In listening to the voices of survivors, I have made a real effort to connect with women and men who represent many perspectives, including in the way that they think about spirituality, God, and the Catholic Church. You can find that diversity of viewpoints demonstrated in these reflections on faith, and I am grateful to each individual who shared a reflection about their spiritual path in the aftermath of abuse.
I hope that, whatever your own perspective, you can listen to these voices with an open mind and open heart.
If you have experienced sexual abuse in the Catholic Church, I would be honored to include your perspective in this “Survivors’ Voices” series. You can find more information here: An Invitation for Survivors.
After much discernment and prayer, I reported the priest for abuse. Shortly after, I saw a meme that said, "Keep your faith in God no matter how dark it gets. All the darkness in the world cannot overcome the Light." A friend who is a priest and fellow clergy abuse survivor told me, "Hang on to that one. You are being called to heroic faith, to believe when it certainly makes no sense to." That was over 10 years ago, and he was spot on. God is who I cling to, the thread that I hold onto when, frankly, the hierarchy has destroyed my faith in the Church. "All the darkness in the world cannot overcome the Light."
Beginning in my thirties, I grew increasingly drawn to scripture, theological study, and teaching catholic youth. I hid my bible and books of people like Dietrich Bonhoeffer and feminist theologians. I dove into study, secretly. I also began observing the priests, church function, and prayer forms. I became hooked on the concept, pray without ceasing. Silent, nonverbal prayer became a habit. I did all this secretly, ashamed and afraid of being discovered, as if these spiritual activities were criminal offences. As study, prayer, and church involvement progressed, erratic emotions, nightmares, and triggers increased and intensified. I was being led into a holy hell of remembering, integrating, and eventually using my life for purpose. Everything for me has been a spiritual experience that incorporated my mind, body, and soul.
I thought about leaving the faith, but when it came down to it I still thought it was true. Particularly the Eucharist. That doesn't mean I wasn't angry or hurt. I felt like I'd asked for a fish and gotten a snake. But I couldn't leave, and I'm still here. I don't trust the institutional Church and I never will, but I can't leave Him.
I was captivated by her religiosity and her irreverent, self-deprecating sense of humor. I had become more religious and started attending daily Mass at school, seeking guidance when I did not have much from others. I was looking for a mentor who could help me deepen my faith. Instead, the grooming started, with late night conversations and going to religious services and theological lectures together. Eventually it escalated into a pattern of repeated sexual assault. My ability to dissociate came in handy as I struggled with my faith, what was happening to me, and the realization that I was gay. When I dared even scratch the surface, still not being able to name it as assault, I fell into a black hole of depression, anxiety, shame, and Catholic guilt. Decades later, as I finally unpack the abuse in trauma therapy and lay blame on the perpetrator (not myself, as I had done for so long), I look around and see the wreckage and remnants of my faith that was utterly blown apart. I was violated by someone I thought was a representative of the Church and by the rejection of me and my fellow GLBTQIA community members. I have been duly abandoned by the Catholic Church. I have not and cannot go back – I have questioned the very core of Christian beliefs and find them hollow.
My abuser took so much from me, yet I have never allowed him to take away my faith. My faith is a gift from God and is nourished by the community of believers at my parish. Opening my heart to God's grace has been and remains very healing for me. Also, in context with my upbringing, remaining an active Catholic helps me to live out the values taught to me by my parents. My faith is NOT bundled with the Catholic hierarchy or bureaucracy.
I recently began to explore the concept of moral injury in relation to my PTSD in therapy. Moral injury accounts for the absolute violation of deeply held beliefs about the world and morality. I finally feel seen and recognized — to have words for how these transgressions mutated and reframed my entire worldview and belief system. What I have reclaimed from the ashes is a lasting commitment to social justice and fighting for the underdog in society. Regarding my perpetrator who still ministers in the Church today, I do have faith that they will eventually be held accountable. That and fighting for others seeking justice may just be my salvation in a way that the institutional Church cannot be.
Last week my spiritual director read a poem to begin our session. The word brambles brought memories of picking red raspberries in a wooded area last August. In shorts and tank top I gracefully moved in and out of sunshine through the picky bushes that held the tiny gems. I squatted in open pockets and threaded my arms through the maze of barbs, collecting and eating, with seldom a scratch or stab. I left berries to be consumed by bees and bears and birds. This is my spiritual life today, though it wasn’t always so. For decades my faith life was like a desperate search for sweetness in a barren minefield. I was hyper-vigilant, waiting for the next bomb to blow, the next sneak attack. A prayer, song, comment, smell, image, word, or ritual, could suddenly ignite the charge.
I can't say I'm glad it happened; I'm not. But I think the faith I have now is a more deeply rooted one than I had before. It clarified why I believe, and I think God has used the circumstances to draw me closer. I remember thinking, "well, my ability to have a relationship with God is absolutely shot, but my kids might still have a chance." So I started bringing my kids once a week for a few moments at a time to an adoration chapel where I felt safe. And after several weeks of doing that, truly not expecting anything, I noticed a difference in my heart. There were still questions and wrangling to be done, but the desert I was in started to soften.
I look forward to sharing more perspectives on this topic soon.
~ Sara
The reflections expressed are deeply personal and beautifully expressed. Reading each one with an open mind and heart helped me to put into words my own thoughts about my faith. For me my faith in God is stronger. God worked out my abuse for the good because God can only create what is good. My faith in the institution that for so long covered up the abuse to protect the church from scandal at the expense of those injured is what is shattered. Without survivors speaking up, attorneys and a national advocacy support applying pressure things would still be covered up. Where I am right now is similar to someone who has experienced domestic violence or sexual assault in relationship who tries to focus only on the good while dismissing the darkness of it. It’s common to want to keep going back out of need, familiarity or dependency ignoring what happened. I listened to an interview by a daughter of an infamous serial killer once whose words stayed with me. When the interviewee asked her how she felt about her father incarcerated for life without parole she answered that she had to hold onto the fact that this was the father she knew and loved who walked her down the aisle on her wedding day. In order to get up each day she holds onto the love of her father but hates the serial killer. Otherwise the cognitive dissonance would tear her apart. Her brain can’t go there. When asked if she will visit him in the institution she said she won’t. She writes to him as she can focus on her relationship with her father without seeing the serial killer in prison via a monitor because he is in isolation for his protection. I hold onto any good I experienced from the church in my heart keeping it safe. I removed myself from the place of abuse in order to provide safety for my inner child to heal layers of abuse that the church abuse matched so closely where I can hold onto the Father while distancing myself from the institution. In doing so I realized I pulled Jesus and Mary out of the abuse too keeping them safe in the intimacy of my home until such a time the institution steps up with actions to back their words about treating abuse of all its members regardless of age seriously. There is a zero tolerance for abuse of children as should be. That should apply to that of adults as well. Until then I will protect myself and Jesus and stay away. My relationship with myself through Jesus outside the church walls has led to unifying integration and healing of deep wounds by listening to what I needed removing myself from the institution of abuse where as a child I could not do that. I couldn’t leave. So I learned to stay in abusive situations. I kept trying to return to mass doing the sane thing as people who experienced abuse continuing to return to the place of abuse hoping it will get better. But abusers don’t miraculously get better by promising to act better. It takes deep work to heal. I know. I have been doing that work. The church needs to do the same. Words are empty. Being pressured to admit wrong doing because they are being exposed is skin deep in my experience.