(my thanks to K. for her willingness and permission to share her personal narrative of abuse and church-damage. I hope that this would honor her by giving her a public uncensored voice to tell her story. All trials have testimony phase. Perhaps this can perform some of that function for K. and for others who have been abused and silenced. The following is her story, uncensored and without comment.)

I was raised in a very conservative, fundamentally religious family. By age eight I was already terrified that I would be left behind during the second coming. My mother was often told me Jesus would leave me behind. I was often beaten with wooden spoons, flyswatters, and belts for minor offenses. I was around 9 when I bragged to my father that I had lived through a whole day without a spanking. Two older teenage cousins sexually assaulted me when I was between 11 and 12 and beginning at age 9 I was regularly sexually molested by a schoolmate’s father. By the grace of God, I survived childhood relatively psychologically intact. At 18, I went to a conservative Bible college of my parent’s choosing in Knoxville Tennessee. I majored in nursing and Bible. I struggled with my fundamental roots and by age 30 had developed some sense of spiritual maturity and was very active in my church. I had spent some time in spiritual direction, had done a lot of private study and had developed my own rule of life, not unlike the Benedictines. I married at age 30 and had my first and only child 1 month before my 35th birthday. I married in the Methodist church my husband and his family and his family’s family had been raised. His family had been members there for over 100 years. His mother was baptized and married in that church as well as his grandmother. I taught Sunday school, confirmation class, led women’s prayer groups and held various positions of leadership. I had a more liberal view of Christianity and the scriptures than most but still felt accepted.

The year I turned 38 was a huge turning point for me. I had decided to finish my degree in religion and return to divinity school and become a hospital chaplain. I am no longer sure if people are called to vocations, but at the time I felt called. My grandmother was killed that year on Christmas Eve in a church parking lot. It was not my first experience with grief but it was overwhelming. At the time, I did not recognize the symptoms for what they were and six months later I found myself paralyzed with depression.

I was scared, humiliated, hurting and didn’t know what to do. My congregation had elected to allow a satellite pastoral counseling office from a nearby hospital to reside of the campus of the church. My congregation presented the therapist as the minister of counseling. He was licensed and ordained. He had many years of clinical experience. He occasionally filled the pulpit when our senior pastor was away. I knew I needed help and it seemed like a good plan. I had many reservations about seeking the help of a therapist, but convinced myself they were unfounded.

It was a confusing relationship from the beginning. The boundary violations were so astounding and so many, and I being naïve and hurting, didn’t even know they were occurring. I was trapped emotionally and spiritually. I viewed him as an authority figure and on many occasions challenged him and was always convinced by him that it was my own neurosis behind the feeling. People from the congregation would walk in on sessions and I was told this was to be expected. The church secretary knew I was his client and the reason behind my seeing him. He shared confidential information outside of sessions. He would approach me and talk to me outside of session. He shared personal information regarding himself, his family and his wife. Intimate details that were not pertinent to my treatment. If I became emotional, he would frequently hug and caress me. He said it was what I needed. He frequently berated me. He told me I was going to hell. He committed insurance fraud. When it became clear to me, he was abusing me; I confronted him and told him I was reporting him to his superiors, the church board and his licensure board. He attacked me physically, verbally and sexually.

After the attack, I sought treatment with another provider. I did not go to the police. I was too humiliated, too ashamed and too scared. I continued to try to attend church. I was a psychological and spiritual wreck. I had been reduced to a bloody pulp. I did attempt to report him to his agency and the church. It was not received well. The agency (supposedly based on Christian ethics) basically sent me an apology letter but refused to disclose what corrective action had been taken based on privacy laws. I was never granted a meeting with the agency. The church did meet with my husband and I twice and stated while they believed me, “it was better that one should die than the whole nation.” Those were their words. They also stated my complaint had not been the first, but in their opinion his ministry at the church was far more important than the harm he had caused me. Those were those words. We were instructed to leave. The senior pastor visited us once and promised to return but of course never did.

The spiritual and emotional and psychological consequences are devastating. For the past five years, I have attempted to function in therapy. My entire foundation for trust has been obliterated and I have made very little therapeutic gains. To find help has been a challenge. My faith has collided with my sight and I cannot seem to find any solid ground. I am unable to attend any church because of flashbacks and panic attacks, my entire social structure has collapsed, and my marriage is in ruins. I still am able to work but it is a daily struggle just to stay grounded, to control suicidal ideation and to find calm in my inner world. My entire system of faith has been stripped away. The monetary cost for medication and therapy this year alone has exceeded 10,000 dollars. I travel twice a week to see a therapist 60 miles one way from my home. To say that I cannot build a trusting relationship with him is an understatement. My therapy revolves around managing stressors and keeping me grounded in session, so that no real healing ever occurs.

I search for God in all of this and prior to this event, I would have described myself as someone firmly grounded in her faith and was quite sure it would weather any storm that life would bring. Simple things such a prayer, bible reading and even a hymn can trigger a flashback. I have come to really understand the meaning of the statements “the truest prayer you will ever pray is the shriek of your own pain” and “thank you.” There have been graces along the way…I see God in the faces of suffering individuals now, and I am grateful for the therapist but even that relationship is ridden with conflict and pain. It has not reached a healing stage and probably never will. This causes me great pain but I so badly want to heal but do not even know where to begin.

Jesus was able to heal because people believed in him…. what happens when your capacity for belief is shattered and you lack the ability to build that trust? The only means Jesus has to heal now are through the actions of others. Without the body of Christ, Jesus cannot heal. We are his hands and his feet. And while I know that it is a very human system and it is the only one we have, where do you turn when you been turned away? How do you forgive one who has obliterated your faith? I have tried other churches, I have tried to find individuals who will listen and it has been wounding. They need to protect the system, they need to manage their own shame my story causes and I end up taking care of their anxiety. It is a vicious cycle. So everyday, I get out of bed a try again, hoping that one day my dead soul will be resurrected and if not I try not to act out the role of a perpetrator. I try not to act out on my rage and pain. We all must come to terms with the duality of our natures. I just believe it would be easier if I could forgive but I lack the authority to do so. I read once that even Jesus did not forgive his abusers, he asked God to do it for him. I try to do that and then I try to forgive myself for not being able to forgive. This is a lonely desert and I try to remind myself I am walking a path many, many others have walked. It is just dark and I wish I had someone to hold my hand.