OMFG! Let's Talk About Sex

Somewhere between the immaculate conception and Pope Benedict XVI's US tour, God has worked his way into the bedroom.

I, for one, did not see it coming, nor did I see it happen. But that's the way it is with God, I suppose. One day he's frowning down upon you for thinking naughty thoughts about your catechism teacher, and the next he's pressed up against the back of "Oh-My-Fucking". Lord almighty.

And so, to quote a group whose music I was listening to far earlier than I should have been, let's talk about sex. And more specifically, let's talk about sex and god. Because Oh-My-Fucking-God, is he everywhere!

For those of you out there who are more, well, traditional believers and are currently squirming in their seats (Hi Mom!), let me explain myself. I'm not some sexed-up crackpot who spends their day thinking dirty thoughts about God. I am, however, some Mac-ed-out blogger who spends their day thinking about creative and strange (and some may argue interesting) ways to talk about God / Spirituality / Other-Soul-Related-Things-That-Are-Generally-Capitalized. And so, when I saw the OMFG ads for Gossip Girl, my wheels got a-churnin'.

When was the last time anyone thought about the fact that the "G" in OMFG stood for God? Wait, don't answer that. The point is that I had never really thought about it before. As someone who spent a childhood getting lectured on taking the Lord's name in vain (whoo-ee, am I gonna be in for it after this one!), somewhere along the line, God's name, the word, did get lost in all the vanity. OMFG became just as inconspicuous as LOL, TTYL, and NSFW.

So why are God and Sex such seemingly mutually exclusive subjects? Well, as far as I'm concerned, they're not. Women the world over have been singing his praises in many a compromising position since the dawn of time. Heck, it should really be considered a compliment. And considering that the big guy managed to do the deed unto Mary without lifting a finger, I'm pretty sure he knows what he's doing.

If that's not proof enough, case in point: Bernini's The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa. According to Saint Theresa herself:

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it.

I'll have whatever she's having.

But seriously, it's pretty easy to make the argument that we are our most pure, our most un-self-conscious, our most spiritually aware when in the midst of such bodily celebration. And I like to view God (when I view him at all) as a pretty upstanding, fun-loving guy, and most importantly as a guy who (if we're going to go there) created the human body and all of it's crooks, valleys, tricks, and nuances. Having sex is nothing if not a celebration of his creation, no?

But for those of you who -- no matter how many ecstatic teens overlaid with OMFG you see -- want God to remain out of the bedroom, sex is still and will most likely always remain a religiously taboo topic.

I'm still going to go there, though. Loosen up already! Do your thing! Jesus was cool with adulterers, and the Pope likes pussies (cats! Pussy cats! Get your mind out of the gutter.) so why don't the rest of us start having a little fun? And for God's sake, let's include him! Everybody likes a threesome.