On September 17th, the journal Reproductive Health published an article, "Religiosity and teen birth rate in the United States," on the relationship between teen birth rates and "religiosity" (level of religious affiliation) by state. The study found that the states with the highest religiosity also had the highest teen birth rates, even when controlling for income and abortion rates (the study also found that high religiosity correlated with lower income levels and lower likelihood of abortion). Predictably in this contentious field, there are already some who question the overall analytic approach of the study.

Even so, the speculation of the study's authors that "conservative religious communities in the U.S. are more successful in discouraging use of contraception among their teen community members than in discouraging sexual intercourse itself" is worth contemplating. On a personal level (I'll leave the policy theorizing for Rachel Maddow), I've spoken to several of my colleagues from religious backgrounds about this study and they all echoed the theory offered by several blogs and articles--that teens from religious backgrounds are less likely than other teens to use contraception when they do have sex because they don't think it works, or because they feel that thinking about contraception would suggest premeditation and intention.

It was the weirdest "talk" we had ever had.

My mother had always been very open and honest with me when I had questions about sex and relationships, but this just took the cake. So what was this strange piece of unsolicited advice I received as we drove through my high school boyfriend's neighborhood?

"I know you really love him, but don't marry him. It's okay to have sex with him if you think that's the right thing to do."

Maybe she saw the gleam in my angst-y, seventeen-year-old eyes as we drove past his house on the way home from school that day. Maybe she remembered what it was like to be a teenager in love. Maybe she and her sisters had visited a spirit guide on their annual girls' night out earlier that year who told her that her youngest daughter would marry before the age of 20 (true story). Whatever it was - and I'm assuming it's probably a combination of all three of these factors - this was a message she delivered with the same urgency and conviction as the information she had been giving me about my body and birth control, the realities of raising kids, and all the other important stuff for my entire life.

Yesterday on The Tyra Banks Show, Tyra interviewed Eric and Lauren, a couple who waited until they got married to have sex. After two years of marriage they are still virgins because Lauren freaks out every time they attempt to have sex. Click here to watch a clip of the interview and see what Jezebel had to say about it.

I don't know if religion played a part in their decision to wait to have sex. But as a card-carrying member of the Christian community I can tell you that I have heard this story before. It goes like this: boy meets girl, they fall in love, and because they are "good Christians" they wait to have sex until they get married, and then after the wedding sex is a huge obstacle for the woman. Why, might you ask? Because a ring and a marriage certificate do not erase years of being told: "Sex is bad. Don't do it, and as a Christian girl, with no sexuality of your own, it's your job to play defense because boys can't control themselves." I'm not saying that abstinence until marriage is a bad thing. But in my opinion, teaching women to fear sex and their own sexuality is emotionally and spiritually damaging.

The church teaches so many good things about relationships: love, respect, commitment, compromise, communication, and self-sacrifice. But I think it can do a better job of talking about sex and sexuality.

Polls suggest that teens feel that girls receive different messages than boys about sexuality. Do you think your church (if you have one) sends different messages to girls and boys?

Do you think churches should change the way they teach about sexuality?

As a person of faith, I can't help but snicker every time something makes me remember how utterly confused God-fearing people get about issues of sex and pregnancy.  From "Jesus Camp" (a variation of which I proudly attended) to purity balls (which I proudly did NOT attend) to married people sex-a-thons, I count myself among the young people in this country who received mixed, and sometimes conflicting, messages about sex for the first 18 years of my life.

Margaret Talbot at The New Yorker sums up my childhood pretty well in her recent article, "Red Sex, Blue Sex."  Despite the discomfort that pious parents and their children experience when it comes to trying to understand their sexuality (and in some cases, trying to convince them that it's not even there until their wedding night), one strange phenomenon is that we are supposed to be excited when a baby results from this otherwise banned activity.