ViaMedia

Category: Spiritual Abuse

  • Abusers of Faith

    by the Very Revd Dr David Ison, Dean of St Paul’s, Member of General Synod and Vice-Chair of the Ozanne Foundation

    David ison 2

    In June 2017 the Church of England published the Gibb Report An Abuse of Faith, an independent enquiry into the Church’s handling of the Bishop Peter Ball case, a damning exposure of how the Church had responded poorly to Ball’s abuse victims and had colluded to cover up the seriousness of his manipulative conduct.

    Two and a half years later, on 13th and 14th January 2020, came the screening of two hour-long programmes on BBC2 called Exposed: The Church’s dark secret, which used survivor and witness testimony and dramatic reconstructions to bring home the emotional impact of Ball’s betrayal of trust set out in the Gibb Report. The bravery of the survivors of abuse was remarkable; and so was the incompetence and lack of care shown by some senior Church and establishment figures in the 1990s and 2000s.

    The Exposed programme made links between Peter Ball and other paedophile priests, and hinted at a wider public school culture where physical punishment, humiliation, emotional and sexual abuse in the name of ‘manliness’ or even ‘godliness’ facilitated abusive behaviour. Peter Ball’s abuse was on the basis of anglo-catholic monasticism. But it has strong resonances with similar behaviour uncovered in the last few years in relation to John Smyth and Jonathan Fletcher, two evangelical Christian leaders who were involved in manipulating young men into stripping and being beaten. In Smyth’s case his abuse was known but dealt with covertly, allowing him to go on abusing in another country.

    Why do men act in such ways? Why does the church establishment not respond with compassion towards their victims and survivors? Two starters for ten.

    The perversion of sexuality.

    Healthy personal identity includes coming to terms with our sexuality, whatever it is, and living it appropriately (whether in relationship or in abstinence). Being gay, lesbian or bisexual is not a perversion if it’s who you are. Denying your sexuality, without integrating it into your life and putting appropriate boundaries around it, is what leads to perversion. Whether it’s a poor public school boarding system or a dysfunctional family which takes away from children the opportunity to learn healthy intimacy and relationships, the repression of emotional warmth and the dis-integration of the self makes people vulnerable to finding their missing intimacy in perverse ways. Sexuality becomes covert, shameful, hidden, and leaks out in ways that can damage other people as well as the person themselves.

    Jesus said, ‘If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free’ (John 8.31-2). We need to be truthful and open, rather than dogmatic and hidden. Ball, Smyth and Fletcher were orthodox and exemplary Christians on the surface, but were not truthful about their impulses and who they were, and used others for their gratification rather than admit their problems and find help. They preferred to exercise power and control over other people than be vulnerable themselves. The healthy response is for people to acknowledge their sexuality and seek to integrate it into their lives; and the Living in Love and Faith process in the Church of England offers a further opportunity for all of us Christians from across the spectrum of sexuality and church tradition to face up to our own insecurities and temptations, and build healthy, compassionate and equal relationships with others.

    Beliefs that reinforce separation and authority.

    Common to Ball, Smyth and Fletcher was the use of selective Christian teaching combined with overt and covert appeals to the spiritual authority of the person doing the controlling. They groomed their victims in a spiritual context which validated what they were doing. They also groomed the organisations they worked for into believing that they were great leaders and that what they were doing was normal and right. Ball in particular was spectacularly successful in getting both Church and Establishment to see things from his perspective, treating his victims as being to blame for the problems that he had created, and perpetuating a culture where people with power could not be held to account.

    Any ‘charismatic leader’ runs the risk of allowing pride and control over others to overcome compassion and Christ-like service to them. But that risk is greatly magnified in faith settings where there is a view or expectation that the leader is a saint, or closer to God than others; and also where there are rigid beliefs that keep people from thinking ‘outside the box’ and questioning their leaders, views which stop them hearing the beliefs and experiences of others. The recent book Escaping the Maze of Spiritual Abuse by Lisa Oakley and Justin Humphreys (SPCK, 2019) gives many examples of how ‘groupthink’ can happen in a church closed off from Christians and others who are different and could challenge the leadership. Such churches can be fertile breeding grounds for abusive behaviour. Whether it’s evangelical or catholic or liberal, any church or group which doesn’t accept difference is more vulnerable to hosting abuse. One reason why Peter Ball didn’t come to justice for so long was that few people wanted to believe that a bishop could be like that, and bishops who knew otherwise weren’t prepared to acknowledge it: protection of their position was more important than caring for others and telling the truth.

