When The Gatekeepers Fail Us, Often
A metaphor. Photo by Masaaki Komori on Unsplash.
Over the past few days, an Anxious Bench article by Baylor Professor of History Beth Allison Barr has been circulating online. As a post-evangelical Christian, it’s been fascinating to see the impact it’s having on people who are struggling with white American evangelicalism from inside this subculture.
While the substance of Barr’s argument is solid, I want to focus on her approach. There are good lessons to be learned from her on how to deal with the well-known intransigence of evangelical gatekeepers. Before continuing here, I encourage you to read Barr’s post if you haven’t already.
The ESV translation of the Bible has been criticized for years. Barr provides a good overview of some of those criticisms, but she also exposes some broader problems exhibited by so many American evangelical gatekeepers. Three in particular came to mind that I want to explore further.
1. Evangelical gatekeepers don’t know everything, even though they often act like they do.
Barr shows us that when white American evangelical leaders act like they are biblical scholars or historians concerning specific time periods or issues —a regular occurrence— their lack of academic credentials and experience in both areas shows rather quickly. The results often leave a lot to be desired.
She provides a window into how this works at the national level when pointing to the posture of The Gospel Coalition and The Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood with regards to her work. Barr’s criticism is a fair one: she’s a respected historian —and fellow Christian!— who has the support of top scholars in her field, yet the American evangelical machine is condescending toward her because its own self-written version of history is crafted in such a way that doesn’t allow itself to be called into question.
This rejection of expertise and experience happens all the time at all levels of American evangelicalism. It is found as high up as elite institutions such as The Gospel Coalition and Desiring God, all the way down to the local level, including the multiple evangelical churches within a few miles from my home here in Memphis, TN.
Unsurprisingly, Barr is far from the only Christian who is an expert in a particular field to experience this. Like countless others, I have, too. My day job is running a nonprofit that supports change makers in an oppressed region of Sudan few people have heard of. The number of outsiders who are engaged there is tiny, one of them being me.
In the real world, most people look at my education and experience with respect. I’ve spoken at top universities, presented at conferences, and met with Congressional offices about American policy toward Sudan. The criticisms and questions I get are usually constructive and honest, stemming from a desire to help and a place of genuine curiosity. (I don’t write this to pat myself on the back, but to share what some common experiences are for people who are considered experts and professionals in their field.)
Only when I am in reformed, white American evangelical spaces is unsolicited and usually really bad advice given to me relentlessly and people’s perceived issues with our nonprofit’s work is a deeply personal offense. This almost always comes from conservative white men who act like they are God’s gift to the world. When gently pushing back, I have often been told — haughtily — that I clearly don’t know what I am doing and that I won’t succeed until I do what they say. When I’ve stood my ground, they shake their heads in disapproval or, these days, begin self-victimizing. There are some exceptions to all of this; but, by and large, this has been my experience.
Barr implicitly calls out this rejection of expertise and experience in her piece, and she does so in that oh, bless your heart way that is such a wonderful part of American Southern culture:
So if the TGC and CBMW crowd are going to accept the ad hominem attack of Kevin DeYoung over the assessment of a top scholar in my field, why would they listen to even more words written by me?
I did decide to address his review in one area: the treatment of medieval women. While DeYoung’s response to Brigit of Kildare, Genovefa of Paris, and Margery Kempe mostly made me roll my eyes (and, like my daughter, I’m a really good eye roller), I know that I have an advantage. You see, I really am a medieval women’s historian, making DeYoung’s concerns easy for me to brush off. But this isn’t as easy for folk unfamiliar with medieval history. So I wrote a response that I meant to post today.
Until I changed my mind. I was responding to a reader’s question about the ESV (the English Standard Version Bible) and realized it also addressed one of DeYoung’s criticisms. Instead of sending this response only to the reader, I decided to share it with you.
Barr’s response here is brilliant and instructive. She begins by stating reality: her critics aren’t operating in good faith. She reminds the reader that when it comes to her field, she’s an expert and this particular critic is not (Ephesians 4:11–13). And then she refuses to play by the unfair rules that allow gatekeepers to get away with it by simply going around them and being transparent that this is exactly what she is doing.
This is what we should all do when an evangelical gatekeeper categorically dismisses us or tries to gaslight us into believing our experiences and expertise don’t matter: simply state the truth and calmly go around them (Titus 3:9–10).
Be prepared for their anger. Many gatekeepers in American evangelicalism treat even the most minor disagreements as cataclysmic personal attacks that will bring the world to an end. Trust me, I know from personal experience. But that’s their problem, not ours.
Pretty sure this stock photo exists for this piece. Photo by Alexander Michl on Unsplash
2. We should always be asking “who benefits?”
As the American evangelical movement continues its relentless march into right-wing authoritarianism, we’re seeing more disturbing teachings from the supposed “moderates” of the evangelical movement — like Kevin DeYoung with The Gospel Coalition — who is facing justified pushback for his recent writings on absurd topics such as the the sin of empathy.
