This month’s reflection topic really seems to have hit a nerve for many members of the Survivors’ Voices Panel. Part One was very powerful last week, and there are many more thought-provoking reflections this week.
How privileged we are to hear these voices and learn from them.
I think many people don’t understand how deeply abuse affects us. It feels like the world has moved on from the scandals, but the victim survivors are still here, trying to find a way forward. The wounds don’t go away quickly. There are not any quick and easy fixes. But as the news coverage about abuse fades and the church “moves on,” it feels as if there is less and less space for survivors to speak and find help, and less and less care taken to make the Church a safe and caring place for us. For me, every day is a struggle to stay. Many of us have made great sacrifices out of love for the Church, but it feels as if the church doesn’t care if we stay or go.
I was abused by a lay minister, so often times the church conversations don't include my experiences. I think that sometimes this extends to an assumption that a layperson could not have damaged my faith as drastically as an ordained man could. Ordination gives men specific power, but ordination isn't a necessary element to abuse within the context of faith. In some ways, the fact that he was lay made it especially sinister - like the fact that he told me over and over that I was like his daughter, that he and his wife never had children of his own and so he valued my presence in his life as a surrogate child so much deeper, that he used the guise of conversations about relationships and sexuality to groom, as someone who had successfully found marriage. Looking back on it, it was terrifying how openly he could groom because of that - and it harmed me so, so deeply.
I've reflected for a long time on what I think people don't understand. I believe deeply that people understand very little about sexual abuse by a Catholic priest. My abuse happened when I was 9 and 10 years old, and lasted for two years. It was sexual ritual abuse and also had elements of satanic ritual abuse. When I went public two months ago on a radio show, there were a couple of comments stating that I went along with the abuse, that I asked for it. This type of trauma is deeply wrapped in fear and confusion. I trusted this priest. He often came to our home for Sunday dinners (our house was right across the street from the church). When the grooming began, then turned ugly and abusive, I was forced to lock away the fear, the physical pain, and trauma he inflicted. I attended the Catholic school that he frequented. I internalized absolutely everything. I was told that if I told anyone, the abuse would worsen. I believed it. I dissociated often as a result of the physical pain. My circle of friends who I've shared my history with were speechless. Trusting people is beyond difficult.
What people do not understand? For me, the bigger question is what I do not understand:
- I do not understand how people immediately run to the defense of the priest when an allegation is made. The victim isn't even given the possibility of truth.
- What I do not understand is how a church that claims to be founded by Jesus fails to live up to the most basic of his commandments: Love one another as I have loved you.
- What I do not understand is how, after all these years, the hierarchy still sees victims as a threat rather than the wounded.
- What I do not understand is how the hierarchy does not see that they have caused immense damage by failing to act in pastoral ways when it could have saved much of their legal woes.
- What I do not understand is why they continue to say many of the right things, then turn and do all the wrong ones.
- What I do not understand is why the people in the pews would rather protect a pedophile, groomer, and criminal than an innocent child or even a vulnerable adult.
- What I do not understand why people think it's always about money.
- And finally I do not understand how, after over 40 years of public knowledge of the reality of child sexual abuse in the Church, the leadership still, far too often, treats this as a sin rather than a deviant crime. It's not a hard concept. It's BOTH!
- What I would like people to understand is that by grappling with these statements they might be able to enter into a state of soul searching and finally give the victims the grace they deserve and the support they so desperately need.The biggest thing that people don’t understand is that the beloved, charismatic priest can also be a predator. People think that the good qualities in the priest’s personality somehow exclude any ability to do wrong. People need to understand that the good and bad exist in the same person at the same time. After an event in the parish, my abuser would put leftover food in his pickup and drive around to find a family who could use the food rather than throw it away. He once drove three hours to celebrate mass for a youth group on a camp out. He loves doing the “showy” stuff and it pays off for him. People believe he’s an outstanding priest, and in a lot of ways he is. He also exploits and abuses people he’s supposed to lead and serve. These traits, both positive and evil, exist in the same person. People need to understand that this is the common strategy. Predators intentionally make it extremely difficult to remove them from ministry.
