On The Genesis of Gender and Strange New World (part two)

This is part two of my review of Abigail Favale's The Genesis of Gender and Carl Trueman's Strange New World – books that have garnered attention among evangelical Christians for addressing gender identity in a way that bolsters traditional accounts. 

As mentioned, neither of these books is a work of biblical or theological scholarship, but they do share a theological premise, so I am thinking them through together. 

In part one I shared some appreciations of both books and focused on what was lacking in Trueman’s. I’ve been reminded that his was more or less an abridgment of his longer book The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self, but my criticisms stand. Here I will turn to Favale’s book. All page numbers in brackets relate to whatever book is under discussion in the immediate proximity. 

In The Genesis of Gender, English professor Abigail Favale narrates her deconversion from the feminist "gender paradigm" and calls it a socially constructed "illusion" (30, 74). Her account of feminism is skewed, as will be illustrated below, but her book has a lot more going for it than Trueman’s. Not only is she an elegant writer, but her argument is considerably more thorough. 

I already quoted this, and will return to it below, but I want to highlight Favale’s conclusion, where she writes: “we don’t choose our unique amalgam of qualities and traits, those threads that form the tapestry of personality… Yet there is one thing we can freely choose – free only because the gentle fingers of God have loosed what binds and blinds us. We can choose to receive all these things as gift” (239). This is compelling stuff, and I will come back to it later. But since I was unconvinced and concerned by this book, allow me to explain my reservations. 

Part 2: What is lacking in Favale’s The Genesis of Gender (for evangelicals at least) 

The complicated question of bodies 

In part one I found Trueman’s approach to sex and gender simplistic at best. For her part, though she comes to similar conclusions, Abigail Favale’s The Genesis of Gender offers a more thorough overview of the many biological factors that contribute to maleness and femaleness. 

In “The Science of Sex” Favale enumerates the variety of biological factors that contribute to a person’s sex – including chromosomes, hormones, and so on – and argues that the most foundational of these is gamete production, which is entirely binary (128-29). Gametes are cells that contribute to reproduction, and since it takes two to tango in that regard the idea is that when you get down to bare essentials the human being is basically sexually dimorphic. 

I’m not here to weigh in on the scientific debate about what determines sex or gender, but it is worth noting two things: one is that this only answers the question of gender variance if one is committed to binding gender to basic sex; the other is that the decision to pin sexual identity to gamete production is itself informed by a prioritization of procreation. In other words, there are theological commitments informing the interpretation of biology (which is fine, but needs naming). 

The problem, it seems to me, is that this reduction to gametes lends to an under-appreciation of the physiological variances that spread out and intertwine from that apparent dimorphism. Even before one considers the social constructs of gender (in either premodern patriarchy or modern alterity), there are bodily variations which overlap. When it comes to gender identities, then, some want to open up a spectrum, others want to spread out between two magnetic poles, and others want to stick with two distinct boxes. 

We are of course using metaphors here. In LGBTQ+ discourse it may be that the spectrum metaphor works better for Q and the poles metaphor works better for LGBT. When the dust settles on this debate, I’m not sure if users of the spectrum metaphor will be saying the array of genders is infinite or was only ever indefinite. If it proves to be the latter, perhaps it will be possible to think in terms of two magnetic poles between which a wide variety of gender identities are spread out. In 1990 Judith Butler called this an open-ended conversation, and as far as I know the matter has not closed. 

For her part, Favale prefers the metaphor of boxes. She argues that “we need to make room within the boxes of male and female for a range of body types and personalities” but “we do not need to abolish the boxes altogether” (135). The range of gender diversity must remain fixed to the constant of sex, which is determined by gametes, as supported by the patriarchal ordering assumed in Scripture and affirmed in the natural reasoning of the Catholic Church. 

Incidentally, while this is meant as an alternative to the spectrum metaphor, it is not clear to me that it is incompatible with the metaphor of magnetic poles. If men and women share most characteristics, the ranges overlap a lot. Therefore it remains an open and intricate question which factors ought to be considered determinative, who makes that choice, and when. It’s an interesting and important conversation, and at present it would be unbiblical and unloving to simply foreclose it. At the very least this is a “Gamaliel’s rule” type of situation. 

Favale may be right to question rhetoric that suggests an infinite spectrum of self-chosen identities, but just because there may be a limit to how far this can go does not mean a retraction to binary boxes is required. It is true that the definition of gender continues to grow and has not finally settled, and that this can be confusing and chaotic, but it is presumptuous to belittle the conversation because some parts of it are unresolved or experimental (see 150-55). 

Surely there exists a condition known as gender dysphoria – which Favale defines in terms of the “distress that stems from a feeling of incongruence with one’s sex” (167) – but that does not mean that any and all transgender persons are suffering from a “psychological illness” that can only be cured (196). From what I’ve seen and heard, the majority of health practitioners and experts are careful about how they resolve dysphoria, and do not recommend transition hastily. And when people do transition or identify as transgender it does not usually sound like an invention but a homecoming – as if they’ve finally come to peace with their bodies. But Favale portrays transgender people as if they are ignoring or denying their bodies, thereby breaking the harmony of the created order (43). 

I am not convinced this is a fair representation of either the transgender phenomenon or of the theology. Let’s turn our attention to the latter. 

Does a sacramental principle lead back to natural law? 

Like Trueman, Favale locates her theological argument for traditional gender in natural law. Unlike Trueman, Favale provides a theological rational for this. That’s not to say that she elaborates or considers counterpoints, but she does root her natural-law approach in what she calls a “sacramental principle” (136). This is a relatively novel phrase, but Favale seems to be saying that the incarnation of Christ provides a qualified stamp of approval to natural law, which in turn gives a certain authority to the body in matters of moral discernment. Because the Son of God became incarnate, we should see “body as sacrament” (as one subtitle puts it).

From where I sit, the only thing odder than seeing Favale refer to the body as a sacrament is seeing evangelicals gravitate to this book who otherwise don’t even use that word. To be clear, Favale is not sneaking the human body itself into the seven sacraments of Roman Catholicism, but is extending the logic of the sacraments into a sacramental principle that underwrites keen attention to the material creation that God called good and invested with God’s very self. The latter is a fine point, and evangelicals ought to incorporate it into their theologies of creation, atonement, anthropology, and eschatology. What’s at issue is what Favale does with it. 

“The sacramental principle is always at work,” Favale explains: “the visible reveals the invisible. The body reveals to us the eternal and divine reality of the person—a reality that can only break into the tangible, sensible world through embodiment” (136). 

