8: Resistance is Futile

It's time I broach a touchy subject here, one that could make at least some of you practically swell with shock. Blogging is quite masturbatory by nature, as all you're doing week in and week out is focusing on yourself, so it can be quite challenging at times not pausing to stroke your ego now and then anyway. Even so, I pray you won't think me a jerk, and please allow me this one week to share some hard truths from the dark corners of my room in the monastery.

I'm not sure how else to paint the picture for you except this...

Even though I lived in a modern-day monastery more often referred to as the brothers house, this was still very much a holy place as far as I was concerned, so committing any kind of unholy act there was just the furthest thing from my mind, especially in my first two months there.

Despite this, I was soon enough faced with what I can only describe as a medical situation. I foolishly assumed when I gave my life over to God and put on my religious habit that certain bad habits would magically disappear, or if they didn't just go away on their own, that I'd be able to sweep them away easily enough besides.

And I did successfully rid myself of these terrible temptations of the flesh, I really did!

At some point though? I just hit a wall. I was an 18-year-old guy, and certain bodily needs can only be put aside so long. And for me, that meant that after only about six weeks in the monastery, I caved. I couldn't take it any longer. Some reading this may not face this particular struggle, but I promise you that especially as a man and especially as a young man only about three months after his 18th birthday, the kind of below-the-waist blood flow battle can only be quelled for a certain amount of time before you've simply got to do something about it.

And so, under the cover of darkness, with the lights turned out and a box of tissues at the ready, I took care of business. I was as silent about it as you can possibly imagine too, but no matter how quiet I kept my sinful act from others, the voice inside my head was yelling at me with judgment. I kid you not: I truly was very sad that I wasn't able to last more than 6 weeks in a monastery without needing to jerk off. I didn't go so far as to think myself a bad person, just a weak person. I thought my inability to manage without doing that kind of thing said something about me.

I was less than two months in to what I thought at the time would be an entire lifetime as a monk, and I was already starting to break the rules. Not just the rules of monastic life either, but of the whole Roman Catholic Church as well. Here's what the Catechism says:

By masturbation is to be understood the deliberate stimulation of the genital organs in order to derive sexual pleasure. Both the Magisterium of the Church, in the course of a constant tradition, and the moral sense of the faithful have been in no doubt and have firmly maintained that masturbation is an intrinsically and gravely disordered action.

The first time was definitely a huge deal for me. The second time less so, and the third even less. After that, I just tried not to do it too often, and convinced myself at some point that what I was doing was healthy, after all. I was getting rid of the desires of the flesh by myself in my own bedroom rather than seeking help of any kind from another person.

Sad to say, I did end up getting help from another person while I was still a brother. That story, however, will have to wait for a while. We're in the summer of 1993 here, and have almost four years ahead of us still.

Next week I'll start to share with you some of the actual words exchanged from that first summer, when my family, friends, and I were all still dealing with the new normal of my mysterious life as a monk. I think seeing some of the cards and letters, pictures and journals from that time will help paint a better picture for you of who I was back then, and more importantly, who I saw myself becoming.


Coming Next Week: A Kid in Monk's Clothing