This work emerged from their journey through trauma, faith, and advocacy, aiming to bridge the gap between theological doctrine and the lived experiences of abuse survivors within Christian communities.
By Dr. Tim Orr
Rachael Denhollander, an attorney and former gymnast, gained national attention as the first woman to accuse USA Gymnastics doctor Larry Nassar of sexual abuse publicly. Her courageous testimony in 2016, motivated by her deep Christian convictions about truth and justice, led to a cascade of revelations, ultimately resulting in Nassar's conviction and a broader reckoning within sports and religious institutions. Rachael's advocacy extended beyond the courtroom; she became a prominent voice for survivors, emphasizing the need for justice and institutional accountability. Her memoir, What Is a Girl Worth?, delves into her personal story and the systemic failures that allowed abuse to persist (Denhollander, 2019).
Jacob Denhollander, Rachael's husband, is a theologian and PhD student at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. Together, they have navigated the complexities of trauma and healing, often speaking publicly about their experiences to educate and support others. Their joint efforts reflect a commitment to integrating theological understanding with compassionate care for abuse survivors.
In 2018, Rachael and Jacob Denhollander presented a pivotal paper titled “Justice: The Foundation of a Christian Approach to Abuse” at the 70th Annual Meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society. This work emerged from their journey through trauma, faith, and advocacy, aiming to bridge the gap between theological doctrine and the lived experiences of abuse survivors within Christian communities.
In their paper, the Denhollanders confront critiques of Penal Substitutionary Atonement (PSA), a doctrine asserting that Christ bore the penalty for human sin. Some theologians have labeled PSA as "cosmic child abuse," arguing that it portrays God as a wrathful father punishing an innocent son. The Denhollanders counter this by emphasizing the unity and equality within the Trinity, asserting that the crucifixion was a consensual act of love and justice by all three persons of the Godhead. They argue that, properly understood, PSA underscores God's commitment to justice and his solidarity with the oppressed. Unlike other atonement theories that may emphasize moral influence or exemplary love, PSA uniquely addresses the moral weight of sin by asserting that justice requires a penalty, and that God himself bore that penalty out of love. This theological framework offers abuse victims assurance that their suffering is neither minimized nor forgotten, but rather taken seriously within the very heart of God’s redemptive plan.
Through their work, the Denhollanders advocate for a theology that neither dismisses the severity of abuse nor demands premature forgiveness from victims. They call for a church that embodies God's justice and mercy, providing a safe and supportive environment for healing. Their paper serves as both a theological treatise and a compassionate guide for communities seeking to respond faithfully to the realities of abuse.
One of the most common criticisms of PSA is that it presents a violent, patriarchal God: an angry Father pouring wrath on his innocent Son. Rita Nakashima Brock called it "cosmic child abuse," and unfortunately, some versions of PSA have fed that caricature. Rachael and Jacob don’t deny this—they’ve heard those sermons too. They point to billboards that describe Jesus as a helpless victim sent by the Father to die. And if that’s how the atonement works, then yes—it’s abuse.
But the Denhollanders invite us to look again—this time, through the lens of the Trinity. Because the inner life of the Trinity transcends human experience, metaphors become essential tools for grasping divine realities in ways we can understand. Imagine a family—unlike the broken ones we know, but one of perfect unity, mutual love, and shared will. In this family, the Father doesn’t act against the Son, nor does the Son suffer in passive silence. Instead, the Father, Son, and Spirit are of one mind and purpose. The cross, then, is not an act of divine coercion. It is God himself entering our pain.
Think of it like this: if a firefighter runs into a burning house to save a child, we don’t accuse the fire chief of abuse. We honor the bravery of the one who risked everything. But if that same firefighter were pushed into the fire against their will, we’d call it criminal. The difference is volition. The Denhollanders show that Jesus was not shoved into the fire—he ran into it, fully knowing what it would cost. And the Father wasn’t watching indifferently—he was in the fire with him. That’s what Trinitarian theology demands: not separation, but inseparable love.
Many evangelicals flinch at the word "justice." It sounds too political, too progressive, too messy. But what if justice isn’t a side issue? What if it’s the very heart of the gospel?
The Denhollanders insist that the cross is God’s Yes to justice. In a world where survivors are silenced or shamed, where churches prioritize reputations over repentance, the cross declares, "Evil is real. And I hate it." They quote Fleming Rutledge, an Episcopal priest and noted theologian, who reminds us that oppressed peoples have always been drawn to the God who burns with holy anger against injustice (Rutledge, 2015). Not divine wrath should offend us—it is our apathy.
A story illustrates this: A young girl sits in her pastor's office. She’s just told him a church leader sexually abused her. She’s shaking, terrified. But instead of weeping with her, the pastor puts his hand on her shoulder and says, "You need to forgive. Let’s not ruin a man’s life over a mistake." What message does that send? Her pain is a distraction. That justice is optional. That God doesn’t care as much as He says He does.
But then she reads the story of the cross. She sees that Jesus didn’t avoid the mess—he entered it. He didn’t say, "It’s not that bad"—he struggled to prove it was. She sees that her tears are not only heard—they are vindicated. That’s the power of PSA, which is rightly understood.
