A Case For Sexfulness (To EveryMarriage Whose Bed Has Grown Cold)
THE NEED FOR SEXFULNES
There is a silent, sexless plague that lingers beneath the sheets of far too many Christian marriages. And what’s missing is not merely sex—but sexfulness.
Sexfulness is not just the presence of intercourse—it is the presence of delight, frequency, affection, anticipation, and playfulness that is holy, God honoring, and life giving to the marriage. It is not mechanical duty, but covenant joy. It is a sacred kind of joyful play, a mutual pursuit, and gospel-shaped union where both husband and wife are fully known, fully loved, and fully enjoyed.
Sometimes this plague is fueled by a kind of baptized Gnosticism that sees sex as unspiritual, dirty, or merely for the production of children. Other times, it festers in the shadows of guilt, shame, and regret—corrupting every encounter with a fog of unspoken pain. Whatever the root, the result is the same: what God designed to be a passionate and joy-filled blessing slowly cools into coals of indifference. Touch disappears. Tenderness fades. Skin-to-skin bonding gives way to sterile cohabitation. Two bodies lie side by side, no longer joined in soul. The one-flesh union withers into little more than a shared address.
And this—though rarely labeled as such—is a kind of adultery. Not the kind that breaks the marriage with an affair, but the kind that erodes it through ongoing, habitual neglect. It is a sin of withholding. A sin of silence. A sin the Church must name.
Because if the Church is called to disciple God’s people in every area of life, then the bedroom must not be excluded from that holy task. To that end, we begin.
THE CURSE OF SEXLESSNESS
There are few places as sacred—or as silent—as a cold marriage bed. Once a place of laughter, warmth, and unashamed delight, it can become a tomb where desire dies, touch fades, and joy is buried beneath the sheets.
Sometimes the silence comes slowly. A missed moment here. A rejected advance there. Hurt feelings left unspoken. Needs unshared. Over time, conversation dries up. Affection wanes. The pursuit that once came easily becomes rare. Eventually, the bed becomes a negotiation, a frequent rejection, a "let's get it over with"—or worse, a battleground where deep bitterness, frustration, and shame lie unchecked. And without repentance, this kind of scenario will become a deep dank grave that will poison the marriage.
Why? Because bitterness grows best in silence and no where are couples more prone to awkward silence about their disappointments and frustrations than in the realm of sex. But, as Hebrews 12:15 warns us, even a single root of bitterness can spread its venom through the soul, defiling many. And the sexless marriage, if left untended, becomes the perfect greenhouse for that kind of festering rot to thrive. It spreads into tone, into assumptions, into parenting, into prayer. Everything begins to feel brittle. Heavy. Burdened. The marriage becomes a hallway of closed doors and unmet expectations.
What was meant to be the safest and most intimate place on earth becomes the loneliest. What was meant to be a sanctuary of celebration becomes a monument of mourning. The couple still sleeps in the same bed. But it no longer joins them. It divides them. They lie side by side—back to back instead of heart to heart. The place where their oneness is supposed to be most pronounced, becomes a marker of their distance.
And this distance does not remain contained. Peter warns us that a husband’s spiritual life can be hindered if he does not live with his wife in an understanding way (1 Peter 3:7). That is not abstract theology—it is practical terror. If your bed is frozen in distance, your prayers may be frozen in heaven. Cold affections can chill the soul. And the Lord will not overlook it.
This is not merely about sex. It is about covenant. It is about truth. And it is about a quiet kind of death that too many couples pretend is normal.
But how exactly does this coldness cut so deep? What does it do to a man? To a woman? To the soul? Let us continue our examination by learning how much damage sexlessness can cause.
HOW SEXLESSNESS KILLS YOUR MARRIAGE
Sexual neglect is not benign. It is not a harmless omission or an unfortunate oversight. It is a bodily starvation. A marital poison that seeps into every cell, every system, every silence.
When one spouse is consistently refused in the place where God designed joy, comfort, union, and release to dwell, the wound does not stay confined to the bedroom. It spreads. It mutates. It corrupts the body’s rhythms, the brain’s chemicals, the heart’s expectations, and the soul’s affections. And the damage it causes is not just emotional or spiritual—it is physiological. It is chemical. It is systemic.
The body suffers when the marriage bed is cold.
