Selective Outrage Is Still Complicity: What John MacArthur’s Critics Are Getting Wrong

If You Only Call Out John MacArthur, You’re Still Upholding Patriarchy

I’ve been sitting for a few days contemplating my response to the death of John MacArthur. If you have never heard of him prior to his death, you certainly do now if you are on this side of social media. The flood of commentary was immediate and impassioned. Many former evangelicals and progressive Christians didn’t hold back, calling out his long history of misogyny, authoritarianism, and spiritual abuse.

The other side, the ones praising his ministry and mourning his passing, have been equally vocal, with Ben Shapiro writing, “I think that his work is going to be read for generations.”

Sadly, Ben is probably right. John’s teachings highlight the misogyny, bigotry, homophobia and outright racism standing proudly at the pulpit. This is the side of Christianity that is uber-fundamentalist, meaning they’ll tell you to your face that if you are a woman minister, an out, loud and proud gay individual, a DEI advocate, etc. etc. etc, you simply were not welcome to sit among them. This brand of Christianity does not attempt to gaslight you into believing they were liberal or progressive as some churches do.

No, this Christianity hates you if you do not look like, love like or believe as they do. One person they do love is Donald Trump, but love for and loyalty to Donald Trump permeates into many churches, not just the churches run by MacArthur wannabes.

Being reminded of that simple fact was the revelation I needed to finally sit down and write about the death of John MacArthur.

John MacArthur was a problem, but he is in no way the entirety of the problem within Christianity

I understand the outrage. I share much of it. His ministry caused undeniable harm, especially to women, LGBTQIA+ individuals, and survivors of abuse who were told to remain silent and submissive in the name of “biblical order.”

But I also need to say something that may be uncomfortable for many of the people speaking out now:

If you are criticizing John MacArthur, but have remained silent about pastors like Andy Stanley, Joel Osteen, Mark Driscoll, or even the theological gatekeeping of so-called moderates like Roger Olson (who wrote this article about the problem with feminism which leads to paganism if God is expressed in the feminine) then your outrage isn’t as righteous as you think it is.

Because MacArthur may have shouted his misogyny from the pulpit, but the harm doesn’t begin or end with him. He was simply the most blatant and therefore the most convenient villain. And I believe far too many Christians—especially those trying to distance themselves from the worst parts of evangelicalism—are more than willing to condemn the loudest abuser in the room while still protecting the systems that empower others just like him.

It’s easy to feel brave when calling out a man who told women to stay in abusive marriages, who excommunicated a mother for protecting her children, and who defined “biblical womanhood” as obedience, suffering, and silence.

But what happens when the same patterns of control, exclusion, and theological manipulation show up in softer forms, in smiling sermons, bestselling books, and well-branded conferences that claim to welcome all while quietly gatekeeping who really belongs?

That’s the part we don’t want to talk about.

Because once we do, we realize how deeply embedded patriarchal conformity still is in most Christian communities. And how willing people are to preserve it, as long as it’s packaged in a tone they like.

Take Andy Stanley, for example (I also wrote about Andy here on Substack).* Nevermind the fact that he has never openly criticized his most notorious parishioner, Marjorie Taylor Greene. His “Unconditional Conference” was widely praised by some for creating space for LGBTQIA+ families in the church. But a closer look reveals a different story. The event made no attempt to denounce the so-called “clobber verses” used to harm queer people. Stanley himself admitted he “knows” Leviticus, but refused to name its irrelevance. Instead, he framed acceptance around service and loyalty: If someone volunteers, stays committed, shows up, then they belong.

This isn’t inclusion. It’s conditional tolerance. It’s commodifying people’s belonging by tying them to their usefulness to the institution. And in that way, Stanley is no different than the men who weaponize Scripture outright. He just does it with softer words and broader appeal.

Joel Osteen is another example. He rarely, if ever, addresses gender inequality, domestic violence, or the lived realities of marginalized communities. Instead, he offers a gospel of positivity—smile more, believe more, try harder—and teaches that personal faith will lift you out of hardship. But what if that hardship is systemic? What if the suffering is rooted in patriarchy, racism, or homophobia? For women in abusive homes, for LGBTQIA+ teens kicked out by their families, for Black mothers navigating medical racism, “just believe harder” isn’t a theology.

It’s erasure.