As best as I can tell, this is Favale’s way of rooting gender and sexuality in the (typically Roman Catholic) belief that there are natural laws that reflect eternal laws – and she’s taking the incarnation as a divine confirmation that this analogy holds up. There are considerable unresolved theological problems with this (see the debate between analogia entis and analogia relationis), especially for Protestants, so it can hardly be the grounds for disfellowship. How does one adopt a natural law approach to morality while holding to the authority of Scripture, let alone the authority of Christ? I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it isn’t easy. 

Even if we were to accept the natural law premises of Favale and Trueman, we would still have to reckon with a number of complicated problems. On the scientific level there remains the problem of determining which biological factors are determinative, and behind it the problem of distinguishing nature from nurture. On the ethical level, there is the problem of the distorting effects of sin on centuries of social construction, and behind it the problem of drawing moral laws from physical laws in the first place. And on the theological level there is the overarching question whether such moral laws and social constructions could yet be idols that hinder us from following the lead of Christ himself. These books insist that modern individualists have made up social constructs to suit themselves, call us back to natural law, and ignore the ways that patriarchy may have previously misshaped what is deemed natural. 

In sum, Favale uses the sacramental principle to underwrite the essentializing of both sex and gender according to the dimorphic reality of gamete production. Since persons bear within them one of two contributions to procreation, their varied expressions of gender should remain aligned to whichever of these two potentialities their bodies hold. Never mind the virgin birth or the celibacy of Jesus or the Pauline relativization of male and female. This is natural law. Those who identify otherwise than their gametes are sinning against the sacramental principle. There’s definitely an argument to play out here, but would that it were so simple. 

Once again, a simplistic privileging of body over spirit 

When it comes to privileging gamete production in the designation of male and female, one could provide a theological argument by rooting it in the centrality of procreation in the creation mandate and the traditional goods of marriage. On this score one would have to engage with the work of Robert Song and Eugene Rogers, but that’s not where Favale goes. Instead, like Trueman, Favale focuses on an apparent conflict that has arisen in modernity between the given body and the expressive self. 

Highlighting the perennial “conflict of body and spirit” (49), Favale says that “Enlightenment progressivism” brought about a shift in focus from outside-in “control over our passions and desires” to inside-out “control over biology, over nature itself” (90-91). To the degree that this is true it is a problem, not only for “progressivism” but for the whole modern West. We see this in colonialism, racism, and the marginalizing of disability. On this we are more or less agreed. 

Not every aspect of the modern turn is universally bad, however. We might debate the net benefits of some technologies, but are readers of Favale’s book prepared to part with the medical advances of the twentieth century? Surely it depends what we’re talking about. Favale names contraception as a symptom of the supposedly feminist demand for control over nature, which may find broad agreement among Roman Catholics, but I wonder if evangelicals realize what they are agreeing to when they nod along with this. Are they prepared to outlaw contraception and fertility treatment along with transgender identities? 

Favale sees the transgender phenomenon as an act of collective and individual concupiscence, which she describes as “an inner conflict between body and spirit” wherein the untethered spirit steps out of line and overrules the givens of the body (49). It is interesting to see concupiscence extrapolated as a problem of self-misidentification, but it is worth recalling Augustine’s more specific use of this term. For Augustine it names the problem of desire that is misdirected toward possessive grasping and self-serving lust. For Favale, this is the temptation of gender dysphoria as well, but it is not clear to me why the solution has to be a doubling down on cisgender heterosexuality. Why not continue to direct sexual desire toward the telos of covenantal love? If the heart as a “battlefield between love and concupiscence” (49), as the oft-quoted John Paul II puts it, why not offer marriage (rather than cisgender heterosexuality) as the provision through which one learns to overcome selfish lust by giving oneself to another? 

Even if we grant Favale and Trueman’s point that LGBTQ+ identities are a case of the spirit overruling the body, is it the case that privileging the spirit is self-evidently a drift away from the Christian tradition? This suggestion seems problematic, if not bizarre, since it was precisely the misdirection of bodily impulses that Augustine sought to resist by orienting his soul to God. 

It is odd to see someone in the Christian tradition so plainly claim that is a “lie” to “force my body to reveal my true self” (199) -- what with passages like Romans 7 and 1 Corinthians 9:27 and the long tradition of utilizing spiritual disciplines to conform the body to the will of God. One could easily cut and paste Bible verses and ancient theologians to argue for the opposite priority of the soul over the body as an essential of Christian life. 

In any event, I think Favale joins Trueman in missing the deeper point here. The modern issue is that men historically took control of women, not only in the material conditions of patriarchy but also in the conceptual way that patriarchy channelled gender norms and identity. Control over nature was not invented by progressives or feminists. Control of some parts of nature by others is actually a big part of what feminists have sought to correct, and in the wake of that correction the prior gender categories are up for careful reconsideration. 

Rendering patriarchy as an essential of Christianity 

To her credit, toward the close of the book Favale returns to a more consistent theological rationale for privileging procreative capacities in the maintenance of gender identities. The theological reason for retaining boxes of man and woman is because the biology of reproduction serves as a sacramental sign of the “relationship of God and humankind” (236): 

The man has the capacity to transmit life outside of himself, while the woman has the capacity to gestate new life within. If we take these biological realities as a mirror for God and humankind, the male sex is analogous to God because God endows life from himself but stands apart from it; he transcends. The female sex is representative of humankind because its power lies in receptivity; the human being is created to receive the love of God, be inwardly transformed, and let that love bear fruit (237). 

These notions have certainly been prevalent in Christian theology. They formed the social imagination of first century Christians, they were transcribed into Catholicism and Orthodoxy, and they’ve been upheld by modern Protestant theologians like Karl Barth. Favale calls this the “Genesis paradigm” (235) and does not delve into theological debate about these claims, but could have pointed to Ephesians 5, where the patriarchal arrangement of husband and wife is held up as a mysterion (the Latin Vulgate said sacramentum) of the relationship of Christ and the Church. 

It is certainly true that Ephesians 5 uses this patriarchal asymmetry of men and women as a metaphor for the Christ/church relationship, but the way it unpacks this is not with reference to the sex act but the political relationship. In a culture where men held authority and primary agency, a husband provided a fit symbol for the Christ who sacrificially gives himself in love and a wife provided a fit symbol for the Church who receives and reciprocates it. It is nonetheless a matter of debate whether we need to retain patriarchy in order to understand and appropriate this, especially since the text’s own exhortation is toward mutual submission (v. 21). 