For the man, persistent sexual rejection creates hormonal havoc. Testosterone levels drop when sexual intimacy is absent, leading to decreased energy, mood instability, reduced confidence, and even loss of muscle mass. Chronic abstinence without cause can elevate cortisol—the stress hormone—pushing the body into a state of low-grade anxiety and internal inflammation. Over time, this stress becomes somatic: headaches, high blood pressure, digestive issues, and even increased risk of heart disease. Men who are deprived of regular, affectionate touch often suffer sleep disruptions, increased irritability, and a profound, unspoken grief. Their immune systems weaken. Their will erodes. And in their most private moments, shame coils around them like a serpent: Why am I unwanted? What is wrong with me?
For the woman, the cost is no less severe. A woman who is emotionally starved of physical intimacy often internalizes the absence as personal failure. Her oxytocin levels—the bonding hormone designed by God to surge during affectionate touch and climax—begin to plummet. This leads to heightened stress, increased emotional reactivity, difficulty sleeping, and even depression. Studies show that women in sexless marriages are more likely to suffer from anxiety-related disorders, chronic fatigue, and even certain cancers linked to suppressed immune function and prolonged cortisol elevation. Her skin begins to ache for what it no longer receives. Her nervous system dulls from lack of stimulation. Her brain, designed to light up in the warmth of covenantal touch, flickers in the cold. And beneath all of it is a rising despair: Am I still beautiful? Am I still desirable? Does he see me at all?
And together, the couple suffers. The biochemical glue that God designed to bond them—oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin—no longer flows freely between them. Without regular sex, their bodies stop “remembering” each other. The God-given circuitry of marital connection begins to decay. Resentment replaces ritual. Averted eyes replace lingering touches. And the home begins to hum with low-level estrangement. They still share bills, meals, responsibilities—but no longer share the visceral joy of nakedness without shame. Their bodies forget how to delight. Their hearts forget how to rest. They begin to function like partners in a contract, not lovers in a covenant.
And the longer this persists, the more dangerous the consequences become. Men in sexless marriages are statistically more likely to experience cardiovascular disease, prostate complications, and premature death. Women deprived of sexual pleasure are more likely to suffer from autoimmune issues, depressive episodes, hormonal imbalance, and even memory loss. The absence of sexual union does not just dampen spirits—it deteriorates the flesh.
And beneath the science is the sorrow. What God intended to be a regular immersion in covenant joy has become a wilderness of unmet need. The bedroom, once a sanctuary of play and praise, now feels like exile. The bed, meant for blessing, becomes a breeding ground for bitterness. And bitterness, once it takes root, does not stay put—it metastasizes. Into arguments. Into parenting. Into prayer. Into every glance and every guarded conversation.
This is the wreckage that sexual neglect causes. It wounds the brain, distorts the hormones, withers the body, and calcifies the heart. It fosters isolation, fuels despair, and plants the seeds of temptation. And though it may masquerade as self-control or emotional maturity, it is often neither. It is neglect. It is deprivation. It is a slow starvation that leaves the marriage malnourished, the heart famished, and the body hollow.
This is not simply sad. It is dangerous. Yet even after naming the chemicals, the cancers, and the creeping cruelties that haunt a sex-starved marriage, one obstacle often remains: silence. Too many couples—too many pulpits—treat this subject as if it were unmentionable, a private ache best endured behind closed doors. But the God who knit bodies and wrote hormones was never embarrassed by His own design. He breathed into Scripture frank commands, lavish promises, and unblushing poetry about covenant pleasure. When we tiptoe around what He has spoken plainly, we do not honor modesty; we muzzle truth.
So let us break the hush. Let us drag the cold bed into the warm light of God’s Word and ask, What does the Designer say about desire? Only then can we rebuild the rhythms of joy on a foundation that will not crack. The next section will open the pages of Scripture and let the Lord Himself teach us why the marriage bed is meant to blaze with holy fire—and how He intends to rekindle every flame that has gone out.
THE BIBLICAL CASE FOR SEXFULNESS IN MARRIAGE
When God thundered from Sinai, He did not merely forbid unfaithfulness—He enshrined a vision of covenant fidelity that includes the body. “You shall not commit adultery” is not just a line in the sand—it is a divine gift meant to anchor us in the glorious terrain of exclusive pleasure. It’s not only a prohibition; it’s an invitation. A call not merely to avoid sexual sin but to pursue sexual glory—glory that is embodied, delighted in, and wholly consecrated to one’s spouse.
