Stars, Dreams, and Abuse in the Church
Will we heed the dream, or go back to Herod? On abuse and what makes it keep happening.
This is a revised version of something I wrote for the newsletter at my church, All Saints Amsterdam, where I have the honor of serving as a priest alongside Mpho Tutu van Furth. Some friends have expressed an interest in sharing it, so I’m making it available without the rest of the weekly church email.
Before I proceed any further, I would like to share with you why the topic I must discuss is especially difficult for me to talk about, with the result that this letter has taken a bit longer than it probably should have: I am a survivor of sex abuse by a pastor. This happened when I was a teenager, and the perpetrator was a lay pastor of a Methodist church near mine in central Missouri. He created a position in which he was in the gaps in the structures of accountability as they existed in the 1990s. I have spoken of this quite openly when I have thought that the occasion warranted it, though I have not done so recently or since coming to All Saints. If you are also a survivor and this just isn’t the day for you to read about this, feel free to save it for later. Now, to the matter at hand.
You know the story of the Magi. When Jesus was born, "wise men [they might have included women] from the East" sought him out to pay him homage. They were guided by a star. When they went to Jerusalem and started asking around, they came to the attention of Herod the "Great," a Roman client king. His advisors figured out that the Messiah would be from Bethlehem, so he sent the Magi there to find him with instructions to return to him so he could also go pay his respects.
The Gospel tells us that they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod. They probably already had a bad feeling about him, and it was kind of an open secret that he was a murderous creep. BUT, there was no one they could report him to, and it would have made sense to just follow instructions, play by the rules of the jurisdiction they were in, etc. Besides, their warning really might have been just a dream.
If they had done the safe, obvious thing, the sort of self-preservation thinking that is so tempting to all institutions (“institution-brain,” I call it), we may assume that Jesus would have been murdered as an infant. But stars, dreams, and divine children sent them "home by another way."
Many of you have probably seen that the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Most Rev. Justin Welby, resigned last week after a report became public which detailed his and the Church of England’s handling of a notorious sexual predator. The abuser (I choose not to use his name) was a wealthy lawyer who was able to self-fund an evangelical summer camp ministry. It was well-connected and well-regarded, and several future bishops were involved, either as campers or staff. He used this position to brutally abuse boys that were in his care. This began in the 1970s and 80s.
This abuse became known to some and suspected by others, but the abuser was protected. Many seemed to have reasoned that what was happening was not in their own jurisdiction. He continued this pattern of abuse for decades, eventually moving his operation to Zimbabwe and then South Africa, where the church and civil authorities do not seem to have been warned, and where he continued to be protected by his connections in government. The perpetrator had over 130 victims in the three countries over the course of the five decades. He died in 2018. Good riddance.
Archbishop Justin was informed about this man in 2013 and, for reasons known only to himself, took no meaningful action. Meaningful action by him and others likely would have prevented more abuse. But it was always someone else’s problem. Or perhaps we simply could not fathom that such a respected benefactor of the church who supported all the right causes could be an evildoer. Or maybe gentlemen just don’t pry into such things. Maybe he froze due to his own traumas (I could sympathize). It is important not to turn him into a cartoon villain. It is never so straigtforward as that. Whatever of his life or career has been an offering to God, God will still use it, and it is worth noting that many people I care about have benefited from the Archbishop’s gifts and generosity. But he and his colleagues did screw this up, and we are all left to deal with it. Whatever their reasons (or maybe nobody thought it through at all), our modern magi did what people who are impressed or intimated by power do and went back to Herod.
This putrid, festering, excrement-fueled dumpster fire of a situation stings really hard because 130 or more children suffered in silence, and because it basically punches us in every vulnerable spot. Mpho and I spend much of our weekly staff meeting processing the levels of pain in this, and this list is a condensation of our conversation:
The rich and powerful were protected; powerless children were sacrificed.
Institution-brain let everybody who might have stopped this decide it was in somebody else’s jurisdiction, or that the lack of a legal obligation entailed the lack of a moral one.
The institution and many individuals ignored this and other child abuse, but policed the relationships of queer adults and denied them ordination or the unrestricted exercise of their ministries.
The perpetrator was shipped from Europe to Africa to continue his abuse among even more vulnerable people in former British colonies.
