​Maybe you saw it, maybe you didn’t. I wouldn’t blame you if you scrolled right past it. After all, Bookstagram is always fussing over one drama or another.

I scrolled past the first few posts, but after the fifth video, I took notice. Because, well, I like Bookstagram, and I like other people’s drama.

But what was the drama?

A bookstagrammer with a substantial following posted about how she would now only read books with “Biblical convictions.”

That’s great, right? We support people finding their own convictions around here!

But upon closer inspection, those “Biblical convictions” were “get rid of all secular books and anything I don’t like.” And the majority of those books specifically dealt with underrepresented people groups and topics. As more information came out, her post looked more and more like a PR stunt to attract followers—which it did.

I’m not here to speculate about whether her convictions are real or not. I’m not here to judge whether her convictions were good or not. Nowhere in this post do I intend it to come across that I look down on or don’t support people who choose to read only clean books or only Christian books.  

But I am here to discuss how this controversy reveals some toxic ideas that lurk in Christian and clean fiction spaces.

The biggest problem with this post was that it framed this influencer’s opinion as Biblical convictions.

The problem with phrasing it that way is that it then implies that anyone who doesn’t share my opinions—including other Christians—must not be Biblically convicted.

Here’s the thing—there aren’t any Bible verses that say “thou shalt read this” and “thou shalt not read that.” (Correct me if I missed one, but believe me, I checked.)

Like many life issues, the Bible doesn’t contain specific commands about what we can and cannot read. But it does contain ideas and principles that can help us decide what we read.

Principles, unlike direct commands, come with a wide range of interpretations. Which is how I have friends who exclusively read Christian books, and I have friends who read heavier books than I do. Everybody interprets those principles differently. This is one of those issues where there’s not a universal right or wrong answer.

There are books that I will not read because they would be wrong for me, but those books may not be wrong for another person. When we choose what we will or not read, we choose what we believe will help us become a person who glorifies God and who loves the people around them.

For instance, I don’t read any open-door sexual content. It puts me in a negative and fearful headspace, so it’s not beneficial to me.

But I also follow a Christian author who reads some open-door sexual content as part of her healing from purity culture. Is that wrong for her? Only she knows.

She and I interpreted the same ideas and principles differently, but, to the best of my knowledge, we both did so out of Biblical convictions.

Is there ever a time when a book is morally wrong for everyone across the board? I’m sure there is. I’m sure a book exists somewhere that is not beneficial to anyone who reads it. But I have never encountered such a book free and in the wild.

This echoes a wider issue within Christian and clean fiction spaces. Rather than provide a space for people with similar interpretations to find books to love, these spaces often become a place to tear down any book that doesn’t align with our personal moral code, and, by default, anyone who reads them.

This stems from fear, more so than from any interpretation or conviction. How much of what we call our convictions is actually fear to engage with these harder, trickier topics?

To be clear, when I say fear, I don’t mean choosing to avoid certain content due to experiences you have had or because it doesn’t affect you well. In fact, if you’ve come to that conclusion, it shows you’ve thought about it, which is the exact opposite of avoiding the topic. Taking care of yourself and your mind is not fear.

I can say all this because I was very much that reader. I would stand in the bookstore, scrolling review after review, agonizing over whether buying a particular book would doom my soul. My carefulness wasn’t any thought about whether a book would be beneficial for me. It was straight-out fear.

Fear that if I wrestled with an issue, if I dealt with my doubts, then I would be lost forever. Fear that if another Christian saw me reading such a book, they would look down on me.

A lot of this was due to my upbringing, as well as the tactics my abuser used against me. I had to reckon with those ideas and come to my own conclusions. I had to try some things that I was afraid to try.

And guess what? I still don’t read some of those topics I avoided. But I’ve realized that there are others that I can engage with and consider. And by dealing with those uncertainties, I’ve become both a stronger person and a stronger Christian.

The same book could lead me to a positive change and more compassion towards others while it might do the opposite for another person.

