I know that I need to talk to my daughter about sex. She’ll be nine, and if I don’t say something soon, someone else will. A health teacher will broach the subject, explaining it all in medical terms. Or a classmate will whisper something confusing. In neither case will they tell her about intimacy proceeding from a vow and leading to life. In neither case will they tell her about consummation.
They aren’t likely to tell her about a wedding day. And why would they? Why would they mention my role in walking her down the aisle; in giving her away? What could be more regressive and old fashioned than suggesting that I had protected her thus far and that her new husband was supposed to protect her now?
The health teacher might talk about consent. He or she might explain that sex should be an agreement, that all parties should be free and willing participants. Or maybe a video will explain it all with crisp editing and upbeat music. But who will tell her that the fullest consent is given in marriage? It would be unusual and unmodern to talk about wedding vows as specific and public consent. To talk about families and friends participating in that consent and promising to buttress it.
A teacher might tell a classroom about intercourse. Friends might talk about screwing. But I doubt either would tell her that the wedding night is an embodied experience of unity, without which the wedding is incomplete. That becoming one flesh is a physical reality as well as a spiritual one.
Who would dare to mention that in this peculiar consummation each participant is consumed and consumes. And in being consumed they are not diminished. They become more, not less. That in this act, and in this act alone, exists the possibility of new life.
That kind of talk is suspect, after all. It sounds suspiciously exclusive. It is impolite to point out that a man and a woman alone together hold the key to life. The facts of biology are in the path of history, and who can stand before such a force?
Weddings are old ceremonies leavened by youth. Individuality is displayed through the common rituals of humanity. The participants have joined a historic liturgy, and in so doing they have not lost their individuality. They display uniqueness and freedom, submission and membership. The dancers are young but the song is ancient.
I want my daughter to know the old and ordered Christian view of sex. I want her younger brothers to know it too. And I worry that, if I can’t find the nerve to bring up the subject, then they will miss out on the Church’s view of humanity. They’ll learn about sex as though men and women could be understood in purely biological terms. They will have a view of themselves and of others that is impoverished. They will be less dignified, less free.