Starving in God’s House

We sat around the table sharing. Four women, laughing and talking after the Bible study had ended, the golden light of the setting sun casting a glow over the room. Our voices rose and fell almost in harmony—half laughter, half confessional. Most of the other ladies had left, but there were still a few quiet conversations in different corners of the room. I was newly divorced, and I did something a bit reckless. I shared the truth.

To a small group of Christian women, I admitted that I missed sex since my divorce—that celibacy was not something I wanted, and now it was a reality I was living. I told the three women that my secular friends had suggested I buy a certain plastic, battery powered electrical device to help me through the divorce. I explained honestly that this was not something I wanted. What I missed was true intimacy—someone who loved me, physical closeness, not a bodily sensation.

One of the ladies in that small group was a pastor. She approached me later to let me know I had been inappropriate. That some women could not handle that degree of graphicness. I should be more careful what I shared. I looked at her bewildered. The other women in the group were grown adults. They had shared similar stories with me in one on one contexts. I had shared a struggle with a small group of women in a Bible study. I had revealed my humanity to Christian peers and opened myself to their wisdom. I did not share my story in mixed company. I shared it with mature Christian women in a biblical setting. They were all my age or older. If I couldn’t share a spiritual struggle here, where could I share it?

I learned a lesson that day, but it was not the one the woman’s pastor intended. The truth was not welcome here and neither was I.

I had come hungry and came away hungrier.