Art is subjective. So it follows that choosing what art we engage with is also a subjective process.

We can build spaces where we can discuss and share those applications, whether we agree or disagree, without fear. And that starts when we realize that our interpretations aren’t law.

My Applications

In light of everything I’ve written in this article, I thought I’d take a brief moment to talk about my applications. That way, when you check out my reviews, my stories, or my articles, you know exactly what I might get into. Feel free to discuss how yours are the same or different in the comments—let’s start some healthy conversations.

I do also want to note that I read far more in content overall than I typically write.

Language

Reading: I do read some books with language, although I prefer books that don’t. If the language is excessive or contains repeated uses of harsh swears, I will only read the book once, or limit the times I reread, just so those words aren’t the first words my brain reaches for. My pet peeve is misuses of God’s name, though, which makes sense with my Christian background.

Writing: I do not write books with language. It would be all too easy for me to make swear a “fast fix”, and this way, my books may appeal to a wider audience.

LGBTQIA+

Reading: I do read books with LGBTQIA+ topics. I’m still sorting out my own beliefs and applications on this one. Wherever I ultimately land, the fact remains that queer people are real people, and excluding real people doesn’t help anyone. I read so I can listen and learn to be more compassionate to real people.

Writing: At this time, I do not write LGBTQIA+ topics because I still have a lot more listening and learning to do before I can portray it sensitively. However, I may approach these topics in my stories someday.

Sexual Content

Reading: I do not read any open-door sexual content, simply because I don’t enjoy reading it. If the book keeps it contained to a single scene, I will skip the scene and enjoy the rest of the book. However, if it contains multiple scenes, I will DNF the book. I will read books with implied, fade-to-black (although it’s not my fave), and closed-door sexual content.

Writing: I do not write open-door sexual content. Heck, I barely even write romantic subplots. If (big if) I deal with sexual topics, they will be all implied or closed-door.

Violence

Reading: I read books with explicit violence/gore. (Interestingly, though, I can’t watch explicit gore in movies or shows. It freaks me out.)

Writing: I write books with violence and gore, although not consistently, and the gore falls on the milder side.

Other Sensitive Topics              
                                                                                     
I do frequently read and write books that deal with sensitive topics such as trauma, abuse, and mental health issues. I’m very passionate about seeing these topics represented well in fiction.

There you have it. My assorted thoughts on a fussy little Bookstagram drama. But in the spirit of this post, I want to start a discussion with you! What do your interpretations look like, and how did you get there? What did you agree with in this post? What did you disagree with? 

Did she just say what I think she said?

I parked the car and pulled out my phone, quickly googling the song lyrics I just heard.

Sure enough, I had clearly heard the lines “Lord in heaven above, I need you to send me a life boat” and “He sees you” on a popular mainstream album.

I found RAYE’s music the way many people did—via Instagram. So when she dropped her second album, THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE, a lot of people were paying attention, myself included.

Another quick Google search confirmed that RAYE is openly Christian.

That changed my next listen-through of the album. Because it turns out RAYE and her album had a lot to show me about Christian art.

First, RAYE makes good art.

Duh. Right? Of course, Christians should make good art.

But RAYE went a step further. She created an album so good, even people who don’t share her exact beliefs are listening and relating and sharing it with others.

Her album isn’t just “good” for a Christian album. Her album is excellent as an album, period. All the songs tell a story, and she gently moves her listeners through the journey from despair to hope alongside her. She embraces her unique sound and style, and it stands out.

It’s clear from every single track that RAYE truly loves what she does, she cares about her listeners, and she loves the musicians that she works with. Her final track is four minutes of her reading the names of all the people who helped her create the album, for heavens’ sake.

And she is getting recognized for it. It’s not just her that says her album is good, and it’s not even just Christians that think it is either. She is being recognized as a master of her craft.

We as Christians want books and movies where we can explore our beliefs through the power of story. It’s a fantastic thing to want. But sometimes, I wonder if we want it so much that we’ll accept subpar quality as long as they share our beliefs.