The thing is, even if we agreed that heterosexual procreation and patriarchy need to be retained in order to uphold the mysterious symbolism of Ephesians 5, why would this require the total exclusion of same-sex marriages or transgender identities? No one is arguing that all human beings must become transgender, or that all marriages need to be same-sex, or that ancient patriarchy needs to be erased from the historical record. Historical knowledge of patriarchal cultures could still carry the Ephesians metaphor, and the persistence of heterosexual marriages in general could still partially fund the metaphor Favale provides. 

It is worth noting that Favale’s Roman Catholicism puts her on the side of a complementarian interpretation rather than an egalitarian one, which presents a serious problem for evangelical churches who have opted or allowed for egalitarianism but aim to take this book on board. There are more problems than this, of course – especially since Favale’s sacramental principle owes more to a natural law argument for patriarchy than to biblical or theological material. Evangelicals looking to enforce this gender paradigm had better find more consistent grounds. 

When Favale depicts feminism as a “continual grasping for power over others” that over-reacts to the male domination of history (52), it is a selective and unfair caricature that ignores the legacy of Christian feminism and its emphasis on mutuality. The caricaturing is on full display when Favale takes Simone de Beauvoir’s statement that “work alone can guarantee [woman’s] concrete freedom” and associates it with the Nazi slogan Arbeit macht frei rather than hearing it as a reassertion of the woman’s part in the creation mandate of Genesis 1 (66). 

Favale’s characterization of Christian feminism as “secular feminism with a light Jesus glaze on top” (based on an anecdote from one of her classes) is insulting to both Christian feminism and to the reader (55). The irony is thick when Favale typifies Christian feminists as having forgotten to mention Christ (54), when it is her book that shifts its weight from Christ to natural law. 

To be fair, it must be pointed out that Favale is not pining for a return to Wood’s "American Gothic". Though she argues for traditional “boxes” of gender and sexuality, these are not meant to be constraining but liberating. In fact, Favale thinks of male and female, man and woman, as categories within which wider variabilities of gender can wonderfully play out (216). There is sensitivity to diversity in this book, and it made me wonder if there might yet be some use in finding a better metaphor between infinite spectrum and discrete boxes. 

Conclusion  

The Genesis of Gender is better than Strange New World, in part because its theological premises find a relatively comfortable home in Favale’s Roman Catholicism. But I would not recommend it to evangelicals. There are too many gaps to fill and corrections to hear. That said, I want to close by returning to a thread in Favale's book which I found compelling. 

Abigail Favale eloquently describes sin as the fracturing of the gifts of creation and says this fracturing is what turns our differences into oppositions (51). What appears to be needed, then, is a greater appreciation for communion in diversity, unity in interdependence, and the flourishing of the church’s witness as a gift-sharing community. 

In part 1 I quoted a beautiful passage from The Genesis of Gender about the importance of receiving the body as a gift, and about learning to live a life of love. Allow me to quote it again: 

There is much in life we can’t control, such as when we are born or where… We don’t choose our unique amalgam of qualities and traits, those threads that form the tapestry of personality… Yet there is one thing we can freely choose – free only because the gentle fingers of God have loosed what binds and blinds us. We can choose to receive all these things as gift. We can choose to say Yes to a Love that is stronger than death (239). 

Even though Favale does not approve of transgender identity she does well to recommend that readers take a loving posture rather than a fearful one, and to personally relate to others in the “way of accompaniment rather than rejection” (212). This is undermined by large parts of the book, including its refusal of preferred pronouns, but there’s hope in this conclusion yet. I won’t pretend to know where this conversation ends, but I hope we will receive this cultural moment as an opportunity to truly accompany one another in truth-seeking, to listen and learn and love. 

-- 

One last comment for my church context, since these books have been added to our denomination's reading list for ordination under the heading of "biblical anthropology": For a more fulsome intro to theological anthropology an ordinand would be wise to read the recent paper commissioned from our theological committee. As for an intro to the topics of gender and sexuality, it would be wise to read Understanding Transgender Identities: Four Views and Two Views on Homosexuality, the Bible, and the Church. Then we could really talk about this.

On Strange New World and The Genesis of Gender (part one)

A number of people have asked for my thoughts on Abigail Favale's The Genesis of Gender and Carl Trueman's Strange New World – books that have garnered attention among evangelical Christians for addressing gender identity in a way that bolsters traditional accounts. Now that I've read them and found them lacking, I offer the following reviews for the sake of a more fulsome conversation. 

Neither of these books is a work of biblical or theological scholarship, but they do share a theological premise. Each book offers a critical commentary on modern historical developments that expresses a preference for pre-modern norms, vaguely rooted in natural theology. 

 In The Genesis of Gender, English professor Abigail Favale narrates her deconversion from the feminist "gender paradigm", calling it a socially constructed "illusion" (30, 74). In Strange New World, historian Carl Trueman narrates the sexual revolution as a story of "expressive individualism" run amok (22-24). Both books have their moments, and Favale’s can be especially compelling, but neither gives a charitable reading of their opponents, and neither engages the biblical or theological issues in any depth, let alone clarity or nuance. 

In what follows I will first make a few comments about what is compelling about these books, and then I will discuss what is misleading about each – at least for evangelicals. Since some of my problems with these books relate to their discord with historically evangelical convictions, Christians from other traditions may simply conclude that I am not the target audience for this book. That’s fine. Some of what these authors say will make more sense in other traditions, and I am not here to disparage those. I’m reviewing these books as it relates to their adoption in an evangelical context, so that will be the perspective I bring to bear. 

I will post this in two parts. This post will begin with some appreciations for both books before focusing squarely on Trueman’s Strange New World. Later I’ll come back to Favale’s The Genesis of Gender. All page numbers in brackets relate to whatever book is under discussion in the immediate proximity. 

What is compelling about these books 

Carl Trueman is rightly concerned about the phenomena of "expressive individualism". In fact, I’d say this problem pervades the western cultural milieu (and not just the LGBTQ+ movement at the centre of Trueman’s focus). Trueman is right on target with some of his social commentary on this score. For instance, in chapters 5 and 6 he highlights the way modern technology enables independent mastery of the physical world to a degree that unsettles "traditional external sources of authority and identity" (97), thereby leaving individuals vulnerable to risks that used to be offset by social codes and limitations. 

Trueman is not wrong to point out that reconstruction of this "strange new world" is ongoing, and cannot be unthinkingly delegated to the inertia of “progress” or technological development. Inasmuch as his critique applies to the LGBTQ+ movement, it might be fairer to say that "expressive individualism" describes an immature version of trans or gay identity formation. At times Trueman acknowledges that trans and gay communities are not just interested in cul-de-sacs of arbitrary expression but seek social "recognition" and "belonging" (87, 117, 127), but he always moves on from this quickly. 