Yes, the Church must teach against adultery, fornication, pornography, lust, and every other distortion. But just as fervently, we must preach the pleasures God has declared clean. We must teach husbands and wives that the marriage bed is not a sterile place of permitted procreation, but a sacred temple of pleasure, laughter, sweat, and joy—a theater where bodies preach eternity.
The Westminster Larger Catechism, with crisp Reformed clarity, declares that the duties required in the seventh commandment include not just chastity before marriage, but “marital cohabitation” and “chaste love” within it. This is not a footnote in God’s law. This is an act of worship.
And Scripture does not veil this—it glories in it. God is not bashful about the beauty of the body. He made it. He called it good. And in the covenant of marriage, He ordained that it be fully known, fully explored, fully enjoyed. Proverbs 5:19 does not murmur in suggestion; it thunders in command: “Let her breasts satisfy you at all times; be exhilarated always with her love.” The Hebrew verb for satisfy (ravah) means to be drenched, soaked, saturated—as if the husband is to be washed in the delight of his wife’s breasts. And exhilarated (shagah) evokes staggering intoxication, not unlike a man reeling from strong wine. The text does not permit abstinent civility—it demands ravished ecstasy. This is not mere tolerance of sex—it is a theology of total-bodied delight.
And nowhere is this more powerfully portrayed than in the Song of Songs—the most erotically charged, yet theologically majestic, book in the Bible. In Song 2:3, the bride exclaims, “I sat down under his shade with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.” In the plain sense of the Hebrew, she is describing oral sex—kneeling in his shadow (a euphemism for his phallic strength, cf. Ezek. 31:3), delighting in his body, and tasting his climax. She does not recoil; she relishes. The language is lush, deliberate, and evocative.
In Song 4:16, she reciprocates, calling him to enter her garden and eat its choicest fruits: “Let my beloved come into his garden and eat its choice fruits.” The garden is her body—her vulva, her vagina, her sensual self given freely to him. She is not referring to apricots or figs—she is offering herself. The man accepts the invitation without restraint: “I have come into my garden... I have gathered my myrrh... I have eaten my honeycomb... I have drunk my wine with milk” (Song 5:1). He is describing the tactile and oral enjoyment of her genitals, her scent, her taste, her pleasure—this is cunnilingus painted in poetry. And the Holy Spirit did not redact it. He inspired it.
And then in Song 7:7–8, the imagery crescendos. The man says, “Your stature is like a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters. I said, ‘I will climb the palm tree, I will take hold of its fruit stalks.’” This is not a discourse on agriculture. This is a man mounting his wife, delighting in the sight, the feel, and the fullness of her body. His hands are upon her. His lips are near her. And the context implies manual stimulation, tactile and tender, as he brings her to climax with joy.
This is not just about orgasm—it is about adoration. It is about a covenant couple becoming lovers, friends, and worshipers all at once. Their bodies become a sanctuary. Their limbs become a liturgy. Their moans become a melody of praise. This is holy mirth. Holy mischief. Holy exploration. And it is so safe, so secure, so shame-free, that their playfulness becomes part of their prayer. They do not merely make love—they declare love, in laughter and touch, in sigh and song, in gaze and grip. They are both naked and unashamed—not because they are primitive, but because they are paradisiacal.
This is not vulgarity. This is victory. In a world that mocks sex or mutilates it, Scripture redeems it. In a culture of one-night-stands, the Bible exalts the eternal embrace. In a generation of pornography, hookup apps, and sterile marriages, the Song of Songs—and all its shocking, dripping, God-breathed sensuality—calls the Church back to Eden.
Yes, these passages describe oral sex. Yes, they describe fingers tracing sacred places. Yes, they describe kissing, tasting, stroking, and satisfying. And yes—they are in your Bible. Because in Christian marriage, the bedroom is not a back room. It is a temple. And the bodies within it are not shameful—they are the theater of covenant love, the parable of Christ and His Church, the place where pleasure and promise meet in the most sacred of all earthly acts. Let me explain.
SEXFULNESS AS A TYPE OF HEAVENLY JOY
What we have been describing is not merely bodily delight for its own sake—it is typology. Not just physical joy, but prophetic joy. Not merely orgasm, but eschatology. The sexual union of husband and wife is a sacred signpost, a shadow that declares a greater reality is coming. It is a living parable of the eternal embrace—the glorious consummation—when Christ will receive His Bride and all separation will cease.
