Demonization & Complicity

Karen Swallow Prior, Rick Pidcock, & the Dynamics of Conservative Evangelicalism

It’s been another week of being called all sorts of colorful things by evangelicals on Twitter: morally degenerate, vile, appalling, subversive, anti-Christian, pseudo-scholar. To be clear, it’s a relatively small number of people doing this, but as you can see, what they lack in numbers they make up for in rhetorical choices. What places me in their crosshairs, of course, is my work as a historian. Yet what’s striking is how most of those with the loudest voices have not in fact engaged my work in any legitimate way. (I’d place money on the fact that some have only skimmed their friends’ reviews—and many “reviews” wouldn’t earn a passing grade in a freshman history course.)

What frustrates me in this is that we have many legitimate things to disagree about, but rather than critiquing what I have actually said or done, they relentlessly engage in what can only be called propaganda, offering up twisted or blatantly false versions of my work. The level of misrepresentation would be laughable if it weren’t so relentless. (Even then, I often can’t help but laugh.) I’m not talking about a legitimate difference in interpretation, but rather in blatant, intentional, and ongoing misrepresentation.

I was reminded of that in a recent exchange where one individual, the head of a complementarian organization and part-time professor at the flagship school of the SBC, repeatedly maligned me on Twitter and even called on the author of the work in question to make his case. When the author weighed in, she instead reprimanded him for not engaging in good faith and for repeatedly ignoring what I was actually saying. Did my critic back off? Apologize? Rescind or amend his statement that I was appalling and vile? Acknowledge her response to his direct query? None of the above. He disappeared from the thread, but I have no doubt he’ll return another day, with another thread, seeing what damage he can do.

None of this is remarkable. It happens all the time. And that’s just the thing. So much of what these critics bring to the public square is not in good faith. To use simpler language, they are bearing false witness. Lying, persistently and maliciously. And these aren’t lone wolves. These are men (mostly) who are embedded in conservative evangelical organizations and institutions. They have colleagues. Bosses. Pastors. Elders. Friends. All of whom observe this mendacious behavior and presumably approve of it. Perhaps they even cheer them on. Or perhaps they feel uncomfortable about it but stay quiet. I honesty don’t know. But this behavior is not isolated. It’s exactly what I’ve come to expect.

I’m asked frequently how I hold up being so often targeted by these types. On the one hand, it can be frustrating because it feels like such a waste of time. I can present all the evidence and documentation in the world. Authors and experts can weigh in on my behalf. And it doesn’t do squat. At least, it won’t convince them or change their course. But what it does do is hold this behavior up for others to see. It’s no longer secret, no longer conducted behind closed doors or in email or group texts. It’s there for the whole world to see, and I think there’s something worthwhile about this exposure.

Personally, though, it doesn’t do a thing to me. Why? I do have rather thick skin, but that’s not the primary reason. The reason I don’t take this behavior personally is because I’ve seen it before. Long before I became a target, I observed this behavior toward others. I spent over a decade watching conservative evangelical culture, and I saw this pattern repeatedly. So much so that it became a theme of Jesus and John Wayne. So, when they come for me now, I often just smile. Why wouldn’t they? This is exactly how their world operates. I know I am dangerous to them primarily because what I did in Jesus and John Wayne was hold it up for all to see. It’s not personal.

I don’t take it lightly, though, because I know how fortunate I am. I’m not under their authority. I don’t need their approval. Their world is not my world. But when I see these patterns on display, I can’t help but worry for those who are under their authority, for those who do inhabit their world. Because this treatment can be absolutely devastating. It can destroy careers and rip apart families. I know, because I hear the stories—some public, many private.

This morning I read a remarkable essay by Rick Pidcock in Baptist News Global. In fact, if you decide to click away at this point and just go read that essay, you have my blessing.

Rick is responding to some tweets recently by Karen Swallow Prior, who was pushed out of two evangelical institutions, first Liberty and then Southeastern Seminary. Why? Was she too liberal? Were there doctrinal issues? No, Karen is a conservative Christian who is widely known for her staunch pro-life politics and commentary. She did, however, call out former Southwestern Seminary President Paige Patterson for inappropriate comments he made about a 16-year-old girl, and she has been a strong advocate for addressing sexual abuse in SBC circles and more broadly. She has called out Jerry Falwell Jr for his behavior at Liberty. And she has been critical of evangelical support for Trump. Any one of those things would probably be enough to make her unwelcome in many conservative evangelical spaces. With the combination, it’s remarkable she survived as long as she did. But it did not come without great cost.

In his essay, Rick added some details from his own story. Note that a repeated theme here (and in Karen’s story if you are familiar with it) is the dishonesty. The manipulation of truth. The false allegations. The power plays. And the complicity.

