Anita Rao
This is Embodied, I'm Anita Rao.
Ashley Lumpkin
You can hint at it, you can talk around it, you can shroud it in euphemisms, but you cannot directly talk about sex with anyone who is not married.
Anita Rao
That's Ashley Lumpkin talking to a live audience of hundreds of people this past October at our first ever Embodied event. The challenge we posed to her and four other storytellers: tell us about your personal experiences with purity culture and how they shaped your faith, relationships and sexuality.
Last week in our podcast feed, we shared Part One of the event. If you didn't hear it, pause me and go give it a listen. Today, we're bringing you the rest of the show.
Before we dive in, let me set the scene. We hosted the event at the Hayti Heritage Center in Durham. Their theater space is a former sanctuary with 24 stained glass windows and wooden pews. On stage right: Quilla, the incredible DJ who wrote our theme music, was set up to spin tunes for the show. And on center stage there was a cozy living room-style setup with two couches, end tables and a plant. Each of our storytellers stepped up to a mic at the front of the stage. They had been coached in the weeks before by Jeff Polish, the executive director of The Monti, to tell their true life stories without notes.
Up first in Part Two is storyteller Ashley Lumpkin, who you heard from at the top of this episode. She's a Georgia-raised Carolina based writer, editor, actor and educator. She's the author of five collections of poetry and the coach of the Bull City Slam Team.
Ashley Lumpkin
So the first rule of purity culture is do not talk about sex. You can hint at it, you can talk around it, you can shroud it in euphemisms, but you cannot directly talk about sex with anyone who is not married. Which is interesting, because in all of, like, the silence around sex, it also hypersexualizes everything. Be that, like, the bodies of children, or even our experiences with God.
So I remember once in a Sunday school class, there was an older woman who had been invited to our church to speak as a part of a conference. But Sunday school was, like, not a part of that conference, and she'd not been given those instructions. And so there was one point at which she made this comparison between, like, the fatigue you might have of being under the influence of the spirit being the same as the fatigue you might have after having an orgasm. And that's — that's, like, a different story for a different day. But I remember that everyone in the class turned to face me and the only other unmarried girl in the class, and they were, like, staring mouths open. And one of the church elders, he's like, "Mother, there are singles in the room." And she just started apologizing, because she, like, knew she had made this, like, fatal mistake of talking about sex when there were unmarried folks in the room.
And it's always been interesting to me, like, for this group of folks that, like, really cares about what you think about sex, they're really loose about what the messaging actually is. My older brother got the talk by accident. He walked in on my parents once — tragedy — and afterwards, he told me and he told our little brother that Dad told him, you know, "This is the most fun you're ever gonna have, but you gotta wait until you're married." And that was it. That was, like, the whole talk. But even that was something my — my younger brother and I never got any kind of talk.
I'm almost 40 now, and I have literally never had a conversation about sex with any member of that community, which is kind of, like, ridiculous and funny now. But what it means is that, you know, in middle and high school, all of my body image issues had, like, some nice spiritual language to cover them up. That also meant that I made really, really unwise decisions with my body. And even into college, I put myself in some really dangerous situations. It meant that I had, like, no capacity to talk about what was going on with me and my body and my sexuality. While at the same time, like, being in college was also transformative, right. So I'm, like, unpacking my own faith, and unpacking my identity and figuring out, oh snap, I might be queer. And like, all of these things are happening, I'm having these really, like, eye-opening experiences. And then, I have to go home for breaks and, like, put all of that back into a very small box.
So here I am at home for one of those breaks, watching a movie with Mom and Dad, when the worst thing possible happens: the main characters start making out. My mother, she's like shifting in her seat and coughing. My dad is, like, frantically searching for the remote control. And just as the clothes on the screen are coming off, my dad is able to, like, pause the movie, and he's like, "Babe, did you have the talk with Ashley?" And she's like, "No, I thought you were going to handle that with the kids." And they're going back and forth, back and forth. And so finally, I interject and I say, "Hey, guys, I know it's a little late to be thinking about having the talk with me, but let's just do it now. What do you want to know?"
