




GSchultz, Honest weights & equal measure
133.4K posts

@guyschultz
To serve Him and enjoy Him forever. Christian; מאזני צדק אבני צדק איפה צדק והין צדק יהיו לכם








No. Regardless of how meaninglessly sparse this hypothetical is, a sexually inexperienced man marrying a reformed ho is a terrible idea that zero Christians should endorse.













.@TrevorSheatz and @AshleySheatz went viral this week after Trevor shared part of Ashley’s testimony on X, which included a mention of her pre-conversion sexual promiscuity. The backlash was massive, not just from non-believers, but from Christians and conservatives, too. People denigrated Ashley’s looks and mocked Trevor for humiliating his wife. But the critics have it all wrong. Ashley joins me to set the story straight — and to give a detailed testimony of her life before and after Christ. God saved her out of the New Age, drug addiction, and demonic oppression, into a new life in Jesus. Tune in tonight. May God be glorified.


The backlash to @TrevorSheatz’s viral X post has been HUGE. Some people responded saying, "I can't believe you just called your wife a wh*re." He did not call his wife that. You called his wife that. You called another man's wife that. You called a new creation— someone redeemed by Christ, sanctified, made new, and washed clean— a wh*re. That is on you. Not her husband. The hyper patriarchy bros who call themselves Christians out there who just want to take any opportunity not only to denigrate women, but to denigrate the work of the Gospel… it's just insane. It's a very obvious tenet of Christianity that you have become a new creation. Somehow that’s now being treated like it’s controversial?






1/ @jgkragt @ostrachan @conservmillen @michaeljknowles @benshapiro @LizzieMarbach @tomascol @joe_rigney This is an open letter to evangelicals at the cross-section of broadcasted repentance, purity culture, discernment, and modesty in the Reformed and conservative tradition. Dr. Ostrachan, you rightly said her former culture was destroying a generation. Redemption did pull her out. But the very purity culture you and many of us affirmed framed her—and women like her—as “damaged goods,” “used up,” a wilted rose who would expose her future husband to every partner she’d slept with. Young people were explicitly told: if you don’t stay a virgin, you will be sleeping with every partner your spouse has ever had—and you will be undesirable. That was the foundational lens in youth formation ministries across Presbyterian, Baptist, and Reformed circles for decades. All else being equal, would you counsel your child to marry the virgin or the person with sexual experience? Would you steer them toward the virgin or the school jock who’s been with multiples—even if both are now committed to Jesus? The “damaged goods” argument was normative. No one is saying you can’t marry someone with a past. The point is that purity culture and Reformed teaching normatively treated known promiscuity as a negative—especially for women. It shaped how we viewed desirability, marriage prospects, and even wedding symbolism: you couldn’t wear pure white if you’d been sexually active (off-white or ivory was the quiet compromise). That wasn’t fringe; it was the mark. You cannot loudly affirm that purity culture—which stamped her exactly that way—and then act surprised when people groomed by it react with shock to a husband publicly testifying about his wife’s past before millions. We’re not talking about private repentance or confession to a pastor. We’re talking about broadcasting a spouse’s sexual history to the world—including their children’s friends, nieces, nephews, and church kids. That has never been the standard. The church taught, lived, and modeled the opposite: keep it close—in women’s discipleship groups, young-adult ministries, or pre-marital counseling. Discretion and modesty weren’t optional; they were treated as biblical virtues. Had there been teen pregnancies or multiple children from multiple partners, the same ministries—shaped by the Southern Baptist Convention, Focus on the Family, Family Research Council, and the broader purity movement—would have quietly steered young people away. The doctrine was consistent: becoming “one flesh” meant you inherited the relational and spiritual consequences of everyone who came before. That wasn’t cruelty; it was the logical outworking of the teaching we all absorbed. So when people push back against public exposure, they’re not inventing a new standard. They’re applying the one they were discipled under. You can’t celebrate the culture that called her “used goods” and then condemn the very caution—and yes, the quiet shaming—it produced. We were taught both the weight of shame for sin and the hope of shining redemption. That tension shaped us. Let’s be brutally consistent: •Should we shame those who truly repent? No. •Should we now encourage every young woman to publicly broadcast post-repentance exactly how many partners she’s had? No. •Should we condemn those who choose modesty and discretion instead? Also no. The historic Christian norm—and I would argue a biblical virtue—has been modesty and discretion, not exhibitionism. Publicly airing your spouse’s past sins before millions is not “bold transparency.” It is the opposite of honoring your mother and father, and it directly contradicts the guardrails the church actually modeled. The idea that a husband pronouncing his wife was promiscuous before marriage “should not be shocking” ignores the very training evangelicals gave teens and young adults: be shocked by that.

