Celibate

I wrote recently about austerity, about choosing to live among those who have less choice. My  Miskito and Mixtec (say that 50 times fast) friends were among the most hospitable people I’ve ever met, and the landscapes where they live, barren swamp and lush forest, are hauntingly beautiful. I would never trade the years of my life spent among either. 

But they make me think of the people I’ve been reading about in Kathleen Norris’ book who choose a different sort of austerity, who move to Oz without really moving away. The ones who choose celibacy. I think it would be unfair to include only monks and nuns in this category, since I know many people, especially women, who have remained celibate for other reasons. I know Mexican women who have come to Christ and found there are no Christian men to marry, and they have chosen to wait—a lifetime if need be. I know missionary women who have chosen to serve in places that makes marriage less likely, and to stay there, and stay single, the rest of their lives, if it comes to that. And there are other reasons.

Kathleen in her book talks about how the celibate servants she met struggled with their sexuality, but by sublimating it, and dedicating it to God, they found ways for their passion to express itself in service. They found ways to love people in a focused, intentional way, without exclusivity or conditions. They became practiced at offering hospitality. When I was in junior high in Honduras, our principal was a nun, Sister Cristina. She lived in a local convent of the Sisters of Mercy, and she was excellent at her job. And I found she considered all of us, students and parents, Catholic and non, her community to serve. She was counselor, mentor, and friend to many, both during school hours and after, and she wore her availability on her sleeve. I know many single, celibate women like this (men, too, but fewer), not just nuns. I honor them. 

In conversation with a fellow bald friend last night, we talked about the furor right now over the US Supreme court’s decision to support gay marriage and the learning curve we face using the proper terms for today’s alternative (or is that term wrong now?) and perhaps unfamiliar lifestyles (I wondered if I couldn’t cheat and call them “The Letters.” The English teacher in me cringes at labels with more than three syllables.) I’m also wondering if we shouldn’t tack on to The Letters one more, a “C” for all those people, who over thousands of years, have, for many reasons, lived as celibates for a few years or for many. I think that in our indulgent “me” civilization, we may overlook this path of celibacy. We may assume that if life is hard, and the urges are strong, we have a right to take an easier route. I’m forbidden to judge. I can only ask God to lead us all to purer and more sacrificial loving and hope I can obey.

The “C” in The Letters would then include Jesus, wouldn’t it, and Paul, (neither of whom said much on the topic) as well as monks and nuns. It would include all my single missionary friends, too. And I think many would be happy to share the company of all those Letters, and would love them, though their chosen life is different from the other Letters, because theirs isn’t about how to live with a partner but of how to live without, for a different purpose, embracing chastity, austerity, even renunciation. I wonder if the “C”s we know who choose this lifestyle or have it thrust on them, even temporarily, have more to teach us than we realize.