Let Them Learn: Why Theological Formation Still Matters, Especially for Women

In recent years, much of the church has quietly succumbed to a troubling trend: the shaming of theological education and the glorification of spiritual ignorance. While the early church flourished through deep discipleship and intentional formation, many believers today are being taught—explicitly or implicitly—that anything beyond a fifteen-minute message, five-minute devotional, or a catchy quote is unnecessary, even suspect.

This is not only tragic; it is dangerous.

Across pulpits, platforms, and podcasts, Christians are increasingly warned against “too much learning.” Higher education is frequently dismissed as “liberal,” compromised, or spiritually lifeless. Seminary has become a punchline. Perhaps most grievously, people are being conditioned to believe that they are not capable of engaging Scripture deeply—especially women.

The result?

A “dumbing down” of the church—a body malnourished and ill-equipped for the complexities of real life, ministry, and spiritual discernment. For women, the consequences run even deeper and become far more dangerous.

When women are discouraged from theological formation, they are not merely deprived of knowledge—they are deprived of the protection of self-agency. Theological literacy is one of the primary ways believers discern truth from error, recognize unhealthy power dynamics, and resist spiritual manipulation. Without it, women become more susceptible to distorted teachings, oppressive interpretations of Scripture, and the misuse of spiritual authority.

This is not a hypothetical concern. Katharine Bushnell—a medical doctor, missionary, and theologian who worked extensively with exploited women in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries—observed a direct relationship between false beliefs about womanhood and the systemic abuses committed against women. She argued that wherever culture or religion teaches that women are inferior, subordinate, or inherently unfit for moral and spiritual responsibility, abuse inevitably follows.[1]

In other words, a flawed view of Scripture and poor theology from misinterpretation creates real-world harm.

When women are denied the tools of theological discernment—when they are told not to study, not to question, not to interpret Scripture for themselves—they are left defenseless in environments where Scripture can easily be twisted to justify control, silence, or mistreatment. This is precisely what Bushnell spent her life uncovering.

When the church suppresses women’s theological growth:

Their spiritual agency is weakened.
Their discernment is diminished.
Their voices are easier to ignore.
Their experiences are easier to dismiss.
Their oppression is easier to justify through misused Scripture.
And tragically, their suffering is easier to hide.

Bushnell recognized this pattern more than a century ago, and her insight remains prophetic today: when the church refuses to disciple, equip, and trust women with theological depth, it not only limits their calling—it increases their vulnerability.

Let me be clear: it is absolutely true that one can learn deep theology outside of formal institutions. That said, how that learning takes place matters profoundly.

The Myth of “Self-Taught” Theology

We have come to believe that we can learn anything on our own. In fact, many contend, “You can homeschool your faith.” To an extent, that can be true. By the same token, as in homeschooling, the quality of the outcome depends on the approach and the resources.

Are we learning within a robust framework of accountability, discipline, and exposure to diverse theological voices? Or are we simply reinforcing what we already believe?

Let’s be honest: we would not dare presume to perform heart surgery after watching a few videos online. We would not sit for the Bar exam[2] and hang a sign claiming to be an attorney without years of study and training. We would not represent someone as a licensed realtor without the proper credentials. Yet, when it comes to spiritual matters—where the stakes are eternal—we often fail to recognize our own limitations. We should be made aware of our theological blind spots, have the humility to own them, and the willingness to examine and correct any errors or deficiencies as we grow.

One of the most humbling truths I’ve discovered is that we are all shaped by the limits of our teachers—whether we know them or not.

If our spiritual and theological formation is entirely self-directed, how can we ensure we are seeing our own biases or limitations? How do we know when we’re missing something critical? How do we grow if we’re never challenged? Without others speaking into our blind spots, we can remain spiritually and theologically immature without even realizing it.

You don’t know what you don’t know. In matters of spiritual formation and theology, what we don’t know can be deeply consequential.

My Own Journey

For years, I taught the Bible, led workshops, and wrote books. I homeschooled my children, studied diligently, and poured myself into ministry. But eventually, I reached a point where I could no longer ignore the nagging questions about biblical context, denominational differences, and interpretive frameworks. I realized I did not know how to assess competing theological claims or identify faulty patterns I had inherited. So, I returned to school.

I also began to sense a quiet ache—one I think many women feel but often cannot name. It was a longing for more: deeper understanding, better tools, and a theological framework sturdy enough to hold the complexities of life, Scripture, and calling.

As a woman, I received many invitations to minister—but always within carefully constructed “glass walls.” I could speak, but only to certain groups. I could teach, but only within specific boundaries. I could serve, but only in roles deemed “appropriate” for a woman. The table was often in view, but rarely accessible. The theological conversation had already been set—and I was expected to stay in my place, watching from the margins.

My years of formal study—completing undergraduate and graduate school, and eventually a doctorate—did not just give me credentials, they gave me access. I sat under experts, wrestled with church history, read the primary sources behind the arguments, and was challenged to think critically, prayerfully, theologically, and biblically. It wasn’t easy, but it was transformational.

