When I am craving a crunchy snack, broccoli is not typically my first choice, especially if tortilla chips are available.
I’ve read the research: broccoli contains folate, which strengthens bones and prevents arthritis. I’ve enjoyed feeling full after munching on fiber-rich raw broccoli and ranch dressing (because as a Midwesterner, I know ranch goes with everything). I’ve learned to sauté, bake, grill, and blend broccoli into meals, incorporating this nutritional powerhouse into my diet in multiple ways.
Yet I still have to fight the urge to grab the convenient snacks and choose broccoli instead.
It’s easy to mentally assent to things that benefit our health—to agree with the research and even to cheer others on when they choose broccoli over chips. But making these choices for our own lives proves far more difficult. The same principle applies to learning how women and men can flourish in ministry together. Agreeing with egalitarian theology is not the same as living it out. It takes intentionality, trust, and willingness to embrace discomfort in order to pursue relationally healthy teams and congregations.
The apostle Paul wrote: “Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer” (Rom. 12:9–12).
Growth requires using new muscles, and that process is painful, uncomfortable, and awkward. As we are commanded to honor each other as the body of Christ, we can consider practical ways to understand and overcome the barriers women face in leadership. This requires internal work through self-reflection, external work through evaluating and possibly changing ministry structures, and relational work through building trust with women in leadership while learning to become allies and advocates.
Early in my ministry career, a man I’d just met at a conference opened our conversation with this question: “So, how do you justify preaching and teaching since you’re a woman and the Bible says that’s wrong?”
Cool. Nice to meet you too.
While I sat at that table with my hands shaking—anger and confusion mixing together as I tried to formulate a gracious response—my male teammates stopped their own conversations and turned to respond. They asked him:
“What is your church background? Can you share a little bit about your leadership context?”
“What type of Scripture exploration have you done about those passages regarding women not teaching?”
“Have you ever heard a woman preach? I’ve really benefited from how Jessica has opened Scripture for my students and me. Let me tell you about how God has gifted her.”
That’s what allyship looks like in action.
Allies willingly stand with others, offer empathy, and extend their privilege on behalf of someone else. In that moment, my teammate Dave used his male privilege to speak directly about his own experience studying Scripture regarding mutuality and partnership in ministry. When he interjected himself into the conversation, I felt seen. I felt grateful he’d done the relational work to understand that questions like the one tossed at me aren’t theoretical for women in ministry—they’re deeply personal, touching the invisible barriers we face. I felt grateful for my friend Jeff, who used his Scripture knowledge to break down the historical and cultural context of those passages and invite the man into a learning posture. Later that day, Rick offered to pray for me and encouraged me that I didn’t need to justify my ministry to anyone—I just had to serve the Lord faithfully.
Allies have listened to the stories of women pastors and leaders. They’ve borne the discomfort of standing in someone else’s shoes. They’ve explored their own biases and contexts to understand what is cultural versus biblical, and how they’ve been shaped by both. They recognize that inclusion isn’t about offering more options of the same thing—it’s about making sure everyone has a seat at the table.
Trying new things—whether as simple as tasting a new food or as complex as restructuring ministry—can be both exciting and uncomfortable. One of my most mortifying experiences involved eating edamame for the first time. After a long, exhausting flight while pregnant with my first son, friends in San Diego hosted us. While scooping rice and vegetables onto my plate, I grabbed a pea pod and popped the whole thing into my mouth, spending an embarrassing amount of time chewing the very tough shell. Our friends looked at me quizzically and asked, “Do you always eat the shells instead of popping out the peas?” I was so mortified that I played it off with a comment about needing extra fiber. Then I proceeded to eat more edamame shells, so I wouldn’t look foolish.
Why did I keep eating the shells? I reflected on this later: I didn’t want to appear ignorant. I was exhausted from travel, meeting my husband’s college friends for the first time, wanting to make a good impression. I cared more about what they thought of me than about making genuine connections and learning something new.
What I needed in that moment was not just an ally—I needed an *advocate*. Advocates go beyond allyship. They challenge the status quo, proactively create structures, and take personal risks to confront power dynamics. Our friends could have said: “Edamame is more familiar in San Diego than in west Michigan. Let’s ask our guests what they’d like for takeout so everyone can enjoy something familiar.”
To be an advocate for women in ministry means being willing to shift power structures to change cultural norms. Rather than assuming what will benefit women, advocates demonstrate curiosity and coordinate with teammates, guest preachers, and interns to collaborate in decision-making. Not everyone speaks up in meetings to assert their opinions—especially those in gender or ethnic minorities. Changing how meetings are led, creating space for silent processing, making room for small-group decision-making, or inviting written proposals can signal that everyone’s voice is valued, not just those comfortable speaking in larger groups or whose voices already dominate the room.
Flourishing requires intentionality. Romans 12:11 reminds us: “Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord.” When we invite the Holy Spirit to shift our attitudes, practices, and actions, growth takes time to unfold. Although it may feel forced or uncomfortable at first—much like adding more vegetables to our meals—eventually we become joyful in hope as we serve the Lord together, growing stronger in the process.