1/ @jgkragt @ostrachan @conservmillen @michaeljknowles @benshapiro @LizzieMarbach @tomascol @joe_rigney This is an open letter to evangelicals at the cross-section of broadcasted repentance, purity culture, discernment, and modesty in the Reformed and conservative tradition. Dr. Ostrachan, you rightly said her former culture was destroying a generation. Redemption did pull her out. But the very purity culture you and many of us affirmed framed her—and women like her—as “damaged goods,” “used up,” a wilted rose who would expose her future husband to every partner she’d slept with. Young people were explicitly told: if you don’t stay a virgin, you will be sleeping with every partner your spouse has ever had—and you will be undesirable. That was the foundational lens in youth formation ministries across Presbyterian, Baptist, and Reformed circles for decades. All else being equal, would you counsel your child to marry the virgin or the person with sexual experience? Would you steer them toward the virgin or the school jock who’s been with multiples—even if both are now committed to Jesus? The “damaged goods” argument was normative. No one is saying you can’t marry someone with a past. The point is that purity culture and Reformed teaching normatively treated known promiscuity as a negative—especially for women. It shaped how we viewed desirability, marriage prospects, and even wedding symbolism: you couldn’t wear pure white if you’d been sexually active (off-white or ivory was the quiet compromise). That wasn’t fringe; it was the mark. You cannot loudly affirm that purity culture—which stamped her exactly that way—and then act surprised when people groomed by it react with shock to a husband publicly testifying about his wife’s past before millions. We’re not talking about private repentance or confession to a pastor. We’re talking about broadcasting a spouse’s sexual history to the world—including their children’s friends, nieces, nephews, and church kids. That has never been the standard. The church taught, lived, and modeled the opposite: keep it close—in women’s discipleship groups, young-adult ministries, or pre-marital counseling. Discretion and modesty weren’t optional; they were treated as biblical virtues. Had there been teen pregnancies or multiple children from multiple partners, the same ministries—shaped by the Southern Baptist Convention, Focus on the Family, Family Research Council, and the broader purity movement—would have quietly steered young people away. The doctrine was consistent: becoming “one flesh” meant you inherited the relational and spiritual consequences of everyone who came before. That wasn’t cruelty; it was the logical outworking of the teaching we all absorbed. So when people push back against public exposure, they’re not inventing a new standard. They’re applying the one they were discipled under. You can’t celebrate the culture that called her “used goods” and then condemn the very caution—and yes, the quiet shaming—it produced. We were taught both the weight of shame for sin and the hope of shining redemption. That tension shaped us. Let’s be brutally consistent: •Should we shame those who truly repent? No. •Should we now encourage every young woman to publicly broadcast post-repentance exactly how many partners she’s had? No. •Should we condemn those who choose modesty and discretion instead? Also no. The historic Christian norm—and I would argue a biblical virtue—has been modesty and discretion, not exhibitionism. Publicly airing your spouse’s past sins before millions is not “bold transparency.” It is the opposite of honoring your mother and father, and it directly contradicts the guardrails the church actually modeled. The idea that a husband pronouncing his wife was promiscuous before marriage “should not be shocking” ignores the very training evangelicals gave teens and young adults: be shocked by that.




1/ @jgkragt @ostrachan @conservmillen @michaeljknowles @benshapiro @LizzieMarbach @tomascol @joe_rigney This is an open letter to evangelicals at the cross-section of broadcasted repentance, purity culture, discernment, and modesty in the Reformed and conservative tradition. Dr. Ostrachan, you rightly said her former culture was destroying a generation. Redemption did pull her out. But the very purity culture you and many of us affirmed framed her—and women like her—as “damaged goods,” “used up,” a wilted rose who would expose her future husband to every partner she’d slept with. Young people were explicitly told: if you don’t stay a virgin, you will be sleeping with every partner your spouse has ever had—and you will be undesirable. That was the foundational lens in youth formation ministries across Presbyterian, Baptist, and Reformed circles for decades. All else being equal, would you counsel your child to marry the virgin or the person with sexual experience? Would you steer them toward the virgin or the school jock who’s been with multiples—even if both are now committed to Jesus? The “damaged goods” argument was normative. No one is saying you can’t marry someone with a past. The point is that purity culture and Reformed teaching normatively treated known promiscuity as a negative—especially for women. It shaped how we viewed desirability, marriage prospects, and even wedding symbolism: you couldn’t wear pure white if you’d been sexually active (off-white or ivory was the quiet compromise). That wasn’t fringe; it was the mark. You cannot loudly affirm that purity culture—which stamped her exactly that way—and then act surprised when people groomed by it react with shock to a husband publicly testifying about his wife’s past before millions. We’re not talking about private repentance or confession to a pastor. We’re talking about broadcasting a spouse’s sexual history to the world—including their children’s friends, nieces, nephews, and church kids. That has never been the standard. The church taught, lived, and modeled the opposite: keep it close—in women’s discipleship groups, young-adult ministries, or pre-marital counseling. Discretion and modesty weren’t optional; they were treated as biblical virtues. Had there been teen pregnancies or multiple children from multiple partners, the same ministries—shaped by the Southern Baptist Convention, Focus on the Family, Family Research Council, and the broader purity movement—would have quietly steered young people away. The doctrine was consistent: becoming “one flesh” meant you inherited the relational and spiritual consequences of everyone who came before. That wasn’t cruelty; it was the logical outworking of the teaching we all absorbed. So when people push back against public exposure, they’re not inventing a new standard. They’re applying the one they were discipled under. You can’t celebrate the culture that called her “used goods” and then condemn the very caution—and yes, the quiet shaming—it produced. We were taught both the weight of shame for sin and the hope of shining redemption. That tension shaped us. Let’s be brutally consistent: •Should we shame those who truly repent? No. •Should we now encourage every young woman to publicly broadcast post-repentance exactly how many partners she’s had? No. •Should we condemn those who choose modesty and discretion instead? Also no. The historic Christian norm—and I would argue a biblical virtue—has been modesty and discretion, not exhibitionism. Publicly airing your spouse’s past sins before millions is not “bold transparency.” It is the opposite of honoring your mother and father, and it directly contradicts the guardrails the church actually modeled. The idea that a husband pronouncing his wife was promiscuous before marriage “should not be shocking” ignores the very training evangelicals gave teens and young adults: be shocked by that.


