Why I’m Uneasy Debating Women’s Roles

Two years ago, I had the blessing of being part of an ideal study group to examine the biblical basis of a contentious doctrinal question: Does God intend for men and women to share leadership equally within the church and home?

As some brief background, “yes” answers to this question indicate an egalitarian position, though not all egalitarians agree regarding relationships within the home. “No” answers indicate a complementarian view, though not all complementarians agree on the extent of role divisions. I’m a full egalitarian who believes the Bible encourages equal leadership within the church and mutual submission of husband and wife to one another within the home. (See footnote for more on these inadequate terms).

This study group sounded to me like a dream come true. Participants shared an unswerving commitment to search out scripture on the matter and to submit to what it says. It had mixed participation by egalitarians, complementarians, and the undecided. It included men and women of varied ages, denominational backgrounds, and theological training. Everyone expressed a desire to work through the question methodically by framing weekly discussions around a collection of scholarly essays, to communicate with courtesy, and to withhold judgement toward one another as we expressed opposing views.

So in light of this perfect opportunity with a Jesus-loving group, it was a little surprising to me–but only a little, I suppose–that when my turn came to lead the discussion one week, I sat at my kitchen table with my lungs squeezing in on themselves as I anxiously planned my lesson. Anticipating the evening with dread, I moaned, “Lord, why do I feel this way right now?”

I knew it wasn’t just about facing disagreement. I wasn’t wavering in my beliefs and call. It wasn’t fear that I’d open God’s word and see that I was wrong. I hoped that if that happened, I would hasten with all strength to change course immediately, just as I would hope to do in any area of life. “So what is it, Lord?” I asked. “Why do I almost always feel this sense of unease when I approach the possibility of debate with other believers on this topic?”

I shared my feelings that night with the group, confessing my inexplicable intimidation. Why do I feel so uneasy in such discussions, even though I fully agree with egalitarianism? I’ll share several reasons that took shape in those days. 

1. Debate itself. Plain and simple, I don’t like debate and feel uncomfortable with it. I don’t avoid confrontation, but the apologetics style of wrestling one another to the ground in debate is not at all appealing to me. I still engage in it when necessary but sometimes avoid it when I shouldn’t. I ask the Lord to grow me in this area (and fortunately, he has given me a lawyer husband, who is an expert debater and loves to spar, so we complement one another well).

2. Disapproval. I feel grieved at affirming something and living in a way that is not approved–and even loudly denounced–by many Christian brothers and sisters. This matter seems to be one of today’s shibboleths of true faith in some evangelical circles, demarcating who’s in and who’s out. Who wants others to give them the thumbs-down on their spiritual commitment and integrity, saying, “You can’t be trusted as a fellow believer”? Not I. This disapproval because of one position hits close to home many, many times. As I write today, I’m reminded of a specific and disappointing example. My husband and I have been supporting a couple serving in overseas ministry with a strongly complementarian denomination for nearly 25 years, and we’ve felt some relational distancing as my ordination and ministry roles have made our egalitarian views more evident. So every month when the draft comes out of our checking account, I have an unintentional flash of thought that goes like this: “Lord, bless their important work in a creative access country, even though they probably think we are a threat to the church.” 

3. Causing offense. My reluctance is also rooted in a desire to follow the most considerate way and to avoid causing harmful offense among believers who are less sure-footed in the faith or who hold differing viewpoints (according to the cautions in Romans 13-15 and 1 Corinthians 8). The worst situation, as I see it, is not when believers either restrict or affirm women in ministry but when someone “with a weak conscience” (1 Cor. 8:10) observes what we do and believes that it reflects a willful decision by the church to ignore and disobey God. I never want the people I influence to believe that I have arrived at my conclusions just to suit myself, or that I think it is OK to manipulate scripture to support my own agenda on any matter (women’s roles or anything else). I pray I would never harm the spiritual integrity of another person by something I do (teaching or leading) or by something I don’t do (avoiding any teaching or leading that the Lord desires).

