Is there any one aspect of human life that has affected every other aspect of human life more than being male or female?
While my life is certainly not reducible to being a man, everything about my life is shaped by the fact that I am male, not female.  My wife’s whole life is shaped by being a woman and not a man. Each of my nine children (yes, we wanted to start our own baseball team) are unde­niably and monumentally shaped by being boys or girls. And yet how often do we stop to think that it didn’t have to be this way?
God didn’t have to make two different kinds of human beings. He didn’t have to make us so that men and women, on average, come in different shapes and sizes and grow hair in different places and often think and feel in different ways. God could have propagated the human race in some other way besides the differentiated pair of male and female. He could have made Adam sufficient without an Eve. Or he could have made Eve without an Adam. But God decided to make not one man or one woman, or a group of men or a group of women; he made a man and a woman. The one feature of human existence that shapes life as much or more than any other—our biological sex—was God’s choice.
In an ultimate sense, of course, the world had to be made the way it was, in accordance with the immutable will of God and as a necessary expression of his character. I’m not suggesting God made Adam and Eve by a roll of the dice. Actually, I’m reminding us of the opposite. This whole wonderful, beautiful, complicated business of a two-sexed humanity was God’s idea. “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them” (Gen. 1:27). The whole human race is, always has been, and will be for the rest of time, comprised of two differentiated and complementary sexes. This perpetual bifurcated ordering of humanity is not by accident or by caprice but by God’s good design.
And why?
What is at stake in God making us male and female? Nothing less than the gospel, that’s all. The mystery of marriage is profound, Paul says, and it refers to Christ and the church (Eph. 5:32). “Mystery” in the New Testament sense refers to something hidden and then revealed. The Bible is saying that God created men and women—two different sexes—so that he might paint a living picture of the differentiated and complementary union of Christ and the church. Ephesians 5 may be about marriage, but we can’t make sense of the underlying logic unless we note God’s intentions in creating marriage as a gospel-shaped union between a differentiated and complementary pair. Any move to abolish all distinctions between men and women is a move (whether intentionally or not) to tear down the building blocks of redemption itself.
Men and women are not interchangeable. The man and the woman—in marriage especially, but in the rest of life as well—complement each other, meaning they are supposed to function according to a divine fitted-ness. This is in keeping with the order­ing of the entire cosmos. Think about the complementary nature of creation itself. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth” (Gen. 1:1). And that’s not the only pairing in creation. We find other sorts of couples, like the sun and the moon, morn­ing and evening, day and night, the sea and the dry land, and plants and animals, before reaching the climactic couple, a man and a woman. In every pairing, each part belongs with the other, but neither is interchangeable. It makes perfect sense that the com­ing together of heaven and earth in Revelation 21–22 is preceded by the marriage supper of the Lamb in Revelation 19. That God created us male and female has cosmic and enduring significance. From start to finish, the biblical storyline—and design of creation itself—depends upon the distinction between male and female as different from one another yet fitted each for the other.
Sexual difference is the way of God’s wisdom and grace. It was there in the garden, there in the life of ancient Israel, there in the Gospels, there in the early church, will be there at the wedding supper of the Lamb, and was there in the mind of God before any of this began. To be sure, manhood and womanhood is not the message of the gospel. But it is never far from the storyline of redemptive history. The givenness of being male or female is also a gift—a gift to embrace, a natural order of fittedness and func­tion that embodies the way the world is supposed to work and the way we ought to follow Christ in the world. Let us, then, as male and female image bearers, delight in this design and seek to promote—with our lives and with our lips—all that is good and true and beautiful in God making us men and women.
This article is adapted from the opening chapter and closing section of my new book, Men and Women in the Church: A Short, Biblical, Practical Introduction published by Crossway.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

Last year was not a good year for race relations in the United States. Whether you think the main culprit is the police, politics, or protesters, I think most of us—Black, White, Asian, Hispanic, or whatever—look at the racial tensions in this country and, at least on our worst days, feel a dangerous mix of confusion, discouragement, frustration, and hopelessness.
And if things are bad in the country at large, it’s hard to see how they are better in the church. While I’m sure many Christians are still laboring behind the scenes to love their neighbors and to give people of a different skin color (or people with a different approach to skin color) the benefit of the doubt, the public face of Christianity—the way we talk to each other and talk about each other—is not impressive. Our witness to the world does not scream Isaiah 1:18 (“Come now, let us reason together”) or John 13:35 (“By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another”). On the whole, when it comes to talking about this country’s most painful and most vexing problem, we are often getting Spurgeon’s dictum exactly backward: we are making soft arguments and using very hard words.
