If I saw a blog post titled “The Idol of Motherhood… in the Church,” I would assume it’s a critical reflection on how the church—especially in evangelical or conservative spaces—has elevated motherhood to an almost sacred, or idolized, status, sometimes to the exclusion or marginalization of women who are single, childless (by choice or circumstance), or called to other roles. And all of those topics are important to dissect.
But what about the emotional and spiritual dissonance many women feel but don’t often voice?
From an early age, many of us were taught that motherhood wasn’t just a blessing—it was the ultimate purpose. The highest calling. The sacred role every godly woman was meant to fulfill. But the truth is, your worth, your calling, and your capacity for joy are not defined by your ability to birth or raise children. And until the church moves beyond idolizing roles, we’ll continue to see far too many silenced by shame, crushed by unmet expectations, and burned out by burdens they were never meant to carry alone.
For the record, I love my kids. Truly. Fiercely. Without question. But I would be lying if I said I loved being a mom all the time. And I think more people would say the same if we felt like we had permission to be honest about it.
For years, I loved going to church on Mother’s Day. It was the one day everyone in my family would “willingly” go to church without complaining. (Note: There was still complaining, just not to me.) And I know that if I asked my kids to visit a church with me this past Sunday, they would. But they’d only do it for me—not because it’s a place where they feel spiritually nourished or emotionally safe.
And that’s the tension I carry now on days like Mother’s Day.
As my kids have grown, so has their ability to articulate what they see and what they feel. And truthfully, I can’t ask them to set that aside for the sake of a sentimental tradition. I know that if I asked them to come to church with me on Mother’s Day, they’d say yes—because they love me. But they’d only go for me, not because they believe the church knows what to do with people like them, people who ask hard questions. Or with people who don’t fit the tidy narratives that tend to get platformed in evangelical spaces.
It’s hard to admit that a space that once felt like a sanctuary now feels more like a performance. It’s hard to celebrate motherhood in a place where the role is often idealized but rarely supported in practical, messy, everyday ways. And it’s especially hard to sit in pews where sermons speak to a version of motherhood that looks nothing like the complexity of my actual life—or the lives of my friends who mother through adoption, singleness, infertility, grief, or estrangement.
But, there’s something more to this conversation that rarely gets discussed.
It’s no secret that in many conservative Christian spaces, motherhood is elevated as the highest and holiest calling for women. From the pulpit to the parenting seminars, from Proverbs 31 brunches to books about biblical womanhood, the messaging is clear: motherhood isn’t just good—it’s the goal. And let’s be honest: part of the reason for that emphasis isn’t just theology.
It’s math.
In communities that fear cultural decline, shrinking church attendance, and increasing secularism, motherhood is often positioned as the growth strategy—have more kids, raise them in the church, and the numbers will stabilize. It’s not always said that plainly, but it’s there. (And, for the record, I’ve heard it stated plainly more times than I care to admit.) The subtext is: if we raise good Christian families, we’ll preserve the faith. And while raising children is beautiful and important work, motherhood doesn’t inherently grow the church.
At least not in the way Jesus talked about.
What really grows the church—the Church in its truest sense—is disciple-making. And contrary to what many pulpits might imply, that isn’t a job reserved for married people with children. In fact, if we paid attention to the way Jesus lived and taught, we’d see that singlehood wasn’t a second-tier status—it was often a signpost of availability, mobility, and radical trust in God. The apostle Paul even goes so far as to say that singleness can be preferable for the sake of the Gospel (1 Corinthians 7), not because marriage or motherhood are bad, but because singleness can free a person to be fully devoted to the work of the Kingdom.
Imagine if the church poured even a fraction of the resources it dedicates to marriage retreats, parenting curriculum, and Mother’s Day tributes into affirming and equipping single adults—men and women—to lead, teach, serve, and disciple without making them feel like they’re waiting for a “real” calling to begin. Imagine if we stopped implying that spiritual maturity comes with a wedding ring or a diaper bag.
If we truly want to grow the church—not just numerically, but in depth, in wisdom, in faithfulness—we need to stop idolizing the nuclear family as the primary vessel of evangelism. We need to create space for people whose lives don’t follow traditional timelines or roles. We need to remember that Jesus didn’t build His church through biology—He built it through invitation, relationship, and discipleship.
Motherhood is sacred, but it is not salvific. What brings people into the Body of Christ is not our family size—it’s our willingness to say, “Come and see,” regardless of our relational status. That’s what grows the Church. And it’s time we started preaching—and practicing—that.
Searching for Jesus in A̶m̶e̶r̶i̶c̶a̶ Chattanooga 