    There are catholic cultures and institutions which shelter perverse sexuality, the divide between the aspiration to celibacy and the reality. There are evangelical churches which deny the reality of gay, bisexual, intersex and transgender Christians, in the context of a Church which denies acceptance to gay people wanting Christian and faithful relationships on the pattern of marriage. That’s part of what needs to change in order to be healthy, so that ‘if we walk in the light as [God] himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.’ Until we tell the truth and live in the light – together – we will continue to make it easier for there to be victims of abuse.

    After watching the second programme on Peter Ball, I changed channel to see the news. The second item was the report on child sexual abuse in Rochdale, where Manchester police and social services had written off vulnerable young girls in care and allowed wholesale abuse by men to take place against them. It’s not only the Church that has refused to listen to victims of abuse –  it’s a massive social problem of how men can turn to abusing others instead of taking responsibility for managing their own sexual desires and conflicts in a healthy way. The Church should not collude with it, but be leading the way out of hypocrisy and dis-integration into the light and truth of Jesus Christ.

     

  • The Fallout from Tribal Scrums

    by the Rt Revd David Walker, Bishop of Manchester

    david-walker

    With England in a Rugby World Cup final, it’s a good weekend to allow ourselves to be a little bit tribal. I’m not intending to paint a St George’s Cross on my face, but I might allow myself a chorus of “Swing low, sweet chariot” or two. Meanwhile, I shall quite understand the majority of my Welsh, Irish and Scottish friends hoping for a Springbok victory. After all, if you can’t win yourself, at least you can hope that your nearest neighbour and closest rival doesn’t.

    Tribes matter.

    A good portion of my academic research has been around the concept of Belonging (quick ad – my book God’s Belongers has been reprinted ahead of my next opus You Are Mine coming out later this month), and the various tribes we belong with form a core part of who we are. Among our tribe we feel included, protected, valued, understood; apart from it we experience higher levels of loneliness, exclusion, vulnerability and mistrust. A tribe can support quite considerable levels of diversity, about all those issues that aren’t part of its defining identity; it isn’t just a fancier word for a club. The basic cost of joining, and remaining a member of the tribe, may be little more than the expectation of loyalty, even if there are many opportunities to express ones identity in more visible, audible or tangible signs – from rhymes to rituals.

    The tricky issue however, is that loyalty is not a fixed or readily measurable substance.  How do we judge when standing up for our tribe has become a cost no longer worth paying? A cost greater than that which will be exacted from us for leaving.

    The last few months have seen MPs leaving their parties, or having the whip removed, in numbers and across a range of traditions not seen for many decades. An even greater number have rebelled in ways that party colleagues (and even more so the world of social media)  believe amount to treachery. For many, it signals the end of their political career, at least for the foreseeable future. Whichever way they have jumped, and for whatever reason, I would want to at least applaud their bravery. Most have faced not merely harsh words but direct, personal threats of violence.

    So, perhaps swimming against the tide, I think many of our politicians emerge with greater honour than do some of us in the Church.

    There are too many examples of how our ecclesiastical tribes can police a loyalty fiercer than their political equivalents – not least because we often invoke God as our ultimate enforcer. Deserting the tribe is equated with heresy or apostasy, and the leaver treated accordingly. Exalting tribal loyalties so high, putting them almost on a level with God, is perhaps the single most corrupting force at work among Christians of our generation.

    The evidence of that corruption is all too visible. It is deeply shameful when those trusted with responsibility in the Church sexually abuse children. But what survivors repeatedly declare to be even more shameful are the ways in which the Church then works to deny, minimise or cover up the abuse. Often it is those closest to the abuser, the members of the same tribe within the church, who work hardest to deflect scrutiny and prevent accountability, whilst whistleblowers are anathematised.

