God puts us through suffering as we encounter various trials from time to time. When He does, we must be patient to let Him accomplish whatever His purposes may be, whether we know these purposes in time, in full, or neither. As we are patient, God will show compassion, mercy, and blessing—in this life, perhaps, and certainly forever in time to come. May God help us to persevere like Joseph whenever suffering comes our way.

After repeatedly commanding his readers to be patient in suffering (Jas 5:8–9), James points to the prophets and Job as examples for us today: “As an example of suffering and patience, brothers, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord. Behold, we consider those blessed who remained steadfast. You have heard of the steadfastness of Job, and you have seen the purpose of the Lord, how the Lord is compassionate and merciful” (Jas 5:10–11).
Joseph received and interpreted dreams from God, marking him as a prophet. So, surveying his life in Genesis 37–50, let’s consider his suffering and patience, being steadfast in the Lord’s purpose, and experiencing the Lord’s compassion, mercy, and blessing in time.
Suffering and Patience
When Joseph was “seventeen years old” (Gen 37:2), he was taken captive by his brothers and sold to some Midianites who sold him to Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh, in Egypt as a slave (Gen 37:24, 28, 36). This suffering began thirteen years of hardship and affliction that would end at age thirty when Pharaoh appointed him over the land (cf. Gen 41:46).
“After a time” in Potiphar’s house, Potiphar’s wife attempted to seduce Joseph (Gen 39:7). When he ran from her advances, she falsely accused him of the same, unfairly landing him in prison (Gen 39:17–20). Nonetheless, as the Lord had blessed him with favor in Potiphar’s house (Gen 39:1–6), the Lord gave him favor in the prison as well (Gen 39:21–23).
“Some time after this,” Joseph interpreted the dreams of his fellow prisoners, Pharaoh’s cupbearer and baker (Gen 40:1; cf. 40:5–22).
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This crisis partly calls for more theological and practical work that explains why Holy Scripture teaches a male-only episcopate. God does not act in arbitrary ways. A male-only episcopate is not a random or eclectic practice of the first century. Some deeper truth is at hand; some rational and explainable reason exists. God created the natural order to work in a specific way. 

During the last forty years, evangelicals have debated whether or not the Bible allows for women to occupy the role of elder or bishop. Egalitarians maintain that men and women may take the office of elder, while complementarians believe in a male-only episcopate. A host of other notions around gender and roles also appear in such discussions.
Yet I have noticed a recent shift in arguments. Yes, both sides still claim the Bible as their source for their conclusions. But egalitarians argue that complementarian teaching is inherently harmful or at least that it controls women. And since harming women is wrong (everyone agrees on this), it follows that complementarianism is wrong. 
A New Egalitarian form of Argument
To cite one example, Aimee Byrd explains in a recent article how she used to believe in complementarian teaching, but now she knows who pays the price for it (i.e. women). Sheila Gregoire explains in a comment how her body reacts—presumably due to experiencing trauma or seeing so much of it—when she considers complementarian teaching. She explains, “​​I just can’t do it anymore. Like, I physically can’t. My body has all those reactions as well.”
I trust that both Byrd and Gregoire have experienced all sorts of unkindness. My point here is not to deny their experience but narrate one example of what seems to be a common pattern. Egalitarians (or those who are at least anti-complementarian) argue:

Major premise: Abuse and traumatizing women are wrong (and all agree)
Minor premise: Complementarian churches have lots of abuse and trauma in them
Conclusion: Complementarian promotes abuse and trauma and is therefore wrong.

Now, churches that promote a late twentieth-century teaching called complementarianism could promote such things in their congregations. We might say they imbibed some modern and rotten theology. Recently, I met someone who basically followed Bill Gothard’s teaching of the family. Admittedly, I find such teachings bizarre and wrong. I had never encountered them before.
When I read Beth Allison Barr’s book on The Making of Biblical Womanhood, I found her negative examples of patriarchy wild and outside of my experience. You can read my review of her book by clicking here.
My suspicion is that those most critical of complementarianism have left a form of fundamentalism as well. And such an exodus often characterizes why they reject so strongly complementarianism. It, after all, encodes a gendered teaching on men and women in pervasive ways.
I also suspect there are many things evangelicals should reject that go under the name of complementarianism. As noted, when I heard about Bill Gothard or some of the things that Beth Barr narrates, I found them both foreign and incorrect.
With all that said, I still wonder if the argument that I described above masks the real debate at hand: what does the Bible teach about the role of a pastor and of men and women generally?
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Written by James R. Wood |
Monday, May 16, 2022
What does this have to do with the winsome, third way framework? Well, as I argued in my piece, it seems to me that this framework tends to think about politics through the lens of evangelism, and thus in an apologetic mode. This gets expressed in the overwrought concern with how Christians are perceived by virtue of their political actions and the impact on the “public witness” of the church. This leads Christians, often and in various ways, to let the broader culture set the terms for our engagement out of fear about negative perception.