I think that many people don’t understand that the refusal to hold space for victims can be the most painful, and for me, spiritually damaging, experience. Even when it is done without malice. Several years ago my pastor had given a homily about how to make difficult decisions; at the time, I was wrestling with the decision to publicly name my abuser or not. I reached out to over email, telling him I was looking for some guidance in making a difficult decision, but that it was about a sensitive subject and asking if he was available to discuss something like that. He was very kind and assured me that he was. I emailed him back with some basic details and my question, and he never responded. I followed up several weeks later and still never heard anything. I remember crying through the Easter Vigil Mass he was celebrating maybe a month later. I just felt so unwanted. Humiliated. I know he saw me, and as I was leaving, still crying, he looked right in my eyes, but didn’t say a word about the abuse. There was kindness and compassion in his eyes, but still, that was the last time I have been in a church. That may sound trivial to some, but for me, I can’t overcome the fear and shame that convince me I’m too broken to belong, especially when it is echoed by the silence of all those who know my story (I have made it public) but have never spoken to me about it. Not one person in my parish has ever spoken to me about it. How can I find healing and wholeness in the Church when all of me isn’t welcome? That feeling that I have to hide the abuse is intolerable. After all, that is what my abuser demanded. The refusal to acknowledge me and the abuse feels just like another demand to hide.
It's sacrilege. According to the Church's tradition and Scripture, taking advantage of the holy to sexually prey upon the faithful is a serious offense directly against God (in Scripture, it's immediately followed by death. Look at what happens to the sons of Eli in 1st Samuel). It frustrates me to no end that it's not treated as such.
What people don’t understand is that some victims have been told that they would have serious punishments for their families if they told anyone. It is not until the perpetrator dies or is arrested that the victim's fear is released. What people do not understand is the victim sometimes does not want to come forward because of the fear of embarrassing their parents or other family members. It has become their secret for decades. One such person waited forty years to come forward because he waited until his parents were deceased. They were active in the parish and had donated substantial amounts of money.
The misconception that there are many cases of false accusations and claims of abuse by Catholic leaders causes survivors particular harm. The reality is that the majority of sexual assaults (an estimated 63 percent, according to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center) are never reported to the police, and the prevalence of false reports of sexual violence is low. Because there have been many well-publicized legal settlements between the Church and survivors, many misinformed people assume—when they learn of an allegation of abuse by a Catholic leader—that the allegation is being made by someone “out to make a buck.” What these people fail to appreciate, is that not all survivors of abuse by Catholic leaders pursue justice through the courts (either by choice, or because of narrow statute of limitations laws), and that those who do are often subjected to an arduous process at the risk of experiencing re-traumatization and further harm. In some cases, the pursuit of justice in civil court is the only method of recourse a survivor has, and even when civil lawsuits result in a “positive” outcome for the survivor, this in no way makes up for the harm caused by this kind of abuse.
I very much believe that most people are not prepared to hear such stories about their church and its leaders. I reached out to the Archdiocese where my abuse occurred four years ago. The Bishop where I currently live encouraged me to submit my impact statement, a statement of memories, and poems I had written as a way to cope. Less than three weeks later I received a short, cold dismissal letter from the Archbishop, stating my allegations “were found to be not credible." More trauma and more revictimization.
I wish people could understand that just because I wasn’t raped doesn’t mean I wasn’t severely abused, and just because I didn’t immediately recognize what happened as abuse and didn’t immediately experience all the effects of that abuse doesn’t mean it wasn’t/isn’t real. The abuse I experienced was “only” in part sexual—far more of it was emotional, spiritual, and physical. I don’t have a good label for what I experienced—it doesn’t fit neatly into a box—but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real and incredibly harmful. I wish I had a word or two that could sum up what I experienced while communicating the depth of the pain and devastation and brokenness it’s caused, but I don’t. I can’t fit what I experienced into a neat little label, even though that would be comforting for those I tell about it. Furthermore, just because issues in my relationship with God, for instance, didn’t begin to surface until half a decade after the abuse doesn’t mean those issues are unrelated to the abuse or that they aren’t legitimate. Some of the effects of the abuse I experienced are only now manifesting, ten years after the abuse took place. It’s taken a long time for the effects to work their way through, and I’m not sure if it will ever stop. I’ve thought at numerous points that I was “done” healing, and then inevitably another layer of woundedness breaks through. It hurts, and it sucks, and I wish to God I could just "get over it" or "forget about it," but that's not how trauma works.
Thank you to each person who shared a response on this subject, and to everyone who is taking the time to read. I hope these reflections transform our minds and hearts.
Thank you,
Sara
To the person who cried through the Easter Vigil: priests are often too uncomfortable to deal with survivors of clergy abuse. Many of them are simply afraid of being seen as disloyal and therefore shunned. Please seek out a spiritual director from a congregation of Catholic Sisters, preferably ones who are not in habits. You will find compassion, understanding, healing and a reconnection to God that does not necessarily require your presence in a church. This Sister will stand by you as you discern your next steps. Blessings to you as you continue your journey. Know that there is support out there and in the Awake community.