By Oluwafunke Allen
The second option on the list I’ve been given is the most direct of the bunch: Everything You Were Never Told About Sex, Faith, and Your Body — Until Now. No church, no parents, no phone named this time. Just the word “sex,” sitting right up front, completely unhedged, followed by a promise.
Why directness matters more than I used to think
I spent a long time believing a Christian book about intimacy needed to ease a reader in — a gentler word first, the real subject a paragraph or two later, so nobody felt ambushed. I’ve come to think that instinct, however well-meaning, is part of the very silence this book is trying to end. A reader scrolling past a hundred other titles in half a second isn’t looking for gentleness. They’re looking for whether this book is finally going to say the thing directly. This subtitle answers that question before they’ve even opened the cover.
What “until now” is actually doing
I almost missed how much work those two words are doing. “Until now” makes a promise to a reader who has learned, from experience, that most books like this circle the subject without landing anywhere. It also echoes something true about the book itself — the whole argument of Sacred, but Fully Known is that the silence has a shelf life, and it’s over. I like when a subtitle can carry the book’s actual thesis without announcing that it’s doing so.
What I’m weighing against it
My hesitation isn’t about boldness — I’ve made peace with the book needing to be direct. It’s about whether “everything” over-promises. No single book covers everything about sex, faith, and the body, and I don’t want a reader to open chapter one already primed to find the gap. Directness I can defend. Overreach I can’t.
The line I want you to keep
There’s a difference between softening the truth and delivering it kindly. This subtitle chooses the second option, and I think that’s the right choice even where I’m still negotiating the details.
