Confessions of a Former Evangelical Bro
This week, I watched as Mike Johnson, the Evangelical Speaker of the House, turned into a meme thanks to his facial expressions during the State of the Union address. While this was happening, I received an Instagram reel introducing me to a term unfamiliar yet instantly recognizable — ‘fundie baby voice,’ where a woman describes the soft-spoken manner of a submissive Fundamentalist wife.
The following Saturday, over a cup of mushroom coffee and before attending a lecture on regenerative agriculture, I explored a Substack essay by Katelyn Beaty titled “Reader Query: How Do We Crack the Evangelical Bro Code?” It concluded a series discussing “Why so many Christian institutions chew up and spit out talented female leaders.” This got me thinking about why most men who are raised Evangelical rarely change and the journey that led to my transformation.
Numerous systemic and cultural barriers are deliberately set to resist and discourage such change, perhaps the biggest being that Evangelical Christianity has become a religion of the head, not the heart after it merged with Fundamentalism after WWII in response to global catastrophe.
Here are a few of the biggest reasons why it took me so long to change:
1.) She would never leave me, nor forsake me. Even before the term ‘Covenant Marriage’ became a thing, my wife and I understood what it meant — our marriage vows were for life. Therefore, as long as I remained faithful, I operated with no fear of reprisal from risky financial decisions or prioritizing my own needs and wants over hers. Even when we lost everything over a decade ago, I confided in a friend about having faced my darkest fears. Observing as a non-Christian, he responded with disbelief, “No, you haven’t. Most women would have taken the kids and left by now.” He was correct — she should’ve left, but I never harbored any fear that she would.
2.) Spotlight vs lantern awareness. My awareness was like a spotlight on a speedboat, focusing only on what was directly ahead (like the traditional responsibilities of a provider). In contrast, my wife’s awareness was like a lantern, lighting up everything around us, including the fallout of my actions. This wasn’t about my not loving her — I did, deeply, as do many Evangelical men. But, I’d only occasionally see the effects of my neglect when the strain of maintaining the ‘Godly woman’ facade inevitably became too much and she’d break down in tears. In those moments, I hurt deeply and I attempted to change, but old habits and being surrounded by other men like me, quickly shifted my focus back to a narrow view once things settled down.
3.) Head vs. Heart. Fundamentalism is a religion of the head, not the heart and we Evangelicals felt called to spread that message. It treats faith like a math puzzle, where every detail in scripture is an equation to solve. Many of us, including me, have spent our lives trying to show our devotion by solving for Why and showing the superiority of our faith. Though we initially invited Jesus into our hearts, we soon evicted Him to our minds, turning our faith into something we think and talk about rather than feel and apply. Ivory tower Jesus in our heads is more inclined to judgement than love and connection.
With all these odds stacked against me, you might wonder why I changed and how I managed it. The truth is, it wasn’t easy; it took a long time, and I can’t claim all the credit. But here were some of the crucial steps along the way.
A Moment of Grace. Grace is like that tiny gap between Adam’s outstretched hand and God’s finger, the slight weight that tips the scales, triggering transformation when we recognize a higher power and ask for its intervention, allowing it to work. It requires effort from us, but also from the divine. This concept is crucial, hence its place as the second step in programs like AA.
Grace reveals itself through personal crisis — public humiliation, financial downturns, illness, or the pain of losing someone close. My version of this became a pivotal moment for change, where my spiritual journey clashed with my ego’s ambitions. Faced with a choice, I could either hold on to my career, reputation, and success, or grab this opportunity to heal and become the man I had vowed to be. Years ago, I promised to love her, yet I never fully embraced what that meant from her perspective. I didn’t want her to stay merely because of a covenant; I wanted her to stay out of love. But mutual love demanded a deeper understanding and appreciation of her lived experience from my side.
Leaning into discomfort. Raised as Evangelical men, we’re taught to see ourselves as strong, with traditions like sword ceremonies for boys and men’s retreats where we commit to purity and vow to protect our families and country. However, my perceived toughness was challenged when I asked my wife to be honest with me, to share her experiences post-pregnancy — times she felt alone and unloved due to my absence through work or play. Or when I truly imagined what it must have felt like for her to entrust her retirement years to a serial entrepreneur like me with borderline ADHD and far to many leaks in his boat.
Fortunately, my mother had been a family counselor who’d taught me there was strength in facing our shadows. Because I loved my wife, I sucked it up, taking feedback that felt like loss after loss. As my understanding deepened, I recognized the need to rebuild our life, to develop empathetic systems. Telling her I loved her wasn’t enough, she needed to feel loved.
The realization hit me: the light wasn’t just within me; it was me. Curiosity is a funny thing. The more I inquired of my wife, the more my awareness expanded. Actively practicing love through tangible actions, as Bob Goff suggests in his book Love Does, helped return Jesus from an intellectual concept back into the core of my heart. The transformation of my mind was a byproduct.
I found myself arguing less and loving more. My awareness began to shift, not just internally, but in its scope. I discovered that awareness was the only true constant in my life, the part of me that remained youthful even as my body aged. Even when the roles I played — father, husband, provider, entrepreneur — were stripped away, my awareness remained. This realization led me to understand that this awareness, this inner light, was the real “me.” Keeping this light centered in my heart, not just my head, allowed me to connect deeply with others, desiring the best for them. It was then that I truly grasped the essence of agape love.
I’d like to think that the eagerness of Evangelicals to spread the gospel comes from a good place. I wanted nothing more than to save people from everlasting hell and damnation. However, this drive often comes from a perceived sense of separation. Fundamentalism fosters division and denominational splits, turning religion into something rigid and disconnected. The layers and labels it imposes create barriers, leading us to mistake these labels for a person’s true identity. In contrast, the antidote to fundamentalism is direct connection — both with God and others, soul to soul.
Our souls resonate with one another when we mourn the victims of war, or when we witness soldiers, irrespective of their uniforms, embracing their loved ones at the airport. To address Katelyn Beaty’s question, “How Do We Crack the Evangelical Bro Code?” we need to breathe soul back into Christianity. This involves educating on the essence of the soul, learning how to access it, nurture it, and connect it with others. Grace will take care of the rest, provided we pick up our cross daily and do our part.
