what if you're wrong?

This is one of my favorite questions to ask myself. I’d probably ask it of others, too, if it didn’t sound quite so confrontational—that’s not the way I intend it, but we all hold our beliefs rather personally and it can be hard not to go directly on the defensive when they feel threatened or questioned.

Today, I’m examining a belief I held tightly for the first 20, maybe 24 years of my life—and have held a bit more loosely for the last half-decade or so, as real-life experiences and extensive study have required me to do so. Here it is:

Men and women have different but complementary roles and responsibilities in marriage, family life, and religious leadership.

This is the official Wikipedia definition of the term “complementarianism,” which is Christianese for patriarchalism. In complementarian theology, a selection of Pauline passages and Genesis 1-3 are used to justify the idea that men and women are equal, but women are both naturally created and divinely called to subjugate themselves to men, and men are both naturally created and divinely called to exercise authority over women. Some “softer” complementarians will say that they do not believe women in general must submit to men in general—only a wife to her husband—but that distinction is difficult to support practically, since the same will typically say that within the context of church, women as a group are still expected to submit to the general male leadership of the church, and under no circumstances should a woman be allowed to hold a position of authority over the men in the church.

In any case, complementarianism is the doctrine of gender roles I was taught from a young age all the way through my time in Bible school. It’s about then, suddenly armed with a far broader understanding of God’s Word than I’d ever had before, that this doctrine began to not sit well with me, but every time I was tempted to consider other views I got scared. What if they’re wrong?

It’s been a decade since then. I have more life experience, more church experience, and more importantly, a lot more Bible studying experience now. And slowly, the question bugging me has shifted from “What if they’re wrong?” to “What if I’m wrong?”

What if complementarian theology is wrong?

I’m not a historian, a Greek language scholar, or a PhD in Paul’s epistles. Plenty of incredible people are, and they have put a lot of work into this debate. Paul and Gender by Westfall, The Making of Biblical Womanhood by Barr, and On Purpose by Coleman are all good places to find Biblically-serious treatment of the topic if you are looking for further study.

I’m more interested, for the moment, in asking the uncomfortable questions that may help us examine the quality of the fruit this doctrine has been producing over time.

Let’s consider. If complementarian theology is right, then some of our biggest concerns for the Body of Christ should be:

• Ensuring that those who lead in the church are physically and spiritually qualified to do so.

• Ensuring that men never hear the Word of God preached or taught by a woman.

• Encouraging women to submit themselves to the authority of their husbands and the church.

• Encouraging and equipping men to lead their wives and the church.

If, on the other hand, Scripture favors equality between men and women as image bearers of God and co-rulers over Creation (as Genesis 1-2 and Galatians 3:28 would suggest), then the biggest concerns for the Body of Christ should be:

• Ensuring that those who lead in the church are spiritually qualified to do so.

• Encouraging all believers to submit to God.

• Equipping all believers to know, understand, and share the Word of God.

• Empowering families to reflect the selflessness of Christ in every role.

In the complementarian vision for the Church, men are up front, visible, leading the way for everyone else to follow Christ. Women are behind them, following and making sure the children don’t get left behind. Men who don’t enjoy the role of leader or don’t feel equipped to spiritually direct their homes are required to do it anyway, or at least made to feel sinful for not doing it; women who are gifted in leadership and spiritual shepherding are required to set those gifts aside, or at least relegate them to the nursery and the Pre-K class. What’s taught from the pulpit on Sunday mornings and in co-ed Bible studies throughout the week is reflective of what the male leadership of the church considers important. Topics deemed to be mostly of concern to women are left to the discretion of women-only Bible studies (although these, too, are subject to veto by the board of elders). In this way, the very structure of the church is designed to prevent anyone from questioning or reconsidering its rightness.

But is this the Messianic vision for the Church?

Jesus’s ministry on earth began with a declaration that the Kingdom of Heaven had drawn near. That kingdom began in a paradise called Eden, but humans lost access to its threshold when they disobeyed God’s command—and part of that tragedy was a destruction of the oneness between male and female (see Genesis 3:16). The Kingdom vision of man and woman as two halves of God’s image, ruling together over His Creation, was lost to the suffocating grasp of sin and death, leaving gender hierarchy in its place.

But if Jesus’s death and resurrection defeated sin and death, and if following Him means joining Him in taking back every lost inch of territory for the Kingdom of Heaven, why would we choose to remain in our fallen and divided state as men and women? How can the Church, which is Christ’s Body, animate His heart for the New Creation when we are still clinging so hard to the old?