Sure, that movie had a really weak plot, but it had good messages, right? Maybe that book could have used another pass through editing, but it had a conversion scene, so it must be good.

But why am I picking on Christian stories? It’s no secret that mainstream books have their poorly written stories, too.

God doesn’t need us to make perfect art. He’s not suffering because that one book wasn’t absolutely perfect. God is God, no matter what. And He delights in us and the ways we demonstrate our love for Him, even if it’s imperfect.

Creating art is about the audience. The readers, the viewers, the listeners. I can create something that makes them smile, something that makes them discover the world in a new way, something that makes them feel seen. And when I do that, I show them a tiny sliver of who God is—that He sees them, too. How cool is that?
But in order to do that, I have to tell a story worth reading.

We’re imperfect. We’re going to create imperfect art and stories. Nobody gets it all right on the first try. But our art and our stories, whether the ones we write or the ones we lift up, should show that we’re learning and growing, committed to doing the best we can.

RAYE is only on her second album, and she’s already worked to make the best art that she can right now.

Second, RAYE embraces a range of experiences and emotions.

Sometimes I have a hard time with Christian music.

Almost every Christian song that gets airplay today restates a truth or a Scripture passage. And that’s wonderful! Having those truths put to music helps them spring to my mind when I need them.

But there aren’t Christian songs that talk about how it feels to be depressed. Or angry, or anxious. 

So when I need a song that will give me a good cry, where do I go? Mainstream albums. And why? Because they’re actually putting words to I’m feeling, rather than offering helpful truths for what I’m feeling.

We need both.

RAYE wrote tracks that quote Scripture and restate truths (such as Life Boat and Joy).

But she also has songs about the men who did her dirty. She has songs about addiction and depression and hating her body. She has songs about friendship and heartbreak. No topic is off limits.

Sometimes her songs mention God by name. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes she reaches the end of a song, and she’s still depressed. On rare occasions, she even *gasp* swears. Her songs, even the cleanest ones, will likely never see Christian radio airplay.

She’s messy about it.

And that’s why I return to her songs when I’m hurting. She has songs that speak the words in my heart, not the words that I think good Christian girls should be saying.

And like the title says, that’s why her album ultimately contains hope. She embraces the dark places and the journey back out. She doesn’t sugarcoat them or make them more palatable. She doesn’t ignore dark things. She sings about them instead.

And both those elements—good art and the full human experience—lead us here. To a Christian singer who incorporates her faith into her albums and still reaching a mainstream audience.

For me, a Christian artist, it makes me look at my own projects. Am I committed to making the best art I can? Do I incorporate the full range of human emotion, or do I stick to the topics deemed “safe” for polite company?

But you don’t have to be an artist. What about the Christian art I take in? Do I seek out well-made art and celebrate the ones who do it well? Do I seek out stories that incorporate all human emotion, or just the experiences I can relate to or that I feel safe sharing with my friends?

The problem with Christian art today isn’t that we don’t have enough of it. And it’s not the Christian art we already have is bad. It’s that we don’t have enough range.

RAYE’s album contains hope that we’re changing that.

If you’ve got an hour and a half to spare, I recommend you give THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE a try. It may teach you some things about Christian art, or maybe it will reach you in a dark place and help you journey toward hope.

Have you listened to RAYE’s new album? What did you think? Even if you haven’t listened to RAYE, what other artists do you love listening to? Let me know in the comments below.

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult fantasy. I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! ​

I recently read Starling House, a novel by Alix E. Harrow.

Starling House tells the story of Opal, a twenty-something woman who seems to be forever down on her luck. Her small Kentucky town doesn’t give her many options to provide for her younger brother, so she accepts a job cleaning a historic house that most everyone believes is haunted.

If you want more details, you can read my full review HERE. (Please note that Starling House is best suited for an adult audience and deals with heavy content and mature topics. The majority of that content will not appear in this post, but you can view my full list of content warnings in the review above.)

