Throwback Thursday: Sex, Power, and the Body of Christ

Let’s talk about sex. And faith. And shame. And maybe Jesus—not in a WWJD bracelet kind of way, but in a "wait, why are we still so weird about bodies in church?" kind of way.

When we recorded Episode 5, “The Love Boat,” we knew we were sailing into choppy waters. First came the explicit content warning—because apparently using medically accurate terms for body parts is still considered controversial in some corners of society. Then came the awkward silence, as our risqué little episode seemed doomed to sink: barely any early listeners, maybe a few blushes, maybe some scandal. (Who knows? Maybe folks were just nervous someone would overhear.) And yet… somehow, it’s become the second-most popular episode we’ve ever published. Turns out people were hungry for a churchy conversation about sex—just maybe one with a little more laughter, a lot more honesty, and zero bad metaphors about chewing gum.

You remember the metaphors, right? If you grew up in a more conservative faith space, maybe you were warned not to give away “pieces of your heart,” or told that sex was like a toothbrush you should never share. There were object lessons involving roses, duct tape, Styrofoam cups—even chocolate passed from hand to hand until it melted. (Youth group really was a full sensory experience.)

Episode 5 was our spicy Valentine’s special—but the conversation was anything but fluff. We talked about the deep and lasting damage of shame-based theology, especially around sex and gender. About how our traditions have elevated spiritual “purity” while ignoring consent. About the ways queer and trans people in particular have been denied dignity, inclusion, and spiritual affirmation.

And still, we laughed. Because there’s something sacred in reclaiming joy where trauma once took root.

But if you think purity culture is the only theological problem when it comes to bodies, let’s rewind a bit.

In Episode 2, “Crossing the Styx,” we explored how sin and damnation have been used as cosmic scare tactics. One wrong move, one impure thought, one “inappropriate” expression of love—and you were off the narrow path and into the flames. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve met who still flinch when they hear the word “sin,” not because they don’t want to live ethically, but because they’ve been taught their very existence was sinful.

This theology didn’t just haunt bedrooms—it shaped everything. It turned curiosity into guilt, vulnerability into threat, embodiment into a liability. And it trained people—especially women, queer folks, and anyone outside the binary—to see themselves as dangerous. Or disposable.

Then came Episode 4, “Narcissus at the Pool.” On the surface, it was about nationalism, empire, and how Christianity has been co-opted to serve systems of control. But underneath, it was also a conversation about whose bodies get protected and whose get policed. About how colonization isn’t just about land—it’s about flesh. About identity. About belonging.

What I keep learning, episode after episode, is that theology is never just abstract. It has fingerprints. It touches our bodies. It shapes how we treat others—and ourselves. And too often, the church has used that influence to wound rather than heal.

So what if we flipped the script?

What if we stopped preaching shame and started blessing curiosity?
What if we stopped clutching pearls and started creating space?
What if we taught that your body isn’t a test—but a temple, a teacher, a truth-teller?

Here’s what I know: I’ve never once met someone who was shamed into wholeness. But I’ve met a lot of people who found healing in honesty. In permission. In being told, maybe for the first time, that their body is not a problem to be solved.

And isn’t that what incarnation is about? A God who takes on flesh—not sanitized, not separate, but real and breathing and human. A God who shows up not to escape the mess, but to join us in it. A God who turns water into wine, breaks bread with outsiders, and reminds us that desire—when rooted in love—is sacred.

So yes, this post is about sex. And power. And the body of Christ—not just as a symbol on the altar, but as the bodies we’re living in right now. Bodies that ache. Bodies that want. Bodies that remember. Bodies that deserve to be held, heard, and honored.

Because if our theology doesn’t affirm our humanity, it’s not the gospel.
If it can’t hold our longing, our tenderness, our queerness, our pleasure—it’s too small.

Let the wilted roses, broken teacups, and sticky youth group object lessons gather dust where they belong.

There’s a better story to tell.