What if, in the Messianic vision for the Church, men and women are side-by-side, each using their gifts to build up the others, with all eyes set on the selfless example of Christ? There are men teaching and preaching and leading, but there are also men serving invisibly behind the scenes to protect the vulnerable and care for the children; there are women faithfully raising their families and staffing the nursery, but there are also women speaking the truth of God’s Word with strength, clarity, and conviction. Men are educated and enriched by the perspectives brought to them by these women, and the women’s entire experience of life in Christ is finally made abundant when they are set free from the demands of the Pharisees.

What if that is what we are missing when we subscribe to complementarian theology? What if we have tied half the church behind Christ’s back with our gender doctrine? And what if we are wrong?

I struggle to imagine a ministry or aspect of Christian life that would not be enriched if both men and women were equally interested, involved, and obedient in it. But I can clearly see that many ministries and aspects of Christian life are suffering from being lopsided in one direction or the other. Surely a family where both parents exemplify spiritual leadership and mutual respect for one another is better off than a family where that entire responsibility falls to the father? Surely a children’s ministry where both men and women feed into kids’ lives is better off than one where the children are only treated as valuable by women? Surely pastoral counseling for a couple in a broken marriage will be far more effective when a woman’s voice is present, too?

There’s a phrase we all like to pull out when we imagine meeting Jesus face-to-face. “Well done, good and faithful servant.” It comes from the Parable of the Talents in Matthew 25:14-30—when the master praises his servants for stewarding his resources well in his absence, and even increasing their value. But he says something very different to the servant who, out of fear, buries his master’s money uselessly in the dirt.

What if Christ’s servants and earthly representatives have buried half the wealth of the church under a fallen idea of what it means to be a man or a woman? What will be said to us when King Jesus returns in glory?

We aren’t all called or gifted to be teachers and preachers and leaders. But some of us are. And some of us are women.

We have tried to fit these callings and giftings into the complementarian framework for decades now. And the Church and its testimony are suffering for it. The tree is bearing rotten fruit. It’s time to ask the hard questions.

What if we’ve been wrong?

daydreaming

I am not much of a daydreamer, but there is one particular fantasy that I occasionally catch glimpses of in my mind’s eye, and sometimes indulge for a minute or two. I see a little patio table and a couple of chairs tucked between the wild tangles of flowers that make up most of my front yard, comfortably shaded by the canopy of a still-smallish Japanese maple. In my vision, I’m sitting there with my Bible open or some other book in hand, watching a little-bit-older Clara play in the cul-de-sac, when a neighbor on an afternoon stroll stops by to say hello, and another from the next house down sets aside their yard work for a minute to join the conversation. Maybe we are talking about something important and maybe we’re not; maybe it leads to “Bring a lawn chair over and we’ll barbecue” and maybe it doesn’t, but either way, it’s a delicious nibble at that old-fashioned treat, community.

If I really let my imagination run wild, the daydream evolves into a back deck full of people holding Bibles and babies, talking about what we read that week in the Bible180 Challenge—a kind of book club for the Bible, less formal than a Bible study but centered entirely on the Word and the quest to understand it as a cohesive whole. The older kids are running wild in the yard and there’s a pan of dessert on the table, mostly eaten up. The group is peppered with people of every generation, from those wearing the “crown of glory” (see Proverbs 16:31) down to young parents, teenagers, children.

It’s a small and not-at-all-small dream. There are times, in our frantic technological age, when it feels more out of reach than the deepest recesses of Siberia.

I grew up in a place where houses were far apart but neighbors were knit close. Nobody had a board-fenced backyard. Stopping to chat in a driveway or on a porch step was a common day-to-day occurrence.

Moving to my current city was a culture shock I’m still absorbing eight years later: I could throw a rock and hit my neighbor’s house, but have barely interacted with any of them beyond a smile and nod from afar. Add to that being several hours’ drive removed from my entire family and teaching myself to get by on the counterfeit sense of belonging offered by watching old friends’ lives unfold hundreds of miles away on a screen, and it’s little wonder that in my daydreams, I see what a generation or two before me would have just called “normal life.”

My church is sending out missionaries, some to far-flung countries in desperate need of the Gospel. I’m excited for them and for how they will further the Kingdom. I’ve even had a few split-second doubts of “Wait, should I be doing that, too?” But I’m fairly certain I’m not the only one in this country who is in desperate need of the Gospel—and genuine, offline Gospel community.

When I was a kid growing up in Middle-of-Nowhere, Washington, nothing excited me more than the prospect of setting out to explore the unknown. I had few opportunities to travel back then, but I took every single one. And I still love to explore the world and to learn from other cultures—I’ve just found that the Unknown is not where I’m meant to live.

I’d like to be known again, I’d like to know others again, and I think my work is here.

