Author: Kimberly Ann

The phrase “equal in value, distinct in roles” is something I’ve heard countless times over the last 20-30 years. While I can’t pinpoint exactly when I first heard it, I remember that it made sense at the time. However, over the years, the simplicity of this phrase has been tested, especially when someone tries to explain it further by saying something like, “women have babies, men have ordained offices in the church.”

Hold up—what? How is it possible to compare the physical act of childbirth to a position in church leadership? In what reality do these two things belong in the same sentence as equal comparisons? Let’s be clear: if you want to argue that men are physically stronger than women, that’s not something I’d necessarily disagree with. We see it reflected in the statistics surrounding domestic violence, for instance. One in four women will experience domestic violence at the hands of a partner, while only one in seven men will be victims. The reality is that men are, generally, stronger, and women are often physically vulnerable in situations like these.

But what does this have to do with the higher calling of men and women? At some point, the argument shifted. If the comparison of physical strength or vulnerability isn’t the answer, what then? Maybe it’s about the “higher calling.” Perhaps being a wife or mother is now considered a higher calling—so much so that it’s elevated to the same level as being called to leadership in the church. But here’s where the logic falls apart. What about women who aren’t married or who don’t have children? Or men who aren’t called to church leadership? Does this mean their lives hold less value? Is the worth of a woman only tied to her maternal or marital role?

I once asked someone about their beliefs regarding marriage, and he quickly stated that he doesn’t believe women are ontologically different from men. This is important, sure, but it’s not something I see many theologians affirming today—though the early church fathers certainly had a very different perspective on this. (But that’s a discussion for another time.)

So here’s my question for those who believe men are called to church leadership: Why do you feel the need to give women a “consolation prize”? If you genuinely believe men are supposed to lead in church, why not say it plainly? Stand behind your belief and stop comparing women’s ability to give birth to men’s roles within a church body. This comparison makes no sense, and it’s one that frankly cannot be defended through Scripture alone.

Equal in value, distinct in roles is what you say. Fine. But let’s stop making false equivalencies in the name of trying to “justify” this perspective. If you stand by the idea that men are called to lead in the church, say it as it is, and leave out the unnecessary comparisons.

It’s always been interesting to observe how people react in situations of injustice—especially when something unjust is revealed. While it can be frustrating, this observation has allowed me to identify patterns in human behavior that are interesting to consider.

One of the more intriguing patterns I’ve noticed over the last 5-10 years is the way many people treat certain figures in their lives as “sacred.” While there are many sacred cows in society, today I want to focus specifically on teachers, preachers, and theologians.

For example, Ravi Zacharias was beloved by many for his teachings. Even when clear evidence of his abuse came to light, many people were unwilling to accept it. Some took drastic actions, like throwing his books in the trash, refusing to have any of his work in their homes.

More recently, a respected pastor in my area stepped down after being accused of abusing his wife. In response, many people were quick to express how hurt they had been by the church and its programs. On the other hand, some defended the pastor, praising him for stepping down and commending the church leadership for holding him accountable.

The danger in holding these “sacred cows” is that when we elevate someone so highly, we may become unwilling to accept that they could do any wrong. Even when they admit their failures, if they are a sacred cow, we may focus on praising them for their honesty rather than acknowledging the harm they’ve caused.

When we elevate people over justice, our reverence for certain figures can hinder accountability and silence victims.

This is one reason why many victims struggle to come forward until much later. Imagine a wife whose husband is so well respected that he has become a “sacred cow” in the eyes of many. When she speaks out, she is often met with disbelief or downplay. After all, he’s such a wonderful pastor, right?

Similarly, marriage itself has become a “sacred cow” for many ministries, pastors, and counselors. Too often, the victim’s well-being is sacrificed for the sake of maintaining the marriage, regardless of the harm being done. While it’s understandable that divorce can be a difficult decision, it’s concerning when the focus is only on keeping the marriage intact rather than addressing the abuse or mistreatment within it.

The most dangerous thing about all of this is that we may not even recognize our own sacred cows. We may claim that no one is perfect and say we would never stand behind someone who falls. But when that day comes, we may find ourselves defending and downplaying the victim’s story, unable to see the idol we’ve created.

Church, we must do better. We must learn to see the harm caused by our sacred cows and stop elevating people or concepts so highly that we forget the value of justice and truth.

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I’ve spent time in patriarchal churches and read plenty of their books, but I recently heard something that caught me off guard. While listening to a sermon on 1 Peter 3, the pastor repeatedly referred to wives as their husbands’ “prized possessions.”

Wait—what? Surely, I misheard.

Nope. He said it again. And again.

As I sat there, trying to wrap my head around what he meant, my mind went to Song of Solomon 6:3:

“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”

This verse paints a picture of mutual belonging—not one person possessing the other.

Later, I asked the pastor about his wording. His answer was about his intention to highlight how God views His people (THE bride of Christ) and to encourage husbands to honor their wives in that way.

I understand the intention, but there’s a serious problem here. While Scripture does describe the church as Christ’s treasured possession (Exodus 19:5, 1 Peter 2:9), this language never applies to marriage. The relationship between Christ and the church is fundamentally different from that of a husband and wife—because we, as created beings, are not equal to God. However, husbands and wives are equal in essence, standing, and worth.