I wish that I could tell you, like, what went through my mind in that moment. That I was, like, you know, filled with power, and, like, I was gonna reclaim, you know, my own identity right here in front of my parents. But really, I was just trying to get us through this awkward stage and into any other emotion. We didn't talk. After a few moments of me, like, watching them go through all the stages of grief, I just kind of, like, got up and walked out of the room. But every now and again, I think about that moment, and I wish that I hadn't have stopped them. I really, really want to know what they would have said. Thank you.
Anita Rao
Ashley Lumpkin. I really, really, really want to know what they would have said, but, so, we're gonna have to ask them. Coming up, we have our fifth and final storyteller of the evening: Ryan Clark. And Ryan is someone that we met at Embodied through the person that he is creating a documentary with: Nathan. And Nathan was a guest in the original Embodied purity culture show that inspired tonight's event. And the seed idea behind tonight's event really was that purity culture show started so many conversations within our team, within folks who contributed their stories to that show, within folks who talked to us about what they had heard and really felt like this was a topic they wanted to hear more voices talking about — talking about openly and talking about in connection with all of the things that Embodied's always trying to talk about — sex, body, relationships, all of the above. So we are thrilled to welcome Nathan's co-documentary partner, Ryan, as our final storyteller.
Ryan Clark is a writer, speaker and creator of things. He is a woodworker, but before woodworking, he enjoyed a career in higher education and religious nonprofits. He loves to talk about sex, organizational dysfunction, furniture design and grief. He is the co-host of "Touch Podcast." And in that podcast, his disarming humor gets to the heart of what matters most. He lives in Decatur, Georgia with his family. Ryan Clark, welcome to the stage.
Ryan Clark
When I was 15 years old, I was walking down the aisle of the First Baptist Church — along with 20 other youth — holding my pledge card. My card that promised to remain sexually pure — abstinent — until marriage. And as the sweat trickled down my back, I prayed to Jesus, "Dear Lord, please take away my sexual desire. I am so horny. But I want to keep this promise, and I want to be a good guy."
See, good guys didn't pressure girls into having sex. Good guys didn't bump and grind on the dance floor. We didn't drink, we didn't smoke and we didn't masturbate — very often. And so we filled our lives with Bible studies and church camps and retreats and mission trips. All to this end — there was this promise. If we didn't have sex until marriage, we would have the most amazing, wonderful sex lives that we could ever imagine. And of course, we could imagine.
So when I went to college, I doubled down on the Jesus stuff. I became the worship leader, I led the retreats, we went to the Christian rock concerts and I led the mission trips. I even met my wife on a mission trip. She had signed the purity pledge as well, and our courtship was so sweet. It was long distance, and so we wrote each other handwritten letters and mailed them through the mail with a stamp. And when we decided to get engaged, we did marital counseling with not one, but two ministers. And we did the great big workbook, every page of it.
Now, we were hot for each other. And we wanted to have sex, but only the right way. Because after all, I was a good guy. And if I could just hold on a few more months, I would be having the most amazing, wonderful, earth-shattering, wake-up-the-neighbors, pornographic, swinging-from-the-chandelier sex I could ever imagine. Well, our wedding was beautiful. Big steeple church, we had nine bridesmaids. And as we left the reception, we were nervous and excited. In a few short moments, I would be seeing the things and tasting the bits. I could not wait.
Our honeymoon was amazing, but it was weird. And we got naked, but the line that we had had before, it still existed. When I tried to, kind of, brush past that line, no matter how sweetly or how warmly I thought I was being, my wife's body tensed up. And I was, like, trying to think of everything that I could do or not do, and nothing was working. And that tensing of her body eventually turned into a full blown recoil. This sweet couple who had bumped into each other as we walked down the sidewalk, we were now avoiding bumping into each other in our own hallway. At night, as the sun started to set, this dark cloud would descend on our tiny basement apartment. And Cindy would start, kind of, avoiding me. And I would, of course — I was trying to be attentive and do whatever a good Christian husband was supposed to do.