Credit where it’s due, however: he is right to warn against a total retreat into the self. Taking this on board can bolster the maturer form of LGBTQ+ identity formation that is advocated by trans and gay communities (and affirming health experts). 

Abigail Favale’s book has a lot more going for it than Trueman’s. Aside from her lucid writing, the highlight is probably her lovely explanation of sin and redemption in chapter two. Indeed there are many paragraphs of her book which readers will find theologically and rhetorically compelling, even if they disagree with aspects of the moral argument in which they are deployed. For example, in the conclusion Favale writes: 

There is much in life we can’t control, such as when we are born or where… We don’t choose our unique amalgam of qualities and traits, those threads that form the tapestry of personality… Yet there is one thing we can freely choose – free only because the gentle fingers of God have loosed what binds and blinds us. We can choose to receive all these things as gift. We can choose to say Yes to a Love that is stronger than death (239). 

Someone who disagreed with Favale’s limitation of the tapestry of gender could nonetheless celebrate a sentence like this by seeing the transgender journey as the unpacking of a complicated gift. She did not mean it that way, but the paragraph is compelling all the same. I will come back to that later. First let us consider the problems with these books in turn. 

1. What is wrong with Trueman’s Strange New World (for evangelicals at least) 

False dilemmas and the authority of the presumed body 

The core problem with Trueman’s book is that it consistently elevates the authority of the body over that of "inner feelings" (32), but remains vague on the delineation of an inner feeling from a function of the body. Even if we grant that inner feelings are an immaterial aspect of the person, it is hard to understand how he can reconcile his privileging of the body with the soul-privileging strain of the pre-modern theological tradition he claims to espouse. Throughout this book Trueman glosses over the historic elevation of the will, soul, or reason, which are matters of inner disposition that the Christian tradition has often put in charge of bodily forces or desires. 

I will come back to that particular problem later, but it illustrates a recurrent problem in this book: Trueman has a proclivity for posing false dilemmas and declaring a presumptive winner without acknowledging the theological arguments entailed. For example, he wrongly pits legitimate theories of original sin against each other in order to support the caricatures he is drawing, as seen when he insists that "original sin" is an "innate tendency to law-breaking" rather than a corruption by social "conventions and demands" (38). These are both legitimate ways to think about how original sin is transmitted, and are not mutually exclusive. 

Another example of this is when Trueman suggests that modernists after Marx have politicized the "prepolitical" (59) – as if there used to be a stable "intrinsic morality" that has only now been turned into a political battle (51). Trueman is not wrong about the polarization of partisan American politics, but it is disingenuous to suggest pre-modern societies had pristine access to apolitical goodness that was unaffected by social power constructs until Marx came along. This leads to the next major problem of this book: its presentation of history is insidiously slanted. 

A slanted version of history that glosses over pre-modern patriarchy 

As noted above, Trueman suggests that modernity made sexuality primary to identity. What is insidious about this is that it fails to acknowledge that, in its own way, premodern patriarchy did this first. Trueman consistently typifies the sexual revolution as a chaotic disruption of what was a serene and unproblematic tradition, consistently glossing over the fact that old social orders relied on visions of justice that rightly came under serious critique (see chapters 4 and 7). 

There are reasonable critiques to be made of modernity, of course, but Trueman deals in caricatures. This makes it easy to express greater faith in old "national narratives" than the "imagined communities" of today’s "social justice" narratives (118-20). Since it is unclear whether Trueman even understands those communities, I get the sense that his imagination is doing most of the work here. 

It would be one thing to argue in favour of relative cultural uniformity to pre-modern values based on presumptive orders of nature, but it is appalling to ignore the lessons of 1930s Germany on this precise point and then have the gall to associate social justice communities with ISIS (118-21). Trueman is ruthless and uncharitable toward his opponents, while his portrait of tradition is rose-coloured. His critique of modernity reads like walking into a broken home and yelling at the nine-year-old for not cleaning their room. 

This is quite pronounced in the chapter on sexual identity, where Trueman pejoratively typifies the LGBTQ+ “coalition” in terms of "victimhood" rather than looking upstream for sources of victimization (131). It is not wrong to identify the modern Romantic interest in "human subjectivity" as a precursor to the "moral relativism" of "inner voices" (48), but Trueman uses this as a straw man and barely acknowledges the problems that modernity sought to correct. 

Reading only this book would make it easy to forget that the modern turn destabilized the dominance of one kind of voice, and that we are still in the process of gathering and reconciling more diverse voices on the way to a fuller anthropology. This does mean we are in the middle of what might feel like a messy reassessment of identity and its intersections, but Christians need not be afraid to wade into those complexities and seek the Spirit’s guidance into truth. 

Dependence on a vague form of natural theology 

There are really only a few pages of theology in Trueman's book. At one point he rattles off a few reasons why Christians have typically privileged heterosexual marriage – namely, "the teaching of Genesis 2, the complementarity of men and women, and the procreative intent of marriage" (155) – but then he briskly moves on so he can deride the US Supreme Court for seemingly dismissing this tradition overnight. What Trueman does not acknowledge is the ongoing legitimate discussion among Christian theologians and Bible scholars about what Genesis really teaches, about the ambiguities of complementarity, and about whether procreation is an essential good of marriage. Mentioning these topics in passing is not theology. Trueman is free to ignore that discussion, but those who need to have it will need to read past his book. 

When Trueman does pivot to theology toward the end of the book, it is to highlight the importance of community and to distinguish it from a mere aggregate of individuals (173-78). This is a very good word indeed. However, it is odd to see Trueman acknowledge that "the LGBTQ+ community is proof of this point” (175), only to carry on reproaching the movement as nothing more than a symptom of the expressive individualism that threatens the social fabric. 

The truth is that everyone in the modern West is beset with the fragmenting forces of expressive individualism, and everyone is longing for real community. The precise problem with the LGBTQ+ communities is not expressive individualism, per se: it is that the they do not ascribe to the traditional confessions and biblical worship to which Trueman ascribes (178-82). When it comes to gender and sexuality, the real issue is not community vs. individualism but rival visions of society (175). Most of this book evasively collapses the latter argument into the former. 

Which is not to say that Trueman says nothing about the rival visions. The theological argument underpinning the book’s actual challenge to LGBTQ+ identities is that "the church needs to recover natural law and a theology of the body" (182). Unfortunately, while Trueman acknowledges the Roman Catholic roots of this tradition, he claims that it has "died away" among Protestants "in the last two centuries" and does not trouble himself to say any more. This is a particularly glaring omission since the debate about natural law was a significant part of the Confessing Church’s opposition to Nazification in 1930s Germany (still less than a century ago). 

