By the time I was 19, most of my friends at church were getting married. It was a joyful time, truly. Floral dresses and beaded sandals. Back-to-back weddings. Women boasting their seventh, eight, ninth bridesmaid title.
There were sermons that preached love, public kisses that contained all the awkwardness and desire one could possibly hold behind the gates of purity, and rows and rows of tables full of cakes and biscuits made by mothers and aunties and youth group leaders.
Despite all this, I didn’t feel the pressure to marry. This was largely due to the confidence I had that marriage was just around the corner. I believed that one day I would simply wake up and there before me would be a ring and a husband. Just like that.
I was one of those adventurous (in Christian terms) and liberal (in conservative Anglican terms) Christians. I’d drink alcohol (never to the point of intoxication). I’d kiss boys (never to the point of sex). My Christian parents were the relaxed kind– I was allowed to date in high school and wear spaghetti straps and my mother even offered to buy me alcohol when I was 17 for a NYE party (I politely declined). I’d smoke cigars (not cigarettes) and I’d catch a lift home with a guy from church, just the two of us. Male and female. Alone.
My social standing in church circles faired far better than my social circles in the secular world. Out there I was nothing but a Christian loser. With this in mind, I was smug in my security of a surfy Beach Mission-type husband who was comfortable leading prayer up the front on a Sunday night.
To be honest, if I kept on that trajectory (the “adventurous”, “liberal” Christian who had scores of responsibilities in the church), and hadn’t experienced trauma and an upheaval of my religious foundations, it is very likely I would have been married by now. What a thought.
I have been speaking to men and women, both in the church and no longer, about their experiences of singleness. Turns out, it’s not just 19-year-old Ruby who would have been disappointed by her no-one-on-the-horizon status in her mid-20s. Here’s what one woman I spoke to had to say:
I spent my teenage years in the church fixating intently on finding a godly Christian man to marry. As the years went on and I saw many friends and family members ‘find their soulmate’ before the age of 20, I began wondering what was wrong with me? Not godly enough? This messed with my physical and mental health significantly. Looking back now that I’m in my mid 20’s, I’m so glad I’m single and learning who I am. I’m also super into women so that would have made for a horrible marriage anyway!
Where does this pressure come from, and why does it exist? Do heterosexual men and women feel this pressure, or is it just the women? Another woman shares her thoughts:
Pressure was constantly coming from all sides of church when thinking about relationships. If you weren’t in one you were evaluating every male that moved about whether he was “husband” material. To the point that at one youth group camp every single male in our year group was picked apart by the youth leaders and youth girls as to how they were attractive, in what way and whether their relationship with god was real enough. It was triggering.
There was a constant struggle of “trusting God in your singleness to grow you as a woman of faith” and “wait for His perfect timing for a single man to sit down in the pew beside you and confess his undying love where you will be married in 2 years and have children the year after that”. The pressure came particularly from youth leaders and other youth kids my age.
I recall being asked about marriage multiple times during various Christian relationships. Every relationship had to be intentional, and while I agree with the heart of this, how intentional can you be at 17? I suppose one of the key reasons why church leaders and friends feel this concept is any of their business is because of the temptation of sexual sin. The more likely you wait, the more likely you will be tempted. Therefore, you should consider marriage sooner rather than later because your purity in the eyes of God is potentially more important than whether or not you and your partner are actually right for each other. Sex is number one on the sin hierarchy, don’t forget.
This pressure to marry in order to maintain purity and Godliness therefore puts the couples who managed to save sex until they’d signed on the dotted line in some great, revered position. For the single, God-fearing folk, it makes obtaining this relationship status all the more glorified.
I asked a male friend of mine what his experience was like when it came to marriage and dating. At first he laughed and said ‘If 18-year-old Christian me knew he’d be in an open and casual sexual relationship at 24, he’d probably join a monastery to escape sin of that magnitude.’ He adjusted his tone and continued:
I think there was less pressure on me as a man. There always seemed to be this implicit suggestion that, at some point, everyone was going to end up with someone. How that was supposed to happen was always mysterious. I think it was the smug certainty that if you were a good Christian man at some point a woman would be served up to you by life/god/a sinister cabal of match-making but bored middle aunties.
Certainly though the idea of long term singleness was horrible. Beyond a certain point, it seemed to suggest some kind of massive flaw. How, in this community that functions as a fish-in-a-barrel scenario and highly incentivises settling down, can someone *still* be single? What’s wrong with them? And so on.