But it wasn't long until we were just sad. We were broken. So we went to Christian marital counseling and left Christian marital counseling. And we found another counselor and she had been to seminary, but she also had a statue of Buddha in the corner. Her name is Terri. And we we went to Terri's office, and we sat down. And I sat clutching one side of the couch, and Cindy was clutching the opposite side of the couch. And — and Terri came in, and we were talking, telling a little bit about what was going on. And she said, "Well, I need to ask you something. Have you come here today to try to save your marriage? Or are you here to figure out how to end it?" I could not look at my wife. But I had this sense that she was nodding her head, and so I started nodding my head. And I looked over — we were nodding our heads, yes, yes, we are here to save the marriage. So we talked some more. And then, Terri, kind of, jumped in again and she said, "I think the two of you need a do-over. It's like, some — somewhere in this thing, I can tell you have a lot of love for each other. But there's so much hurt, and you didn't learn what intimacy is." And then she said, "I wonder if you would consider taking sex off the table, at least temporarily." And we were still nodding, so I was still nodding. And I noticed Cindy was nodding even faster. And so, I sped up and matched her, but inside, I was thinking, this is not what I signed up for.
But we went home, and as evening drew near, like, there was a little bit of lightness between us. And so, we — we went back to marriage counseling, and this time, she said, "Would you guys mind sitting next to each other? And would you mind holding hands?" And so we held hands, and I noticed Cindy leaned into me a little bit. But this session got pretty emotional, and at one point, Cindy cried out, "I don't understand why he's trying to get me to have sex. Only bad guys do that." And I was like, "Bad guy? When the hell did I become a bad guy?" Like our whole relationship was some kind of ruse to steal her virginity. No, I had done the time, I had done the work, I deserved my reward.
That was many more counseling sessions. Because by making sex the reward for my good behavior, turned my wife's body into the object of that reward. It's like, if I come home, and I take out the trash, and I put my dirty socks in the laundry, and I do the dishes, I should get sex. I'm a good boy. And for Cindy, after having complete agency and autonomy over her body, she was expected, literally overnight, to give that all away. And she learned that any guy — even a good guy — could suddenly behave like a bad guy.
I had to give up on the idea that sex was my reward. But when I did, Cindy was finally able to relax around me. And then I had to find the words — how to communicate my deep love and affection for this woman who I truly adored with all my life. And we both had to learn — relearn — what intimacy was with our minds and with our bodies. And we had to trust that the other person wasn't working some kind of angle. We had to believe deep down that we didn't have to be perfect to be good. I had to believe that God wasn't using Cindy to punish me. I had to believe that I wasn't going to be punished for being honest. So 23 years of marriage later, I'm still learning that transactional relationships are toxic, that God is not mad at me for being horny and that there really is something wonderful and magical and amazing about sex. But it's at the heart of letting yourself be known and truly knowing another person. Thank you.
Anita Rao
Let's give another round of applause for Ashley and Ryan. Okay so, we have to start where your story ended. Which is, if you — now your almost 40-something self could play out a fantasy version of what that conversation between you and your parents would look like what would that be?
Ashley Lumpkin
I wish they would have, just, told me the truth about what we actually believe, and not, like, the tradition that they substituted for belief. That, like, you know, we believe that our bodies are handcrafted by the Creator, and as such, are beautiful. That we believe that, like, sex is this gift from Him that is also beautiful. That is an embodied expression of a unity and a love that cannot be articulated with words. That is powerful enough to generate life, and — and as such, is probably safest and more life-giving if had with a covenant partner who also promises to, like, love you and honor you and provide for you and be there for you. And like, those are the things that — that we believe. And — and whether or not I continued on with that belief, you know, who knows. But I think that would have been a more powerful starting point than, "Your body is gross, save it for your husband." Like I just, I just — I wish, I wish that we had started with the truth.
Anita Rao
Do you think there's a version of that conversation that you could have in the future?
Ashley Lumpkin
With my parents?
Anita Rao
Yeah, come on.
Ashley Lumpkin
So — so, what's interesting is I, like, really, really recently came out to my parents. In a way that, like, when I came out to them, I was like, "Come on, guys. Like, nothing about me is straight and hasn't been." So I, kind of, like, when I came out to them, I was very surprised that they were surprised. But I was also expecting, like, a lot of — of retribution and, "Get out of my house," and all these other sorts of things. Like, I fully expected them to not speak to me, and that has not been the case. Like, my partner and I go home for Thanksgiving, and that's — that's been kind of fantastic. So maybe there is a world in which we can talk about sex, but you know ...