(Please also note: this article will contain spoilers for Starling House. So if you’re thinking of reading it, give it a go, and then come back here. This article will be waiting for you.)

Starling House released in 2023, and was met with starred reviews, award nominations, and book club recommendations. It’s a modern classic, a book that will long outlive the decade that published it. The thing that makes this story stick is how it peers into ugly topics—ugly things that we’ve caught lurking around our own spaces, too.

But today, I want to talk about the ugly thing that stuck with me the most.

Let’s talk about the religious aspect of the many abuses that Starling House—both the place and the story—suffered.

This story happens in a small town called Eden. And Eden, like Opal herself, has the worst luck. If a freak accident happens, you can bet it happened in Eden. The townspeople shift the blame onto Starling House and its inhabitants.

Spoiler alert: Starling House and its very first occupant are at the heart of it. But they are not to blame.

Long ago, Eden turned a blind eye as three wealthy brothers abused their niece, Eleanor, in order to keep her fortune. Whether from her imagination or from somewhere else, Eleanor drew up dark creatures that rampaged the town, bringing bad luck and unfortunate accidents everywhere they went. Seeking revenge for how Eden ignored Eleanor.

The people that looked away during the worst of Eleanor’s abuse are the ones the book also describes over and over again as “good God-fearing folk.”

Religious trauma and religious abuse come up more and more prevalently. We can’t go a month without another victim coming forward, or another prominent Christian being exposed. For the first time, these victims can come forward and tell the truth of what has been done to them.

I’m one of them. I grew up with an abuser who adopted cult-like beliefs that at one point originated from Christianity. This person used God and the Bible and those beliefs to hurt me and people I care about.

And yes, other Christians did look the other way. I doubt any of them did it on purpose. Do any of us do it on purpose? We just don’t know what to do, so we figure we’re better off not doing anything at all. It’s more comfortable anyway. Or we fear making things worse for the victims, so we don’t stop long enough to consider the possibility that we could make things better for them.

None of us ever set out to be the villain in the story, do we?

When I closed the digital cover of Starling House, all I came away with was rage. And at first, that felt good. I’d walked with Opal through all Eden’s ugliness, and I desperately wanted her to have her revenge.

After the years of abuse I experienced, other Christians encouraged me to forgive my abuser, as if I could just sweep it all under a rug. I could write essays upon essays on how what many churches have embraced as “forgiveness” and what is actually healthy are two vastly different things.

But this encouragement to forgive and move on and be done with it as quickly as possible tried to short cut an important part of the journey. We have to let ourselves and let others be angry. To feel all those emotions and walk through them at our own pace.

I was angry. I still am. I think I will carry a piece of that anger with me forever. Someone did things to me and to people I care about that should not be done to anyone for any reason, and much of it was done in God’s name. It was wrong, it is wrong, and it will always be wrong. And it’s normal to be angry about things that are wrong.

The anger that I wasn’t allowed to express found comfort in Opal and Eleanor. And while we need to rage over the things we’ve lost, especially when those losses come from people who say they love God, when I thought Starling House had left it there, it only felt hollow.

But as I prepared this post, which was originally going to look quite different, I came across R. L. Nguyen’s review of the book. (If you don’t follow R.L. Nguyen, I would highly, highly recommend you do. She’s quickly become one of my favorite creators.) She also processes a lot of these big topics on her various platforms.

She noted in her review, “. . . it was really thoughtful and healing. I haven’t seen a ton of books that validated victims’ cries and rage, but also said ‘there’s something better in store for you than revenge.’ There was poetic justice and there was hope (even if the progress was small).” (Read her full review HERE.)

It took her words for me to see it, too, but hope was in this story all along. Opal finds the people who love her, even if they are imperfect. Opal holds onto broken things, whether imperfect people or rundown houses or shady little towns, always hoping they can be repaired. Opal builds a life for herself, a life that she loves, a life that the hypocrites of the world around her can’t touch.

