Empowering Connections
The
intensive press coverage of "the Catholic problem" here in 2002 has
brought a lot more public discussion my way than the other waves of
exposure over the past few years. I don't think that's entirely due
to the present magnitude either.
Fifteen
years ago I heard writer Dr. Frank Laubach say, at a literacy
workshop I attended: "If you want to get an idea across to the
public, you have to say it 100 times in 100 different ways." Some
of us have been trying to do that as we've worked to educate the
press, as well as the general public.
It's been
very refreshing during this latest attention to "the Catholic
problem" to hear so many of my casual friends and neighbors saying
that collusion, as well as abuse, is "not just a Catholic problem.
It's in every faith." They're saying this even though
so many Protestant leaders are insisting that they have "everything
under control" in their neck of the woods.
"Lady, let's get one thing straight." After twenty
years, I can still hear the sound of the African official's fist
coming down on his desk. "We have NO refugees in this country.
Do you understand?"
"Sorry, Sir," I humbly replied. "I was
mistaken to think that the grass huts along the highway were erected
by refugees." The fixed glare from the chief law enforcement
officer told me I'd said enough. I rose, hoping for a quiet and
safe departure.
"Wait a
second!" I froze at attention, as if responding to a drill
sergeant. He lowered his voice before continuing: "If you
happen to find any refugees, bring them straight to me.
I'll handle them the same way that I did last week." I held my
breath as he continued. "I sent a 13-year-old boy straight back to
where he'd seen both of his parents shot!"
With God's
help, we'll find a way, I told myself. We did, even in
collaboration with the hostile government. But that's a story for
another day.
The man in
power was afraid to assist the needy refugees, partly because he
knew that if he helped one, many others would be right behind them.
He also felt threatened by his African brothers across the border.
If he helped the victims, they might come after him!
In 1995, from
my home in Iowa, that scene flashed before me again, as I heard
another booming voice: "Tell her she must come straight to me!"
The allegiance of this speaker was not to an African government, but
to the denomination of which this woman was a member. The response
was to a simple request. Or so I thought.
Wisely, the
young victim of sexual harassment by her minister realized the need
for outside support people, as she made plans to make a report that
could cause much re-victimization to herself and others. The first
thing she needed, as I saw it, was a copy of the denomination's
policies and procedures—if there were any. She gratefully accepted
my offer to make the call of inquiry to her bishop.
Although the
request was denied, the survivor's report was welcomed and the
offending minister's ordination papers promptly removed. The bishop
didn't help the process by his reaction.
The responses
from the men in each of these stories illustrate an important set of
dynamics that Jesus seemed to understand very well. If one
genuinely desires to right the wrongs in this world, there must be a
willingness to put power on an even playing field—something very
difficult for people in power to do.
*********
My journey from
the first encounter to the second was filled with a mountain of
expensive learning opportunities. While the brief encounter with
the African official was traumatic, it was not life-changing.
However, five years later a far more traumatic realization impacted
my future forever.
If ignorance is
bliss, my first forty years were utopia! Like many others, in a
denomination long known for its oppression, I joined progressive
college professors, believing that things were changing for the
better in the Southern Baptist Convention. Just a matter of time, I
told myself.
The most
fulfilling work for an SBC woman called to "special service" was on
the foreign mission field. Or so I'd heard, since childhood. My
clergy husband Ron and I enthusiastically went to Africa in 1978,
taking our two children with us, never dreaming that we were walking
straight into a concrete wall! In the interim, we were thrilled to
see many rewarding dreams come true, while staying devoted to our
calling.
"You've done
all you can now, " my supervisor told me ten years later, not long
after we'd settled back in the States. That's what he hoped, but
somehow I had to see that he was wrong about that. The devastation
we felt from being treated like "backslidden rebels" was too painful
for words. It had happened over the course of eighteen months, as
we chose to continually confront co-workers and superiors who were
more afraid of bad publicity than the behavior of a sexual predator,
who had victimized adolescents, as well as co-workers during the
course of his twenty-five years of mission service. Unable to hide
our story under a bushel, as most people wished we would do, I'd had
a growing sense of calling since our resignation.
The nightmare
we'd endured was not an isolated situation. I knew that. But the
victims of abusive clergy were isolated from one another and would
stay that way as long as the powers-that-be in the institutional
church had their way. If God was still on his throne, I told
myself, I knew that I had to spend the rest of my life working to
see that victims got connected because I was as convinced then as I
am today that empowering connections bring spiritual change.
By 1990, Ron
was pastoring, this time as an American Baptist, after extensive
training in pastoral counseling. Meanwhile, upon resignation, I
dusted off old skills in psychosocial nursing to help support the
family. While wrestling with new insights, I struggled to learn
computer skills while resurrecting old skills as a writer.
The November,
1993 release of How Little We Knew seemed to be providentially
timed. It was a bit comical, though I didn't realize that at the
time, for this formerly-obedient Southern Baptist woman to be
standing at the most "radically feminist" conference ever held in
history, selling the first copy! By the time the Re-Imagining
Conference was over, I was already learning from my readers. My
future ministry would be even broader than I had envisioned.