By 2013, the Archbishop and other church authorities already had the benefit of decades of learning from the Catholic abuse scandals that had already become public.
A bunch of nice, normal, respectable people (as it happens, mostly straight, white men) who enabled the abuse of 130 children and brought the Gospel into disrepute will have relatively soft landings; and people who are queer, dark-skinned, or just a bit weird and dare to listen to the dream and go home by another way will continue to struggle to find full-time jobs in our churches.
Now the primary addresses of these thoughts are the community and friends of All Saints Amsterdam (though I’m very happy to have this shared with our friends). All Saints is an Episcopal mission that is part of the Convocation of Episcopal Churches in Europe (has a bishop and does most of what a diocese does, but technically isn’t one because Europe is strange and has four overlapping Anglican jurisdictions). All Saints is not part of the Church of England. But we are proudly part of the Anglican Communion of which the Church of England is the mother church, and we will not be content to say that this is someone else’s problem because it happened on someone else’s turf. The Archbishop of Canterbury is an important symbol for us. I continue to pray for him every day, and I encourage you to do the same. Especially in Europe, The Episcopal Church and the Church of England are deeply intertwined, with many of us floating back and forth between the two when we move to new cities. This is not “their” screw up, or “their” problem. In affection and in many practical ways, this is our church.
And yes, stuff like this has happened in The Episcopal Church. I think our policies are now pretty good. But as Bishop Mark noted at convention, privilege is deep in the DNA of our organization. All Saints is indirectly supported by the donations of American business magnates over the last two centuries (for some of our other churches, it’s much more direct). Money and worldly prestige still command a deference that is incompatible with the teachings of Jesus, and institution-brain is a reality of life (not just in churches, of course). We love The Episcopal Church, but we may not for one minute believe that we or it are so good that we do not need to take special measures to protect the vulnerable among us. Nor may we cease for one second to “guard our heart” or interrogate how we are still entwined with the love of the world that leads to things like this.
So what does this mean for us at All Saints Amsterdam? I don’t know. I’m just one person, even if I am a priest. It would be best if you talked and prayed and share with us. But a couple things are non-negotiable:
If Mpho or I, any member the bishop’s committee, or any of you ever become aware of or suspect abuse in our church or any of the churches we are in relationships with, our first call will be to the police.
As part of The Episcopal Church, we have safeguarding policies. For example, we never leave a single adult alone with children at church. These are not just for show.
We listen to what children tell us. We consider them the experts on themselves and their bodies. If a child tells us something is wrong, we stop and fix it.
Anyone who serves in a position of leadership or works with children must complete an online safeguarding training. We ask for everyone’s ungrudging cooperation.
as we grow and develop more of the infrastructure that institutions need (and we are an institution and we do need them), there will be temptations to fall back on institution-brain. But we also have the mind of Christ. Trust it, and speak up when you notice us getting a little too comfortable.
You also have two pastors and a whole bunch of really awesome church members who are ready to listen to you if there’s anything you need to talk about. If these events are triggering and you want to talk to some people who will never quite understand what something is like for you (but also really do kind of understand for reasons already stated), you have our emails and numbers. [And sure, you can reach out to me even if you’ve never been to my church—though you should come check us out, if you happen to be in the Netherlands!]
Friends, I will conclude simply by saying that I know what it is like when the church goes back to Herod. Going back to Herod is easy, and it’s usually normal and respectable, and we can usually explain it with pious lies. Let’s decide now that that’s not what we’re here to do.
If it seems strange that I as a survivor of abuse in the church am a priest in the church, it’s because Jesus Christ is real and he lives in me. The church is where I find the love, power, and prophetic spirit to resist that thing with which the church so often entwines itself. Such is the way of things in this age. In a very real sense, I can’t not be part of the church. I’ve followed the star, I’ve seen the Child. This is who I am, and it is my greatest joy.
But whatever the needs of institutions, I didn’t seek God in a manger just so I could carry on with business as usual. Whatever we do, let’s not do that. Because if you’re the sort of person who follows a star to meet a miraculous child, you might do well to also follow a dream home.
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I concluded this week’s church newsletter with a link to James Taylor’s song “Home by Another Way,” and also a plug for Barbara Brown Taylor’s children’s book by the same name.