I can imagine what the rejoinders might be to that last paragraph. From the left, some will say, “Of course you want us all to settle down. That’s your privilege talking.” And from the right, some will say, “Just what I expected. More tone police when the church is being overrun by heresy.” If you think perpetual outrage and recrimination is the way forward, I suppose you are entitled to your opinion. But that doesn’t mean everyone else is obliged to share your opinion. For my part, I refuse to believe that talking about racial matters in a way that is reasonable, thoughtful, careful, and charitable makes one beholden to Whiteness or makes one a compromised squish.
The simple, honest truth is that Bible-believing orthodox Christians are not setting a Spirit-infused example in how to talk about racial matters. That’s the bad news. The good news is no one else is setting a great example either, which means it’s not too late for grace-filled, truth-loving followers of Jesus to show to the world a still more excellent way (1 Cor. 12:31).
What might it look like for Christians to talk about race in a more constructive and more helpful manner? Here are three suggestions.
1. Focus on ideas, not labels.
I’ll be blunt: I am no fan of Critical Race Theory. Judging by this introductory volume, I disagree with CRT’s aggressive color-consciousness (17), its jaundiced view of American history (48), its rejection of legal neutrality (3), its emphasis on economic redistribution and equality of results (29, 115), its interpretative principle that divides the world into rigid categories of oppressors and the oppressed (58, 78, 81), and its insistence that racism is pervasive and at the center of everything (8, 91). If that’s CRT, I see little to be gained by using it as a hermeneutical lens, let alone as an all-encompassing worldview.
And yet, I will be the first to confess I am no expert in CRT. While I think every point in the paragraph above comes directly from the book in question—and, consequently, from two leading proponents of CRT—I’m more interested in debating those ideas than I am in debating Critical Race Theory per se. To be sure, there are some experts among us who have deeply studied the major CRT texts. I’m happy for these Christian thinkers to discuss CRT at length. But for the vast majority of us (myself included), CRT is something we’ve heard a lot about and have studied very little. Consequently, one person hears “Critical Race Theory” and thinks: Marxist, leftist, postmodern, anti-Christian ideology. Another person hears “Critical Race Theory” and thinks: helpful tool for demonstrating that racism is more central to our history and has more explanatory power for our present situation than we thought.
My concern is that CRT has become an issue of symbolism before substance, a flag to be waved (for or against) in order to prove that we are sufficiently orthodox or sufficiently sensitive. The result is that Christians end up one step removed from discussing the issues we really need to be discussing. Too often, we think we are fighting about the gospel or fighting about whether we should love and listen to minority brothers and sisters, but really we are fighting about how to define Critical Race Theory. As a pastor, that’s way down on the list of fights I want to have.
When I served on the PCA’s sexuality study committee, we made the decision early on not to mention Revoice, even though everyone could see that was a major reason the committee was formed. But we knew that if we made the report about Revoice, there would be endless arguments about what Revoice is, and who is a part of it, and what so-and-so really meant. We thought it much better to focus on the theology we wanted to promote, the ideas we wanted to warn against, and the pastoral approach we wanted to encourage. In the same way, I think our discussion about race would be greatly helped by saying a lot less about Critical Race Theory and a lot more about the specific ideas that we find promising or problematic.
2. Approach the conversation with intellectual integrity and personal maturity.
What does this mean? Several things in my mind.
Don’t take everything personally. Don’t turn up every disagreement to 11. Recognize when people change their minds or nuance their views. Don’t define someone by their worst statement, and don’t then define every institution they’ve ever been a part of or any friend they’ve ever had by that statement.
Whenever possible, isolate the issue you mean to talk about. Don’t make the issue about gospel fidelity, if the argument is actually about interpreting American history. And don’t make the issue about whether you agree with the prophet Amos, if the argument is about how to interpret policing data.
Let’s show ourselves as Christians to be more logically rigorous and definitionally precise than the world. Don’t confuse correlation with causation. Don’t look for the worst examples on the other side to prove the rightness or righteousness of your side. Don’t assume that the person not entirely with you on every point is, therefore, an enemy not to be trusted on any point. Don’t think that courage means you can’t be careful with your words, or that compassion means you can’t ask uncomfortable questions.