As an evangelical theologian I consider this is to be a serious problem. Trueman repeatedly assumes an "absolute moral standard" (62) to which humans have natural access, thus begging the question why we even need Scripture or community, let alone a living Christ. It is odd to see Trueman’s book gobbled up by evangelicals who claim to believe in sola scriptura and who have historically been willing to go back to the Bible with an open mind under the living Lordship of Christ when their interpretations of the natural order have come under serious question. 

Instead of a careful definition or an explainer on the historic pros and cons of natural law, Trueman briefly asserts that our "bodily constitution places restrictions on what [we] can and cannot do" and explains that "natural law is the extension of this idea into the realm of morals" (183). If Trueman is aware how complicated it is to argue from natural and physical phenomena to moral principles, it does not deter him from preemptively pinning his argument on a simplistic and contestable view of nature. 

Again, this is a simplistic account of bodies and souls 

In his attempt to treat the LGBTQ+ movement as a triumph of inner voices over real-life bodies, Trueman argues that its advocates "set aside the importance of biology ... in order to present a common front" against hetero-normativity (131). If this were entirely true it would represent a valid concern, but it is unfortunately rather dismissive of the lived experience of trans and gay individuals. 

Trueman would have us assume that trans identity is wholly psychological “performance” that "floats free" of the body (133), while traditional gender categories are physical constants attached to knowable metaphysical realities (132). This is woefully simplistic on both accounts. The question whether patriarchal social constructs provide access to metaphysical reality is debated, and even those who argue for it only see it as an analogue in some respects. But the theological premise of his book boils down to this: If you're confused about gender just look in your gym shorts. Anything else is “expressive individualism” run amok. I'm not sure Trueman is as interested in what our bodies tell us as he is in how patriarchy ordered bodies.

I know there is a genuine debate to be had about nature and grace. I respect and listen carefully to those who hold to a qualified theological understanding of natural law. But on every level the story is more complicated than Trueman lets on. This is the case not only on natural law but also on the constitutive relation of the body and the inner self (or soul). A person who only read Trueman might assume that the Christian tradition has always prized the body over the soul, when in fact it has typically taught that the desires of the body have to be conformed to God by the penitent soul (or the will or the mind). 

There are unresolved tensions and unknowns in the studies of sex and gender, but it is uncharitable for Trueman to portray trans and gay people as if they are making arbitrary choices running completely against the inclinations, dispositions, and constitutions of their bodies. It is as if Trueman has in mind a 12-year-old with queer classmates who succumbs to peer pressure to try out nonbinary identity like a new shirt, and is unwilling to consider the many people who arrived at their trans and gay identities against the grain of social pressure, precisely because it finally put them at peace with their bodies. Such people typically refer to their identities as discovered rather than invented – but you wouldn’t know this from Trueman’s depiction. 

Here is perhaps the most glaring problem with all this, at least as it applies to sexuality: All the time Trueman is railing against expressive individualism, it never seems to occur to him that the problem he is describing is not homosexual desire (per se) but selfish desire (in general). Someone could actually buy his central thesis and entertain the possibility that same-sex marriage is a gift; a covenantal context where sexual desire can grow out of grasping lust and selfish individualism into the beauty of self-giving love and mutual belonging. But that's a discussion for another time.

Abigail Favale’s The Genesis of Gender is better than Carl Trueman’s Strange New World, but it does share similar problems. I will turn to it later in part two.

On "The Widening of God's Mercy: Sexuality within the Biblical Story", by Christopher and Richard Hays

This year Christopher Hays and Richard Hays released a book which gives a birds-eye view argument for changing the church's position on sexuality (or, more specifically, same-sex marriage). This book was highly anticipated not least because it comes 28 years after Richard Hays quite influentially argued for exclusively heterosexual marriage in his 1996 Moral Vision of the New Testament. We might have been excused for expecting 2024's The Widening of God's Mercy to give a full reversal and replay of the biblical and theological arguments involved, but the introduction to the book ought to disabuse us of this expectation. The Hays clearly set out to focus on the forest rather than the trees (2). Instead of rehashing the exegetical, moral, and doctrinal arguments that have accumulated in recent decades, they zoom out and ask how we could make sense of such a dramatic change in the teaching of the church and, apparently, the will of God.

Suggesting a change in the will of God gets the Hays in a bit of trouble, but one has to applaud them for addressing this elephant in the church's room. How do we account for newfound positions that appear to pass judgment on widely held views of the distant past or present? The Hays are well positioned to ask the question this way. Along with the majority of the church, the Hays previously held the view that God was opposed to same-sex marriage. Now that they find themselves convinced of the alternate position -- despite having not changed their basic hermeneutic or spirituality or moral disposition -- the question looms large: What? He got over it?  

Put another way: Did God change God's mind? To the Hays it sure seems like it. Do those who take Scripture as their authority for Christian life and teaching have a biblically-viable way to make sense of such a thing? The Hays think so, and they try to explain. I am not sure they fully succeed, but there's something to be appreciated about the attempt. I wasn't planning to review this book but, having read some early reviews, there are some things I want to explore further.

On changing God's mind

In an early review of the book on her blog, Beth Felker Jones hits the nail on the head with her concern about the notion that "God changes God's mind" -- a notion she does not think the Hays even need to employ. While I remain open to arguments about this, I agree with Felker Jones' reservations and prefer to retain the doctrine of divine immutability. To my mind the Old Testament language of divine "regret" or "repentance" is best understood as a figure of speech that means God reserves the right to interact with humans in so-called "real time" (that is, from a human perspective), which includes reserving the right to change course relative to human actions and contexts. This need not mean there is a literal change of divine being or will or knowledge. (Such an idea might make God feel more relatable, but it comes at the expense of rendering God unreliable). 

Felker Jones rightly observes that Christopher Hays makes more use of this notion (in the OT section) than Richard Hays does (in the NT section) -- so it does seem to be a case of wanting to employ Old Testament language of divine "regret" or "repentance" without getting into the long weeds of doctrinal debate about how far the concept can be taken. Which would not be a big deal, except it is the central premise of the book. So why wade into such fraught theological territory if the argument does not even depend on it? 

On my reading of the book I think it is important to note two things. The first is that "God changing God's mind" is a figure of speech in the Hays' book just as much as it is in the Bible, so it should not necessarily be taken literally in their case either. This actually seems pretty clear from the opening pages. When they first unpack the notion of "God changing God's mind", the Hays mean that biblical "laws are under constant negotiation and revision," that "new groups were regularly invited in from the margins", that "God [sometimes] declares that past judgments were too extreme", and that the Holy Spirit can "lead the community of Jesus's followers into new and surprising truths" (2-3). 

