The complicated reality of complementarianism
Which version of it are we talking about?
Church camp part one
I was sixteen and lying in my bunk before bed. All the adults were out of the building, deliberating on who would win the coveted camp prize: a scholarship to the local Bible college. The older guys, the ones everyone looked up to, were in the middle of the room whipping each other with towels.
Soon a crowd of campers surrounded them and started to challenge others to get whipped with the towel—to prove how tough they were. At first, it was volunteers. But then something changed. Guys started to get called out, one by one, to get whipped. Eventually the attention landed on a guy named Jackson. He was lying in his bunk like me, trying not to pay attention to the bravado happening in the middle of the room. He was also, inferred through his selection to get whipped, not a stereotypical “man’s man.”
He was different from the guys with the towels. He was gentler, quieter. His body hadn’t really grown into what it would become, and he spoke softly—hardly the bombastic way some of our preachers modeled from stage.
The group of guys started chanting his name.
“Jack-son. Jack-son. Jack-son.”
I sat silently. Just watching it unfold.
I could have said something. I could have volunteered in his place. But I didn’t.
He climbed out of his bed, in only his boxers, and made his way to the middle of the whipping ring. The loudest of the older guys began whipping him to the delight of the crowd. Over and over and over and over again. Jackson’s back became bloodied and swollen with welts. I remember that. I also remember—and don’t think I’ll ever forget—the look of determination on Jackson’s face. It was defiance and surrender and pain and rage. I felt terrible for what was happening, but I remained silent.
Finally, the whipping stopped and the eye of masculine attention moved on to other things.
The guy who whipped Jackson received the Bible college scholarship the next morning.
Church camp part two
The following year, as a seventeen-year-old, the youth group huddled together with our youth pastor in the middle. It was just before we broke for the night, and he said he wanted to share something with us.
He started talking about a hard situation happening in his life and said, through tears, “I just don’t want you to think that everything is always easy for me. As Christians, things will still be hard, and I wanted you all to know I’m struggling too.”
I remember standing there shocked by his tears and his trust in us. There he was—a man in authority—crying, implicitly telling me it’s okay for a man to cry.
It’s just so complicated
When I first began writing this newsletter, I planned to only share the first story. Honestly, it would be an easier piece to write—much more linear and clearer.
And it would also be true, at least in part.
One look at recent scandals in the broader church will show a version of masculinity in which the guy with the towel is prized. He knows “right” theology and lords it over the people around him, displaying a masculinity of power and control rather than humility and sacrifice, covering it all up by claiming a zeal for the Gospel.
But—as soon as I begin to feel smug about my caricaturization—there stands my youth pastor in the middle of that huddle, a bold relief to the towel whipping bravado, making space in masculinity for the gentle, the emotional, the whipped. That night he modeled a permeable masculinity, one that isn’t arrogant or combative, abusive or bombastic. He modeled a masculinity that is gentle, raw, human.
All of these examples exist in the same church ecosystem and create the confusing, complicated tapestry of masculinity I grew into.
Is complementarianism abusive or freeing?
Much is being written about the church culture I was raised in—one marked by complementarianism. And most of it highlights one of the two church camp stories: either a complementarianism that leads to a masculinity which abuses those “lesser” and “weaker” or a complementarianism that leads men to sacrifice for those they love, to show their humanity and weakness in solidarity to those who are abused, not in solidarity to the abuser.
I have read Jesus and John Wayne by
, I am reading The Making of Biblical Womanhood by , and I have listened to “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill.” I believe all three are true depictions of towel-whipping complementarian theology—there is simply too much evidence for these to be exceptions to the rule; something rotten is eating the tree. Men have abused the system to hoard power and lord that power over women and congregations. They have been the one whipping the towel, and there have been crowds around them cheering them on or—like me—observing silently, letting it all happen.But I have also read The Toxic War on Masculinity by Nancy Pearcey and read the studies which point to complementarian marriages containing less abuse and more satisfaction. It seems that many complementarian men understand complementarianism to be marked by sacrificial duty rather than limitless power, loving sacrifice rather than vice grip control.
This maps onto my personal experience. My parents are complementarian, and my mom has been quick to tell me that Dad leads in the family and the relationship. However, they have the most egalitarian marriage I’ve ever seen. My dad is constantly striving to serve my mom and bring my mom delight and peace and joy and every single good thing in this world, and my mom is an autonomous individual, capable of chasing her dreams—fully supported by my dad.1 They are fuller versions of themselves because of their relationship to one another.
And they weren’t an isolated example in the world I grew up in. My best friends had parents much like my own—people who modeled a complementarianism marked by sacrifice and mutual service, a complementarianism that looked strikingly like the egalitarianism I hold to now.2 Brad Wilcox, who’s research I linked to above, writes,
“In the United States, in fact, it looks like men’s commitment to family-centered beliefs [in marital permanence and a shared commitment to sacrificing for one’s spouse and family] is a more important predictor of their wife’s happiness than their beliefs about gender roles—at least for Christian men.”3
Interestingly, studies back this similarity up: complementarianism and egalitarianism within marriage look strikingly similar when they are applied in healthy ways.4
So how do we explain the flourishing and the abuse, how can the one whipping the towel and the one modeling healthy masculinity exist under the same tent?