So—who’s up for a Bible book club at my place? I’ll make dessert. ;)

About brotherly love: You don’t need me to write you because you yourselves are taught by God to love one another. In fact, you are doing this toward all the brothers and sisters in the entire region of Macedonia. But we encourage you, brothers and sisters, to do this even more, to seek to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you, so that you may behave properly in the presence of outsiders and not be dependent on anyone.

1 Thessalonians 4:9-12

invisible

There are so many new experiences that come with being a mom, many of which I expected (or, at least, was told to expect)—and some of which I didn’t. I expected my priorities to shift, even though I didn’t know exactly what that would feel like. I expected to have less time for myself. I expected I would be stretched physically, mentally, and spiritually.

The most unexpected experience, however, has been this sense of a complete change in—what should I call it, social class? position? status?—that is palpable everywhere I go.

It’s a running joke with too much truth in it: When you’re a kid, everyone asks you what you’re going to be when you grow up. When you grow up, everyone asks you why you’re still single. Once you’re in a relationship, everyone asks you when you’re going to get married. After you get married, everyone asks you when you’re going to have a kid.

In my experience, once you have a kid, the community response splits: They begin to ask the husband when he’s having another one, and they begin to ask the wife…nothing at all.

People smile at me when I carry Clara into church on Sunday mornings. Sometimes they say hello to her, or they remark on her pretty eyes. They’ll chuckle as they watch her race between the pews after the service, with me close on her heels; they’ll stop to talk to her if she slows down long enough. Somewhere on the other side of the sanctuary, my husband is in a group conversation about work or construction or pigs. Maybe they’re even asking him when he’s going to have another kid.

Meanwhile, I wonder if I accidentally wore my invisibility cloak.

Church is far from the only place I’ve felt this way. In fact, I’ve walked into my workplace with Clara and had the exact opposite experience: My coworkers chatted me up like they usually do, but they acted like Clara wasn’t even there. When I work my weekly shift, almost no one ever asks me how my daughter is, or refers to her at all. It’s as if she doesn’t exist—and I wonder, did I wear my invisibility cloak again? Because if she doesn’t exist, I’m not sure that I do; she is such an enormous part of who I am.

It makes sense to me now why women who become mothers often turn wholeheartedly to “mommy culture” for their community and validation in some way. They become mommy bloggers, “momtogs,” and members of unofficial Instagram clubs like #girlmom or #boymom. This is where they can feel like equals, like human beings with voices still worth hearing, like they can bring themselves wholly to the table. It’s also true that things often have to be mom-specific in order to be mom-friendly: We go to young moms’ Bible studies because they’re usually the only ones that offer childcare, or that don’t take place during the bedtime routine.

And there is a lot of good that comes from moms of young kids enjoying, empathizing with, and learning from relationships with other moms in a similar boat.

But the dark side is that it can be incredibly isolating, and it can rob the community as a whole of a wealth of wisdom and opportunity.

When I’m at church, wrestling my squirmy 19-month-old and my giant Bible in my lap and hoping she doesn’t yell “Puppy!” when her stuffed dog falls on the floor, I often have no idea why I’m there—a sentiment which only intensifies when I don’t get to say more than hello to a single soul after the service is over. When I’m at work, trying to hold a conversation with my childless manager about Formula One racing or build rapport with my college-aged coworkers, I often feel like a fish out of water—flopping all over the place trying to get some oxygen, but all I can find is air. And when I’m at home, cycling through the daily routine of mealtime and playtime and naptime and bedtime, I often just feel alone—like I’m the only mom who has been both completely changed by motherhood and is also still the same person who wants to have winding Bible-nerdy conversations, who has interests outside of her child, who needs friends.

I can’t help but think that our churches and workplaces and neighborhoods and nation would be a lot richer if we welcomed mothers in a way that goes beyond a potted plant on Mother’s Day. If we treated them like whole people with thoughts, opinions, voices, desires, dreams that both include their children and extend beyond them. If we asked them to participate and contribute, even if the answer will most likely be, “Sorry, I can’t, I have the kids” or “Sorry, I can’t, that’s naptime.”

There’s so much I want to do and share and be a part of. There always has been. Having a baby hasn’t taken those things away—it’s actually added to them, clarified them, made them more urgent. It just seems like now there’s an extra barrier to overcome in doing so, because now I’m invisible.

Is a lot of this on me? Definitely. I’m shy and quiet already, and a cute toddler is an easy shield to hide behind. I was working hard to break out of my shell and put down roots in my church when pregnancy and the pandemic came together as the perfect storm of excuses to stay in my comfort zone. And there have been many weeks I’ve skipped out on community-building activities just because wrestling the squirmy 19-month-old seemed too overwhelming.

But I’m trying, and I’m going to keep trying. Thankfully, my Jesus is famous for being the One who sees the invisible.