Take it from someone who reported abuse in the church: Get outside help

Since #MeToo and #ChurchToo have taken off, more and more abusers are being outed.  Many of those abusers are in positions of power at their churches.  The most recent story is with Willow Creek Community Church.    Just this week Steve Carter resigned, followed by lead pastor Heather Larson and the entire board of elders.  To say that the elders handled this whole process poorly from the beginning is an understatement.  They radically defended founder Bill Hybels from the first allegations, which did unspeakable damage to victims everywhere.  Frankly, abuse victims are fed up with churches that continually miss opportunities to side with the oppressed and instead choose to publicly defend and support the oppressors.  Survivors, both Christian and not, were watching and waiting, hoping Willow Creek would get this right.  Willow Creek failed and millions of survivors felt the sting all over again.  Elder Missy Rasmussen issued an overdue apology this week to the brave survivors who came forward, stating in part, “We have no reason to not believe any of you. We are sorry that our initial statements were so insensitive, defensive and reflexively protective of Bill.”

This post is not meant to critique the church’s initial and subsequent poor responses that led to all these resignations.  There are a number of reasons why well-intended churches keep getting their response wrong time and time again.  Nor is this post meant to gloat and say, “we told you so” when we see an entire leadership crumble like it did this week.  There are no wins when churches get it wrong.  When churches fail, survivors are hurt.  Victims who are currently being abused are invalidated, pushed further into the margins, and are almost guaranteed not to speak up for fear of being shamed or not believed.  And, tragically, genuine defenders of justice like Steve Carter and Heather Larson step down when they are exactly the ones who survivors need to stay.  I really just want to humbly share my experience seven years ago as a new minister who had to report an unlikely abuser in my church–my own father.  I did’t get everything right, but my decision to put my pride aside and listen to the voice of the victim who sat across from my desk was vital for her healing and for the protection of many more victims.

It was a sunny July Friday in 2011 and I was only 2 short years into my role as a full time minister when I got the call asking if I could meet with a young woman whom I deeply respect and admire.  She handed me a piece of paper and broke down in tears.  I was holding in my hands a piece of paper that described her abuse at the hands of my father from when she was just a young child.  That single piece of paper changed the course of my life forever.  I have always had a very close relationship with my father.  In fact, he preached at the same church I’m at for 27 years.  I went into ministry because of his example.  We’ve officiated weddings together, talked for hours at a time about the church, shared ideas about reaching out to our community, and I’ve always had the utmost respect for him.  Make no mistake, based on who I thought my father was up the point of that Friday meeting, her allegations came as a shocking and devastating blow.  Never had I suspected my own flesh and blood–my childhood hero–of molesting very young children.

Yet there I sat with a sobbing victim and a piece of paper with clear allegations of abuse.  My entire life flashed in an instant.  He was the man who held my mother’s hand when I was born.  He was the man who taught me about God and life.  He was the one who encouraged me when everyone else told me I was stupid for going into ministry.  He taught me how to drive and brought me to take my exam.  Twice.  He was the one who gently informed me when one of my best friends was in an accident and passed away.  Everything I knew about the man was good and I could have easily chosen to believe that she was mistaken and he was innocent.  But I couldn’t ignore her cries and she had no reason to make up false allegations of that magnitude.  I remember attempting to gain my composure.  I took a deep breath, looked her in the eye, and said, “I believe you.  I have no idea what any of this is going to look like.  But one thing I know for sure–it stops now.”  

There was nothing inside of me that wanted to believe, though.  Believing meant that I had to report my own father to the police.  It meant that there was a strong possibility that there would be more victims in my church.  It meant that the innocent, happy days of ministering to a joyful, innocent church were short lived.  It meant that there would be a possibility of my dad spending the rest of his life in prison.  The questions without answers were endless.  Hope seemed like an ambiguous fairy tale.  The fear of what awaited my family and my church was crippling.  I was grasping to know who my real father was.  I was angry at my God for not protecting his little children.  I had every emotion known to man hit me in a span of about ten minutes.  It’s impossible to put into adequate words what was going on inside my mind and body at that moment.

An hour after receiving the worst news of my life, I was at a wedding rehearsal for one of our church members whose wedding I was officiating.  I felt like I’d been swept along by a tsunami only to emerge into a parallel universe where people were celebrating the happiest day of their life.  The next day I struggled through the wedding, which my dad attended.  The following day I preached to my congregation, which my dad also attended.  The next day my mom and I were in the police station reporting my father.  It probably sounds strange, but at the time I felt like a Judas.  As dumb as it sounds now, there was a part of me then that felt like somehow I was ruining his life.  I wanted so badly to wake up and find out that it had all been a dream.  But each new morning brought with it the reality that this was in fact more of a living nightmare.  