3. Be willing to work with a few common sense both/and propositions.
If there is one kind of argument I generally loathe, it’s the lazy third way approach to solving all of life’s problems. I’m not against finding middle ground (see below). I’m not against seeing how Christianity sometimes transcends our labels and differences. What I am against is intellectual laziness masquerading as above-the-fray, third wayism: “I’m not liberal; I’m not conservative; I’m just Christian!”
Having said that, it seems to me there are a few basic both/and propositions that could turn down the temperature of our rhetoric, while also pushing the racial conversation toward greater clarity and usefulness.
For example, might we be able to acknowledge that systemic injustice can exist while also asking for evidence that, in whatever particular situation we are studying, it does exist? That seems like a reasonable starting place for further conversation. “I acknowledge that structural racism could play a part, but let’s take a closer look at the evidence for that claim.”
Similarly, might we be able to acknowledge personal choices and cultural factors almost always play a role in shaping who we are, the mistakes we make, and the opportunities we find? I’m sure we will still disagree about the relative importance of each factor but recognizing that we are all complex people—not merely the product of environment and circumstance, nor simply the accumulation of our individual decisions—is surely a better way to talk about racial matters than assuming that every disparity is the result of discrimination or that personal responsibility alone can right every social wrong.
Likewise, isn’t it possible that American history is both worse than most white people think, when it comes to race, and still a story with much to celebrate and be thankful for?
Isn’t it reasonable to think that minorities have different experiences than members of the majority and that members of the majority may be blind to those experiences, while nevertheless rejecting the kind of standpoint epistemology that circumscribes the right to speak, and even defines the measure of truth itself, by the standard of one’s lived experience?
These both/and propositions won’t remove all our different emphases and suspicions, but they might help us inch toward one another in finding common ground. That is, if we want to find common ground. The incentives in church discourse are unfortunately the same as in political discourse. There is more to be gained (humanly speaking) by dealing with racial issues in Manichaean categories of absolute light and darkness. Nuance and precision don’t get you much, except the expectation of being shot at from all sides.
There is no way to make an honest conversation about race an easy conversation. There is too much in our history for that. There is also too much in the human heart that is self-justifying, other-accusing, and innocence-seeking to make race and racism a simple intellectual discussion. But with the power of the Spirit and the hope of the gospel, we need not despair. God can yet give us the humility, the rationality, and the charity we need.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

A little more than two months ago I accomplished an online feat that had (thankfully) eluded me up to that point. I wrote a blog post that managed to make almost everyone upset. For one shining moment, a wide array of digital tribes came together in unity! They all agreed that they really didn’t like my article on fighting the culture war by having more children.
I write about it somewhat tongue-in-cheek now because two months is an eon when it comes to online controversy. These things flare up quickly and then usually disappear. My friends will joke, “Remember that piece you wrote that everyone hated?”
But I don’t mean to make light of every critique the article received. There were several thoughtful comments and questions, a few of which I hope to address in a moment. I rarely write a follow-up article to something I’ve posted. It tends to keep the controversy going, without changing anyone’s mind. And yet, in this instance, after giving the ordeal 10 weeks to settle down, it seems like a brief response might be helpful.
Culture War
A number of readers objected to the language of “culture war” in the article. I admit that this objection caught me by surprise, but I gather that the phrase is less common in other parts of the world. In America, the term is ubiquitous and has been around for a long time (cf. James Davison Hunter’s 1992 volume, Culture Wars, the Struggle to Define America: Making Sense of the Battles over Family, Art, Education, Law, and Politics). I chuckled when one person on Twitter said I was “literally ISIS,” as if I were calling for an army of bullet-clad kids in battle fatigues or was insisting on another Children’s Crusade.
As I hope was clear from the first two paragraphs, my blog post was prompted by the Gorsuch-penned Bostock ruling and its redefinition of sex. Too many conservatives (and liberals are guilty of this as well) have operated on the conviction that every election is the most important of our lifetimes, and that every election portends tremendous cultural victories if our side wins and society-crushing defeat if our side loses. My aim was not to discount the importance of elections and Supreme Court rulings. Rather, my goal was to underscore the relative greater importance of having children and raising them to the glory of God.
