Marriage, Sexuality & Family

As part of our continuing preparation for marriage, Mimi and I decided to take a seminary class together on Marriage, Sexuality, and Family, thinking it would help solidify our relationship. However, the professor immediately announced that the course would be taught entirely by the students, with each of us selecting a topic of interest, researching it, and presenting our findings to the group.

On the one hand, this meant a class with minimal work. On the other hand, it meant that Mimi and I would be receiving the wisdom of our fellow students on marital issues rather than that of a professor with credentials in theology and psychology. That worried me a bit.

Once things got underway, the first presentation was on “The Six Stages of Childrearing,” with the student in charge presenting several case studies designed to foster group discussion. The first one described a scenario in which a pregnant couple comes to you, their minister, with questions about how love-making will affect the development of their baby. My first panicked thought was, “Do people really go to their pastors with this kind of stuff? It’s not like we’re pediatricians!”

Keeping such thoughts to myself, I tried to keep an open mind during the next presentation on “Choosing the Right Mate,” though I myself had already cleared that hurdle. But the student leading this session appeared to see himself as a friend to the lovelorn, offering advice to singles that included such helpful nuggets as “cultivate a relaxed attitude about dating” and “make yourself attractive to the opposite sex.”

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the class took a decidedly bizarre turn. One week, a male student named Marvin launched into an in-depth analysis of the pros and cons of circumcision, during which he made a statement which is seared forever into my memory. With the most earnest of expressions, he said, “Another advantage of circumcision is that it prevents the accumulation of smegma—or, as I like to call it, ‘head cheese.’”

As I like to call it? Was this a topic that came up regularly in Marvin’s life? Maybe parishioners did come to pastors with anatomically explicit questions after all. I pictured Marvin in a well-appointed church office seated across from a matronly woman. “I glad you’ve come to me with this question, Mrs. Jones,” he was saying. “Your son’s problem is nothing more than a little old-fashioned smegma. Or, as I like to call it, ‘head cheese.’”

Strange as Myron’s presentation was, we hadn’t reached the bottom of the barrel just yet. Midway through the semester, the class was treated to a graphic discussion of pornography, which came complete with handouts. These free samples prompted questions about the student’s research methods, and I could see that our professor had begun spending class periods adding up the days to his retirement.

Of course, these efforts were all well-intentioned. But I couldn’t help thinking that somewhere in Alabama, a kindly Baptist grandmother in a floral print dress was dropping 50 cents in a worn offering plate—never imagining that her contribution was, in part, subsidizing my growing knowledge of head cheese and adult cartoons.