My religious tribe does not have a governing body like most denominations.  Each church is autonomous in its leadership structure.  Because my congregation was small, we had no elders or deacons at the time so I really didn’t have any other leaders to share this burden with.  I was the only person in an official leadership position.  My wife and I had endless conversations about who we would tell and when.  We found out quickly that he’d confessed to many victims and the worst was yet to come.  My dad, not knowing I was the one who turned him in, told me the names of his victims a few days before his arrest.  Several of them were young children from my church.  In a feeble attempt to step into the shoes of the families, my wife and I decided that, if it was our child, we would want to hear about it from our minister before the police knocked on our door.  I happened to be their minister and the abuser happened to be my own father.  My wife and I made the short drive to their house and, through tears and audible gasps for breath, I told them that their children had been molested by my father.  

It was a few weeks later until he was arrested.  Every agonizing day that passed meant we were one day closer to announcing to my church that their former minister, my father, was being arrested for molesting dozens of children.  It was a Friday when the detective called me.  The call was short, to the point, and she graciously gave me the call as a courtesy: “Jimmy, we have your dad in custody.  It will be in the papers Monday and the story won’t be nice.  Now is the time to tell your church.  Protect your family the best you can.  I’m so sorry.”  

My wife and I prepared a written statement that I would read to my church that Sunday.  Though I did not save that letter, I remember the content fairly well.

Dear brothers and sisters,

This weekend my dad was arrested for molesting dozens of children.  Initially a victim disclosed to me and my mom and I made a police report.  He has since confessed to molesting dozens of children over a span of several decades.  We are working with police to ensure we are certain who all of his victims are.  I know what every parent is asking right now and I beg you all not to speculate or gossip for the sake of his victims.  If you have any questions, please talk to me or the police directly.  There is no question that is off limits to ask me at this point.  I may not have answers to those questions immediately, but I will do my very best to find out.  This has been a devastating blow to this church and my family.  I’m so sorry for the pain that my father has caused us all.  I promise to continue to minister to this congregation as long as I am able, but I ask for your patience and grace as we wade through this.  I also ask that we all work together as a family to bring healing to those who’ve been injured and to figure this out so that it never happens again.  

Were it not for my incredible wife, my mom, family members, and a few close friends who offered advice and support from the very beginning, things would have turned out differently.  I spent countless hours weeping, praying, and seeking advice from the people closest to me.  I never shut people out or acted as if I could turn a few Bible pages to get a clear answer for how to handle these allegations.  Church leaders, hear me loud and clear–when allegations of abuse arise seek outside help.  Seek the wisdom from people who have it.  Don’t rally around the accused because you are friends with him or her and you think you know them well.  Don’t minimize the allegations even if they don’t sound very serious at the time.  Unlike seven years ago, there are invaluable resources out there today.  There is no excuse not to seek outside help from people who specialize in cases of sexual or physical abuse.  There are resources out there.  Find them and don’t be stingy with your time or financial resources when it comes to getting help.

There are several of us who offer specialized consulting.  Sometimes you may have to seek an independent investigation.  Never investigate abuse internally.  Know mandated reporting laws.  Be prepared to go against the rest of your leadership group.  They may decide not to report a case of abuse or to tell the church about an abusive person.  If you’re mandated to report, report it anyway regardless of whether the rest of the leaders want you to or not.  If it means you will lose your position or job, be prepared to lose it.  I once responded to a minister who did not want to report his “very best friend” for fear of losing his job: “Jesus tells us to lay down our lives for one another.  You’re not even willing to lay down your job.”  Until we have people who stand up and do the right thing no matter the personal cost, the cesspool of abuse will continue in the church and the devil will win.  Take it from someone who’s been there–reporting someone you love is terrible.  There is no glamour in protecting the innocent from wolves.  It’s not fun and it’s certainly not easy.

But when we do, we honor Christ and his church.  We give a voice back to those whose voices have been stolen.  When we stand up for the innocent and vulnerable we demonstrate that abuse won’t be tolerated and we pave the way for healing.  We now have elders at my congregation who take abuse very seriously.  We’ve made radical changes, have worked to train our members, and have a solid protection policy in place. 

I close with this story that is one of the most powerful moments since this all happened, and one that makes all of my efforts to speak up worth it.  I conducted a local training on abuse a few years ago and the father of some of my dad’s young victims came as a speaker.  I showed up early to get things set up and the father arrived with his children whom I’d never met–a group of young sisters who were all victims of my father.  He introduced me to them this way: “Kids, this is Jimmy. . . . (long pause and deep breath). . . Hinton.  This is the man who stopped his dad from doing all those horrible things to you.”

They all looked up at me, came over, and hugged me.  The oldest daughter, through tears, looked up at me and said, “Thank you.”  Those two words are words that I cherish and will hold close to my heart until I die.  Fellow leaders, we won’t get everything right.  None of us ever do.  But we need to be humble and honest with ourselves and others.  When we don’t know the best avenue for handling allegations of abuse, we better pick up the phone and call someone who does.