Two interpretations—two complementarianisms
Nancy Pearcey, mentioned above, makes the argument that those who abuse complementarianism co-opt the terms of the concept without the correct scriptural interpretation of it. She writes,
“It seems that many nominal Protestants hang around the fringes of the Christian world just enough to hear the language of headship and submission without learning the biblical meaning of those terms.”5
This is a keen insight. People like my dad read Ephesians 5 seriously when Paul writes that husbands are to love their wives “just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (NRSV). They dig deeper than “submission” and “headship” to discover their great call to sacrifice.
However, other men bring their misogyny to the text, using it to justify power, control, and abuse.6
According to Pearcey, it’s an issue of interpretation. Both the towel whippers and the self-sacrificers are reading the same text, but they walk away with two completely separate worldviews—labeling them both “complementarianism.”
One is a complementarianism of power and the other is a complementarianism of sacrifice.
Individualist answers vs. systemic realities
Percey spends much of her book arguing that a complementarianism of power is derived from secular society while a complementarianism of sacrifice comes from the church. She spends the last chapter of the book giving example after example of churches mishandling abuse claims; however, she only focuses on the individual situations, never moving into the systemic realities of a complementarianism of power, instead consistently blaming it on a “secular script.” For her, the call is coming from secular society, not from within the house.
I’ll repeat Pearcey’s quote above:
“It seems that many nominal Protestants hang around the fringes of the Christian world just enough to hear the language of headship and submission without learning the biblical meaning of those terms.”7
What she gets right, in my opinion, is that it is an issue of interpretation. What she gets wrong is saying those who misinterpret are merely on “the fringes of the Christian world.” A thorough reading of church history will prove it has been in the building all along.
This is where books like The Making of Biblical Womanhood and Jesus and John Wayne and podcasts like The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill play such a crucial role: they prove through historical analysis and case studies that it is not just individual bad actors or secular society propping up and supporting a complementarianism of power but an entire system within the church. It is not just the guy with the towel. It is also the crowd of guys cheering him on and the silent group of guys merely watching.
The problem is systemic, not only individualistic.
Where do we go from here?
Both the guy with the towel in his hand and the youth pastor crying in front of his youth group exist in the same universe. And just as two different versions of masculinity are portrayed at the camp, two different versions of complementarianism are displayed as well: one focused on power and another focused on sacrifice.
I mentioned this earlier: I write this as an egalitarian, as an outsider to the complementarian worldview. However, I think it’s important to write these words because it is all too easy for people like me to dismiss complementarianism as totally abusive and uncompromisingly oppressive. It is too easy to only write about a complementarianism of power.
But studies and anecdotes say this simply isn’t the only example out there.
Systems of thought are important, and the debate between egalitarianism and complementarianism is important as well. But we cannot forget how those systems are applied in specific contexts. Those contexts can often look worlds different.
Masculinity is kaleidoscopic and so, totally, uncompromisingly personal. It is far too messy for easy generalizations.
Chasing her dreams looks like getting an MA in Biblical Exposition while growing a garden of wildflowers to donate to people who can’t afford flowers for weddings! Go Mom!
It’s important to include that my upbringing was surrounded by privilege: gendered, racial, and socio-economic. I don’t think we can ignore these realities when discussing masculinity.
Wilcox, Brad. “Evangelicals and Domestic Violence: Are Christian Men More Abusive?” Christianity Today, Dec. 11, 2017, https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2017/december-web-only/evangelicals-domestic-violence-christian-men-domestic-abuse.html. Accessed Oct. 17, 2023.
It should be added, just because someone claims egalitarianism doesn’t mean they are incapable of abuse. Zachary Wagner makes the point in Non-Toxic Masculinity: Recovering Healthy Male Sexuality that Bill Hybels was the shining star of egalitarianism before the abuse he perpetrated came to light (151-153).
Pearcey, Nancy. The Toxic War on Masculinity: How Christianity Reconciles the Sexes. Grand Rapids, Baker Books, 2023. 229.
Pearcey, 229.
Thank you for writing these pieces, Drew! Have you read ‘The Genesis of Gender’ by Abigail Favale? It’s phenomenal-- might make an interesting additional conversation partner in this thought project.
Pax. -A
Thanks for sharing such a nuanced view. I’m always thoughtful when people say they are complementarian and also say their marriage looks egalitarian. I think how we live is the best indicator of what we truly believe (and not just what we say we believe) and that divide should give people more pause. I also grew up complementarian and now am not, but sacrifice marks so much of how my husband and I approach our marriage. I’m looking for a great way to wrap this up but I don’t have one. Thanks for thinking out loud with us.