The following post is Part 1 of a series of articles on the history of Christianity and sex, based on the 2025 book, Lower Than the Angels: A History of Sex and Christianity, by Diarmaid McCulloch. Succeeding parts of the series will be posted on the next few Mondays. This series is written by Bondings 2.0 contributor, James E. Porter.
Does Church history have anything helpful or reassuring to offer the LGBTQIA+ community? Or is it just one long sad story about recalcitrant opposition to any and all change?
A new book about the history of sex and Christianity by an Oxford University church historian offers hope for future change in the church by showing that over the ages the Church has changed quite frequently about marriage, sexual morality, and sexual identity. In Lower Than the Angels: A History of Sex and Christianity, Diarmaid MacCulloch reminds us that many 
of the Church’s thorniest issues, especially matters of the body and sexuality, required distinguishing between unchanging doctrinal necessity and modifiable cultural custom. The book is a comprehensive history that tells a fascinating, but complicated, story, with many twists and turns, variations, and inconsistencies. MacCulloch sums it up in his conclusion:
“Christianity continues to be a chameleon faith. … To read the history of three thousand years of Christians and their predecessors talking about sex, men, women, children, marriage, is to realize just how complicated and varied the conversation has been, how much Christian teaching has changed and adapted to the circumstances in which it finds itself.” (490)
Does MacCulloch’s history offer insight on and support for LGBTQIA+ issues? Yes, a great deal. The book reassures us that it is possible, even inevitable, that the Church will change its teachings regarding gender and sexual identity, as well as same-sex relations. . I’d like to highlight some of MacCulloch’s points that are most relevant to current efforts to achieve full LGBTQIA+ acceptance in the Catholic Church.
Same-Sex Acts and Marriage
MacCulloch shows how the early Church’s disapproval of same-sex sexual relations was consistent with Roman and Jewish negative cultural attitudes of the era. Yet same-sex relations in those cultures existed, and at various times were accommodated, prohibited (and punished harshly), and celebrated (e.g., in poetry, in sculpture).
After the Council of Nicaea (325 CE), the Church formed a close alliance with Roman imperialism, adopting some of its harshness. Emperor Theodosius I used the power of the state to “criminalize the centuries-old practice of same-sex relations” (139). Theodosius II orchestrated “a new public mood of hatred of homosexuality” (139)—which was in contrast to the acceptance, even celebration of same-sex relationships in earlier Roman periods. As the Church became an imperialistic institution, it used Roman law to enforce its view of sexual identity and sexual relations– very similar to how the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops today lobbies state and federal governments to enforce Church teachings in regards to marriage, gender and sexual identity, and reproductive choice.
Yet, in spite of legal prohibitions, same-sex relations are very much a part of Church history. In the Eastern Orthodox Church there was a tradition called adelphopoiesis, or “brother making” whereby monks formed close relationships over long periods of time:.Such relationships were not necessarily sexual (MacCulloch is quick to point out), especially since the monks were often vowed celibates. However, these relationships were often acknowledged in formal rites, “agreements before God accompanied by set prayers, recognized by the wider monastic world” (148).
This monastic tradition endured for many centuries. In fact, some of the Church’s most noted members had intense same-sex relationships.
“St. Brigid of Kildare and Dharlughdach” by Robert Lentz
St. Brigid of Kildare (d. 525 CE), the founder and abbess of the monastery at Kildare, Ireland, had a very close “soul friend” (anam cara), named Dharlughdach, another nun at the abbey, with whom she slept.
St. Bernard of Clairvaux (d. 1153 CE), the founder of the Cistercians and co-founder of the Knights Templar,wrote homoerotic poetry and had a passionate relationship with the Irish archbishop Malachy of Armagh. When Malachy died, he was buried in Bernard’s habit—and Bernard wore Malachy’s habit until he died five years later. They were buried together.
St. Hildegard of Bingen (d. 1179 CE), a significant theologian and Church doctor had a deep personal friendship with another nun, Richardis von Stade.
An 1847 painting by Mary Giberne deopicting Ambrose St. John (left) and John Henry Newman.
John Henry Newman (aka Cardinal Newman, later St. John Henry Newman) had a 32-year relationship with Father Ambrose St. John. The two “were inseparable and lived together.” Upon St. John’s death in 1875, Newman spent “the night on the bed beside the corpse” (431); they asked to be buried in the same grave. As MacCulloch notes, there was a well-established homosexual subculture in the 19th-century English public (i.e. elite private) school system, despite punitive British laws prohibiting male homosexuality (432-433).
Whether these relationships were sexual or not is of course unknown—and perhaps irrelevant. On one level at least, these close committed bonds were marriages. MacCulloch reminds us that in 5th century Christianity marriage was not yet ritualized. Christian marriage was based entirely on the consent of the two parties committing themselves to each other before God.