Here’s Rick:

Five years later, we had to leave our church due to spiritual abuse. The pastor, who had resigned in the middle of a divorce, was threatening to start an alternative church because we wouldn’t reinstate him or let him continue preaching. Then he attempted to perform church discipline on us.

In one meeting, I sat calmly for seven hours while he brought a myriad of accusations against me that were completely unfounded. All the other leaders agreed the accusations were false. But his threat of replanting and taking half the church remained. And for the sake of the gospel, we didn’t want to see the church split. So we left quietly, knowing what it would mean for our reputations. After we left, his two friends appointed themselves as elders and called him back to be the pastor.

And then Rick’s reflection:

Becoming aware of my own wounds led to becoming aware of my neighbors’ wounds. The common factor in these wounds are men at the top of a sacralized hierarchy living out their gospel through abusive power dynamics of authority and dominion while requiring submission and obedience.

Eventually, I began to notice the way these men positioned themselves in expressing sovereignty and power over others was eerily similar to the dynamics of their gospel of expressing sovereignty and power over others. And thus, my theological deconstruction began.

Those two paragraphs contain so much truth: the way these men positioned themselves in expressing soverignty and power over others was eerily similar to the dynamics of their gospel of expressing sovereignty and power over others.

If so many of the men positioning themselves as defenders of truth are so willing to trash any semblance of truth in their public discourse, is it really truth that they are defending? Or even their conception of truth? If it’s something else entirely, it makes perfect sense that the ends justify such means. The goal is not discussion or even debate, but destruction.

But he doesn’t end there:

But one question haunted me. Am I complicit?

After all, I spent 20 years promoting the dynamics and institutions that kept these men in charge. What’s more, I left quietly for the sake of the gospel.

In the year following our departure from the church we planted in Denver, dozens of members reached out to me privately to say they also had been abused by the leadership. So I wondered: Could I have prevented their abuse if I would’ve stood up to the abusers more?

In 2022, I received a message from a conservative evangelical pastor who was part of a recent merger with the church we had planted nearly 20 years earlier. After they merged, this pastor said they “experienced some very unhealthy leadership.” Regarding our former pastor, he said, “To be honest at this point, it is what it is when it comes to him and his ministry.” Then he added, “He is something else for sure.”

The church we planted back in 2004 now has been replanted multiple times under different names with the same three men in charge — the two self-appointed elders and our abusive pastor. After 13 years since reinstating our former pastor, they’ve added just one other elder. That’s two decades of abuse that perhaps I could have prevented if I hadn’t left quietly for the sake of the gospel.

Rick closes with words of hope. Please read the essay in its entirety.

But he also issues an implicit challenge to bystanders. To those who stay. To those who shrug their shoulders and chuckle that “he is something else for sure.”

To those who say “Well, at least he gets the gospel right.”

There is a culture that flourishes in conservative evangelical spaces that punishes those who raise concerns. There is a longstanding practice of circling the wagons, and of quickly and ruthlessly demonizing anyone who challenges those in power. From what I observed, those who end up demonized are often not the crusader types, at least not initially. Many begin by gently and respectfully raising concerns. Many do so in good faith and assume they will be heard in good faith. Many are then shocked by how they are treated. Many end up leaving quietly. But those who don’t are ostracized, maligned, painted as troublemakers. As feminists. As liberals. As moral degenerates. As vile.

In my research, I first saw this pattern in how sex abuse survivors were treated. Have you payed attention to Rachael Denhollander’s trajectory? If they can do this to someone like Rachael, they can do it to any woman. And they do. Pay attention, and you’ll see it. Raise a question or two, and there’s a good chance you’ll experience it first-hand.

Do all evangelicals engage in this behavior? No. Do all conservative evangelicals? Also no. But pay attention to the dynamics. Who is affirmed, protected, tolerated, praised? Who gets pushed out? Who is publicly maligned? How do “the good guys” respond when their friends and colleagues engage in ruthless bullying and lying online? Or in their own churches and institutions?

They are quiet. And if they aren’t, it won’t go well for them in the long term. And they know it. Because they have so many case studies that show them exactly what will happen if they do speak out.

** I realize this is a rather depressing post, so a couple of suggestions. First, if you read the whole essay, the words of both Rick and Karen at the end can offer some encouragement. I wish I could go back and time and buy Rick’s wife a care with air conditioning for those South Carolina summers, but for now, perhaps consider preordering Karen’s new book, The Evangelical Imagination. It releases next month, and doing so will support her in more ways than one. And look for her here on Substack soon.

And for something much lighter, click through for my favorite thread from Twitter lately:

https://twitter.com/kkdumez/status/1676351933479624704?s=20

Photo by Chris Barbalis on Unsplash