More and more victims of adult clergy sexual abuse are coming forward. As someone who knows firsthand the impact of sexual abuse, both personally and professionally – through working with many women in one-on-one counselling and my course, Journey to Freedom, I have seen the devastating and long-term effects of this trauma.
Sexual abuse leaves deep internal wounds that can be soul-destroying. The ramifications ripple into every aspect of life. Some survivors have chosen never to marry or have children. Some survivors struggle with emotional connection and intimacy.
Trust—such a fundamental part of human relationships—becomes a battle. Many live with the deep-seated fear that vulnerability equals danger, making healthy attachment almost impossible. These are just some of the burdens that survivors carry, and they do so largely in silence.
And yet, despite the growing number of voices speaking out, there is a deafening silence from the church, especially from men in leadership.
The Silence of the Church
Men lead the church. That is an undeniable fact. They hold pastoral roles, decision-making positions, and the authority over policies and safeguarding procedures. Yet, how often do we hear them speak out against abuse within their institutions? It is rare. If they do not even address the issue, how can we expect them to genuinely care for victims, honour safeguarding policies—even the ones they write—and provide pastoral care to those who are wounded?
I often wonder: Are we expecting more from them than they are willing or able to give? If they are not naturally moved to protect the vulnerable, can we teach them to be? Can we train them to be advocates?
Even as I write this, something in me resists the idea. Surely, advocacy for the abused should not require training. Surely, if you feel called to pastoral ministry, caring for the wounded should come as part of the package. Shouldn’t this be innate in those who claim to represent Christ?
Rethinking Recruitment
This leads me to another question: When selecting candidates for pastoral roles, should churches actively assess their capacity for empathy and care? Should recruiters ask explicit questions about abuse prevention, victim advocacy, and safeguarding on application forms? Should there be a requirement for ministry applicants to have experience in social care or a related field before even stepping into seminary?
These are not trivial concerns. The stream of people coming forward about adult clergy abuse is not slowing down. And beyond them, there remains the heartbreaking reality that children and young people continue to suffer harm within the church. It is not enough to say we care—we must ensure that those entrusted with leadership are not only aware of these issues but equipped to handle them with wisdom and compassion.
And for those who have been wounded and left the church because their pain was dismissed, their stories doubted, and their suffering shamed—what do we say to them? How do we answer for a church that, time and again, has failed to protect its most vulnerable members?
Women’s Ordination and the Fight for Power
Another troubling observation: Those who are the most vocal against women’s ordination are often the most silent on issues of abuse. I have yet to see an advocate for survivors among those who aggressively fight to keep women from stepping into pastoral roles.
One has to wonder: Is their resistance to women in ministry truly biblical, or is it simply a mechanism to maintain power? Is this about theology, or is it about gatekeeping, ensuring that control remains firmly in the hands of men who see themselves as the sole arbiters of God’s calling?
If they are so passionate about preserving the sanctity of ministry, why do they not channel that same energy into protecting the innocent from harm? If they are so concerned with following God’s order, why do they not weep and rage against the violation of His children?
Where Do We Go From Here?
As you can see, I have more questions than answers. But I am learning to take my questions to God, to wrestle with them in prayer, and to trust that He sees what we so often fail to address.
In the meantime, I will continue asking these questions. I will continue inviting the church to think more deeply about its policies, not just as a bureaucratic exercise, but as a moral imperative.
Safeguarding cannot be mere lip service. It must become the heartbeat of the church. We must model the compassion and care of Christ, not just in words, but in tangible actions that protect the vulnerable, uphold justice, and bring true healing to the wounded. Only then will the church truly reflect the character of the One it claims to follow.
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