Anita Rao
We're some some steps away still.
Ashley Lumpkin
Not, not today. Maybe I'll let them listen to the podcast.
Anita Rao
I was gonna say, if you want to invite them, we'll do it — we'll do it over the radio. So Ryan, you are — you have two kids, who I think are entering — they're in their teenage years, entering teenagedom. Okay, 13 and 9. So they're at this formative stage of thinking about their bodies and their emerging sexualities, what kind of conversations are you having with them? And how is that, I don't know, how are you trying to do things differently for them to not have the same harm that you had?
Ryan Clark
Very differently. Yes, yeah, we're very open about sex at our house. We, we're — my wife and I are very affectionate publicly in front, you know, in front of them. We've given them all the age-appropriate sexual material for them to read and have in their room privately. And our daughter, who is the eldest, is very, very outgoing, very extroverted, very, sort of, funny and matter of fact, and she, kind of, will keep up with us a little bit. And although our 9-year-old son is a very different personality, he's very introverted, he's very private. And so the challenge we are having is that they've been very different receiving that information. Our daughter was like, "Yeah, that's cool, we're good." And our son — there's some kids you can have, like, a long sex talk with. Our son is, like, we have to have, like, a hundred, like, one-minute conversations with him. Yeah, and we're watching a movie, or a TV show or something, like, making out happens, or people are talking about sex, or we're watching Gilmore Girls again. And Rory just lost her virginity to Dean and — and we're like, looking around, like, yeah, what — anyone wanna talk, you know?
Anita Rao
I love that. Ashley, you teach high school? Okay so, how are you seeing, I guess, what is the version of purity culture that you're seeing show up in the lives of your students, if at all? Like, what — how is the purity culture of this moment maybe different from what you experienced a couple of decades ago?
Ashley Lumpkin
So what's really interesting is my students are really open and honest with me about things that they are not particularly, perhaps, open and honest with their parents about. And I think they are that, because I tell them like, "Hey, guys, I'm a mandated reporter. So anything that you tell me, like, I — I get it out of my room as soon as possible to a counselor, to whomever I think needs needs to hear it." And so, what perhaps is sad — that a lot has not changed. The only thing that has changed is that kids have more immediate access to sex and information about sex. And that information might come in the form of, like, porn, or it might come in the form of, like, actual informative articles. Who knows, because their parents aren't talking to them about it. And so I think the thing that I'm seeing is that purity culture's still as pervasive and still, like — parents are still not talking to their kids about sex. But because the information is available, the kids are like, "Hey, Miss Lumpkin, here's this thing I heard about on Urban Dictionary. Have you heard about it?" And I'm like, "Yes, I have. Please don't talk to me about that. Go talk to the nurse immediately." So yeah, I think that, like, more information is available — also more disinformation is available. And so, kids are really, just, out here fending for themselves in ways that are kind of — kind of dangerous.
Anita Rao
We were joking in our green room earlier with Ryan about him being the token white man of this evening. And so I just want to ask you about that — a bit about, about how, kind of, deconstructing your whiteness and your masculinity has played into how you're unraveling purity culture and how you're reflecting on those identities, kind of, being brought apart by the unraveling of everything else in this moment.
Ryan Clark
Wow, that's a fantastic question. So I didn't grow up in church, and so my family of origin was very open and very funny about sex. We'd joke about sex at the dinner table, and I remember one time in high school, my mom yelling when I was leaving with my friends, "Don't forget to wear condoms." And so, that — that was, like, my home life, but my home life was not spiritual and was, was chaotic at times.
