I'm still afraid of the 'female ghosts' at church

The note has been sitting in my Gmail for more than 10 years. It’s a short email I wrote to our former pastor, sharing an article and confessing my fear about being the only woman in the room at the church’s weekly “preaching cohort.”

When I went digging for it last week, I was convinced I’d find it in my sent folder. I could remember how nervous I was to let the pastor know how I felt; how I worried the article might be offensive. My emotions have held it in my memory all these years.

But all I found was a draft. A little ghost of an email, buried deep under thousands of others, still holding my fears and hopes from a decade ago. It was carefully written, every phrase weighed and analyzed for how the pastor might receive it. But as it turns out, I never hit “send.” I only shared a draft with my husband. The words I remembered so clearly never left my inbox.

Why are we talking about an unsent email? Well, this is a story about ghosts, and the fear I carried with that email can give you a glimpse of how terrifying these particular ghosts were.

There are three female ghosts that haunt the church, according to author and Bible teacher Jen Wilkin. In 2015, she published an article describing the influence of these “ghosts,” false stereotypes that harm relationships between male pastors and their female congregants.

• The usurper: “This ghost gains permission to haunt when women are seen as authority thieves” (of men’s power).

• The temptress ghost appears when “a concern for avoiding temptation or being above reproach morphs into a fear of women as sexual predators.”

• The child is a ghost that hovers in places where “women are seen as emotionally or intellectually weaker than men.”

Wilkin listed ways each ghost can show up in the church. Here are a few examples, written to men:

• “You avoid prolonged eye contact.”

• “Your conversations with her feel like sparring matches rather than mutually respectful dialogue… you tend to hear her questions as veiled challenges.”

• “In your responses to her, you tend to address her emotions rather than her thoughts.”

The first time I read the article, I recognized them all. I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of suspicion and discomfort, to be talked down to or ignored. And I knew what it was like to walk into a room wondering if the ghosts had gotten there before me.

My experience in the preaching cohort was especially haunted. This was a weekly Bible discussion where a small group would talk through the upcoming sermon passage. It was technically open to any church member who wanted to learn how to prepare Scripture for teaching, but since we were a complementarian church, there was no reason for a woman to attend: only men were allowed to preach.

But I had a way in. I’d just begun leading the women’s Bible study at our monthly prison ministry. I’d found a passion for teaching and wanted to learn how to do it more effectively. The pastor said I was welcome to join the cohort, and added me to the group’s weekly emails.

I had plenty of reasons to feel confident about participating. Instead, every week I begged my husband to attend with me. I was terrified to walk into the room full of men — all staff members or potential “preachers” — and add my voice to their conversation about the Bible.

Each week, the ghosts would descend on me before I even walked into the room.

Men can’t be alone with a woman one-on-one. Be careful! Don’t be the first to arrive or the last to leave; make sure there are at least two guys in the room with you.

Make sure you don’t interrupt a man or appear to be challenging or questioning him. You should listen more than you talk.

Make sure you don’t say anything stupid or careless; you don’t belong here and you don’t want to call attention to that fact.

I loved studying and discussing the Bible, but I struggled to be fully present in these meetings. I was constantly aware of my female body and the danger it could present to men; I worried about my work clothes and whether the pastors would judge the neckline too low or the hemline too high. I sat carefully in my chair and tried not to lean over or let my skirt shift up my legs when I crossed them.

I also worried what the other men in the room were thinking.

Did they wonder why a woman was in the room? Did they suspect me of wanting to preach, or worse yet, to be a pastor?

If I said the wrong thing, or spoke with the wrong tone of voice, would the pastors become suspicious of my motives and change their minds about having me there?

It was stressful. If you’re a man reading this, you may wonder if I’m exaggerating, or if I was overreacting back then. But if you’re a woman who’s participated in a male-dominated space within a complementarian church, I’m guessing you’ve felt some version of these fears.

When I came across Wilkin’s article, I felt seen… and hopeful. I wanted to share my fears with the pastor. If he could understand what I felt, maybe I wouldn’t have to be quite as vigilant. Even better, if he knew how much I wanted to follow the rules, he would — I hoped! — be less likely to see me as a threat.

So I typed the email. But, as we saw above, I was too afraid to actually send it. The ghosts were so intimidating I was afraid to even call attention to their presence.

Thankfully, I had a husband who wanted to help me pursue my love for Bible teaching.

Instead of sending my email, he and I had lunch with the pastor. I was able to share my worries about the preaching cohort. I confessed that our church’s practices limiting men and women from interacting one-on-one made me feel like a dangerous object to be avoided.

The pastor thanked me for sharing my concerns. I remember walking out of the restaurant feeling heard and relieved.

The ghosts backed off a bit. I could walk into church spaces with more hope and confidence. I don’t need to be afraid, I told myself. The pastors value women. They value me.1

I kept showing up at the preaching cohort, and though I still carried some insecurities, I tried to speak up.

I contributed more to our community group Bible study, where the men generally dominated conversation while their wives listened quietly. My husband and I persuaded the elder board to call women “leaders” when they volunteered alongside their husbands to host and coordinate community groups.

And I kept talking to the lead pastor about how he could make women feel more comfortable. I was successful: he started meeting with women one-on-one at coffee shops or in the church offices though always with the door open, for the sake of propriety.

I was sure the ghosts were on the way out, soon to be banished once and for all.