However, I’m also mindful that when weaker consciences are challenged, offense isn’t necessarily the outcome. A challenge to the conscience, with care to teach and learn, can also prompt growth or understanding. For example, the very church that hosted this ideal study group had invited me twice in the previous two years to preach. I was the first woman ever to deliver a sermon in these predominantly complementarian congregations in a city with a strong Southern Baptist presence, and they had shown due diligence in the faith by questioning their pastor on his decision to invite me. The results of the challenge to their consciences were a rigorous study of scripture, a broader perspective on a complex matter, and hearty, God-focused, prayerful dialogue among believers. Some of them changed their viewpoints and others didn’t, but regardless of where they ultimately land, I am extremely thankful for their commitment to searching out such matters together as a church so that no one would walk away with an injured conscience or a compromised commitment to Christ.

4. Greater intensity. When it comes to the possibility of causing offense, this matter feels more highly charged than others. After all, we disagree with other believers in many other ways all the time and seem to get along reasonably well with each other (except when we don’t, of course). As I was preparing to lead the group discussion that evening, I thought about why this matter feels particularly weighty.

• One, it’s about activities within the church in stewarding the gospel. Our beliefs in this area get lived out not just anywhere but in our seminaries and gatherings for corporate worship. That central locus of influence in the faith intensifies the weight of debate. 
• Two, it’s not just a matter of private belief. With huge ideas like free will or even individual behaviors like buying lottery tickets, one might keep quiet in order to preserve unity. This belief, however, gets expressed openly by its very nature. It seems it is one that cannot be exercised without the possibility of giving offense. 
• Three, as should be obvious from the proliferation of podcasts and YouTubers and fiery tweets, the offense is often pretty heated and passionate. It’s not a topic about which there seems to be room for either side to disagree. Interpersonally, for me, the atmosphere too often feels intensely combative, like, “You’re an egalitarian? Let’s settle this NOW. Roll up your sleeves so we can arm-wrestle.” 

5. Spiritual warfare. Further, I will admit that the enemy of my soul aims his darts precisely at these realities and natural areas of discomfort. He exacerbates any temptation that I face to be timid or quiet. “You see what they did to Beth Moore, don’t you? She was even one of them–an avowed complementarian–and you’re not. She had demonstrated her ability to teach the Bible faithfully for decades, and you haven’t. And yet they have turned against her with overwhelming and vocal contempt. They even went back 30 years to dig up random scraps of speech to use against her, so you’d better be sure to get every word right, every time. Can you do that?” That’s the kind of internal dialogue that creeps up too often. The content is partially true, but the overall message is a lie with the aim of bullying me into hiding (and resisting God’s call). 

6. Personal stakes. Finally, and obviously, it’s a personal topic for me. If I disagree with someone else on free will or lottery tickets, I can do so without any inkling of self-advocacy. In contrast, if I have to debate about women in ministry leadeship or about mutuality in marriage, I must exercise extra care to separate the objective from the subjective, the text from my feelings and experience. In addition, I must be mindful of the ways others may hear my views as being rooted in self-interest or self-protection. It’s hard to say, “I believe X completely independently of my own personal stake in this matter,” when I do, in fact, have quite a personal stake in this matter. So it feels embarrassing somehow to discuss it. 

In summary, I admit that debate about egalitarianism intimidates me sometimes, and though I would prefer to feel total confidence, maybe my caution is not all bad. My uneasiness comes partly from a sense of personal inadequacy, I admit, but also from a desire for harmony among believers and a sense of responsibility for influencing rightly. It certainly doesn’t come from doubt or from a concern that I (or anyone else truly seeking biblical understanding) is sinning in promoting one view or the other.

Will I ever feel entirely comfortable in this discussion? I don’t know. Debate is overrated, anyway, isn’t it? It’s sometimes necessary but far less convincing than demonstration of faithful, Spirit-empowered service. For now, I’ll take my hesitancy as a valuable reminder to love people who disagree, to keep learning, and to lead courageously in the Lord’s life-giving ways. 

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Note. Though egalitarianism and complementarianism have become the shorthand to frame such discussions, the terms are fraught and inadequate, especially because both sides fully affirm the complementarity of the sexes. In fact, today’s  egalitarians had long framed their view as “complementarian” until the term was appropriated to describe the opposite view in 1991 by Piper and Grudem in a widely-distributed publication. See Scot McKnight’s concise summary and reference to other sources here: https://www.patheos.com/blogs/jesuscreed/2015/03/02/revisionist-history-on-the-term-complementarian/