In the same way that the Old Testament saints were commanded to offer lambs—not because they believed those lambs could take away sin, but because each blood-soaked altar pointed ahead to the Lamb of God—so we are commanded to give ourselves to one another in the marriage bed, not because sex is the ultimate experience, but because it points beyond itself to the union for which we were made. The tabernacle was not the end—it was a pointer. The temple was not the glory—it was the shadow of the greater glory to come. And when Christ came, the shadow faded in the brilliance of the substance.
Likewise, marital sex is not ultimate—but it is holy. Every time a husband and wife join in covenantal pleasure, they are rehearsing heaven. Each kiss is a whisper of the kingdom. Each breathless moment is a foreshadowing of eternal rest. Each shudder of joy is a flicker of the joy unspeakable and full of glory that is coming for the people of God.
Sex is declarative waiting. It is the bold confession that heaven is real, that joy is embodied, and that intimacy is not shameful but sacred. It is how we say with our skin, “This world is not our home—but this moment tells me something about where I’m going.” We do not despise the picture because it is limited. That is Gnosticism, not Christianity. The fact that sex is not eternal does not diminish its worth—it increases its wonder.
To ask, “Why have sex if it is not forever?” is to misunderstand how God works in history. The Old Testament saints did not ask, “Why sacrifice a lamb if it cannot truly take away sin?” They sacrificed because God commanded it. Because it nourished their faith. Because it tethered them to hope. Because it was a gift. And so too, we make love in marriage—not because we think this is the highest joy possible, but because we know it is a temporary gift pointing to a permanent glory.
And that is why there will be no sex in heaven. Not because God is squeamish. Not because our bodies are bad. But because the shadow will give way to the substance. When Christ embraces His Church forever, we will no longer need the picture. We will have the Person. When the veil is lifted, when shame is no more, when union is complete and perfect and uninterrupted—then sex will have done its job. Like the Passover lamb, like the temple veil, like the golden altar—it will be fulfilled. It will have carried us to the threshold of eternity and bowed out in joy.
Until then, our task is clear. We are to have sex with joy. With frequency. With skill. With gratitude. We are to press ourselves into one another until time feels suspended. Until every burden disappears. Until every breath and every gasp and every moan joins in a chorus of covenant delight. Because in that moment—when everything else fades and all that matters is the joy you are giving and receiving—you are the closest to heaven you will get on this side of glory.
Sex is not just permitted. It is prophetic. It is the fire in the temple, the joy of embodied praise, the worship of two souls who know that heaven is coming—and until it does, they will sing its song with their bodies.
This is not crass. It is consecrated. This is not carnal. It is covenantal. It is not the end. But it is the preview. And that, in the wisdom of God, is more than enough to make it sacred.
So do not hold back. Do not despise the gift. Do not treat it as optional or unspiritual. When you love your spouse with your body, you are preaching the coming glory with your skin. You are tasting eternity in miniature. You are picturing, in flesh and joy, the everlasting embrace of Christ and His Church. And when the better finally comes—when the Bridegroom receives His Bride forever—you will know that the picture, though momentary, was worth every sacred second.
THE GOSPEL AND SEXFULNESS
The one-flesh mystery is not biology, Biblical, and typological alone—it is theology in motion. When a husband gives himself joyfully, attentively, and tenderly to his wife, and when she receives him gladly, laughing and resting in his arms, they are not merely satisfying human desire. They are declaring cosmic truth. Their bodies, joined in covenant pleasure, are preaching Christ and His Church.
Ephesians 5 unveils this secret plainly. Marriage is a profound mystery, Paul says—but not merely because it is emotional or enduring. It is profound because it proclaims something bigger than itself: “I am speaking with reference to Christ and the church” (Ephesians 5:32, NASB1995). The Gospel is not merely illustrated by marriage—it is enacted through it. And the marriage bed, where covenant love is most physically declared, becomes the pulpit.
And not merely worship in the abstract—but worship in flesh and blood. When a husband tenderly and intentionally brings his wife to orgasm—not hastily or selfishly, but with joy, sacrificial love, tenderness, and patience—he is declaring, in flesh and friction, that Christ does not ration pleasure to His Bride. He lavishes it. He delights to give. When a wife receives her husband gladly, laughs with him, explores him, and delights in giving him her body without fear or shame, she preaches the glad reception of the Church in the arms of her Redeemer.
