Rev. Stephanie York Arnold
March 10, 2026
It is not enough simply to do no harm. Each of us must do our part to heal the harm that has been done, even when we did not personally cause it.
Shame has been widely examined in our culture over the last decade, in large part thanks to Dr. Brené Brown’s research and writing. A growing collective consciousness is pushing back against the ways shame has been used to oppress, diminish, and subjugate others. Many would argue that the Church has been one of shame’s greatest peddlers. Too often, our sermons and theology have conveyed messages of unworthiness and portrayed a distant God who will ONLY be in relationship with us if we are “washed in the blood” and accept salvation from a God who demands a sacrifice. This is a profoundly limited understanding of the grace and goodness of our Creator and the beauty of creation. Yet so many of us heard these messages for so long that we can scarcely imagine Good News coming from the very place that once taught us how bad we were.
So, I was intrigued to learn that a United Methodist congregation was courageously engaging this topic, seeking to confront shame honestly and diminish its power. This is a church people watch and learn from, far beyond its membership. It is generous, thoughtful, and transformative. I regularly learn from this congregation.
I was even more intrigued by the text chosen to launch the series: Genesis 3. I immediately bristled, as this passage has so often been used to shame women. Nearly every woman—churched or not—knows the story of Eve giving Adam the fruit and Adam blaming Eve for the so-called “Fall of Man.”
After that initial reaction, I waited with hopeful anticipation, trusting that this telling would be different.
The pastor offered a thoughtful account of the shame both Adam and Eve experienced after eating the fruit. He named the ways the Church has exploited that shame to build membership, budgets, and power—condemning humanity while positioning itself as the sole dispenser of grace. He beautifully described the tenderness of our Creator, who clothed Adam and Eve not because God was uncomfortable with their nakedness, but because humanity was. He articulated how shame-based theology has wounded countless people and distorted the Gospel, denying the truth that nothing can separate us from the love of our Creator.
And yet, my discomfort grew as the conversation turned to original sin and he began to quote Augustine (who as I have recently learned had serious issues with women). I realized that more than half of his congregation likely identified as female. Would he name the shame this passage has poured onto women for centuries?
I know I bristled because I have lost count of how often this text—and others—have been used to justify women’s subjugation, to declare us untrustworthy as leaders, and to place upon our shoulders the weight of humanity’s sin. This story has been used to brand women as the weaker sex, the tempters of men, the ones deserving suspicion. I once attended a wedding where the clergyperson asked all married men to stand and vow before God to lead their households because women were prone to failure. Husbands were told they bore responsibility for their wives’ redemption.
I longed to hear this gifted preacher—good, compassionate, wise, and widely admired—name clearly and directly that this passage has been weaponized to systemically oppress and shame women. That truth needed to be spoken. Full stop. Had it been named, it would have been balm to my heart.
In my imagination of what might have been healing, I wanted him to speak of the matriarchal societies in which these Genesis stories were likely shaped, societies that often understood the Divine through feminine imagery. I wanted him to ask whether that worldview may have threatened a newly formed patriarchal religious order. I wanted him to ask: Who held the pen that wrote these stories? And then to name that those pens were not held by women—making it unsurprising that the narrative so often faulted women. Nor should it surprise us that both women and snakes became objects of suspicion and fear, given their ancient ties, as snakes were symbols of the Divine Feminine.
But none of this was said. And I grieved for the women in the pews whose shame was only partially lifted.
I found myself wondering: Did he not know? Had he not studied this? Was this precisely why diverse voices in our pulpits matter—because lived experience, alongside reason and tradition, shapes how we interpret Scripture?
Or did he know, but decided it was too controversial? Too progressive? Too risky to give a fuller context for the text?
Or did he believe that simply not perpetuating the old harmful interpretations was enough to move the needle?
And that is when I realized: it is not.
It is not enough to be a good man who preaches good sermons that avoid perpetuating past harm. If you are a good preacher (regardless of your gender), you must actively learn the harm others have endured by the Church—and then you must seek to repair and heal wounds you may not have personally inflicted.
Too many men still occupy the pulpits, write the books, teach the classes, and hold the final authority in Church and society. It is not enough to avoid harm. You must actively work to heal it.
Liberate your people by naming how too often Scripture has been weaponized against women—how it has been used to subjugate, devalue, and even justify violence, distorting women’s God-given identity as image bearers and leaders.
And for goodness’s sake, do not quote Augustine and his concepts of original sin unless you correct his theology of women in the same breath. He may be called a Church Father, but that does not make him right in his belief that women are not fully made in the image of God.
We must do better if we really want to undo the culture of shame that the church has utilized for centuries.
York Arnold is the general secretary for the General Commission on the Status and Role of Women.