A professor once told me, “It’s not about the degree—it’s about the minds you interact with: the scholars, the writers, the classmates, the voices in the text.” He was right. We grow through spiritual and theological discourse with others—those who sharpen, stretch, confront, question, and even unsettle us. This is the heartbeat of discipleship. This is the way Jesus modeled it in the Bible.

Jesus Educated His Disciples, Including Women

Some argue that Jesus’s disciples were uneducated, implying that theological training is unnecessary or even unspiritual. That misunderstands the context.

The disciples, though young, spent three intensive years being discipled by Jesus—a rabbi trained in the Scriptures, leaving even the Pharisees and Sadducees in awe of his knowledge and authority.[3] Not only a rabbi, but God himself—THE expert in the field. He taught them Scripture, doctrine, ethics, prophecy, and mission. This was not ignorance—it was immersive, embodied education.

Peter, often caricatured as impulsive, demonstrated a remarkable grasp of biblical prophecy. Yes, he made mistakes (so do we all), but he understood Scripture with a depth that many theologians today would struggle to match. Matthew’s background as a tax collector required literacy, numeracy, and orderly record-keeping, which may help explain the structured, systematic, Scripture-rich Gospel that bears his name. John, too, displayed profound theological insight; his Gospel opens not with narrative but with a soaring theological prologue that reveals his deep grasp of Christ’s identity, divinity, and mission. The disciples were not naïve or intellectually passive. They were formed, instructed, stretched, and taught to handle Scripture faithfully.

And the men weren’t the only ones being discipled.

Mary Magdalene, Mary of Bethany, and the Samaritan woman at the well were among the women who not only encountered Jesus but were spiritually formed by him. Mary of Bethany sat at Jesus’s feet (Luke 10:38–42)—a deliberate posture of theological instruction and rabbinic discipleship, traditionally reserved for male students.[4] Jesus affirmed her place as a learner, a disciple, and a woman of spiritual depth.

The Samaritan woman engaged in the longest recorded theological conversation with Jesus in the Gospels (John 4). Their dialogue spanned worship, covenant history, and messiahship. She then ran to her city and preached—effectively becoming one of the earliest evangelists.

Mary Magdalene was the first person entrusted with the message of the resurrection (John 20). Jesus did not simply include women; he equipped, instructed, and commissioned them.

The apostle Paul further demonstrates the link between discipleship and education. Paul described himself as a ‘Pharisee of Pharisees,’ trained under Gamaliel—a Rabban, one of the few in all of Jewish history to bear that title, and a leading authority whose influence shaped Judaism for generations (Acts 22:3). Paul’s writings, which form the theological backbone of much of the New Testament, reflect both the rigor of that training and his transformation by Christ.

To portray the early apostles as anti-intellectual—or male-only discipleship as normative—is to ignore both the biblical text and the historical reality. Jesus trained and released both women and men as his disciples. The call to theological depth belongs to all of us.

Following Jesus: A Call to Deeper Formation

Jesus did not speak as one untrained. He was repeatedly recognized as “Rabbi” and “Teacher,” debated with religious leaders, interpreted Scripture with unique authority, and taught in synagogues and the Temple—spaces accessible only to those acknowledged as legitimate instructors. His recognized authority gave him access to places others could not go—and he used those spaces to proclaim truth.[5]

This raises important questions: If Jesus entered fully into the formative processes of his community and demonstrated a depth of scriptural mastery that granted him access to teaching spaces normally reserved for trained rabbis,[6] and if Paul drew on his education to engage both synagogue and Greco-Roman audiences,[7] why do we so often dismiss education today as unnecessary or even suspect? Why do we not consider theological training a natural part of Christian discipleship?

The call to follow Jesus is a call to learn, to be formed, to grow in the likeness of our teacher (Luke 6:40). That requires more than inspiration—it requires discipline and depth: depth of Scripture, depth of understanding, depth of discipleship, and depth of theological training.

The Danger of Anti-Intellectualism

Many seminaries today are indeed broken. Some have wandered from orthodoxy, others have become echo chambers for political ideologies, and still others leave students disoriented in their faith. I share these concerns. The answer is not to reject theological formation or learning—it is to call the church back to the kind of deep, Spirit-led discipleship Jesus modeled.

The church needs spaces where women and men alike can grow in theological skill, biblical knowledge, spiritual discernment, and ministry competence. For women in particular, this invitation has often been missing—or worse, intentionally withheld. We have been expected to serve the meal but not join the theological table.

Where Do We Begin?

Not everyone will attend seminary; not everyone should. But everyone should be theologically equipped.

That means committing to discipleship and spiritual formation—an intentional, lifelong journey of being formed by Scripture, community, and the Spirit. It means:

Developing critical thinking.
Learning to study the Scriptures deeply.
Engaging with historical voices and trusted teachers across traditions.
Reading the hard and often overlooked material.
Asking difficult and honest questions.
Examining our assumptions.
Learning from those more knowledgeable and more seasoned than we are.
Becoming lifelong learners at the feet of Jesus.
Remaining deeply embedded in his body, the church.

