My Church's Response to my Abusers

     I realized in fall of 2022 that I was being spiritually and emotionally abused by my mom and that she had been physically, spiritually, and emotionally abusive when I was a child in her home. After a lot of therapy, failed attempts at repair with my parents, months of practicing vulnerability with safe and unsafe people, I was finally able to share the dizzying reality of healing from childhood trauma with church leadership in fall of 2024. While I'm glad he heard what I said, I regret very much that my dad was in the room when I said it. I don't know if he had any follow up conversations with anyone on leadership; he certainly never followed up with me.

    I was relieved to have it out in the open. My whole life had been a charade - pretending we had it all together when we were sitting in the front pews at church, but behind closed doors at home, I was holding the phone with my fingers ready to press 9-1-1 and debating if it would be worse to be put in foster care or endure my mother's abuse. Having it out in the open meant I could be known. It meant I could start to heal.

    Soon came the follow up questions: "What level of abuse are we talking about? Would you be able to provide some examples? Does your dad know about the abuse? Was he part of it? How is he responding now? I wrote an 8 page stream of consciousness on any abusive behavior that came to mind in the one hour I allowed myself to focus on it. At the end, I read what I had written and wondered if it was "enough" to be considered abuse. To me, it is normal. Those that read it called it, "profound abuse." 

    Other people's concerns validated my own, which I'd been trained to ignore. This gave me the gumption to continue despite the lead pastor having shrugged his shoulders at the situation when I brought it up with him privately the year before. Due to my dad's lack of remorse, refusal to take responsibility, active emotional abuse toward my aunt, and continued support of everything my mom does (including calling herself a prophet), I submitted formal concerns about my dad's fitness as a pastor.

    I thought that would be the hard part, but it got harder. For the next eight months, my dad continued in his role with only a select few aware of what kind of conversations were being had. When the cognitive dissonance was more than I could bear, I spoke up. I told the chair of Leadership Council that I couldn't keep coming to church and hearing my dad lead worship songs about God restoring families, read Scripture passages to the congregation about repentance, or have people ask me questions about my parents that I can't answer because I haven't been in contact with them for years for my own protection and well-being. Furthermore, my PTSD symptoms were getting worse every week--often starting 2 or 3 days before Sunday and lasting 2 or 3 days after. It was costing myself and my family too much. I couldn't keep coming to church knowing my mom might be there or might watch the back of my head on the live-stream.
   
    Every time I was ready to walk away from my church and be done with the situation, they threw me a bone that enabled me to hang on a little longer to see what would happen. They told my mom not to attend for 3 months. They told my dad he needed to stay off the stage and only work behind the scenes. It was not explained to the congregation and no change to his title was made. Leadership Council still needed more time to investigate and come up with a plan. 
   
    They continued to verbalize that they believed me completely and were taking this seriously, but the whole time, I felt that they were looking out for my dad's best interests instead of mine. They asked questions like, "Could you be comfortable with your dad remaining on staff as a tech person if 'pastor' is removed from his title?" They wrote their own worksheets to measure repentance before even addressing the accused perpetrators to see if they were interested in repentance. When I tried to make someone aware of this behavior, they leaned toward me and spoke in an aggressive tone, "It's not wrong for us to care about your dad's comfort." Someone else told me they were so sorry for what happened to me, but they went on to say that it would be ungodly of them to respond out of anger and fire my dad. 

    I disagree with their perspective on "in your anger, do not sin." Anger is a gift that alerts us to the fact that one of our values has been betrayed. Responding to our anger in a way that protects the vulnerable or holds someone accountable for their wrong behavior is one of the most godly things I can think of. And I think it was wrong for them to act on their care for the perpetrator's comfort at the cost of the victim.

    Leadership Council should have brought in a 3rd party investigator. It is unacceptable that it took 8 months to remove someone accused of child abuse (because someone who repeatedly witnesses child abuse and doesn't stop it becomes a perpetrator themselves) from a full-time pastoral role. It is unacceptable that the congregation was left in the dark about what was going on. When they finally sat down to have a conversation with my parents, what I had been telling them all along finally became clear to them: my parents are not able to admit to what they've done and are therefore not eligible for repentance or reconciliation at this time. My parents responded with anger and blame and were finally asked to leave. 

    I breathed a sigh of relief because for those 8 months, I had been terrified that they would be able to continue the charade that I had lived my whole life: That they are A+ gold star Christians who have their shit together.

    But I still wasn't done. The denomination formed their own review board and re-investigated to determine if anything additional needed to be done. After unpacking all my trauma for the umpteenth time, I was invited to speak to what resolution I would like to see. I want my dad's credentials removed. I want help repairing the broken relationship I now have with my pastor as a result of how he handled this situation. I want my pastor to get some training on trauma-informed care. I want to be cared for the way my dad was cared for - the church is paying for him to go to therapy.
    The denomination's response was supportive but still somewhat underwhelming. They explained that credentialing is given with an approved assignment and as he was asked to resign, my dad is not currently credentialed. They "developed guidance" which must be implemented prior to any future credentialling. (???) While they completely skirted my plea for mediator help, they did share some upcoming plans for trainings and coursework for pastors on trauma-informed care (a one-day workshop is not going to cut it; I hope a full course is required at some point). Lastly, they did encourage my church to offer to cover my counseling fees and my church was quick to do so.

    In their defense, no one on my church's Leadership Council goes through training for the role. It is completely volunteer and open to whomever accepts a nomination. This was way too much for them to handle. But it was their responsibility to get appropriate help. Just like my dad failed to get the help he needed to keep me safe from his wife's abuse, Leadership Council failed to get the help they needed to keep me safe. It was incredibly retraumatizing. And the result was also incredibly healing. It could have been more healing if it were shared out in the open with the whole congregation. As it is, it is still awkward when people ask how my parents are because they have no idea what has happened.

I haven't spoken to my parents in 3 years.