What About Sex? (Little Books of Guidance)($13.95Value)

Description

Explores how we can use our bodies sexually and holistically in contemporary culture. What About Sex? provides a moral compass to navigate the changing landscape of sex and sexuality. Dealing with the Bible, evolving traditions and customs, and the findings of science and psychology, Haller endeavors to inform and guide rather than lay down the law. This book is not about what goes where or who does what to whom, but about what it means to be an embodied person with responsibilities both to oneself and others. Tobias Stanislas Haller, BSG, is the author of the bestselling revision of The Episcopal Handbook. He has been a deputy to General Convention for several sessions, and served in leadership across the church. He is also a member of the Society of Catholic Priests, a regular reviewer for the Anglican Theological Review, and served for three years as its Religion and Culture Book Review editor. He lives in Baltimore, Maryland. What About Sex? A Little Book of Guidance By Tobias Stanislas Haller Church Publishing Incorporated Copyright © 2017 Tobias Stanislas Haller All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-89869-130-6 Contents Introduction, Body and Soul, Sex and Sexuality, Setting the Moral Compass, Acts and Relationships, Discerning the Body, Body of Christ and Spouse of Christ, Notes, CHAPTER 1 Body and Soul "If I thought I had such a thing as a soul ... I might agree with you." "You don't have a soul, Doctor. You are a soul. You have a body ..." — Walter M. Miller, A Canticle for Leibowitz "In our world, stars are great flaming balls of gas." "Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is, but only what it is made of." — C. S. Lewis, Voyage of the Dawn Treader "This is Grandfather's knife. Father replaced the handle, and I replaced the blade, but this is Grandfather's knife." — Traditional "I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? ... But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I?" — Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Every human being — you holding this book (or tablet), I as I write these words, and every person who ever walked this earth — at one point didn't exist. Yet here we are. Each of us began with the joining of two cells: one no bigger than the period at the end of this sentence, the other a wiggle far smaller than a comma. As we grew from that little punctuation, we drew substance from our mothers, and then when we came forth into the world with a cry as all mortals do, we grew from food we ate and air we breathed — material gathered from around the world, a world itself compacted of the substance of exploded stars. What a miracle that each of us can be, made of elements from throughout the universe and gathered against all odds to the very spots upon which I write and you read. There are atoms in your body and mine not only once part of stars, but of other lives. Some of you and of me likely swam in fish off the coast of Alaska, grazed in herds on the Great Plains, or grew in groves of Florida or California. Like Alice in Wonderland — for our world is a place of wonder — the me and you of today are not the same me or you of yesterday or even of earlier this morning, nor will they be tomorrow. What makes up each of us is not a fixed substance but a temporary collection of stuff in constant transition. Life goes on, but also ends — "every day a little death" as cells of our body die and are replaced moment by moment. Ultimately we will die; we will be clinically dead before then, since it takes these cells and systems working together to keep us alive. Some cells will keep on trying to work — for minutes or even hours — after hearts and brains stop. Amazing as this is, we know this is not all there is to life. There is a you and a me — a self — that somehow continues to exist as we live, despite how what makes us up changes. What each of us is — our identity or self — isn't a fixed set of three-dimensional stuff from which we are made, but some enduring personhood that persists from day to day through the fourth dimension of time. Each of us is a self, an anima, a soul — not something you and I have, but what we are. We are embodied as a thread stringing beads together even as they are replaced. What each of us is is not just the current bead but the whole thread, strung through time. Just as a musical composition is a series of sounds, each of us is a composition by God that is performed as we make choices day by day, participating in the evolving shape of the thread of melody. The cosmos, the physical world itself — including our changing bodies — is the instrument on which we collaborate with God to perform our souls. The Christian hope and faith is that this four-dimensional physical body composes a self that will persist in a risen, spiritual body, in the new creation, where we will sing in an eternal performance,