She still carries that anger with her. But she also acknowledges that the anger is not a place she has to stay in.
There’s room for both anger and hope in this story. There’s room for both anger and hope in you, too. And those places where anger and hope meet can be some of the most beautiful places.

I write stories for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming. A lot of the weird girls that I’ve met have been deeply hurt by Christians. It’s almost a hallmark of the weird girl experience.

My stories will likely be lighter than Starling House. But they will at times dwell on the grief and the rage of what we’ve lost. My stories at times may seek to get the revenge that so many girls never got. They will cry and scream and break things.

But they will also support someone else who is angry and hurting. They will pick up and dust off the broken things, and they will hold them close because they still hope they can be repaired.

I want to do that as a person, too.

Whether or not you ever read Starling House, whether or not you ever read anything else I’ve written besides this article, I hope maybe you can do that as a person, too, whatever that may look like. To let the rage move through you as needed. And to also hold on to hope in the same spaces. 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write fantasy for upper young adults and new adults. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! ​

So, do you want to hear about another woman that I didn’t know was in the Bible? Of course you do, sit down.

Let’s talk about Achsah. If you don’t know who the heck that is, never fear, I didn’t either. I mean, when has a women’s Bible study ever announced “we’re studying Achsah!”

Unlike Dinah (our forgotten girl of Genesis), who at least got a chapter, Achsah gets four verses. But she does a lot in those four verses. If you want to read the passage for yourself, check out Joshua 15:16-19. But I’ll sum it up here.

We actually start with Achsah’s dad, Caleb. Caleb, unlike Achsah, does get talked about in Bible studies. You might remember him from “two faithful spies” fame. Moses sent out twelve people to spy out the land God promised them. Ten said there was no way they could ever conquer it, forgetting, evidently, about God. Two said the land was good and that God would help them conquer it. Caleb was one of those two.

A quick note here: the concept of Israel entering these lands and eradicating whole people groups, even if they were following God's commands, is a tricky one, and one that I’m still wrestling with myself. Since this topic will appear a few times in this article, I would encourage you to seek out other scholars and what they say about it. I’m sure my own understanding will grow and change from what I know right now. So all that to say, if this topic makes you uncomfortable, it probably should. And I wanted to acknowledge that I do not yet have the knowledge or understanding to tackle it fully here and now.

As a reward, Caleb was one of the only people from the generation that left Egypt who also got to enter the land God promised them. God also promised Caleb a special portion of the land because he believed God would help them.

Which brings us to Joshua 15. Caleb, now an old man, gets his long-awaited inheritance. Caleb didn’t even request nice cities—he requested cities that he could clear and rebuild. He marches against the inhabitants of one of his cities, but he can’t do it alone.

So he promises that whoever attacks and captures the city can have his daughter Achsah as a wife.

Which . . . doesn’t sound great, honestly.

Caleb probably thought he did good. In fact, he probably did more for Achsah than other men of the time period would have done for their daughters. He at least got her a man who would go to war for her, literally. One who would take initiative for her.

But the fact also remains that she was objectified, used as a prize.

It gets worse, because Othniel, Caleb’s nephew, captures the city, and so, as promised, he gets Achsah. Which, yeah, that means she married her cousin. Which is also more than I have the understanding to unpack here.

Let’s get into the good stuff about Achsah instead.

Achsah arrives on the scene and immediately persuades Othniel to ask Caleb for a field.

Othniel didn’t tell her “hey, go ask Caleb for a field because he probably likes you more.” Achsah took the initiative and leadership not only to ask this of Othniel, but to convince him that it’s good.

Othniel agrees, and more than that, he lets Achsah herself speak to her father. When Caleb asks what he can do for her, Achsah requests a blessing. Her exact words? “Since you have given me land in the Negev, give me the springs also.”

I’ll admit, I’m not sure if the “land in the Negev” is the city Othniel won or some other land entirely. If it is the city that Othniel won, Achsah—and presumably others around her based on how they react—see that city as hers. And if it’s not the city that Othniel won, then somewhere else in the promised land, there is land that belongs to Achsah. There is only one other instance in these first six Old Testament books where women held an inheritance like this.