We don’t have to pay a fortune for this. We don’t need a formal classroom. We do need a commitment to more than spiritual sentimentality.

We need courage, humility, and intentionality—and we need community. We grow best in relationship with others who challenge, sharpen, and stretch us, including the great minds and faithful hearts across time who have wrestled deeply with God’s Word.

Because the truth is: None of us knows it all. Even now, after all my study, I know I’ve only scratched the surface of what there is to learn. That realization doesn’t discourage me—it drives me to the table again and again. I remain a student, grateful for the opportunity to learn, and committed to pouring out what I have been blessed to receive.

A Final Word

To my sisters who’ve been disillusioned by shallow teaching, ignored in church leadership meetings, or dismissed for being “too passionate” about theology: I see you. Many of us have not just been discouraged from growing—we’ve been excluded. We’ve been told our voices don’t belong at the table where theology is discussed, Scripture interpreted, sin confronted, or decisions made.

But here’s the truth: Jesus always makes room at the table. He honored women as learners, leaders, and disciples. From Mary of Bethany at his feet, to the Samaritan woman engaged in deep theological conversation, to Mary Magdalene entrusted with the first proclamation of the resurrection—and to Priscilla and Junia who carried this pattern into the early church, where women were not turned away, excluded, or pushed to the margins. Jesus never withheld theological formation from women. He let them learn—and he taught the women who came to him with the same depth and dignity he offered his male disciples. This is a model for us today.

So let’s pull up a chair—together. Let’s reclaim the space we were never meant to be excluded from. Let’s study the Scriptures. Let’s be formed by truth. Let’s disciple others. Let’s teach, testify, and amplify one another’s voices.

For the table is more than a place of learning—it is where communion is shared, calling is affirmed, and disciples are commissioned. It is where Christ calls us, forms us, prepares us, and sends us out. It’s time we showed up—fully, faithfully, and formed.

Notes

[1] Katharine C. Bushnell and Amy Francis, God’s Word to Women: With Fresh Historical Background of the Biblical Sources by Amy Francis (United Kingdom: Crowning Educational, 2016), 8, 36.

[2] A competency exam for aspiring attorneys to become licensed.

[3] Luke 2:46–47, John 7:15, Matt. 7:28–29, Mark 1:22, Matt. 22:33, Matt. 22:46, Mark 1:27.

[4] In Jewish idiom, “to sit at someone’s feet” signified taking the role of a disciple under a recognized teacher. Paul uses this expression of his own training under Gamaliel (Acts 22:3). Luke’s application of the same idiom to Mary of Bethany intentionally portrays her as occupying a traditional disciple’s position.

[5] Jesus was publicly addressed as “Rabbi” and “Teacher” (John 1:38; 3:2; 13:13; Mark 10:17). He taught in synagogues and the Temple (Luke 4:16–22; Mark 1:21–22; Luke 19:47; John 7:14), roles typically reserved for recognized teachers. His authority was repeatedly noted and questioned by religious leaders (Matt. 7:28–29; Luke 20:1–2). He engaged scribes, Pharisees, and experts in the law in formal theological debate (Matt. 22:15–46; Mark 12:28–34). The astonishment of the crowds and teachers at His learning further confirms His recognized authority (John 7:15).

[6] Jesus participated fully in the formative life of His Jewish community (Luke 2:21–24, 27, 39–42) and “grew in wisdom” (Luke 2:40, 52). As a Galilean Jew, He would have received Torah instruction in the synagogue (cf. Luke 2:46–47; 4:16). His Scriptural mastery is evident even in childhood (Luke 2:46–47) and throughout His ministry, where He was addressed as “Rabbi” or “Teacher” (John 1:38; 3:2; 13:13; Mark 10:17) and taught in synagogues and the Temple—settings typically reserved for trained instructors (Luke 4:16–22; Mark 1:21–22; John 7:14; Luke 19:47). His authority was publicly acknowledged and questioned (Matt. 7:28–29; Luke 20:1–2). The crowds marveled at His learning (John 7:15; cf. Matt. 13:54–56; Mark 6:2–3; John 1:45–46), not because He lacked education, but because He had no affiliation with Jerusalem’s recognized rabbinic schools. John 7:15 reflects surprise at this lack of formal association, not an absence of training.

[7] Paul referred to his formal training under Gamaliel (Acts 22:3) and his identity as a Pharisee (Acts 23:6; Phil. 3:5). His ministry consistently drew on this education, whether reasoning from Scripture in synagogues (Acts 17:2–3) or engaging Greek audiences through their own literature and philosophical frameworks (Acts 17:22–28), including the intellectual traditions that shaped Greco-Roman views of gender, marriage, and empire.

Photo by sean Kong on Unsplash.