Last week First Things published my essay “How I Evolved on Tim Keller.” An old friend (who clearly is not on Twitter) texted me today asking if there had been much response. How could I possibly explain the dustup via text? Even more importantly, how can I possibly respond to all of the critiques?
I can’t, and I won’t even try.
What I would like to offer are some points of clarification in response to some of the most common concerns I have seen raised, and to elaborate on some of my key arguments.
To start, there are two things I wish I could’ve included if I had more space. Both of these are related to the growing constituency of former disciples of Kellerism. First is that, in some ways, this piece was intended as a defense of Keller against his harshest critics. In recent months I have found myself in various conversations in which former fans express deep disappointment and anger toward Keller. Some argue that he is revealing that he has always been some kind of liberal in third way clothing, or that he is some closet Marxist, or just a general enemy of the church. I think these are all extreme and unwarranted opinions. But I believe they emerge in response to some real issues. I wanted to give expression to the basic concerns of many of these people, and to get out in front of the discourse to establish what I hoped would be more constructive terms for the debate. Secondly, I desire for our evangelical leadership to recognize this growing constituency and not simply dismiss their concerns. These people are looking for leaders to help them navigate our new cultural waters. Often they are turning to less-than-ideal sources. I want godly leaders to respond to this need—whether that be some from the current set of leaders or an entirely new crop that rises to fill the void.
To reiterate, I have an enormous amount of respect for Tim Keller, who helped me understand the depths of the gospel, resolved some key apologetic issues in my thinking, and inspired a life of mission (I was a campus evangelist from 2004-2013, then a pastor to this day who has helped plant churches in secular, liberal cities). Like him, I desperately want our neighbors to receive forgiveness and new life in Christ and to join the fellowship of the church. I want us to build on his example of intellectually serious, culturally aware ministry.
But I would like to shift a bit away from direct discussion of Keller himself, if I may. I do have some critiques of his own thought and public statements, which I articulated in the piece. But I am largely concerned about the way his framework is broadly appropriated by his disciples, many of whom populate leadership positions in churches and other Christian ministries.
Some critics have highlighted the paragraph in which I spoke about my experience of the 2016 election. At that time I couldn’t understand how a Christian could vote for someone like Donald Trump. This, I assumed, would do irreparable damage to the witness of the church. I noticed that my heart became increasingly hardened toward my fellow Christians, and I felt convicted. I started to wonder if there was something amiss in my thinking, if there might be something wrong with my framework.
Critics have focused on this paragraph, saying: “Isn’t that your problem, not Keller’s?” Yes and no. I intentionally wrote that paragraph in a confessional manner to signal the fact that I believe I was applying Keller’s thinking in a certain way, and thus was primarily responsible for my actions. Yet, I don’t believe my experience in this regard was unique. I have heard from many others similar stories; and, even more, I have witnessed over the past six years how Kellerite Christians treat other Christians in similar ways. I do not believe that Keller’s teachings are necessarily responsible, but I do think they generally dispose his disciples in a certain direction.
The Kellerites propound to abhor division among Christians, and yet I have found them far more divisive than they admit. This is captured in the common trope: “Punch right, coddle left.” Those who are devoted to the third-wayism of Keller generally appear to assume the worst from one side of the political spectrum and give the benefit of the doubt to—or at least provide an apologetic for—the other. (Case in point: David French’s recent piece on my essay.) Kellerites make up a significant portion of the “never Trump” movement among Christians, and this movement is unforgiving of those who have chosen, for whatever reason, to vote in that way (full disclosure: I did not in either election). They are also quick to join in the chorus of denunciations of “Christian nationalism,” which is often a bogeyman label for any robust pursuit of conservative Christian influence in politics. Make what you wish of Aaron Renn’s Three Worlds schema, but I think it is a bit obvious that, for example, in recent years conservative Christian political engagement that would have been seen as somewhat innocuous in previous years is quickly and regularly denounced as authoritarian “Christian nationalism.” I think this is itself partial validation of the Renn thesis, however much we want to debate the specifics of the timeline. And Kellerites are often quick to join in the denunciations.
Though I have been accused of saying otherwise, I very much share with Keller the desire to resist political tribalism and uncritical partisanship. Christians should absolutely avoid becoming beholden to any particular party. But one of my concerns about the third way, “winsome” model for politics is how it often seems to incline its adherents to be beholden to the perspective of the contemporary status quo—what the kids call “the Narrative.” This was all too evident during the pandemic as countless pastors and Christian leaders, especially those of the Kellerite persuasion, uncritically imbibed and disseminated the messaging from legacy media and public health officials. There is a place for trusting institutions, but this seemed to go too far, especially when reasonable voices of critique were roundly dismissed and castigated as conspiracy theorists, many of whom have been subsequently vindicated. But even worse than this, many of these Christian leaders mediated the messaging that any dissent from the covid regime was a failure to love one’s neighbor, thus binding the consciences of Christians and stoking division in the church.
What does this have to do with the winsome, third way framework? Well, as I argued in my piece, it seems to me that this framework tends to think about politics through the lens of evangelism, and thus in an apologetic mode. This gets expressed in the overwrought concern with how Christians are perceived by virtue of their political actions and the impact on the “public witness” of the church. This leads Christians, often and in various ways, to let the broader culture set the terms for our engagement out of fear about negative perception.
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