When I became the women’s ministry leader, I saw more reasons for hope. We now had a “Women’s Shepherding Team,” a group of female leaders to oversee the women of the church. I planned programs with this team, and once a month we were allowed to attend the Monday night elder meeting, so the men could hear about our ministry and ask our opinions on church matters.

We were always invited to discuss the congregation’s needs for childcare. Rarely did the men seek our insight beyond “women’s issues.” Still, it was progress.

I knew we had further to go, but I was hopeful, excited, trusting we were on the right path towards valuing women’s voices and ministry (within the boundaries of a complementarian framework, of course).

I was so eager to believe the ghosts were gone, I didn’t notice they were still lingering in the corners of the church. While I moved forward in hope, they sowed distrust and poisoned relationships, doing their destructive work in the shadows.

By the time I realized what they’d done, it was too late.

Looking back, I can see how it happened. First, the Child ghost cut off opportunities for women’s growth:

• In the summer of 2020, following George Floyd’s death and the Black Lives Matter movement, I suggested our women read “Be the Bridge,” a Christian book on racial reconciliation. But the lead pastor shut it down, saying we shouldn’t try to discuss such a sensitive subject without a male elder present. Women didn’t have the capacity to discuss difficult topics.

• One woman on my team began to share “concerns” about me with the lead pastor, starting with her objection to “Be the Bridge.” She also disagreed with my team’s Covid precautions and other decisions. Instead of talking to me, she repeatedly went to the lead pastor to complain. After several rounds of this, I asked if he would encourage her to speak directly to me instead. He refused. “You aren’t able to handle that,” he said. Women didn’t have the maturity to work through conflict without a male leader.

• As our church prepared to hire a new pastor in 2021, I asked what role the women’s shepherding team would have in interviewing candidates. After all, the male elder team wanted our perspective, right? No, I was told, we would not have a say in the process. Women didn’t have thoughts or opinions that could be helpful to the men in charge.

The child ghost was accomplishing quite a bit. Women were prevented from learning together, from growing through conflict, from using their voice and wisdom for the sake of the church.

(The temptress ghost was at work also, but I need to save that part of the story for another day.)

But the usurper ghost was quietly preparing a storm of destruction that ripped apart all my hopes.

It started one Sunday in January 2022, when the lead pastor confronted me in the church lobby. He told me I needed to stop sharing on my social media about Sheila Gregoire’s book “The Great Sex Rescue.” The problem wasn’t the book’s subject matter, but the fact its author was egalitarian.

Although I didn’t realize it, I was now suspect as well. After all, the usurper ghost hints that women are out to take men’s rightful power. Not only had I promoted an egalitarian author, I disagreed with the pastor about the book. I remember asking if it was healthy for our church to respond this way to complex perspectives, and how he glared down at me, clearly angry.

Just a few weeks after that tense conversation, the pastor called me in to face “charges” related to my position as women’s ministry leader.2

“Divisive.” “Hard to work with.” “Unwise with social media.”

Every line was painful to read, but one phrase hurt more than the rest:

The charge was that I had an “unhealthy preoccupation with power.” The only evidence for this was a statement from an anonymous man: “Interactions that I have seen with Joy and my wife, make me think she is power hungry.”

That was it. One man, observing me from a distance. He didn’t bring his concerns to me, nor did his wife, whoever she may have been. But he did make an uncharitable decision about who I was and went to a pastor to share what he believed. And that was enough.

It’s hard to describe the grief and pain that document caused. It still hurts, four years later. Not because the statements were true, but because people I loved were so ready to view me in the worst possible light. Men I knew and trusted, guys who’d shared many meals with our family, pastors I thought truly cared for me — despite the years we’d known each other, they saw me as an enemy once the ghost whispered its favorite lie.

She just wants power!

It’s no wonder my former friends were ready to “run me out of town” at the lead pastor’s suggestion. The anger and contempt I felt coming my way was directed at the creature I’d become in their minds, this usurper-temptress-child endangering their church and their male headship.

They got rid of me, of course. But they missed the real danger. The real threat wasn’t the woman in front of them. It was the ghosts hovering behind them, stoking their fear of the “other,” warning them about potential enemies in their midst.

Beware of the females.

In the years since my terrifying experiences with the preaching cohort, I’ve learned about the practice of “noticing and naming” as a way to diffuse anxiety3. I can see how I was attempting some form of this in 2015, with my unsent email. I hoped that calling attention to my fears would break their power; that pointing out the ghosts would somehow exorcise them.

It did, in a way — but only for me. I’m not sure the lead pastor fully heard or understood my worries. I’m not sure he ever truly examined his own attitudes towards women. So when the ghosts started to whisper, he couldn’t tell the difference between their lies and the reality of the person he’d once called friend.

I’ve sensed the ghosts trailing me ever since — in our previous complementarian church and even in our current one, where both women and men serve as elders. I want to be confident and hopeful, but I can’t forget how badly I misjudged my former relationships.

So I sometimes wonder: Will men see me as a sister in Christ, or are the old ghosts controlling the narrative about women?

I can only take care of my side of the relationship. I hope and pray the men have already looked into the dark corners of their inherited church practices, that they’ve named the ghosts and yanked them out into the light.4

Usurper. Temptress. Child. They aren’t real. Can we call attention to the harm they’ve done? Can we leave them behind once and for all?

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I don’t have “the” answer to wrap up this post, so I’m hoping we can continue the conversation in the comments! What do you think? Have you experienced these “ghosts”? Have you found ways to bring attention to them and diffuse their power? Would love to hear your perspectives and advice!