It’s been said that if you want to see the theological temperature of the modern American church, you don’t go to the pulpit—you go to the fellowship hall, where a circle of women sit cradling pastel-covered workbooks with Beth Moore’s name stamped across the front like a branding iron. The giggles are warm, the tears are real, the coffee is mediocre, and the doctrine is nowhere to be found.

But this is not Bible study. It’s emotional group therapy with a spiritual twist and a three-chord worship song humming in the background. And what passes for teaching in these circles is so syrupy and hollow, you’d think the goal was to disciple hummingbirds.

Welcome to the world of Evangelical ladies’ Bible studies—where feelings are exegesis, self is savior, and God is little more than your best friend with benefits.

At the center of this estrogen-fueled ecosystem are the usual suspects: Beth Moore, Priscilla Shirer, Christine Caine, Ann Voskamp, Kelly Minter, and a whole army of inspirational Pinterest prophets serving up spiritual soy lattes to a generation of theologically starved women. They call it empowering. We call it emasculating, effeminate, and utterly allergic to the sharp edge of truth.

Yet, these women didn’t sneak into the spotlight—they were launched. Propped up by publishing houses like Lifeway and Christian conference circuits desperate to monetize female piety, they were gift-wrapped and shipped to churches with the promise of being “safe” alternatives to dangerous, doctrinally robust theology.

They were marketed as relatable, down-to-earth, and winsome—code, of course, for doctrinally neutered, emotionally indulgent, and conveniently soft on everything that matters. Their rise wasn’t organic. It was orchestrated. If Christian publishing were a dating app, these lady-preachers were the algorithm-approved matches for a generation of women who think discernment is a spiritual gift for mean people.

At the heart of their collective teaching is a singular, unwavering false gospel: You are enough. Not Christ crucified. Not sin repented of. Just you—flawed, fabulous, fiercely loved, and in desperate need of absolutely nothing but a slightly more poetic journal entry.

In fact, these women do not preach or teach the gospel at all. Instead, they preach therapeutic narcissism. And they do it with flair. Whether it’s Beth Moore hearing voices telling her to brush a stranger’s hair in an airport, or Ann Voskamp breathlessly describing spiritual union with God in terms more suited to a honeymoon suite than anything remotely biblical, the message is clear…truth is secondary to the vibe.

Scripture, when it shows up, is dragged behind like a sad balloon—referenced just enough to feign legitimacy, but never exposited, never rightly divided, and never allowed to interrupt the speaker’s stream-of-consciousness soliloquy.

Verses are plucked like daisy petals and scattered across anecdotes, feelings, and declarations of destiny. You’d be hard-pressed to find a coherent doctrine of sin, atonement, or sanctification, but you’ll be drowning in life lessons about journaling through trauma and listening for the still, small voice of your own desires.

And what’s with the persistent whisper theology? God, apparently, no longer speaks through His Word alone. He speaks through dreams, impressions, signs, odd coincidences, and that warm, tingly sensation you get when you hear the bridge of a Maverick City song.

And for example, Priscilla Shirer’s “bible study,” Discerning the Voice of God—it doesn’t teach you to read the Bible. It trains you to interpret your feelings as divine guidance. How convenient. When the objective Word is too hard, too clear, too demanding, just punt to subjectivity and call it spiritual sensitivity.

But of course, the real draw here isn’t theology. It’s empowerment. Not the kind that comes from being set free from sin, but the kind that comes from being told your feelings are sacred, your truth is valid, and your womanhood is a vessel of divine glory.

All in all, these studies are less about the kingdom of God and more about the queendom of self. They are feminism dressed in modesty and marinated in sentimentality. They sell strength while promoting rebellion. They dress up Eve’s rebellion with a pearl necklace and a pretty pen, and, sadly, so many undiscerning women swallow it like honey.

And what do they do when confronted with actual doctrine? They scoff. Beth Moore, once the SBC’s darling, sneers at complementarianism like it’s a relic of caveman theology. Her former belief that women shouldn’t preach to men? Now treated like an embarrassing mistake.

Christine Caine and Joyce Meyer, for their part, have never bothered pretending. They strut into pulpits with all the pomp of a televangelist auctioneer, handing out platitudes and prosperity promises like candy and confetti. Priscilla Shirer floats somewhere in the middle, theologically foggy, friendly to all, accountable to none.

But perhaps most telling is what these women don’t say. Abortion? Mostly silence. Homosexuality? Vague at best. The exclusivity of Christ? Too divisive. Judgment? Offensive. Repentance? Rarely mentioned, and when it is, it’s more about self-forgiveness than godly sorrow.

They tiptoe through cultural minefields like ballerinas afraid to scuff their satin slippers, all while claiming to speak for a God who thundered from Sinai and flipped tables in the temple.

And how do they view the men who dare raise an eyebrow at all this? As bullies. As misogynists. As fundamentalists clinging to their authority like toddlers to a blankie. You can almost hear the eye-rolls. These women aren’t just dismissive of biblical theology—they’re hostile to it.

But not in overt ways, of course. That wouldn’t be ladylike. But in subtle, biting remarks, in carefully crafted social media jabs, in the warm embrace of every progressive narrative that paints white conservative men as the final boss in the video game of enlightenment. And then, when the time is ripe and the men have been neutered, open rebuke to the men’s face, in front of everyone, just like Jen Wilkin at the Southern Baptist Convention.

Their followers eat it up. These women aren’t interested in being discipled—they want to be validated. They aren’t hungry for doctrine—they’re hungry for attention. And the studies give them what they crave…community, emotion, a sense of purpose, and just enough Bible to pretend it’s biblical.

At best, it’s spiritual junk food, high in dopamine, low in nutrients, lethal over time. But try to take it away, and you’ll see just how deep the addiction runs. Suggest that maybe, just maybe, Beth Moore isn’t a trustworthy Bible teacher, and prepare for gasps, tears, and accusations of being a legalistic Pharisee.

The end result?

An entire wing of the church filled with women who are earnest but untaught, zealous but unanchored, loyal to their teachers but unfamiliar with the Scriptures. They don’t know doctrine. They don’t want doctrine. They want vibes. They want aesthetic. They want a Jesus who looks like them, sounds like them, and feels like a warm bath on a cold night.

And that Jesus—the one they’ve cobbled together from Instagram quotes and conference stages—isn’t real. He’s a projection. A fantasy. A sentimental mascot in a book club masquerading as a church.

But don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare speak plainly. Don’t you dare ask for clarity. Because in this world, truth must always be spoken “in love”—which, translated, means “don’t make anyone uncomfortable.”

So we let it slide. We smile and nod. We let the rot spread. And all the while, the real Jesus—Son of God, Lion of Judah, King of Kings—stands outside, knocking.

And the only sound inside is the clink of coffee cups and the rustle of another Beth Moore workbook being opened to page one.