We can certainly discuss the particulars of how this might play out, but it is widely accepted that God works in and with history to expand the covenant people, and is free to revise various laws and applications according to God's primary intent. What's more, on these pages the Hays explicitly indicate that such "changes" are not arbitrary or unanticipated in God, but are the execution of a "plan [that] was always wider" (3). From the introduction it was not clear to me that the Hays thought something actually changed in the eternal God, but were mainly suggesting that God has made a change in history that needs to be reckoned with. Despite continuing to use the problematic language, again in the conclusion the Hays' main point seems to be that God can "reveal new and surprising facets of his will" (206). 

The second thing to note is that there is an understandable reason the Hays reach for such language. The Hays are trying to come to grips with a big-picture problem of hermeneutics and history. What are we saying about Christians in other times and places when we come to a new conviction that not only displaces but reverses an old one? Are we saying they were wrong? Was this a wrongness of ignorance or sinfulness or both? It is certainly possible for the church to run with a sin-infected interpretation of Scripture that has to be collectively repented of, such as slavery or colonialism, but is that what we are dealing with when we confront something like patriarchy or hetero-normativity? Perhaps it can become sinful to hold to something that God has clearly upended, but until then can it really be called sinful for people of other times or places to hold on to something that appeared to be the only option? 

If the issue at hand is a reversal of a centuries-long moral conviction that is still held by many well-meaning Christians all over the world to this day, the question has real force to it. One could talk a good game about love, but failing to pause over this question would run the risk of repeating the same kind of unloving dogmatism one is trying to resist. One might do so out of love for the vulnerable, but on the ecumenical level the question remains. Obviously this question lurks on both sides of any disagreement, but at present this one has pretty dramatic historical proportions. (This is why I have rejected article 10 of the Nashville Statement and would urge the majority church to at least abide by Gamaliel's rule while we work this out peaceably).

I do not think the Hays completely resolve this problem, but as I sit with the question I gain sympathy for the way they have framed it. If same-sex marriages can now be affirmed -- with adherence to the same scriptures that seemed to condemn them -- then perhaps we should put the onus on God. Has God changed things up, or were we supposed to have known this before? Is this a change for everyone everywhere or is it part and parcel of God's freedom to accommodate historical contexts and work with us in time? Do we have some way of making sense of this? Divine mutability may not be the answer, but the figure of speech does have the benefit of looking the problem straight in the face. Since we're talking about an unprecedented change in church teaching, the Hays are (ironically) trying to find stability and consistency in the nature of the covenanting God. From below it may come as a change of the divine mind, but their whole point is to argue that "God's plan was always wider" (3, emphasis added). 

I agree with Felker Jones that the Hays "don’t need a changing God to get to th[eir] conclusion, and their recounting of the biblical story of God’s mercy would ... be much stronger without it," but let's be clear: The thesis of the book is that the blessing of same-sex marriage is a "widening of God's mercy" that finds precedent in prior "widenings". So we might as well move on to a consideration of this possibility.

The hermeneutics of unanticipated developments

If I had a Canadian nickel for every time I heard someone say that only the traditional view of sexuality was rooted in a "high view of Scripture" I would be able to afford a decent but grumpy trip to Tim Hortons. This can be a pretty nasty way for conservatives to talk down to people who share an evangelical view of the authority of Scripture but have come to an alternate interpretation. For their part, the Hays are explicitly not "claiming 'to know better than the Bible'" (7). Nor are they changing their approach to Scripture (12). So what is the hermeneutical move that leads them to this unanticipated development?

In his review of this book for The Center for Faith, Sexuality and Gender, Preston Sprinkle says that the Hays are using a "trajectory argument" which is "well known" and has been "roundly refuted" by William Webb and others. For my part, I am as unconvinced by Webb's "redemptive trajectory hermeneutic" as I am by his argument that it refutes same-sex marriage -- but that is beside the point. The Hays are clearly not using it. Sprinkle himself admits that the Hays never use the term, but persists in chalking their argument up to it and even criticizes them for not defending it against counterarguments. This is unfortunate, since the trajectory argument is precisely not what the Hays are employing. 

The trajectory argument looks for an explicit place in the text where the ancient author planted a specific seed that would sprout and blossom centuries later. To my mind it tends to put too much weight on the perceivable authorial intent of the original humans involved, and leans on a common but falsifiable notion of modern "progress", but that is again beside the point since the Hays do not use it. (Note the absence of any suggestion that David and Jonathan were gay, or of other speculative attempts to anchor a progressive trajectory in an original "wink" about sexuality from the authors. I'm not ruling out the possibility that such a thing might one day be found, I'm just pointing out that the Hays decidedly do not go there).

It is notable that the Hays do not even use the less contested language of "progressive revelation". I appreciate this, not only because such language is clouded by problematic assumptions of modern (Western!) progress, but also because it can tend toward dispensationalism and its various rabbit warrens. When I imagine them resisting this it makes even more sense why they veer into the "changing God's mind" idea (fraught as it is). Their interpretive move is not based on uncovering a hidden-but-now-explicit hint toward same-sex marriage, and it is not based on the notion that we modern people know better now. Like I said above, their concern is more big picture: If this is a new thing for the church -- which is the prerogative of a living Lord -- does it have the necessary rationale in the biblical witness? 

I do think this addresses a theological need, so it's interesting. Like Felker Jones I think they would have been better off avoiding divine mutability, but I appreciate that the Hays avoid these other explanations. I think they would have been better off following the lead of Barth and Bonhoeffer and distinguishing between "timeless principles" and the church's task of following the living Lord of Scripture, but if one reads the book through this lens a number of things click into place. Add this to the list of times when I wish biblical theologians found their allies in systematics.

To be clear, despite what Sprinkle suggests, the Hays do not argue that ancient authors allude to or even imagine same-sex covenant partnerships at all. The Hays simply think there is a case for "widening" the covenant to include same-sex couples, and they base it in prior "widenings" of God's mercy found in the two testaments of Christian scripture. The book goes to great lengths to show that God allows and prohibits things differently in various times and places according to God's basic desire. 

Some of the chapters are stronger on this point than others (for instance, I was a bit confused by the Ezekiel chapter), but the chapter on the daughters of Zelophehad is excellent and compelling. This is such an underrated portion of Scripture that we really ought to pause and say their names aloud. Mahlah. Noah. Hoglah. Milcah. Tirzah. Not only does their story display God's willingness to stretch the socio-political "rules" to accommodate new but legitimate questions, it also serves as a challenge to the church not to shut down such questions before they have been fully considered and understood. (It smacks of self-deception to say one loves gay people but to shut down the conversation with gay Christians before they feel understood). 