So what does it mean when the bed goes cold? When touch becomes rare, when laughter vanishes, when sex becomes an infrequent, mechanical duty—or disappears altogether? It means the sermon has stopped. The living parable has gone silent. And that silence does not preach neutrality; it preaches lies.
A husband who withholds affection, who pursues work or hobbies or even ministry while forsaking the bedroom, preaches a Christ who is distant, disinterested, and disengaged. A wife who retreats in bitterness, who weaponizes rejection or withholds her body out of exhaustion or resentment, preaches a Church that resents her Savior, resists His advances, and recoils at His touch. And a couple that lies side by side but no longer knows the joy of knowing each other preaches a salvation that is cold, formal, and fruitless.
This is why a sexless marriage is not simply sad. It is false. It tells the wrong story. It maligns the truth. It presents a distorted Christ and a disfigured Church. Which is why such a marriage is not just unfortunate—it is sinful.
WHERE DO YOU GO FROM HERE?
If you are reading this and you feel the sting of conviction—if the Spirit has laid His finger upon the cold places in your marriage—then do not linger in guilt. Don’t wallow in your head. Don’t overcomplicate it. Get up. Go to your spouse. Touch them. Hold them. Laugh. Begin the dance again.
Plan a feast of the senses. Let repentance be tactile. Let it have taste, and smell, and sound, and skin. Let it be playful and passionate. Let your bodies declare what your hearts are returning to—that Jesus is a joyful Savior, and you are a covenant people.
And if you feel awkward—if the idea of naked vulnerability still feels frightening, if you don’t know how to begin, or if the acts described here stir up feelings of shyness, shame, or uncertainty—know this: that too can be holy ground. You are not broken. You are not behind. You are simply beginning. And beginnings are beautiful. You don’t need to be erotic experts—you need to be eager explorers. Together.
Talk. Laugh. Blush. Fumble. Learn each other. Say, “Do this to me.” Say, “Try this.” Say, “I love it when you touch me there.” That is not a burden. That is the adventure of marriage. It is not dirty—it is delightful. Your body belongs to your spouse, and their body to you, not as a weight to carry but as a world to discover. So discover it. Explore it. Rejoice in it. God made your skin to glorify Him, your moans to echo joy, your pleasure to proclaim covenant delight. Don’t be sexless. Don’t be squeamish. Be sanctified and shameless together.
Because repentance in this area is not just more sex—it is better sex. Joyful sex. Intimate sex. Explorative, sacrificial, delighted sex. Because our marriages are not mechanical partnerships—they are living parables of Christ and His Church. And joyless, boring, rote sex preaches as much of a lie as no sex at all. Christ does not love His Bride with drudgery. He woos her. He rejoices over her. He sings. He dances. He delights. And she, in turn, opens wide her heart and body and soul to receive Him with gladness.
This is why a sexless marriage is sin. It denies the joy of Jesus. It refuses the embrace. It silences the song. And this is why joyless sex is also sin—it preaches a Christ who is cold and a Church who is bored.
But you are not doomed to that lie.
You can repent with kisses. You can return with laughter. You can worship with moans and hands and holy mischief. You can come back to the bed not just for duty, but for delight. You can say with your skin, “We have been forgiven. We have been restored. And we will tell that story with our bodies.”
So strike the flint. Fan the fire. Plan the night. Take a bath. Light the candles. Turn off the phones. Be awkward. Laugh. Learn. Touch. Delight again. Let your repentance end in sweat and gladness and grace.
And if you're reading this as a single person—aching for this kind of joy—then do not despair. That ache is not evil. It is holy longing that points forward. But do not grasp for fruit that is not yours. Do not ransack the orchard before the wedding. As the Song of Songs warns: “Do not awaken love before its proper time.” (Song 2:7). Instead, pursue marriage. Prepare your soul. Purify your heart. Marry a godly woman. Marry a godly man. Do not settle for sex without covenant or passion without promise. Wait well. Pray boldly. And then run toward the altar with joy. Because this glory is not forbidden—it is simply timed. And when the time comes, it will be worth every second of self-control.
And when the lights go out and the covers rise, may your bed become a temple, your breath become a hymn, your joy become a hallelujah, and your union become a sermon of what eternity will be like.