1/ @jgkragt @ostrachan @conservmillen @michaeljknowles @benshapiro @LizzieMarbach @tomascol @joe_rigney This is an open letter to evangelicals at the cross-section of broadcasted repentance, purity culture, discernment, and modesty in the Reformed and conservative tradition. Dr. Ostrachan, you rightly said her former culture was destroying a generation. Redemption did pull her out. But the very purity culture you and many of us affirmed framed her—and women like her—as “damaged goods,” “used up,” a wilted rose who would expose her future husband to every partner she’d slept with. Young people were explicitly told: if you don’t stay a virgin, you will be sleeping with every partner your spouse has ever had—and you will be undesirable. That was the foundational lens in youth formation ministries across Presbyterian, Baptist, and Reformed circles for decades. All else being equal, would you counsel your child to marry the virgin or the person with sexual experience? Would you steer them toward the virgin or the school jock who’s been with multiples—even if both are now committed to Jesus? The “damaged goods” argument was normative. No one is saying you can’t marry someone with a past. The point is that purity culture and Reformed teaching normatively treated known promiscuity as a negative—especially for women. It shaped how we viewed desirability, marriage prospects, and even wedding symbolism: you couldn’t wear pure white if you’d been sexually active (off-white or ivory was the quiet compromise). That wasn’t fringe; it was the mark. You cannot loudly affirm that purity culture—which stamped her exactly that way—and then act surprised when people groomed by it react with shock to a husband publicly testifying about his wife’s past before millions. We’re not talking about private repentance or confession to a pastor. We’re talking about broadcasting a spouse’s sexual history to the world—including their children’s friends, nieces, nephews, and church kids. That has never been the standard. The church taught, lived, and modeled the opposite: keep it close—in women’s discipleship groups, young-adult ministries, or pre-marital counseling. Discretion and modesty weren’t optional; they were treated as biblical virtues. Had there been teen pregnancies or multiple children from multiple partners, the same ministries—shaped by the Southern Baptist Convention, Focus on the Family, Family Research Council, and the broader purity movement—would have quietly steered young people away. The doctrine was consistent: becoming “one flesh” meant you inherited the relational and spiritual consequences of everyone who came before. That wasn’t cruelty; it was the logical outworking of the teaching we all absorbed. So when people push back against public exposure, they’re not inventing a new standard. They’re applying the one they were discipled under. You can’t celebrate the culture that called her “used goods” and then condemn the very caution—and yes, the quiet shaming—it produced. We were taught both the weight of shame for sin and the hope of shining redemption. That tension shaped us. Let’s be brutally consistent: •Should we shame those who truly repent? No. •Should we now encourage every young woman to publicly broadcast post-repentance exactly how many partners she’s had? No. •Should we condemn those who choose modesty and discretion instead? Also no. The historic Christian norm—and I would argue a biblical virtue—has been modesty and discretion, not exhibitionism. Publicly airing your spouse’s past sins before millions is not “bold transparency.” It is the opposite of honoring your mother and father, and it directly contradicts the guardrails the church actually modeled. The idea that a husband pronouncing his wife was promiscuous before marriage “should not be shocking” ignores the very training evangelicals gave teens and young adults: be shocked by that.
