THE VOW OF CELIBACY: VULNERABILITY AND HEALING

If I had known it was going to be the last time I had sex, I probably would have enjoyed it more. Yet I remember lying there, spooning with woman I had just made love to, having the distinct feeling that my life was about to change. I’ve only had that feeling a few times in my life, but it’s unmistakable when it strikes. Call it intuition, call it the Holy Spirit, call it whatever you like, we all know it.

About a week later, the woman I had been dating told me she was moving out of state for a new job. We hadn’t been dating that long, yet I certainly liked her. However, when she told me the news, it felt like I already knew. It was nearly Thanksgiving, and I decided to take a break from dating for the holidays.

I deleted the various dating apps from my phone and immediately missed them. I missed the swiping, the conversations, the snapchats, the first dates, the first kisses, the texts, the sleepovers, meeting the roommates and everyone smiling and saying, “nice to meet you.” I didn’t know where this notion of taking a break from dating came from, but it felt right and it felt like a grown-up thing to do as I neared my late twenties, still single and not too sure where I was going with my life. Even though I severely missed women, there was something in my soul telling me it was the right thing to do.

Throughout my life, when I’m in a period of confusion, I often move into a New England batten-down-the-hatches-a-storm-is-coming mentality and take stock of my life. I retreat into myself and look at what’s going well, what’s not working, and what I want to see happen next. I didn’t think that taking a break from dating would turn into me taking a lifelong vow of celibacy, but that’s what happened.

When the holidays were over that year and winter became real, I had thought about dating again but something still didn’t feel right. I kept procrastinating downloading the apps again and kept asking God what I was supposed to do. All I heard was silence and a feeling that I should be looking out over the horizon as if a storm were approaching.

Later that winter, something new happened. The thought of visiting a monastery suddenly popped into my head. I can’t remember the exact moment it happened, but I remember thinking that visiting a monastery would be good for me. I searched for “monasteries near me,” and I was pleasantly surprised to find one in the Boston area. I scrolled through the website, and something clicked.

When I visited the monastery for the first time about a month later, I knew my life was over. I knew my life was over in the sense that it would never be the same again. I felt right at home, right away. I had never felt that way before in my life.

As I began the yearlong inquiring process to become a monk, the commitment to celibacy wasn’t really on my mind much. The promise of finally finding my vocation kept my mind so focused, it was as if the thought of sex hardly crept into my mind. I was shocked because that had never happened before in my life.

When I finally moved into the monastery as a postulant after a year of inquiring, I still didn’t find celibacy all that difficult. I had so much to learn as a postulant. My brain was too full to think about sex. I began to wonder what the big deal was and why celibacy was such a stumbling block for so many.

Then it hit me. My first spring as a monk, when the sun came out and it felt like all New England was coming out of hibernation, I felt like I was going through a second puberty. I didn’t think it was possible to think about sex as much as I did. I thought about sex so often, it almost got boring. I remembered all the intimate moments of my life and replayed them in my head over and over again. At night, as I tried to fall asleep, they were my closest companions.

My brothers were so helpful. I owe my life to them. They told me to pray, to talk to God about how I felt, they told me to transform that lust into something greater, to use that energy for creativity, work, passion, and friendship, and I took all their advice and started exercising as if my life depended on it.

I’ve now been celibate for almost nine years. I wouldn’t say it has gotten easier or harder; it’s just different. I like to tell myself that celibacy is a one-day-at-a-time affair with God. Different days bring on different joys and challenges.

The funny thing about celibacy is that it is both simple and complex. On one hand, the rules are pretty simple: I don’t get married and I don’t have sex. On the other hand, we all know sex is a complicated matter. Even though I am celibate, sexual tension and attraction continue to exist, and all the complexities that go with them.

Chances are you aren’t living under a vow of celibacy like me and my brothers. We monks may not be having sex or getting married, but honoring our sexuality and our relationships with others is something our vow of celibacy commits us to. Sex and relationships are complicated. There is no avoiding it, so it is in everyone’s best interest to learn how to navigate these complications prayerfully. Our Rule of Life speaks to this: “The disciplines that let chastity take root in our lives are not mere curbs. Their purpose is to help us live with vitality and spirit.” This will look a little different for each person, but I can share what has worked for me.

First, I try not to run away from sex. When I experience lust or sexual tension, I do my best to not deny it, repress it, or just pretend it isn’t there. I greet it as if it were a difficult acquaintance who has come to visit unexpectedly. I have found that when I’ve done the opposite and ignored my lust, it only gets worse. Instead, I communicate. When I open my heart to God and to my brothers about how I am feeling, everything lightens. I learn that I am not alone in whatever I am dealing with, and that things are never as bad as they seem.

I also try to have respect for sex and bring my own history to prayer. I prayerfully look back at all my sexual experiences and girlfriends with respect and gratitude. I thank God that they all, somehow, have led me to where I am today. Whenever a former lover pops into my head, I always pray for them. I have found with this prayer practice, whatever complicated feelings I may have had toward my exes have gradually softened to a warm, loving kindness seasoned with gratitude. Whatever resentments or wounds existed have gradually dissolved under the bonds of love.

Whenever I experience a sharp pang of lust, I have found the best practice is to give thanks to God for whatever beauty I am beholding. If I am at the gym or outside running and I see an attractive woman, I like to give thanks to God for creating such beauty in the world. But I try not to make an idol of it. I remind myself that I could have all the sex in the world, but it would still leave me craving God.

Another challenge I face as a celibate monk is the desire for sexual validation. We live in a society in which one’s sexual attractiveness is often a source of validation. We are flattered when someone is attracted to us or pays attention to us in that way. When I became celibate, suddenly that source of validation was cut off. But this also helped me to recognize that I already enjoyed this attraction and attention in my relationship with God.

Finally, I’ve come to experience the challenge of seeking intimacy and vulnerability in a nonsexual way. Before becoming a monk, I had always been most comfortable opening up to and being vulnerable with the women I was dating. Somewhere in my psyche, I developed this link that intertwined intimacy, vulnerability, and sex. I know I’m not alone in this. What I've come to learn as a celibate monk is that it is not only possible to be intimate and vulnerable with other people in a nonsexual manner, it is necessary to do so for the sake of our own sanity.

One of the great dangers of celibate life is to become withdrawn from the world, from ourselves, and from others. This isn’t just a danger for us monks. We live in a world where this is more possible than ever. In my experience meeting people in the monastery, so many people out there are lonely and isolated and have become withdrawn from the world either from being wounded in attempts at intimacy or from feeling like it is too much to get out there and be vulnerable. It may be uncomfortable, but risking opening up and being vulnerable with others is a real path to healing and sanity for so many in our increasingly lonely world.