If God created man and woman to be in unity with one another (sorry LGBT+ folk), then maybe the ‘gift of singleness’ was just another way of saying ‘something is wrong with you, and God has determined you’re not designed to be loved by another in the kind of relationship you’re seeking’. For one woman I spoke to, this had detrimental affects on her health.
The reason I began to question my faith was because I was so deeply depressed about being single. I got to the place where my beliefs around singleness had led me to believe I was worthless because I hadn’t been noticed for the godly woman I was. I’d try and find excuses for why no one wanted me (namely blamed my body and got severe body issues including an eating disorder). After what felt like an eternity of that I decided I needed to be happy and this meant stepping aside from my beliefs around what it meant to be a woman, relationships, sex and then, of course, the slippery slope down. I think the ideas around marriage and sex are incredibly toxic, very harmful to someone’s identity and growth and unloving.
When I left the Anglican Church and entered the secular world (it was black and white for me– you were either Anglican or nothing), I discovered that to be single at 25 is a completely normal reality. In fact, many don’t give it a second thought. Most of my circles are single and perfectly happy. “More time for fun!” they’d say. I haven’t quite silenced my knee-jerk “the devil is crouching at your door” internal response, but nonetheless, it’s true what they say.
Of course, I often find myself lonely. Curling up in bed after a hard day and longing for intimacy and companionship. I look forward to the day where a partner may (or may) not be on the horizon. But after leaving the church, I feel like I’ve gained another 20 years on my “worthy of loving” clock. The pressure has dissipated. I feel more free to date– with intention, yes– but with less critical analysis. I shouldn’t be making up my mind whether I can marry some poor fella on the second date.
I’m glad I’m single at 25. It’s given me time to date men 15 years older and 5 years younger. To discover my body, to discover my body in relation to others’. To have wildly deep and passionate conversations with men in tents and bars and beds and on mountain tops without feeling the inner turmoil that simply by having these conversations, or this kind of physical connection, I am committing a grave and horrible sin. Each of those times have been beautiful and special, and will not detract from the beauty of any experiences thereafter.
I am in no place to judge any who found their life partner at 20. If you are happy and it’s working, then good for you. I’m just glad I didn’t find mine.
In the secular world, dating and marriage and sex is largely a private affair. Nobody seems to give a damn. A relationship is between two (sometimes more) people, and it is up to them to navigate it unless they ask for advice. I like it like that.
Also published on Medium.
God saw fit to put me in a Bible study with a bunch of guys who had a weakness for bare-naked ladies. It was sort of a practical joke on His part. We were fully aware that, as 19-year-old men, were each at our sexual peak. Never again would we be this horny. And here we were reading the Bible!
The comedy of our situation didn’t escape us. So every study would be well peppered with jokes about choking the gopher.
We used words like eschatological and dispensationalism and apologetics. We knew what God thought. We were sure we were different than the vast mass of Christians, who had settled for religion. They were focused on surface issues. We, though, we went to the core.
To wit: Eric had returned from Bible school in Germany with the conviction that Christians could say fuck. “God knows I’m thinking it. Who am I fooling?” he said.
He also said that he had learned that God considered sexual intercourse the true marriage transaction. If you had scored with a girl, you were married to her. That’s what the Bible taught, ergo that’s what God thought. God didn’t give a fuck about some human ritual. (Acting on this conviction, Eric would decide to consummate his marriage to Sally in advance of their wedding. Who were they fooling with all this self-restraint? While Eric’s dad was puttering nearby in his workshop, Eric and Sally inaugurated their matrimony in Eric’s bedroom with his standard-issue wang, where I knew for a fact he stashed more than several girly mags, and not just Playboys but Hustlers, which were to Playboys as crack was to candy corn, as alarming as they were arousing.)
We delighted in shocking other young Christian men with our candor—particularly admitting our habit of spanking the monkey. Only a really spiritual person would be so upfront about how worldly they were. Only a person who knew his righteousness rested in Christ alone would say fuck so much. Who were we fooling, after all?
We carefully crafted our lack of pretense.
Thanks for sharing John. I relate to this line so deeply: “Only a really spiritual person would be so upfront about how worldly they were.” I was very much a ‘I don’t put on a show when I’m at church, look how Godly and REAL I am’ kind of person. Funny to think about when I look back on it.