I teach an odd theology course to high school seniors that hybridizes social justice and vocations. It is called Social Justice and Vocations. 1 It takes two formerly one-credit, one-term courses and combines them into a wild yet delightfully congruous double-period, one-term course. In addition to using the double period for semi-weekly field trips, experiential learning, and guest speakers and panels, our content units consider Catholic Social Teaching and its themes, community and discipleship, and then each of the three major states of life: religious or ordained life, single life, and married life.
Our last unit covers The Call to Marriage and Family Life, and there, we engage with the sexual ethic of Church teaching, especially relating to Paul VI’s Humanae vitae. I point out, with Paul’s help, that the Church does not think sex is evil or bad but rather “noble and worthy,” that the Church suggests not that healthy sexuality is easy but rather that it requires “heroic effort,” and that artificial birth control may indeed be immoral but is morally acceptable when used therapeutically to treat the reproductive system.
As we dig into artificial birth control, natural family planning, homosexuality, same sex unions, and the broader sexual ethic of the simultaneous procreative and unitive significance of sex, we use the Affordable Care Act (ACA) and the Health and Human Services (HHS) Mandate as a means of engaging with a social case study. As we consider the laws of the land, the politics at play, and the differences between a house of worship, a faith-based institution, and a private for-profit company run by people of faith, I try to explain how artificial birth control – except when used therapeutically – cannot be considered a matter of reproductive health but of sexual liberty.2
As students engage with the Church teaching – with varying levels of charity, empathy, and disdain – there has consistently been, across my five years of ministry with young people, one major element to their argument in favor of artificial birth control and its access and use: people are going to have sex when they want and with whom they want.
Many of the young people with whom I’ve worked quite naturally accept this premise, or maybe more accurately, put it forward as a necessary, required premise upon which sexual ethics must be founded. From their point of view, any sexual ethic that doesn’t accept that initial premise is unrealistic and impractical. They largely don’t view abstinence and chastity as a legitimate alternative because most people simply aren’t going to practice it.3
So it brought me to an interesting question - what is the role of realism in morality? In the face of what we as Catholics believe to be absolute truth, according to God’s self-revelation in Scripture and Tradition, how much should practicality and what is realistic affect our morality?
Well, the initial answer is fairly easy in my estimation: not at all. Our sexual ethics as Catholics are our understanding of what God has revealed to us about how He created the world, how He created men and women, and how He ordained sex as a simultaneously procreative and unitive gift. So, we are called to live chastely, to respect our sexuality in a way that fits our state of life - for single and religious or ordained people, by sustaining celibacy, and for married people, by responsibly sustaining a sexual relationship with one’s spouse.
So in this world of absolute truth, realism is not a source or shaper of morality. We have objective truth, and we must strive to live it out. Yet, in this same world, people readily and comfortably practice sexuality in a way that totally diverges from our sexual ethic. I think the grace of realism, then, is that it can and should inform our pastoral response, definitely in response to sexual ethics but I think also in a way that is applicable to pastoral ministry as a whole.
Not unlike how our Church shifted from understanding itself as a community of saints to seeing itself as a community sinners, we have to engage with one another from a realistic point of view. I recently heard a professional speaker talk about Theology of the Body, and he began by admitting that he and his then-girlfriend/now-wife were sexually active when they first dated in graduate school but gradually came to embrace and practice chastity, first by striving to abstain from sex for the remainder of their unmarried relationship and then through healthy marital sexuality. When I teach about birth control, I acknowledge and explain the different types of contraceptives and abortifacients and acknowledge their effectiveness in preventing pregnancy. When we discuss infertility, I go step-by-step through in vitro fertilization and show a video demonstrating the science and process. We have to incorporate, acknowledge, and respond directly to the social norms and realities that “social realism” posits to us.
I don’t think we should then create a combative, debate-style atmosphere. Debate is best avoided in catechetical contexts because it has winners and losers who are rewarded for rhetorical finesse. In my class, dialogue and understanding are my goals, even if the Church gets the last word, and I always tell my kids, “I don’t need you to agree totally with this, but I need you to understand it.”4
I think, then, that confronting social norms head-on creates a fuller, richer context for consummate apologetics. By admitting our sexual temptations and indiscretions, we can understand where we fall short and need grace. By knowing the options that people consider, we can empathize with people’s decision-making processes and understand how to give witness to them. By laying out the processes for seemingly attractive options, we can identify the places where moral trouble is nigh.
Spiritually, I think great grace is possible if this approach can bring greater humility to all involved. Those who understand, espouse, and believe Church teaching need to appreciate that they probably had and have the blessings of strong formation and sturdy community, and thus be patient and respectful to others in listening to their perspective and giving the benefit of the doubt. Those who criticize or disagree with Church teaching can hopefully be charitable in hearing out the Church's teaching, from its foundational premises to its specific applications, and try to appreciate the internal logic in our theology.
In terms of spiritual growth and conversion, rather than striving for right versus wrong and winning over losing, perhaps such a dialogue of humility could move both sides and each individual to an examination of conscience. My students showed me that their majority advocacy for artificial birth control access wasn't solely motivated by sexual liberty but my the medical applications of it as a therapeutic treatment for issues like endometriosis. Perhaps people on both sides could admit to things that obscure their charity, righteousness, and fidelity. I think true encounters of dialogue become nurseries of reconciliation, both for those who connect with one another in discovering or strengthening relationships and for each individual who can find ways to grow that they can bring before God.
Realism cannot change our morality or soften our stance for what is true and right, but realism can and ought to ground our pastoral exchanges and prompt better teaching and dialogue. Perhaps the invitation of realism is simply one of grace. While I’m not about to suggest that the realism-based critiques from my students and others who criticize the Church will change Church teaching or change my mind – just as any one conversation or encounter with me won't change the minds of those who diverge from Church teaching – it is a way for others and myself who are apologizers for our faith to slow our pace and to recognize the perspectives of our brothers and sisters across society.
It calls to my mind The Parable of the Lost Sheep (Luke 15:3-7): when realism creates this opportunity for pastoral encounter, each of us – from any side of a dialogue – gain a chance to see that just as much as we are one of the ninety-nine sheep who stays with the shepherd, so, too, are we the one that strays away.
1 I call it “SoJuVo” for short. My students write processing reflections on our service outings, the best of which post on our class blog: Acting Justly, Loving Tenderly, Serving One Another.
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2 I explained this distinction at greater length as part of my Theology on Tap talk last summer, and I posted the full text on the blog. The part with this topic can be found here.↩
3 Good insight from Rob in his pastoral experience: “In my experience, this is not just an objective claim--it's something many see as an inalienable right: ‘it's my body, and I can do whatever I want with it as long as I'm not obviously hurting somebody else.’ Therefore, a sexual ethic that doesn't accept this premise is seen not only as unrealistic and impractical, but as oppressive and sinister.”↩
4 Each of my schools has had a student population that is barely majority Catholic, and even then, largely unchurched and uncatechized. Instead of building teens toward owned faith that develops from their childhood foundation, they approach this first exposure to faith and theology combatively and even treat it as an imposition. As a result, I strive simply to have them understand the teachings and theology. I then hope that the remainder of their theology coursework, their activity in campus ministry, and the pastoral ministers and catechists that encounter them in the future can continue planting and sowing.↩
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