She stood nervously at the edge of the platform, hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the microphone. It wasn’t fear of speaking that troubled her. It was the quiet murmur she’d heard in the hallways before service. “Can women really preach?” someone had whispered. “Didn’t Paul say they shouldn’t?”
Maybe you’ve felt that tension too—between the call of God and the critique of others. Between Scripture’s authority and your heart’s longing to lead, to speak, to serve. Maybe you’ve found yourself standing at the edge of something you know you were made for… but wondering if you’re allowed.
Scripture doesn't shy away from the hard conversations, and neither should we. Paul wrote plainly in 1 Timothy 2:11-12: “Let a woman learn in silence with full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be quiet.” For many, these verses feel like a door shut firmly, a boundary drawn. But even Scripture must be read in the light of Scripture.
Turn the pages a little further, and you find something unexpected. In Romans 16, Paul greets a woman named Phoebe—a deacon, a leader entrusted to deliver his letter. He honors Priscilla, who taught alongside her husband, even correcting the theology of a powerful preacher named Apollos. And then there's Junia, called “outstanding among the apostles” (Romans 16:7).
How do we reconcile these threads? One passage says “no.” Others seem to say “yes.” And then there’s Galatians 3:28, ringing like a bell in the middle of it all: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
The Bible rarely flattens complex issues. Truth isn't always tidy. But grace has a way of knitting it all together.
Maybe our confusion comes not from Scripture itself, but from the way we expect it to work. We want a checklist; God offers a Story. We long for a rulebook; He gives us letters, poems, songs, lives—including women like Deborah, called to lead a nation, and Mary Magdalene, the first to see the risen Christ, entrusted to preach the resurrection to trembling men.
So what do we do with 1 Timothy 2?
We read it carefully. We ask what was happening in that church at Ephesus. Paul wasn’t writing general policy—he was responding to real problems, likely tied to false teachings and an immature congregation. Women, newly welcomed into the learning community, were stepping forward—but perhaps not yet grounded in Christian doctrine. Paul’s instruction may have meant to disciple before giving authority—not deny calling altogether.
But it’s worth noting: “Let a woman learn…”—Paul starts there. A radical statement in a culture that denied women education. What if, rather than silencing, he was slowing down the process to strengthen it? What if that passage is not a period, but a comma?
I think of Hannah, the woman in my church who taught me how to pray when I was seventeen, how she spoke of Jesus with tears in her eyes like she’d just seen Him walk by. I’ve never doubted her anointing—not once. I think of the women who stayed at the cross when all the men fled, and the Samaritan woman who became the first evangelist in John 4. God didn’t seem worried about gender when He sent them out.
Sometimes the clearest voice of God comes through the least expected vessel.
Perhaps you feel called. Perhaps the door still feels closed—or cracked open with resistance behind it. Let me say this: if the Holy Spirit has whispered your name, don’t doubt the Caller. Calling doesn’t always come with applause. Sometimes it begins quietly, as you teach children’s Sunday school, or lead a small group, or comfort a grieving friend with words soaked in Scripture. And someday, perhaps, you’ll stand on a platform, heart racing, not out of fear—but reverence.
The question isn’t just "Can women lead?" It’s "Is God calling you to?" And if He is, no human voice can silence what heaven has unleashed.
One day, every gift will matter. Every voice that spoke mercy. Every teacher who made Jesus known. And on that day, there won’t be a sign over the pulpit that says "male" or "female"—only faithfulness.
And that’s what He’s always asked of us: burned hearts, true words, and the courage to speak when He says it’s time.
That’s who He calls. And He still does.
She stood nervously at the edge of the platform, hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the microphone. It wasn’t fear of speaking that troubled her. It was the quiet murmur she’d heard in the hallways before service. “Can women really preach?” someone had whispered. “Didn’t Paul say they shouldn’t?”
Maybe you’ve felt that tension too—between the call of God and the critique of others. Between Scripture’s authority and your heart’s longing to lead, to speak, to serve. Maybe you’ve found yourself standing at the edge of something you know you were made for… but wondering if you’re allowed.
Scripture doesn't shy away from the hard conversations, and neither should we. Paul wrote plainly in 1 Timothy 2:11-12: “Let a woman learn in silence with full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be quiet.” For many, these verses feel like a door shut firmly, a boundary drawn. But even Scripture must be read in the light of Scripture.
Turn the pages a little further, and you find something unexpected. In Romans 16, Paul greets a woman named Phoebe—a deacon, a leader entrusted to deliver his letter. He honors Priscilla, who taught alongside her husband, even correcting the theology of a powerful preacher named Apollos. And then there's Junia, called “outstanding among the apostles” (Romans 16:7).
How do we reconcile these threads? One passage says “no.” Others seem to say “yes.” And then there’s Galatians 3:28, ringing like a bell in the middle of it all: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
The Bible rarely flattens complex issues. Truth isn't always tidy. But grace has a way of knitting it all together.
Maybe our confusion comes not from Scripture itself, but from the way we expect it to work. We want a checklist; God offers a Story. We long for a rulebook; He gives us letters, poems, songs, lives—including women like Deborah, called to lead a nation, and Mary Magdalene, the first to see the risen Christ, entrusted to preach the resurrection to trembling men.
So what do we do with 1 Timothy 2?
We read it carefully. We ask what was happening in that church at Ephesus. Paul wasn’t writing general policy—he was responding to real problems, likely tied to false teachings and an immature congregation. Women, newly welcomed into the learning community, were stepping forward—but perhaps not yet grounded in Christian doctrine. Paul’s instruction may have meant to disciple before giving authority—not deny calling altogether.
But it’s worth noting: “Let a woman learn…”—Paul starts there. A radical statement in a culture that denied women education. What if, rather than silencing, he was slowing down the process to strengthen it? What if that passage is not a period, but a comma?
I think of Hannah, the woman in my church who taught me how to pray when I was seventeen, how she spoke of Jesus with tears in her eyes like she’d just seen Him walk by. I’ve never doubted her anointing—not once. I think of the women who stayed at the cross when all the men fled, and the Samaritan woman who became the first evangelist in John 4. God didn’t seem worried about gender when He sent them out.
Sometimes the clearest voice of God comes through the least expected vessel.
Perhaps you feel called. Perhaps the door still feels closed—or cracked open with resistance behind it. Let me say this: if the Holy Spirit has whispered your name, don’t doubt the Caller. Calling doesn’t always come with applause. Sometimes it begins quietly, as you teach children’s Sunday school, or lead a small group, or comfort a grieving friend with words soaked in Scripture. And someday, perhaps, you’ll stand on a platform, heart racing, not out of fear—but reverence.
The question isn’t just "Can women lead?" It’s "Is God calling you to?" And if He is, no human voice can silence what heaven has unleashed.
One day, every gift will matter. Every voice that spoke mercy. Every teacher who made Jesus known. And on that day, there won’t be a sign over the pulpit that says "male" or "female"—only faithfulness.
And that’s what He’s always asked of us: burned hearts, true words, and the courage to speak when He says it’s time.
That’s who He calls. And He still does.
