTC. To access the call, please click here. Please note that some members of the call (including Robin and Malachi) choose to enable video during the call. Video is not necessary; we encourage participants to participate as they feel comfortable. A sidebar chat option is available to those who choose not to enable their audio/video components. If you have questions or concerns prior to the workshop, please write one of us at the email addresses above our pictures.
Workshop description: Non-Monogamy 2 continues from where a previous workshop ended. On December 15, 2016, Malachi and Robin delved into non-monogamy. Malachi described its various forms in contemporary culture and offered observations from personal experience. Robin commented on some of the positive aspects and understandings he has gained through learning more about non-monogamy and reflected on his own feelings (which are more positive than he would have thought). There was a good discussion among those participating on the call, and questions were raised. Malachi and Robin plan to offer more information, and specifically some responses to the questions. If you were unable to be present on December 15, we are hoping a video of the presentation (but not the discussion) will soon be available.