Richard Hays returns to this point with his chapters on Acts and Romans, and together with the Zelophehad chapter these are the most compelling sections of the book. In the first 15 chapters of Acts we see the church has "listened to the accounts of the Spirit's work, they have noted the testimony of scripture, and they have made a creative discernment about the best course of action" by way of a "careful conversation in community" (186-7). I'm not here to give spoilers, but the subsequent chapter on Romans -- especially the section on Romans 14 -- is worth the price of the book. (Although I have to admit I borrowed my copy from the library). Regardless of one's view of same-sex marriage, the message of these chapters is vital for the witness and integrity of the church today.

To sum up: the Hays have not changed their hermeneutic or their view of the authority of Scripture. They are not shifting gears and employing the previously-resisted "trajectory argument"; nor are they using language of "progressive revelation". Because he wrote on this previously, Richard Hays says explicitly that he has changed his mind about his interpretation on this issue, and apologizes for it. Wrestling with this honestly, the Hays appear to have put this issue alongside the difficult question why God allowed or approved of slavery or patriarchy for a time and then enabled their overturning in contexts where that became a viable option. That this was slow in coming is a theodicy problem, but the Hays are suggesting that, to the degree it is our responsibility, recognizing a widening of the covenant is better late than never.

 

There have been complaints that this book barely touches on the question of same-sex marriage itself -- and I feel like more could have been said about this as well -- but it's not like the book is silent on the matter. Thus for the sake of my own clarity as much as anyone else's, let me draw out the basic argument.

The implicit argument for same-sex unions

As alluded to above, Sprinkle asserts that "there’s simply no evidence of a scriptural trajectory moving away from sex difference in marriage" because he is looking for a place where a biblical author gains insight into this specific trajectory of redemption, but the Hays have decidedly not made this their case. The Hays have sought evidence not in the intent or knowledge of the ancient human authors or readers but instead have sought to give an account of something new and unanticipated. The closest the Hays come to a "trajectory argument" is when they highlight how eunuchs were included in the covenant alongside foreigners in Isaiah 56:3-5, but they do not chart this as the first point on a trajectory. Instead, they argue that

the acceptance of sexual minorities in the church re-enacts a narrative pattern that is pervasive in the Bible. There is a powerful analogy, a metaphorical correspondence, between the embrace of LGBTQ people and God's previously unexpected embrace of foreigners, eunuchs [and so on] (214).

This is clearly not positioned as a trajectory argument but an analogical one. For the analogy to work one needs to see the covenant expansion to foreigners (a.k.a. nations or gentiles) as the instantiation of a pattern that can be recognized again later on for other categories of persons. To some degree the ancient eunuch is offered up as a placeholder for modern sexual minorities, but the Hays really don't make the argument that sexual ethics can be drawn directly from the inclusion of the eunuch in Isaiah or Matthew  or Acts. There may be some life in that argument yet (especially since the eunuch represents a break from the ancient requirements of patriarchy), but the Hays do not really go there. Instead they work with the modern identification of sexual orientations and explore the possibility that prior covenant expansions to foreigners and patriarchy-marginalized figures could now apply to newfound "sexual minorities" (see 98f., 160f.).

 

Those who object to this possibility will argue that it is ruled out by the five or six passages of Scripture that directly prohibit various forms of same-sex relations, and will be disappointed that the Hays do not bother to rehash the exegetical arguments over those texts. Because the early reviews of the book had led me not to expect this, I was not disappointed. To the contrary, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the Hays made their interpretation of these passages succinctly but plainly clear. In the Introduction and the endnotes, Richard Hays explicitly corrects his prior argument in this regard: Whereas he previously used generalized "nineteenth-century coinage" for "homosexuality" to cover the "same-sex acts" addressed by those six passages, he now thinks "that whatever the contested biblical passages were envisioning, they were not envisioning LGBTQ Christians in the pews today who abundantly manifest the fruits of the Spirit" (12, 227 n5). In other words, what is prohibited by those texts are particular sexual relations that were well known at the time, and not the co-equal marriages of same-sex oriented partners in view today. 

 

When Sprinkle says that the facts do not bear this out, he means that same-sex commitments were known to exist in the known world of New Testament authors -- but this is not something the Hays are making a judgment about. The point is that biblical authors could gesture toward the predominant and infamously problematic forms of same-sex relations of their time and expect to be understood, but it would be anachronistic to woodenly apply this forward in a universalized way. In any event, it's true that the Hays do not retread the ground of these interpretive debates, likely because they are ably covered elsewhere. I'd like to have seen them sum it up regardless, but it is not really fair to critique a book for lacking something it never set out to provide. The Hays are laser-focused on the task at hand and express no interest in displacing work done by others. Perhaps they will yet add to the back and forth of that debate, but this is not that. 

 

Not to turn this into a review of a review or anything, but I think it can be illuminating to contrast the point of the book with some more of Sprinkle's assertions. For instance, Sprinkle writes that "the current sexuality debate is not about (or shouldn’t be about!) whether gay people are to be accepted. The debate is about which marriage and sexual ethic they are accepted into." But for the Hays this is precisely the issue. The question is whether gay and lesbian people are accepted into the covenant people of God along with its sub-covenant of marriage. It's a package deal. Yes, the church has monastic vows for those gifted and called to celibacy, but what about those who are not so gifted and called? The Hays argue that same-sex couples "should be welcomed gladly in the church and offered full access to the means of grace available to all God's people: baptism, the Lord's Supper, ordination, and the blessing of covenanted unions" (216, emphasis mine). 

 

As for the question of what should be entailed in such blessings, the Hays are clear that there is more work to be done -- but for starters they say that same-sex marriages should be held to "the same expectations as for heterosexuals" (217). Once churches accept this they can work together to develop any "new liturgical forms and ethical guidance" that might be required (217). That said, it's not like others have not already started this work. I was disappointed that the Hays did not mention the work of Robert Song, but they do quote from and recommend Eugene Rogers (217), so it's not like there are no bread crumbs whatsoever. (Robert Song's Covenant and Calling looks at the role of sexual difference through the lens of Augustine's "goods of marriage" and argues that even though sexual difference is required for the good of procreation it can still be upheld even while extending covenant unions to non-procreative couples that make their own contribution to human fruitfulness). Like I said, I'd like to have seen more on this, but for now the Hays seem content to focus on the larger arc of God's work in history and leave us to read on. 