Not only did Achsah receive her inheritance, but she was brave enough to request more. And Caleb fulfills her wish, giving her the upper and lower springs.

The Old Testament is a hard read. God gave a law that seemed designed to protect women, and yet we watch certain men twist it (and continue to twist it) to protect themselves and abuse women.

And yet in this very harsh landscape, a woman was not only recognized as a landowner, but also asked for more and was not denied. Furthermore, no one condemned her for it.

When I said I didn’t know about Achsah, it wasn’t completely true. I didn’t know her name or the true details of her story, but I did hear this story taught once. Those teachers seemed a bit afraid of the story. They claimed that she received this ownership because she submitted. After all, she went to her husband and father first.

But that’s not what happened here. Achsah brought up the idea and convinced Othniel. Achsah went to Caleb and presented her request. She took charge. She asked for more. She knew her worth.

And she is not rebuked for it.

God included everything in Scripture for a reason. Which means God handpicked this brief story about Achsah for His book. He chose a story about a girl leader. And He did not rebuke her. In fact, He left it for us to interpret.

I realize this is an Old Testament story. Jesus made a new covenant since then, fulfilling and deepening the Old Testament principles beyond a list of rules. Becoming what God always meant the Law to be. But that doesn’t mean that the Old Testament is worthless or that we can no longer learn from the examples.

And what I learn in this story is that Christian women can lead. They can take charge and hold influence. I see that we are allowed to want more, that we are allowed to speak up, to call out injustice, to say “actually, that belongs to me.”

And I see the men who from all accounts treated her well. I see Othniel who fought knowing she would be his reward and wanting her. But beyond that, he listened to her, and accepted the point she made. He let her take ownership and negotiate for herself. I see Caleb who listened to her request, recognized her point, and gave her what she deserved.

And I see Achsah, who had the wisdom to consider her arguments and the courage to speak up. To ask for more.

She didn’t ask for whatever she wanted. She asked for something that was good and right. Which tells me that she paid attention to God and what He called her to do.

Are there places where we need to ask for more?

Maybe it’s for ourselves. Maybe it’s for others.

We might stand up for women who cannot fight for themselves. We might call out injustices and the people who perpetrate them. We might undo our own harmful beliefs, or make the choices we need to live in joy.

Whatever it looks like, the most important thing we can do is to learn to lean on God for wisdom. That’s how we know what to ask for and when to ask for it, just like Achsah did. That’s how we ask for things that are good and right.

I hope Achsah lived a good life on the land she earned. And whatever heaven and the afterlife may look like, I hope she and I get to chat sometime.

And so ends today’s episode of forgotten girls in the Bible. If you want to read about another girl who often gets overlooked and ignored, you can check out my recent article on Dinah here. 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write fantasy for upper young adults and new adults. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! 

Can we talk about Dinah?
​
Okay, let’s talk about Dinah.

I never heard this story in Sunday school. In fact, I don’t think I ever heard this story at church at all. We hear about Jacob’s twelve sons on a regular basis, but never, if ever, do we discuss Jacob’s daughter.

Most Biblical genealogies would gloss her over with a quick “Jacob also had a daughter.” But Dinah is mentioned by name multiple times.

Other than that, Dinah gets one chapter to her name, and that chapter is Genesis 34. Before we even get into it, I’ll say that it is intense and it is mature. (Don’t let anyone tell you there is not explicit content in the Bible.)

With that in mind, this article will reference sexual abuse, rape, and graphic violence, although I will keep details as discreet as possible.

If you want the full story, you can read Genesis 34 for yourself, which is where I found myself the other day. I’ll sum up here.

Dinah leaves home one day to visit her friends—nothing weird for a girl to do. Before she can arrive, a local chieftain kidnaps her and rapes her. This piece of trash has a name—Shechem. And he becomes absolutely obsessed with Dinah. So he demands his father Hamor get her for his wife—presumably so the abuse could continue.