Abuse is about power twisted. It distorts everything God created for good: trust, authority, affection. Abusers often pose as protectors, only to turn those closest to them into prey. And tragically, many survivors don’t even know how deeply they’ve been rewired. Their compass for love has been broken.
That’s why what the Denhollanders say next is so crucial: the cross rewrites the story of power. At Calvary, the all-powerful God becomes powerless. The Creator becomes the crucified. Jesus does not exploit his power—he empties himself of it (Phil. 2:6–8 (Holy Bible, English Standard Version, 2001)). In doing so, he shows survivors what true authority looks like.
Imagine a father kneeling beside his daughter’s bed after she’s had a nightmare. He doesn’t mock her for being afraid. He doesn’t demand that she get over it. He enters into her fear, assures her she is safe, and stays until the fear fades. That’s what God does at the cross. He doesn’t demand that victims be strong. He becomes weak with them. He becomes vulnerable to them. And in his wounds, they find the strength to say: My story doesn’t end with what he did to me.
The cross is a permanent rebuke to those who wield authority for self-interest. It is the triumph of self-giving over self-serving. For those who’ve been exploited by leaders, PSA—when rightly understood—offers healing and reorientation.
Perhaps the most powerful part of this paper comes when the Denhollanders confront how forgiveness has been weaponized. They echo patterns seen in major evangelical scandals, such as those involving Willow Creek or the Southern Baptist Convention, where appeals to quick forgiveness were used to stifle accountability (Shellnutt, 2019; Banks, 2022). These real-world examples amplify their theological critique, showing how distorted forgiveness applications perpetuate injustice and re-traumatize victims. Churches too often use forgiveness to silence victims, protect abusers, and move on from "unpleasantness." They quote a rape survivor who said people weren’t asking whether she’d received justice—they were only asking if she’d forgiven. That kind of forgiveness is not Christian. It’s cruelty dressed in spiritual language.
True forgiveness doesn’t ignore evil. It faces it head-on. It names it, condemns it, and then—only then—releases the offender from the debt. But only because the debt has been paid. The cross shows us that God doesn’t forgive by forgetting. He forgives by absorbing the cost himself.
Consider this: Imagine a banker whose client defaults on a massive loan. The banker could ignore the debt, but the bank would lose. Or the banker could sue the client. But instead, he takes the money from his account and pays the debt himself. That’s not denial. That’s redemptive justice. That’s what God does in Christ.
And because of that, Christians can pursue both legal and spiritual justice. The Denhollanders rightly insist that prosecuting abusers is not an act of revenge—it’s an act of love. It protects the vulnerable. It confronts the evil. And it offers the abuser a chance to repent in the light of truth. To deny human justice is not an act of mercy. It’s a refusal to reflect God’s commitment to righteousness.
Ultimately, this paper is not just a defense of PSA—it’s a defense of hope. It declares that God’s justice is not merely cosmic, abstract, or theological. It is personal. It is for the girl silenced by her youth pastor, the boy shamed into secrecy, and every survivor who wonders if God cares.
The Denhollanders invite the church to do what the cross did: to enter pain, name evil, protect the weak, and reflect a justice that never compromises on truth or love. They call us to be brave with our theology and tender with our people. They believe that PSA is their strongest ally, not the enemy of survivors. And most of all, they believe that Jesus does make all things new.
That is not abstract hope. That is blood-bought, battle-tested, cross-shaped grace (Denhollander & Denhollander, 2018). And it calls each of us—whether pastors, friends, or fellow believers—to reflect that grace in how we care for the wounded among us. May we listen with compassion, speak with courage, and act with the kind of justice that flows from the heart of God himself. And for the wounded, it is enough.
Banks, A. (2022). Southern Baptists and the failure of institutional accountability. Christianity Today.
Denhollander, R. (2019). What is a girl worth? My story of breaking the silence and exposing the truth about Larry Nassar and USA Gymnastics. Tyndale Momentum.
Denhollander, R., & Denhollander, J. (2018). Justice: The foundation of a Christian approach to abuse. Paper presented at the 70th Annual Meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society.
Holy Bible, English Standard Version. (2001). Crossway Bibles.
Rutledge, F. (2015). The crucifixion: Understanding the death of Jesus Christ. Eerdmans.
Shellnutt, K. (2019). Willow Creek investigation finds allegations against Bill Hybels credible. Christianity Today.
Tim serves full-time with Crescent Project as the assistant director of the internship program and area coordinator, where he is also deeply involved in outreach across the UK. A scholar of Islam, Evangelical minister, conference speaker, and interfaith consultant, Tim brings over 30 years of experience in cross-cultural ministry. He holds six academic degrees, including a Doctor of Ministry from Liberty University and a Master’s in Islamic Studies from the Islamic College in London.
In addition to his ministry work, Tim is a research associate with the Congregations and Polarization Project at the Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture at Indiana University Indianapolis. His research interests include Islamic antisemitism, American Evangelicalism, and Islamic feminism. He has spoken at leading universities and mosques throughout the UK—including Oxford University, Imperial College London, and the University of Tehran—and has published widely in peer-reviewed Islamic academic journals. Tim is also the author of four books.