And so, when I got involved in church. Church were all these, like, really warm and fuzzy people who had hugged me, and it was, just, a really sweet, kind of, wholesome environment that I needed at the time, which led me to making the commitment that I did. And in that home, I was raised by a single woman who was very strong, who, you know, was the one who talked to me — had the sex talk with me. Who could communicate and was really honest about men she dated, and — and that was a real gift. Because I didn't have this — while I ended up with a really kind and wonderful stepdad, the kind of sexuality that was modeled at home — though I rejected it in some ways when I got involved with church — I had a foundation of a, kind of, kinder, gentler man. And so, the, I think, for me, that was a gift as I went through. And something that I — as I started deconstructing, and going to therapy, and figuring out how I felt about things, I realized I was attracted to really strong females — to really strong women. And I think that it never occurred to me that I had to be — the one thing I didn't agree with my, sort of, fundamentalist roots in church was that I had to be, like, this dominating man who, like, took over and was in charge and everybody listened to me. I always felt like, my relationships with women were partnerships. And it was — so that was — there was always a tension there for me. Yeah, in that in, sort of, the dominant religious culture.
Anita Rao
All of that, I guess, leads me to my final question for both of you, which is we've been hearing a lot tonight about the role that faith has played in everyone's perception of themselves and intersections with their various identities. Where are you now in your relationship to your faith? Now that you've been on this journey, and are, kind of, at this — you've reckoned with a lot of the ways in which your faith has harmed you, where — how would you describe your relationship with your faith now?
Ashley Lumpkin
I am really, really trying hard to follow Jesus. And there are, like, tensions within that because of the various identities that I hold. There are tensions, because, you know, I go to — I currently go to, like, a predominantly-white church, which is, like, weird for me, because I grew up COGIC, and like, that's a whole other thing. And so, like, trying to, like, navigate, like, what do we actually believe about race? And like, so — so that's, that's interesting. But I'm, just, I'm really, really, really trying to follow Jesus in a way that's, like, about following Jesus and not following, like, the traditions that we superimpose upon Christianity. And so that's sometimes the struggle, but I think, like, I don't know, like there's, there's no — there's no love that I have found like it. And I think that, as I truly and authentically try to follow Christ, that I also, like, find out more about who I actually am. And that's, I don't know, that's really life-giving for me.
Ryan Clark
I think — so my family, we're members of this quirky little Baptist church that has a bisexual pastor who just has gotten engaged to one of our former female ministers. And it's been an opening and affirming congregation since the 90s, Oakhurst Baptist Church, wonderful church. And so, we, we're involved there, I teach Sunday school and my wife's in leadership there. And for me, the most important thing at this point in our life is having a community around us. People who love us, people will who will hug your neck, who will look out for you, bring you food when you're sick. And that's something we want for ourselves, and we want for our children to know that living in community, allowing yourself to be loved by other people and loving others is the way to be — to make it, you know, day by day.
Anita Rao
That was writer and speaker Ryan Clark and poet and educator Ashley Lumpkin. They both shared their stories on stage last October at the Embodied live event: Purified. You can learn more about these two at the links in our show notes. And if you want to see some photos from the event, you can find those at the Embodied Radio Show page.
We had such a blast at this live event, and we really hope to do something like it again next year. It is a real thrill to gather with you all in person and be in community around these stories. Thank you so much for all of your support this entire year, for listening to Embodied episodes, for sharing your stories on them, for helping us build a community around this content. We couldn't have done it without you.
We're going to take a break from our podcast next week to rest and spend time with our families, but we'll be back with a brand new show on January 6 to kick off 2023.
Embodied is a production of North Carolina Public Radio-WUNC, a listener-supported station. If you want to lend your support to this podcast or WUNC's other shows on demand, consider a contribution at wunc.org now. Incredible storytelling like you hear on Embodied is made possible because of listeners like you.
Our Purified live event was hosted in conjunction with The Monti at the Hayti Heritage Center in Durham. Jeff Polish of The Monti coached each of our storytellers, and Quilla was our DJ, who also wrote our theme music.
Today's episode of Embodied was produced by Audrey Smith and Kaia Findlay. Amanda Magnus is our editor, Madison Speyer is our intern and Jenni Lawson is our technical director. This show was also made possible with engineering and mastering support from Al Wodarski, EJ Thorn and Sean Roux.
If you enjoyed this episode, or any episode of Embodied in 2022, we would love to hear from you. Send us a note at embodied@wunc.org, or even better, post about it on social media and tag us. You sharing the word with your friends and community is what helps Embodied grow, and it really means a lot.
Until next time and until next year, I'm Anita Rao, taking on the taboo with you.