The history of Lent details a purging of luxuries and egoisms through fasting and daily devotionals prior to the resurrection of Christ on Easter Sunday. It lasts for 40 days (although this cumulative count sometimes reaches 46), respecting the 40 day fasting of Jesus Christ in the Judean Desert. However, for me, Lent was a tradition much like Christmas or Easter – something that much to my grandpa’s dismay I associated very little with religion.
Growing up I lived in two vastly different worlds. I heard stories of my father’s time as an altar boy, went to bible camp, wore a cross around my neck, dropped the toonie I had been holding in my sweaty palm into the collection plate and constantly listened to Dusty Springfield’s “Son of a Preacher Man.” The true granddaughter of an Anglican reverend. My mother often rolled her eyes when I returned from bible camp, singing songs in praise of the lord and all of his disciples. If anything she would identify as pagan and in retaliation for the secret baptism undertaken by my father’s family she planted my placenta under a tree, to later be mowed over by my godfather. I ignored the chaos of my religious mentoring instead always identifying as an atheist or when I chose not to engage in debate and argument, agnostic. However, we all pick up tendencies from our upbringings and I was no exception. Lent for me was like a second round of New Year’s resolutions. I figured that by March everyone had given up on their proposed veganism or daily physical activity and as such needed a new motivation. This was at least true of my will power. I used Lent as self-bettering platform, and each year gave up chocolate or sleeping-in or some other small happiness. I had never really considering this offer further until a few days before the 6th of March, this year’s Ash Wednesday.
The quizzical look my boyfriend presented me with upon our discussion of what I was going to give up for Lent this year (which was the usual dairy and eggs, as despite my understanding of their deleterious effects on the environment I could not seem to shake them from my diet) intrigued me. He like I, was raised in a Christian environment but since leaving home had never considered it part of his identity. He had also never practiced Lent, not feeling the need to give up something that brought him happiness. I pitched the idea of Lent mostly as a challenge to see which of us would cave first, a little bit of friendly competition to arouse excitement. But we also wanted to do something together, and lying in bed intertwined the jump to giving up missionary was not hard to make. And the giggle shared over the sacrilege of giving up a sex position for Lent, let alone one titled missionary made the idea to rich to pass over.
So, giving up missionary, What’s my take? Missionary is probably one of the most underrated positions. It is often considered a sex card used out of ease, low effort and simplicity. However, as my friends upon hearing this attempt at situational irony reminded me, missionary is a position that when done right can offer the most intimacy, stimulation and versatility. However I make it sound, half way into the Lent experience, I can hardly say I regret my decision. We have become closer, more comfortable with each other, tried things that we would have never thought of trying and gained an appreciation for the simple things in our relationship. I think the biggest take away from this experience for both of us has been an understanding that sometimes the most exciting and sexy things are the simplest. We have realized the bedroom does not always have to be the crazy experience suggested by modern day pornography (don’t get me wrong these experiences have their time and place). It has dawned on us that it can be just as important to respect a moment and your presence there together, an intimacy that missionary draws out like no other.
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