Singleness and Infertility
When the post came out in June, amid the numerous critiques, I also heard from people—some I knew, many I didn’t know—who thanked me for the article and said, in so many words, “I hope you don’t apologize just because everyone is mad at you.” I don’t disagree with anything I said in the article and am still glad I posted it. Having said that, if I could go back two minutes before hitting “publish,” I would add one more sentence about singleness and infertility. I’ve talked about these themes in personal ministry and from the pulpit on many occasions. I tried to be sensitive to these realities by saying: “I understand that many couples will be unable to have all the children they want to have. We have to allow for God to work in mysterious ways that we would not have planned. And yet, in so far as we are able, let us welcome new life and give our children that best opportunity for new birth.” In hindsight, a sentence about God-glorifying singleness and the pain of infertility would have made my point clearer and made my general exhortation to have more children less likely to be misunderstood.
Some were particularly bothered by the line, “The future belongs to the fecund,” taking it to be a crass dismissal of anyone who doesn’t pump out a boatload of babies. I’d like to think most people did not read it that way. I was trying to make the incontrovertible point that the future state of this country—and indeed, of the world—is profoundly shaped by who is having babies and how many they have. This is why Philip Jenkins has argued that “the future of world Christianity is African” (not a bad thing!), and that the global crash in fertility rates “is one of the most significant trends facing the world in the coming century.”
Birth Control and Babies
Which brings me to my last point, and here I want to double down on the exhortation I made two months ago. Last year, the total fertility rate in America fell to 1.7 (the number of children a woman will have in her lifetime), a historic low and well below the replacement rate of 2.1. The significance of our plummeting level of fertility cannot be overstated—both as a prediction about the future and also as a reflection of the present. Here’s Philip Jenkins in an earlier article:

Such a precipitous fertility drop has sweeping implications, especially as it has occurred in such a short period—just in the past decade or so—and recent changes have attracted intense attention from economists, planners, and politicians.
As yet, however, observers of U.S. religion have shown little concern or interest—which is curious since, worldwide, a move to very low fertility has been an excellent predictor of secularization and the decline of institutional religion. Fertility and faith travel closely together. Present demographic trends in the United States are the best indicator yet of an impending secular shift of historic proportions, even a transition to West European conditions. This is, or should be, one of the most significant and newsworthy developments in modern American religion.

I fear that when it comes to our ideas of sex, family, and children, Western Christians in the last century have been much more shaped by the culture than we have shaped the culture. The church has been a thermometer more than a thermostat. After a 30-year delay, the United States has moved decisively toward the secularizing trajectory that has been the norm in Europe for decades, and the decline in fertility is both cause and also effect of that trajectory. As Jenkins says in his new book, “we are in the early stages of an authentic religious and cultural revolution” (98).
Certainly, the widespread availability of birth control is part of the explanation. I admit my wife and I have never been entirely comfortable with birth control (and we have the 15-passenger van to prove it!). But as a pastor I have also told couples on occasion that birth control made sense in their situation. I’m thinking of cases of extreme poverty or real concerns about the woman’s health, her age, or serious problems with previous pregnancies. I am not a fertility maximalist. Nevertheless, the way the Bible encourages fruitful multiplication (Gen. 1:28) and celebrates olive shoots around the table (Ps. 128:3) leads me to agree with John Frame that the use of birth control requires a high degree of proof.
The problem in most churches is not with couples having babies thoughtlessly, but with the unthinking adoption of societal norms and values. Even if birth control is permissible in some situations, any honest observer would have to conclude that birth control among Bible-believing Christians is an assumption much more than an exception. Most premarital couples are on the Pill before they even start their prescribed counseling. Most Christians give little thought to the birth control methods they use, figuring that everything except the morning-after pill must be ok. Christians give even less thought to the rightness or wrongness of birth control in general, even though for most of church history, Christian theologians stood against taking life after conception and against preventing life before conception.
Conclusion
In closing, let me reiterate that I wish I had done more in my initial post to highlight those who are glorifying God in singleness, showing the love of Christ in adoption, or simply trusting God with hard providences in their lives. Those weren’t the people I was meaning to tweak.
I do mean, however, for Christians to consider whether our approach to career, to family, and to a covenantal understanding of the faith is the result of prayerful, biblical, and theological reflection or the result of the invisible pressures and assumptions of the world we inhabit. It is likely that in the future the only couples having lots of children—which at this point is three or more—will be religious couples. I hope that evangelical Christians will be well represented among them.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.