What Purity Culture Got RIGHT: A Gen X Evangelical’s Reflection

This morning, I read Jen Hatmaker’s revealing New York Times interview, and I found myself troubled by her characterization of the evangelical purity culture that shaped both of our generations. In the extensive interview, Hatmaker throws considerable shade at her Baptist, conservative upbringing, particularly around the teaching of abstinence and biblical sexuality.

Hatmaker’s Story: A Narrative of Shame and Oppression

In the interview, Hatmaker describes her experience with purity culture in stark terms: “We were taught there’s zero sex before marriage. Our dads would give us what were called purity rings. They went on our left hands and that was the placeholder for our purity until some man put a wedding ring on it. We all went through this curriculum called True Love Waits. It was abstinence-only, and that instruction was baked in with fear and shame.”

She continues with what seems like genuine pain: “It was scary to imagine getting on not just the wrong side of our parents, of our faith communities, but on the wrong side of God. Holy [expletive], we were scared to death. A whole generation of us came into marriage absolutely freaked out around sex.”

Hatmaker paints a picture of a system that created confusion and dysfunction: “There was this narrative, particularly for women, which was, don’t be slutty and have sex before marriage, but the day you get married, girl, you better turn into a vixen in that bedroom and give it up any old time. You’re supposed to be amazing, and it’s up to you to keep that bedroom spicy and keep that husband happy and coming home to you and you only. What could go wrong?”

A Growing Chorus of Critics

But Hatmaker is far from alone in these accusations. A growing chorus of former evangelicals has been making similar charges against the purity culture movement for over a decade.

Joshua Harris, the author of the influential “I Kissed Dating Goodbye,” has completely renounced his work, stating: “I regret any way that my ideas restricted you, hurt you, or gave you a wrong view of yourself.” He now acknowledges that “Fear is never a good motive” and sees “in an even deeper way how damaging purity culture and its teachings about sex, gender, and relationships have been.”

Linda Kay Klein, author of “Pure: Inside the Evangelical Movement that Shamed a Generation of Young Women,” argues that “The purity message is not about sex… This is the language of shame.” Her research suggests that “The first stumbling block those raised as girls in the purity movement must overcome is the message that if you are suffering, it’s your fault.”

Brian McLaren, once a leading voice in emergent Christianity, now claims that purity culture had “unintended negative consequences both psychologically and spiritually” and that “We Christians were good at pointing out the sexual splinter in the eyes of others, but not so good at addressing the sexual beams in our own eyes.”

Rob Bell has argued that “When we deny the physical, sexual dimension to our existence, we end up living like angels. And both ways are destructive,” though he also warns that “The danger is that in reaction to abuses and distortions of an idea, we’ll reject it completely.”

Nadia Bolz-Weber has taken perhaps the most dramatic stance, creating a sculpture from melted purity rings and arguing that “The difference between purity and holiness is that purity is always about separation… But holiness is always about connection.”

My Story: A Different Perspective

All of this criticism leaves me scratching my head, because my experience couldn’t have been more different.

I grew up attending First Baptist Church of Dallas in the 1980s. Dr. W.A. Criswell was my pastor. If you’re not familiar with my home church, it was the epicenter of Christian fundamentalism, conservatism on steroids. When I was in middle school, I signed one of those “True Love Waits” cards, pledging to refrain from sex until marriage. I also grew up in a home where biblical sexual ethics were stressed and encouraged.

All that to say, I don’t understand why Hatmaker and others are accusing evangelicals of shaming girls’ bodies, teaching kids to be afraid and oppressing people through traditional values. Having thought about this subject for decades, I am extremely grateful for my upbringing and training. Being taught the Bible on this subject helped me avoid a lot of problems.

Here are the facts of my life: I never got a girl pregnant (except my wife, after marriage). I never contracted any STDs. I have remained faithfully married to one woman for 28 years. I have a happy family with two wonderful children. What is wrong with that? Was I oppressed? Am I missing something?

What the Research Actually Shows

The critics of purity culture often ignore what social science research consistently demonstrates about sexual behavior and marital outcomes. Studies consistently show that people with fewer sexual partners before marriage report higher levels of marital satisfaction and stability. The National Center for Health Statistics found that women with 10 or more lifetime sexual partners were the most likely to divorce, while those with zero to one partners had the lowest divorce rates.

Research published in the Journal of Family Issues found that sexual restraint before marriage was associated with higher relationship satisfaction, better communication, and increased relationship stability. The Institute for Family Studies has documented that couples who lived together before marriage (a common pattern among those who reject traditional sexual ethics) have higher divorce rates than those who waited until marriage.

