When your sexuality and your faith feel at odds, it usually isn’t your theology pulling against you—it’s the culture and shame layered on top of it. That tension is painful, but it can become a catalyst for growth. Many couples move through the crisis to a deeper, more integrated, and more peaceful faith.
Few things are as disorienting as discovering that the way you were taught to think about sex no longer fits—and feeling your faith wobble because of it.
If working on your sex life has started to shake your spiritual foundation, know that this is far more common than you think. I’ve been there myself.
Let’s talk about why it happens—and how couples come through it with both their intimacy and their faith intact, often stronger than before.
Why do sexuality and faith feel at war?
On episode 42, I talked with Dr. Anthony Hughes, a rare male sex therapist who also teaches at a private religious university.
His diagnosis matched my own experience: when faith and sexuality feel at war, the conflict is usually cultural, not theological.
In other words, it’s rarely your actual beliefs fighting your sexuality. It’s the shame, silence, and subtle messages that got tangled up with your faith along the way.
Hughes points out that a great deal of Scripture is openly sex-positive, and that married religious couples actually tend to have more sex, not less.
He even describes the sex-negativity as a kind of spiritual sabotage—an attack on one of the most sacred bonds there is. Whatever language you use, the effect is real: good people end up believing their desire is the enemy.
What does it feel like when sexuality shakes your faith?
My guest on episode 134, Jacqlin Guernsey, described it better than anyone I’ve heard.
She thought she had a near-perfect marriage—until her husband came to her with a genuine, emotional plea about how much he was struggling sexually.
As they began to work on it, everything she thought she knew started to shift. In her words, her thoughts and feelings no longer matched what she’d grown up with, and her foundation was literally crumbling underneath her.
She kept telling herself a brutal story: this is on me, this is something I have to fix. The weight of it pulled her into a real depression—she didn’t even want to be touched.
If any of that resonates, please hear me. That response doesn’t mean your faith is failing or your marriage is broken. It means you’re in the middle of something hard and holy.
Is a faith crisis always a bad thing?
Here’s the reframe that changed everything for me. A crisis is unpleasant, but it isn’t necessarily bad.
A crisis can force us to grow up and define ourselves more honestly. It can move our moral compass from something external—rules we merely inherited—to something internal we’ve actually chosen.
That shift is exactly the kind of move from inherited belief to a faith you’ve claimed as your own that brings real agency and freedom.
Jacqlin held onto a line during her darkest stretch that I love: when it’s dark, look for stars.
The night doesn’t last forever—and it often reveals things the daylight hides.
How do you reconcile your faith and your sexuality?
Dr. Hughes offered some of the most practical guidance I’ve heard on actually integrating the two.
First, tend to any wounds underneath. Some people carry big-T trauma like abuse; others carry little-t trauma, like being shamed as a child for simple curiosity. Both deserve care and healing.
Often that means healing the sexual shame that quietly sits beneath the conflict.
Second, surround yourself with voices that are both faith-filled and sex-positive. Hughes jokes that he’d love to see people wear a shirt that says “religious and sex positive,” because the two genuinely belong together. They’re not oil and water.
For me, reconciliation came from digging into theology itself—remembering that our bodies aren’t a lower, shameful part of us, but a good and central part of being human and being made in God’s image.
What if you and your spouse are in different places?
One of the hardest parts of Jacqlin’s story is how alone she felt, even with a husband who was genuinely trying.
When one of you is pushing to grow and the other feels ambushed by it, grace matters. This isn’t a problem to pin on one person—not “all on you” and not “all on me.”
Go slower than feels efficient. Let it be a partnership. And remember the goal isn’t to win a debate; it’s to understand each other and grow together.
It also helps to keep the big picture in view: faith and a thriving sex life were always designed to belong together.
Can you come out the other side stronger?
Yes. I’m living proof, and so are many of the couples I’ve worked with.
The tension that once felt like it might unravel your faith can become the very thing that deepens it—more honest, more integrated, and more truly your own.
You don’t have to choose between being a person of faith and being a fully sexual person. You were always meant to be both. For the full picture this fits into, explore our complete guide to sex and faith in marriage.
You don’t have to navigate this alone
Working through a faith-and-sexuality crisis is tender, important work—and it’s far less lonely with support.
Our Next Level coaching program gives you and your spouse a faith-friendly course and real coaches to help you move through the tension toward integration, intimacy, and peace.
Frequently asked questions about faith and sexuality at odds
Often because growth surfaces the gap between inherited cultural messages and your actual beliefs. As Dr. Anthony Hughes notes, the conflict is usually cultural rather than theological. Naming that gap is the start of resolving it rather than letting it quietly unravel you.
Yes, it’s common. Podcast guest Jacqlin Guernsey described falling into depression and not wanting to be touched as her foundation shifted. It doesn’t mean you’re failing—it can signal you’re in the middle of meaningful growth, and support makes a real difference.
Absolutely. Faith and a healthy, positive sexuality are not opposites. Much of Scripture is sex-positive within marriage, and many couples find the two actually strengthen each other rather than compete. They are not oil and water.
Treat it as a shared journey rather than one person’s problem to fix. Move slowly, address any underlying shame or trauma, seek out faith-and-sex-positive guidance, and stay focused on understanding each other rather than winning a debate.