 

One last correction

 

I really don't want to make this about Preston Sprinkle, but there's just one more thing about his review that simply must be corrected, if for no other reason than it puts its finger on a problem requiring careful reflection. In Sprinkle's review he says that "the authors claim [these passages] have been wrongly interpreted by the historic, global, and multiethnic church for nearly 2,000 years," but this is imprecise. As explained above, the Hays have gone out of their way to avoid putting it this way, even to the point of (problematically) locating the change in God. Moreover, the Hays are clear that they think traditional and affirming congregations should seek to co-exist and mutually bless one another on the long road of reconciliation (see 196-202, 216).  

 

To make matters worse, however, Sprinkle points out that majority world churches tend to be opposed same-sex marriage, and on this basis charges the Hays of being "profoundly ethnocentric". This is a serious charge. It might even have stuck if the Hays' argument was that affirming same-sex marriage has always been biblically clear and is now the only tolerable position. But that is not what the Hays argued. 

 

According to Sprinkle, the Hays said that "churches should 'repent of the narrowness of [their] earlier visions and…explore a new way of listening to the story that scripture tells about the widening scope of God’s mercy' (p. 10, emphasis in the original)". But given the severity of the charge it seems imperative to point out that in the original quote Richard Hays is not speaking in the third person but the first. Hays wrote: "In this book I want to start over -- to repent of the narrowness of my earlier vision and to explore a new way of listening to the story that scripture tells about the widening scope of God’s mercy" (10). The line is an explicit reference to Richard Hays' own journey and the things he wishes he had noticed earlier, and is not a judgment of others. I think Sprinkle names a colonialist sensibility that can be found all-too-often in the rhetoric of so-called progressives, but he should not have changed Hays' meaning in order to stick him with this charge.  

 

Of course the Hays go on to argue for a position they hope the whole church will adopt, and even address their own side of the debate using the vaulted (but reversible) language of Romans 14's "strong" and "weak", but the point is decidedly not to condemn or exclude. The point is to make room for one another to seek truth in love. I've got some reservations about this book, but I offer this review in that same spirit.

On Quiet Exiles and Unaccountable Escalations: My Letter to the Editors of Faith Today

A few months ago I wrote a letter to the editors of Faith Today because I was concerned about things I was hearing about the breaking of relationships within and between Christian institutions and denominations in Canada. The letter was published in the July/August issue, and can be found here. 

I'm including a screenshot below, after which I will also include the last sentences of the original letter, which the editors left out with my permission (presumably for space). I include it here not to protest the edit but to add a fuller picture of my heart and thinking. 

Screenshot from the July/August 2024 edition of Faith Today

Here are the last sentences of my original letter: "Regardless of where we stand on the issue of gender and sexuality, it is a grievous matter if Christian institutions are quietly imposing exiles and breaking fellowship rather than seeking and speaking truth in love. Thank you again for your willingness to look into such matters."

My Objection to Alliance Canada's 2022 Moratorium on Licensing Transgender Persons for Ministry

I left Alliance Canada's 2022 General Assembly buzzing with hope for our church family, largely because of the reports from our interim President about churches doing very good work in their communities, and because of a number of new voices, relationships, and promising conversations. 

And yet I also left deeply saddened by our Board's moratorium on licensing transgender persons (seen to the right), which was instituted unilaterally by the Board, without vote or discussion. I pray its potential harm can be mitigated at local levels, but am feeling a heavy burden on the conscience. 

Below is my objection to the denomination's moratorium on licensing trans persons for ministry. It is exactly as I read it from the floor on the last day of Assembly, once it finally became clear that the Board's action would not be up for debate. Despite how it has been characterized in hearsay, it is not a position statement but is an outline of problems and questions that must be considered if we are to have any integrity on these matters. 

 

1. The reference to an “historic and consistent pattern of the denomination” is unclear and thus debatable because both egalitarianism and complementarianism represent a shift from ancient and pre-1960s patriarchal views of the relationship of sex and gender, as is most explicit in the Guideline which says the “old hierarchies” are replaced “with new freedom (Galatians 3:28)”. This is not to suggest that these positions on gender roles decide the transgender question for us, but is to argue that the words “consistent pattern” are debatable and unclear enough to not provide precedent for a moratorium.

Since this pattern is debatable, it is unbefitting for a report that calls for further study to identify one posture as “unwise”. Such language inadvertently prejudices the discussion in favour of a tradition that has not yet been sufficiently defined or discussed. It is not clear why this should be the posture of a Protestant denomination that does not afford authority to Tradition as a matter of default. This is not to suggest we grant authority to every trend, but is to suggest that if the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom then a formal judgment should be postponed until we have sufficiently sought the Lord on it together.

I am not standing here to take a position on the matter, but to ask the Assembly to consider whether this moratorium puts us in a situation where, if the Ethiopian Eunuch sought to lead a church in the Alliance, he would be turned away. It is still a matter of debate how eunuchs inform this conversation, but please note that Acts 8 does not specify whether he was “born that way,” or had been “made” that way “by others,” or chose it “for the sake of the kingdom of heaven” – which are the three kinds of eunuchs Jesus accepts in Matthew 19:11-12. What does it mean when Isaiah 56:4-5 says “eunuchs who keep [the LORD’s] Sabbaths” would be given “a name better than sons and daughters”? Did reading Isaiah lead the Eunuch to ask “What can stand in the way of my being baptized?” Would we?

2. Lastly, and as briefly as possible, the “moratorium” is inadequately defined on 3 points:

a) It is unclear whether this applies only to new candidates for licensing or leadership or whether it might be applied to renewals of licensing as well. Rather than prevent retroactive un-licensings, it seems this moratorium could already cause them.

b) It is unclear how we are defining “transgender persons”. Could it be applied to those who are merely perceived as such, or whose biological designation is “intersex”?

c) It is unclear when “a decision of Assembly” is expected, this moratorium could be indefinite and effectively binding – thus making it policy de facto.

 

Epilogue (as of July 2024): To date, none of these objections or questions has been answered, apart from the indication that people in Listening Circles encouraged staying the course, and the confirmation that a Theological Committee will restart the discernment process with a "white paper" on theological anthropology. (I say "restart" because there already was a committee assembled to discern a way forward on the question of transgender identity. As far as I can tell its work has been discontinued.) In the meantime, the President has released new ordination requirements that include three readings on "biblical anthropology", none of which are written by a biblical scholar or theologian specializing in these areas. At Assembly 2024 there was little to no discussion about what will happen next, although someone did protest my nomination for Board elections because of the above dissent. This speaker was cut off and no one addressed the matter or asked me to respond.