When we are faced with destructive theology like this —or just feel like something is off in a certain teaching or decision made at our church— the first question we should always ask is who benefits from this?
Barr is doing a lot in her piece, but this question keeps coming up, both implicitly and explicitly. When followed to its logical conclusion, we see exactly who the ESV benefits and why. Again, you can see some of the evidence for yourself, but here is Barr’s summary:
But the evidence that the ESV was created by complementarians with a complementarian agenda to further complementarianism is pretty overwhelming. I’ll just leave you with this final thought: if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it is probably a duck…
And, as a historian, that is about all I have to say (at least until November).
When we ask the who benefits? question more broadly in American evangelicalism, many contradictory beliefs and confusing, selectively applied teachings suddenly start to make sense (Ephesians 4:14–16). American evangelical gatekeepers —the vast majority being conservative white men— hold a theology that ultimately benefits themselves and the patronage systems built up around them, often at the expense of everyone else. Complementarianism in practice in American evangelicalism is harming the Church. It is hurting people who really do love Jesus. It is causing division, controversy, and abuse that is avoidable. And that’s what makes it anti-Gospel (Titus 3:6–10).
This is one of the reasons why so many white American evangelical leaders find the rapidly expanding exvangelical phenomena so confusing. Why would anyone leave when it’s so great here? they ask. Well, it may be great for you, but it forces the rest of us into a consumer culture where you talk and do whatever you want with little to no consequences, and we listen and walk on eggshells in the interest of “keeping the peace” with maximum consequences hovering over us (Luke 11:45–46). And the minute we think critically or try to live for Jesus, we’re treated as a threat to be admonished or destroyed. The more honest question, then, is why would we stay?
Not the ESV. Photo by Stempow on Pixabay.
3. Motivations matter, especially when they become inconvenient to our belief systems
The history of how the ESV translation of the Bible came to be is concerning. As Barr summarizes, there’s plenty of evidence that the translators had a self-serving agenda when crafting it. This shouldn't come as a surprise. For many American evangelical gatekeepers, the ends often justify the means. Understanding real motivations is not a priority in this subculture.
I don’t know Dr. Barr; but, from what I can see, she appears to be pursuing truth and historical reality. I have been given no reason to believe that her motivations are sinister. She’s curious and clearly open to constructive criticism. In the context of the current political moment we are in —one in which neither truth nor reality seem to matter to a lot of people— her work is admirable, even though she is merely doing her job. What a thing to have to write.
Sadly, her critics don’t seem interested in discovering her motivations. She has said and written some things that reflect poorly on their subculture, and that simply can not be tolerated. Her credentials must not be considered. Her experience and research must be treated as irrelevant. Why she does what she does doesn’t matter. If she agreed with the gatekeepers, all those things would be seen as virtues; but, because she doesn’t, they are treated as vices.
The result is that Barr is left sitting at the table of reasoning in good faith, with the chair across from her empty. Many of us have been there before her, and many of us will be there after her.
Again though, Barr does something really interesting here. She turns from the empty table to the watching audience and starts talking to us directly. Y’all seem reasonable and interested in talking, so let’s talk, she essentially says throughout this piece. She invites us all to the table. It’s so…Christlike (Luke 14:15–24).
I find this fascinating because Barr’s approach goes way beyond walking away from an evangelical gatekeeper who is drunk on their own power. Barr is generously showing a sincere respect to her fellow believers that evangelical gatekeepers themselves rarely give. Rather than leave in frustration, she opens the table to all, including conservative evangelicals and exvangelicals who have been burned by gatekeepers. The people who need to hear her prophetic voice, those who really need to hear it, are warmly welcomed.
This raises an important question: how many of us left a white American evangelical institution because a gatekeeper made us feel like nothing was going to change and that we were worthless? And, after we left, how many of us experienced a trickle of people still in that place tracking us down to say I see it now, but what am I supposed to do? Did we meet those people where they were, or did we just try to move on and not engage (1 John 3:16–17)?
I am not one to advocate staying in a place where people are purposefully crushing your faith for their benefit. Our family is not at the same church we were at this time last year, and most of my friends and many of you reading this aren’t either. In different places and in a variety of creative ways, a gatekeeper offered us the same ridiculous choice: shut up and live for our subcultural identity exactly as I tell you, or leave and be free to live for Christ and others.
If we’re being honest, leaving was the only path for many of us. Beginning that journey was righteous (Matthew 18:15–20); but, maybe, just maybe, we haven’t been as accessible to people who are still hurting in those places as we should have. Some of those people may have even hurt us in the past, but were they the real problem? Or was it the American evangelical cultural system that taught them to behave this way? These are questions we would do well to ask ourselves in the context of our journeys.
My stock photo game has reached the summit. Photo by Keith Hardy on Unsplash.
Closing Thoughts
There is a severe tendency in white American evangelicalism to treat itself as the elite form of the Christian faith. The gatekeepers and their teachings are absolute truth. Their interpretation of Scripture is infallible. Doubt is punished, and blind followership rewarded. There is an utter inability to historicize their own theological and subcultural traditions with even an ounce of objectivity. Everything else, and everyone else, is aberrant.