Church authorities certainly knew about these same-sex bonds and tolerated them, but would not acknowledge them as marriages. They safely characterized them as “friendships”–the Church’s version of Don’t ask, don’t tell.
Doctrine or Culture?
Are the male/female gender binary and the prohibition against same-sex marriage and sex a doctrinally necessary position for the faith? Or are these cultural customs—strong and longstanding ones, admittedly—that can therefore be changed?
MacCulloch points out that the Church’s views of sexual morality are not based very much on scripture: the Gospels have little to say about sexual morality, and Jesus said “nothing whatsoever about homosexuality” (79). Rather, their basis is “natural law,” granted authority through the 12th-century Aristotelian-influenced theology of Thomas Aquinas who, as MacCullouch states, insisted that: “There were men and there were women, and their bodily parts were designed to fit together in sexual congress. Any other use of them was literally ‘disordered’” (495). MacCulloch hopes that the Church could update this view, based on “what has become apparent about human behaviour and biology over the last century” (495).
MacCulloch asserts that ultimately culture changes doctrine—inevitably, though perhaps slowly. Since the 1970s some other major Christian denominations have adjusted their views regarding marriage, sexuality, and related matters—contraception and divorce first, then later female ordination and same-sex marriage—adapting doctrine to align more closely with changing cultural attitudes. The Anglican Communion began ordaining women as priests in 1971. The Episcopal Church began ordaining women in 1974, approved transgender ordination in 2012, and codified support for same-sex marriages in 2015.
These changes are instances of sensus fidelium—the working of the Holy Spirit through the lay faithful. The laity themselves are clamoring for change, insisting on full LGBTQ+ acceptance, and are making their voices heard.
Some clerics, including bishops, are listening and already making adjustments in their teachings: e.g., the Vicar General of the Hamburg Archdiocese, Fr. Sascha-Philipp Geißler, has issued new guidelines that take a “relationship-ethically grounded view of love, partnership, marriage, family, and sexuality” and that “advocate for the acceptance of diversity in terms of sexual orientation and gender identity.”
As Church history shows, these small steps in practices are how real change eventually happens.
—James E. Porter, October 27, 2025
Finally! We’re finally moving forward on this subject, examining the role that societal attitudes and academic findings have played over the years in determining what is sinful and what isn’t, with regard to sex. That is a road that leads to change, since the knowledge and attitudes prevailing in any society form a sometimes unseen but very real presence in the development of religious belief and the formulation of doctrine. Some in the Church will fight doctrinal growth with respect to sexuality, but there is reason for optimism. That in itself is good news.
Were the same-sex relationships described here the fruit of a homosexual orientation, or were they exceptionally close heterosexuals? That distinction is essential.
While they may not have had sex, if their deep feelings were rooted in their innate homosexuality, then it would show that a homosexual orientation is not “intrinsically disordered.” If a homosexual orientation produces deep and enduring (albeit chaste) relationships, then it is, in at least some cases, ordered toward the good. I would further argue that if we discover that same-sex acts deepened these friendships, then same-sex acts can also be ordered towards the good.
My guess is that we’re not talking about heterosexual bonds in the above examples–we are talking about people with an innate homosexual orientation ordering their God-given feelings towards goodness and holiness.
Thanks for the tip about Diarmaid MacCulloch’s book.
My first introduction to his work, was a book review of Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years. I found that work to be a quite enlightening history of the roots and growth of Christianity and its split into various denominations and churches. One thing I learned from that book, is how Christian churches have arisen, flourished, and in some cases died.
Then I read Silence: A Christian History. A particular point he mentions is that Christian opposition to slavery originated with Quakers. He spoke about their opposition to biblical authority and their emphasis on “inner light” as their prime authority.
This could also be why Quakers were at the forefront of accepting gay people and our relationships.
Diarmaid was ordained an Anglican deacon, but because he was openly gay and at odds with the church’s opposition to homosexuality, he was never ordained a priest.
What you have written about MacCulloch’s book on sex and Christianity reminds me a bit of John Boswell’s works. I am looking forward to reading this book.
Thanks for all the comments. I don’t think anybody knows for sure whether those saints were homosexuals or “close heterosexuals”—but the visible evidence and lore sure point toward a deep emotional intensity in the relationships. So many of the Church’s doctrines extend from cultural customs (patriarchy and strict gender binary being the big ones)—customs that are not all that well aligned with the Gospel message—and those can certainly change. But I think a lot of the Church’s resistance to change comes from wanting to be distinct from Protestantism, or at least that is what the Council of Trent and Vatican I were trying to do.
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