The Memory I Don’t Have

I’ve been trying to recall—and I mean really trying—any instance where someone at my church taught me to shame my body. I cannot remember a single sermon, lesson, or conversation where I was told that my physical desires themselves were evil or that I should feel guilty about normal sexual development. Rather, I was taught that these desires were natural and God-given, but that wisdom meant being deliberate about when and how I acted on them.

What I do remember are youth leaders who cared enough about us to warn us about real consequences. They talked about the emotional weight of sexual relationships, the risk of unintended pregnancy, the reality of sexually transmitted infections, and the way that sexual intimacy creates bonds that can be devastating when relationships end.

I remember being taught that sex was a good gift from God, designed for the context of marriage where it could flourish without the complications of uncertainty, comparison, or abandonment. I was never taught to ostracize people who had sex outside of marriage—quite the opposite. Our church was filled with people who had made mistakes and found grace.

The Possibility of Balance

Here’s what seems to be missing from the critics’ narrative: the possibility that you can have traditional values without body shaming, condemning others, fear or repressing normal desires.

Rob Bell actually hints at this balance in one of his more thoughtful moments: “What we do comes out of who we believe we are.” The question isn’t whether we should have sexual ethics—every society does. The question is whether those ethics serve human flourishing.

Even Brian McLaren, despite his criticisms, acknowledges that religious communities “At their best… help us discover this pure and naked spiritual encounter,” though he warns they can also “make us more ashamed, pressuring us to cover up more.”

When Reform Becomes Revolution

What troubles me about figures like Hatmaker, Harris, McLaren, and Bell is that they haven’t simply reformed problematic aspects of purity culture—they’ve abandoned orthodox Christian beliefs about sexuality altogether. It feels like they’re attacking Christian sexual ethics to make themselves feel better about leaving their Christianity entirely.

Hatmaker now describes her faith as existing “beautifully outside” traditional church structures. Harris has left Christianity entirely. McLaren has embraced what critics call “liberation theology” mixed with “New Age ideologies.” Bell has suggested that letters from the Bible are irrelevant to today’s culture.

This isn’t reform—it’s revolution. And in their revolution, they seem determined to burn down systems that, while imperfect, provided genuine guidance and protection for countless people.

The Tragedy of Throwing Out the Baby With the Bathwater

I’m not naive. I know that some implementations of purity culture have been harmful. Any system run by imperfect humans will have failures. Some parents and church leaders have probably used shame as a motivator. Some may have created unrealistic expectations or failed to provide adequate education about healthy sexuality.

Frankly, I never thought Josh Harris should have “kissed dating goodbye” entirely—even as a teenager, that struck me as odd. Dating, when approached thoughtfully and with appropriate boundaries, can be a healthy way to learn about relationships and discover compatibility. The problem wasn’t that Harris promoted biblical sexual ethics, but that he created an overly rigid system that eliminated normal social development.

But the solution to imperfect implementation isn’t to abandon biblical principles altogether. The solution is better implementation—teaching about God’s design for sexuality with wisdom, grace, and balance.

The tragedy is that in their rush to escape what they experienced as oppressive; these influential voices are potentially steering a new generation away from principles that could protect and bless them. They’re throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

A Personal Testament

As someone who benefited enormously from traditional sexual ethics, I want to offer a different testimony. The boundaries I was taught weren’t prison walls—they were guardrails that kept me on a path toward lasting love.

The “True Love Waits” card I signed wasn’t a burden—it was a reminder of my values when facing difficult decisions. The expectation that I save sex for marriage wasn’t repressive—it was an investment in the depth and exclusivity of the relationship I would eventually build with my wife.

Hatmaker describes herself as having a “sexual renaissance” after her divorce, discovering herself outside the constraints of her traditional marriage. But I’ve experienced something different—a deepening intimacy and satisfaction that comes from the security and trust built over nearly three decades with one person.

The Real Question

The real question isn’t whether purity culture was perfect. It wasn’t. The question is whether the alternative being offered by its critics is better.

Is a culture of sexual experimentation and relationship fluidity really producing happier, more stable families? Are young people who reject traditional sexual boundaries really experiencing less shame and more fulfillment? The divorce rates, the prevalence of sexually transmitted infections, the struggles with commitment—these suggest otherwise.

Maybe, just maybe, those old guardrails were there for good reasons. Maybe traditions that have guided human flourishing for centuries shouldn’t be discarded because some people reinterpreted their meanings.

As Hatmaker and others continue their journey away from their evangelical roots, I remain grateful for mine. The foundation I received wasn’t perfect, but it was solid. And it’s served me well for half a century.

That has to count for something.