Dinah’s father Jacob hears about this, but he opts to stay silent until his sons have returned from caring for the livestock. The sons hear about it anyway—although not from their father—and return just in time for Shechem and Hamor to pay the family a visit.

Note that Dinah herself hasn’t come home. Shechem is holding her hostage.

Hamor tries to control the damage, claiming that Shechem has “set his heart on Dinah” and detailing all the benefits that could come from a marriage between their two people groups. Shechem takes it a step further, claiming he will give them whatever they want in exchange for Dinah.

The sons know exactly what they want. And here’s where it gets a little wild. They claim that they can’t give their sister to an uncircumcised man—which checks out since for some reason, that symbolized God’s promise to them.

So Hamor and Shechem fall for it. Which provides the perfect opportunity for Jacob’s sons Simeon and Levi to sneak into their city and kill every male. They rescue Dinah and plunder the homes left behind—but notably leave the women and children untouched.

When they arrive home, Jacob only worries that the remaining local nations will unite against them. But Simeon and Levi answer, “Should they treat our sister like this?”

Brutal, right? I mean, why would I opt to recount that story here?

Because every story in the Bible is included for a reason. Even the most graphic and tragic and brutal ones.

God included the story of an abused girl being avenged for a reason.

Like I said, I’ve never heard this story taught in church. But when people have discussed it or I’ve run across it in devotionals, it has been used as a caution against anger and the perils of revenge. Jacob is extolled as a good example for ignoring Dinah’s abuse.

To be fair, we could debate the morality (or lack thereof) of Simeon and Levi’s actions all day long.

But God allowed them to have this revenge, and He made sure it was recorded in His book.

That tells me that it matters to Him. All the abuse that Dinah suffered mattered to Him. And whether or not Simeon and Levi’s actions were right or wrong, God avenged Dinah through them and brought her home.

God sees injustice. He sees inequality. He sees abuse. He sees all the hurts that women face because of a broken world and people who have chosen to do evil.

Whether He does it here on earth now or whether He does it when He makes the world new, He will avenge every wrong.

Now more than ever, churches, organizations, and Christians are being exposed for how they have played Jacob. Hundreds of women can report how their church and fellow Christians mishandled their concerns. (This absolutely goes for men too. Although it more commonly occurs to women, that doesn’t make the threat nonexistent for men.) There are still people in your church, in my church who think this is a story about how you shouldn’t get angry.

But this story shows that God is angry.

When I read this story, I don’t hear God scolding me to listen to my elders more. I don’t see a morality tale about anger and revenge.

Vengeance isn’t ours, but sometimes anger is. God does not call us to slaughter entire cities, but we are called to slaughter lies and systems that enable injustice. But we do it with God’s guidance and only with God’s guidance—something that Simeon and Levi perhaps neglected.

When I read this story, I see a God Who knows and sees and hurts with us. And I see a God Who will make all these horrible things right.

Maybe you have been abused. If so, I hope you can feel the comfort of that truth through this story today.

Maybe you’ve never experienced this type of hurt.  If so, if you’re in a place where you can, I hope you can feel the challenge of this story. We may not be Simeon or Levi, but we can call for accountability. We can support victims and survivors. And we can slaughter the lies in our own hearts that lead us to ignore and keep silent.

It’s not everyone’s place to be on the front lines fighting these battles. But it is everyone’s place to imitate the God Who created all of us—to see and to hurt and to seek justice.

You may notice a lot of my articles lately have been like this one (dealing with women’s issues) or analyzing fictional heroines. My mission as a writer is to tell stories for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming. And part of that journey has been realizing that I have a deep passion for topics just like these.

​So you can expect to see more of these takes from me over the months to come. Those topics might be where I stay forever, or they might be just where I stay for right now. But I’d love for you to hang out with me in them. If you have any ideas on topics I could cover in the future, please drop a comment below! 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult fantasy. I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there!