Neither the problems of clergy domestic abuse and incest by clergy
parents, even more concealed than clergy sexual abuse, could be
ignored either. Before leaving Minneapolis, I vowed to do all I
could to connect every reader who wanted to build a support system
of courageous survivors. It is a ministry that continues to grow,
even as the writing continues. Yet back in 1993, I had no idea how
much technology was going to play in all of this.
Less than five
years after standing in Minneapolis, I was in need of some
empowerment myself, as I tiptoed around the Web, mumbling about how
nice it would be to have a web site. A few hours later, with the
help of my first new friend in cyberspace, I was on my way. The
Tennessee survivor, a Universalist Unitarian who is a professional
web-site designer, "held my hand" and talked me through every step!
Soon I received a message from Mary Steele, a Catholic survivor and
a former reader of mine who had also written her own story and now
had it published on the Web (http://asbw.us). Mary set to work to help me with the
"housekeeping" on my site, freeing me to devote more time to
answering e-mails. "God must be laughing," I thought to myself, as
I reflected on all that was happening.
A few days later, Kevin Gourley told me about this new web
site he was starting. How exciting it all sounded. A
few days later Kevin wrote to say he'd suddenly realized that he'd
read an article I'd written a couple of years earlier and wanted to
know if he could put that article on the Web. (http://www.advocateweb.org/hope/churchsecrets.asp)
He connected me with a few other advocates through a list-serve. We
shared a vision, but Kevin soon exceeded anything that we could
dream, creatively putting together a set of tools that has eased the
journey and enhanced the work of so many of us.
Today I get
more new contacts in a month than I got in a year, previous to going
on the Web. Most are survivors, but some professionals genuinely
interested in working for change. The voices blend together like a
choir. In isolation, they haven't felt heard; yet I'm convinced
that nobody can ever fully erase from the psyche the imprint made
from hearing the voice of one oppressed person. Collectively, I
tell them, each voice is important, though this is small comfort for
those who have lost so much.
Several years
ago, an editor of one of the most widely-read Christian publications
in the world turned down an article he'd asked me to write, saying:
"This is too negative. We want to hear stories of how people have
done things right on these issues." Already weary from being
treated like a pornography writer by many, I responded in disgust,
saying that I was sorry that I did not currently have any material
to meet his needs. Perhaps someday soon I'll get back to him.
I'm gathering
every ray of hope that I find. And they are far more evident than
five years ago, though the absence of re-injury is still a dream in
every case. Some of the changes have come because caring people
have simply learned to do the right thing. Far too many, I'm
afraid, are prompted from fear of lawsuits. Sadly, without
exception, the snail-paced collusion of trusted people in the church
is felt to be far more damaging than done by the perpetrator,
regardless of the offense.
United
Methodists provide some of the best examples of exceptionally
positive outcomes. A Minnesota survivor had the rare experience of
feeling sufficiently heard and accepted by a substantial number of
congregational leaders to allow her to comfortably stay and worship
in the church where she was abused.
Living the
Sacred Trust, edited by Gafke and Scott and published by United
Methodists in 1998 is a hallmark resource that should be in the
hands of every church leader.
United
Methodist laity, Kevin and Gail Gourley are co-founders of
www.advocateweb.org, an impressive array of resources for all people
who are struggling to cope and learn about the issues of
professional sexual exploitation in any profession.
Katrina
Horbatko, a young college student in the Pacific Northwest, is
grateful to several people who have helped her grow beyond
victimization since she courageously spoke out eighteen months ago
ago. District Superintendent Tom Eberly saw that she got financial
assistance for a retreat and therapy through the "Healing Care
Fund." Meanwhile they called in Stephanie Hixon from COSROW, who
acted as Katrina's advocate through the process. A consultant from
Seattle helped the church leaders draft a letter, which clearly
stated the nature of the violations and why the offending youth
pastor was suspended, sending it to every member of the
congregation!
United
Methodists in Iowa hosted nationwide ecumenical retreats for
survivors for three years—-an ongoing need in every denomination.
They continue to provide a meeting place for annual peer-led
retreats for those who have attended an "Is Nothing Sacred" retreat
elsewhere.
Courageously, Linda Maue, a Nebraska ELCA survivor whose losses
include her marriage and a desire to maintain any church ties,
recently told colleagues of her abuser, from another denomination:
"Surely, if the church behaved like the CHURCH, the world would be a
better place." It's a dream worth nurturing!
Dee Ann
Miller is the author of How Little We Knew: Collusion and
Confusion with Sexual Misconduct (Prescott, 1993), a new novel
The Truth about Malarkey (1stbooks, 2000), and maintains a web
site http://www.takecourage.org
She may be reached
by e-mail at writerdee@cox.net
In addition to writing and
advocacy work, she spends thirty hours per week teaching piano.
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Exploitation