Why This Language is Problematic

1. It Creates a Scriptural Misalignment
   Nowhere does the Bible say a wife is her husband’s possession. Instead, it affirms their unity and equality. Mark 10:7-8 says: “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother, and the two shall become one flesh; so they are no longer two, but one flesh.”
   One flesh. No hierarchy. No ownership.
2. It Risks Dangerous Misinterpretation
   Even if not intended abusively, calling wives “possessions” can reinforce the idea that they are property rather than partners—especially in church cultures that already overemphasize male authority. Like the husband who told his wife that if he said she has to cut her hair a certain way, she does.
3. It Lacked Necessary Explanation
   If the pastor’s goal was to highlight a husband’s honor and care for his wife, he should have made that clear. Without explanation, the wording promotes an unbiblical and potentially harmful view of marriage.

Words Matter

Marriage, as Scripture describes it, is not about ownership. It’s about oneness, mutual love, and sacrificial partnership. We need to be careful with the language we use—especially in the church—because words shape beliefs, and beliefs shape actions.

Let’s make sure our words align with the truth of Scripture, not cultural assumptions about gender roles.

For as long as I can remember, I was told that being a wife and mother is the highest calling a woman could have. It was ingrained in church culture, echoed in sermons, and reinforced in the books and teachings that shaped my early years.

But as I’ve deconstructed so many things, this phrase had somehow slipped my mind—until recently.

I heard it again in a sermon, and it hit differently this time. If being a wife was truly the highest calling, why did Paul praise those who remained single? Why did Jesus, the very one we are called to follow, never say this? Was this belief even biblical?

I brought my questions to a friend who is an ordained minister, and he confirmed my suspicion—nowhere in Scripture does it say that being a wife and mother is the highest calling. Which led me to the next question:

Where did this belief come from?

A Convenient Consolation Prize

The idea that marriage and motherhood are a woman’s highest calling is most commonly taught in circles that enforce strict hierarchy in marriage and church leadership. These are the same spaces where:

• Women do not earn an income or are discouraged from working outside the home.
• Women hold no leadership roles in the church beyond nursery duty or meal preparation.
• Women are repeatedly told they are equal in value, but “different in role”—a phrase that conveniently keeps power in the hands of men.

So how do men in authority keep women from questioning why they have no say in the church?
How do they prevent women from noticing that while both men and women will rule and reign with Christ, only men are allowed to rule the church?

They elevate marital status and childbearing to sacred callings, making them seem like the ultimate spiritual achievement for women.

And by doing so, anything that might distract from that calling—like education, leadership, financial independence, or a career—is subtly (or not so subtly) framed as a dangerous deviation from God’s design.

But What About…?

If marriage and motherhood are a woman’s highest calling, what does that mean for:

• Women who remain single, either by choice or circumstance?
• Women who cannot have children?
• Widows?
• Women who feel deeply called to lead, teach, or serve in ways beyond domestic roles?

Did they somehow miss their calling? Did they stand at the back of the line when God was handing them out?

No. Because nowhere—not once—do we see Jesus or any of the apostles elevate a woman’s worth based on her marital status or ability to have children.

This idea didn’t come from God. It came from man.

The truth is, a woman’s highest calling is the same as a man’s—to love the Lord, serve others, and walk in the fullness of the gifts and purpose God has given her. That calling is not defined by marriage or motherhood. It is defined by who she is in Christ.

Naming What I Couldn’t Before

I wish I could say I was clever enough to come up with the phrase “Cult Without Walls” myself—but alas, I am not. At the time of this writing, the Sons of Patriarchy podcast is wrapping up its first season, and this past week featured Tia Levings, author of The Well-Trained Wife. It was in that conversation that she used the phrase, and as soon as I heard it, something inside me clicked.

It’s so beautifully said.

Tia pointed out something I’ve struggled to articulate for years—how much harder it is to deconstruct when you didn’t grow up in an official “system” or cult. Many of us never formally joined a movement with clear-cut teachings and structured hierarchies. Yet somehow, we absorbed its beliefs from the air around us—from books, sermons, radio programs, and the unspoken rules of the communities we were raised in.

We weren’t handed membership cards, but we were handed dogma dressed up as biblical truth.

We read books like The Excellent Wife. We listened, over and over, to teachings influenced by Bill Gothard, Doug Phillips, and Doug Wilson—messages that shaped our views of marriage, gender roles, and authority without us ever realizing where they originated.

For me, I can trace so much of it back to my childhood. To my mom reading Moody Monthly magazine. To James Dobson’s voice on the radio. To books by Mary Pride that quietly, yet powerfully, reinforced the idea that biblical womanhood meant submission, silence, and sacrifice.

I know I’ll unpack more of my upbringing as I continue writing, but for now, just having a name for it brings a deep sense of validation.

Cult Without Walls.

It perfectly captures the reality so many of us have faced. There was no compound, no single leader, no initiation process. But the ideology was there—woven into our churches, our families, our friendships, our worldviews. And for those of us untangling it, the process is slow, painful, and often invisible to those who never questioned it in the first place.

But naming it? That’s a step toward freedom.

I used to have a blog—back before Facebook took over and blogging was the go-to space for sharing thoughts, processing life, and connecting with others. At some point, I let it go, shifting instead to social media, where updates were quick, engagement was instant, and the world seemed to prefer snippets over long-form reflection.

But lately, as I’ve been working through big emotions, deep shifts in my core beliefs, and the unraveling of long-held perspectives, I’ve found myself craving something more. Something slower. Something deeper. And so, here I am, writing again.

I don’t know when (or if) I’ll be brave enough to tell others that I’m doing this. But for now, this space is mine again—a quiet corner for untangling thoughts, questioning narratives, and making sense of the life of a Xennial mom who is still deconstructing what it meant to grow up in a cult without walls.

Let’s see where this journey takes me.