A response to Brittany Hartley’s challenge and why I’m still here
“If you call yourself a feminist but worship a male God, you’re not truly a feminist.”
— Paraphrased from Brittany Hartley
I recently came across a video from Brittany Hartley—author, philosopher, and religious deconstructionist—where she challenges a foundational assumption many people (including myself) often take for granted: that you can be a feminist and still worship a male God.
She says no.
If your God is male, and that God speaks mostly to men, through men, about men—your feminism is compromised.
It’s performative.
It’s incomplete.
And I’ll be honest—that hit me.
Not because I fully agree.
But because I can’t fully dismiss it either.
I am of the belief that I can’t call myself a feminist because the label has to be earned.
God, Gender, and Power
For most of my life, I’ve been surrounded by—and part of—religious traditions that refer to God as “He,” “Father,” “Lord,” “King.” That language shaped how I viewed power, leadership, and even self-worth. And while I’ve come to see God as beyond gender, I still reflexively use male pronouns sometimes. Old habits. Old liturgies. Old default images of God on a throne, with a beard, casting judgment or offering grace.
But Hartley’s point is deeper than language.
She’s naming something systemic—that divine maleness is cultural maleness writ large.
That if your God is male, and his voice only ever affirms male leadership, male prophets, male authority… then how can women (or anyone outside the male norm) ever be fully divine image-bearers?
So… Is She Right?
Yes.
And no.
Yes—if your God is only ever male, and your theology never centers female agency, or worse, limits women to submission, silence, or service to men—then yeah, that’s not feminism. That’s patriarchy with religious clothes on.
But no—I don’t think belief in a traditionally male God automatically disqualifies someone from being a feminist.
Because here’s where I push back: God is more than metaphor.
And metaphor is always evolving.
Feminism Is About Liberation, Not Litmus Tests
What if someone was raised with the image of God as Father—not a tyrant, but a loving, affirming, empowering parent?
What if they’ve encountered Jesus as a brother who uplifts women, calls them disciples, appears to them first after resurrection, and never once tells them to be quiet?
What if that male God is the one who dismantled the hierarchy in their hearts?
That doesn’t undo Hartley’s critique.
It just complicates it.
And I think complication is holy.
The Problem Isn’t Masculinity—It’s Monopoly
What I hear Hartley really saying is:
“Why do male gods dominate the conversation?”
Why aren’t we hearing divine voices that sound like women?
Why are the female prophets, poets, and mystics tucked into footnotes instead of pulpits?
Why does our imagination for the divine so rarely include a womb?
That, I agree with wholeheartedly.
And in fact, that’s part of why I do still call myself a feminist—because I believe in fighting for shared access to the sacred.
My God Doesn’t Look Like Zeus
My God doesn’t live in a cloud palace.
He’s not white, not American, not male in any biological sense.
My God is found in the pregnant Mary, in the bleeding woman, in Ruth and Naomi, in the bodies of trans people who bear divine image despite centuries of erasure.
I don’t need God to be a man.
But do I also need to abandon every piece of tradition to affirm my feminism? Let me consider 1) can I ever be a feminist if I have a penis? 2) do need to abandon my faith?
In response to the first, I may never be a feminist, but that will not stop me from dismantling the patriarchy, fighting for equity, and believing women about their experiences within the patriarchy.
I need theology that makes room for God in all genders, all bodies, all voices—and I believe that’s possible within Christianity.
So Why Am I Still Here?
Because even though traditional Christianity has caused deep harm, I still believe in its possibility.
I still believe in the Jesus who shattered purity codes, elevated women, and wept like a mother at the death of a friend.
I still believe theology can be liberative, not oppressive.
And I believe that how we imagine God matters.
But so does how we embody that God in the world.
So yes, I’m still here.
A possible and hopeful feminist.
A Christian who uses that label to mean a person with a heart for Christ.
And someone who refuses to give up on the divine just because the divine has been misrepresented.
🙋♂️ Your Turn
- Have you wrestled with the image of a male God in your spiritual life?
- Does feminist faith feel possible—or contradictory—for you?
- What metaphors for God speak to your experience most clearly?
I’d love to hear your thoughts. Comment below or share this post if it sparked something in you.
Michael Joseph Brennan 
Leave a comment