The belief among so many in this particular strain of American evangelicalism that the ESV Bible they hold in their hands is not a translation by humans coming out of other revisions, translations, and historical discoveries, but a book handed down to them by God Himself, is a perfect example of this tendency. It is considered as Gospel Truth, to borrow an evangelical phrase. To argue against that is heresy.
While that is a nifty rhetorical trick that is useful to avoid questioning one’s own beliefs, cultural allegiances, and understanding of historical reality, it is completely useless when it comes to the process of sanctification. Even smart people at their best can come up short, and human history is full of Christians with agendas that aren’t pure of heart. We must never forget that The Slave Bible —which purposefully excluded any portion of text that might inspire rebellion or liberation-thinking among slaves— was written, printed, and used to devastating effect.
Although that may be considered an extreme example, it is a stark reminder that every translation of the Bible has some amount of bias. All translators have come to the Bible within specific cultures, times, and places. Even if they had somehow managed to avoid the currents of their time, translating the Bible into any other language is an act that is culturally-bound, simply because language is a core part of culture.
It is dangerous not to understand that the culture we find ourselves in shapes us in ways we are unaware. Christians may even face more challenges when confronting this reality. After all, we are touched not only by secular culture, but also the Christian culture we find ourselves in. Our Christian culture is constantly being impacted by secular culture, and vice-versa. And Christian culture isn’t guaranteed to be good just because the word Christian is in it.
In other words, life is messy. We Christians swallow a heavily-mixed, double dose of our cultural restraints every single day, often without even knowing it. To believe you can fully escape that in this life is delusional. Learning about the cultures that the texts in the Bible come out of and the languages they were originally written in can certainly be helpful, but even that will only get you so far.
Thank the Lord, then, for His saving grace (Ephesians 2:8–10). This is simply a part of being human! None of this means that the Bible isn’t true, that all truth is relative, or that the Bible we hold today is broken. It just means that the Bible we hold today is what it is, and we are who we are. We still have great purpose and worth, and the Bible the same. And isn’t that what makes this all so beautiful? And, as Barr and many others before her have noted, possibly dangerous when mishandled?
This tendency in reformed, white American evangelicalism to treat itself as the elite form of the Christian faith leaves many people in that tradition with massive cultural blinders. It is what allows the movement’s gatekeepers to believe they can issue judgements on literally anything and then dismiss all criticism at their insensitivity or lack of knowledge in a given area. They are operating out of a cultural bubble of which they are unaware every single day.
How does one reason with a gatekeeper who not only inherited this tendency, but is also unknowingly an ardent practitioner of it?
I’m not sure that you can. Something must change in their hearts and minds first. Until then, Robert P. Jones’s powerful summary of this subculture’s logical conclusion will continue wreaking havoc in the Church and our country:
As the shadow cast by white Christian churches and institutions is shortening, we’re witnessing in real time the anomie this contraction is producing among many of its adherents. Many are responding by abandoning the ranks. The increasingly desperate remainder are screaming defiantly from the ramparts, determined, to the last man, to defend the breached walls…
In these twilight years of white Christian America, for those still within the veil, the strain of holding these contradictions can lead to a dissociative state, where self-reflection becomes treasonous and self-delusion a necessity. The fruits of this spirit are abundant. Empathy signals weakness, and disdain strength. Prophets are shunned, and authoritarians embraced. Truth is exchanged for a lie.
Whether she meant to or not, Barr shows that her critics are operating inside this veil. They refuse to self-reflect. Their disdain signals a waning strength in their own movement. And their refusal to listen and engage in good faith is a tell-tale sign of authoritarianism. Through it all, pursuing love for God and neighbor —the ultimate commands from Christ himself (Matthew 22:36–40)— are exchanged for a lie that subjugating others is what really matters. Strict adherence to a singular theological framework that is culturally-bound is elevated above Christ himself.
This subculture isn’t the way the Church is supposed to be. This isn’t the way Christians are supposed to engage in times of disagreement (2 Peter 1:5–9). This isn’t working for God, our neighbors, or ourselves. Gatekeeping isn’t leadership, and the consumer culture it has created has broken the Church (1 Peter 5:1–3). In American evangelicalism, gatekeeping is an exercise in missing the point of the Gospel and true discipleship.
There are a lot of people struggling and hurting in American churches right now. The good news is that we don’t have to behave in such destructive ways toward the hurting and curious just because the gatekeepers do (Matthew 23:1–36). We can listen to others and lift each other up. When we struggle to understand, we can ask questions about where others are coming from. We can try to pursue truth and historical reality.
We can open up the table we find ourselves at to more and more people, as Beth Allison Barr does. And isn’t this exactly what Jesus would have us do, too (Luke 14:15–24)?
I explore faith and American church culture from Memphis, TN. Never miss an article by signing up for my free newsletter or becoming a member. You can also subscribe to my podcast.