    Loyalty has been permitted to grow, cancer like, to the point where the potential dishonour faced by the tribe is seen as of greater import than the lives and wellbeing of those abused. Even at a more prosaic level, I come across good missional endeavours being resisted and opposed on grounds that seem more to do with them originating from the wrong tribe than any other defect.

    Like in rugby, if we can’t be victorious ourselves, we don’t want our rivals to enjoy success. St Paul spoke out against such sentiments, challenging those who wished to claim allegiance to Apollos, to Peter, or even to himself, to such an extent that it superseded loyalty to, and unity in, Jesus.

    This is no way to be the Church of God.

    So this weekend, let’s enjoy the rugby. Sing with, or shout at the TV set if we must, whoever we want to win. And let’s enjoy the particular qualities and strengths of our church tribe. But remember to whom it is that we ultimately belong, the only one who merits unswerving loyalty.

     

     

  • Safeguarding & Sexuality – Are We Throwing Money In the Right Direction?

    by Prof Helen King, Professor Emerita in Classical Studies at The Open University and lay preacher in the Diocese of Oxford

    Helen King

    A recent invitation to take my fourth safeguarding course made me reflect on all the work that has been going on over the past few years as the Church of England tries to show that it has learned from the hideous sins of the past; most recently, through the IICSA hearings.

    The question is “How we should move on?” and the answers to that are expensive ones.

    In January 2019, in a widely reported interview with The Spectator, Justin Welby announced that the annual budget for safeguarding has risen from around £50,000-£100,000 to £7,000,000. As well as appointing lots of people, organising lots of groups and formulating lots of procedures, much of the money has gone into training. Lots of training. As Robin Gill wrote in the Church Times in August, some of what’s taught is ‘blindingly obvious’ and the process is ‘tedious and repetitious, but, like long security checks at airports, it is still essential’.

    It’s clearly important to make sure that everyone knows what to look for and how to report it, but are we using the money in the best possible way?

    Back in 2016 I went to see the movie Spotlight, about sexual abuse in the Roman Catholic diocese of Boston, MA. When I blogged on this, I noted how the Boston response was not to report cases, but to move offenders around. The IICSA hearings made it clear that a culture of concealment and collusion had existed in some Church of England dioceses too. Those at the top failed to pass on information to the police, preferring to protect the institution. At the very first safeguarding course I took, not run by the Church of England, we learned that churches are perfect places for abusers to hide in plain sight, with nobody believing that ‘such a holy person’ could ever do those things. The former Archdeacon of Lewes and Hastings told IICSA that he believed what Roy Cotton told him because ‘I take priests at their word’.

    So the ‘we need more training’ solution has to work against that long-established culture, in which protecting the abuser as ‘one of us’, ‘part of the family’, has too often taken precedence over listening to survivors. Peter Ball produced testimonials asserting his good character from people like the Prince of Wales: graphic evidence that abusers groom authority figures too, so any concerns raised will be brushed aside. That in turn means that survivors are abused again, this time by not being taken seriously.

    The best-known example here is the survivor Gilo, the response to one of his many letters to Church leaders being an offer of ‘prayers’ made by a correspondence clerk. While some survivors spoke to General Synod in July 2018, their voices are still not put in the forefront.

    There’s been a huge cultural change here, including the realisation that ‘abuse’ goes beyond sexual abuse; emotional, physical and financial abuse also happen. In the case of the recently-sentenced churchwarden and murderer Benjamin Field, several of those came together. That case also involved spiritual abuse, a form of abuse recently discussed by both Rosie Harper and Jayne Ozanne but not currently covered in the safeguarding training; a new module is due next year on ‘Spiritual abuse and healthy Christian cultures’.

    Nor is this only about children and young people. One of the main things I learned at my first training session was that anyone can be a vulnerable adult; people with disability or illness, or in distress of any kind, who can’t protect themselves from abuse or exploitation. And that would include people whose sexuality or gender identity are not considered acceptable in some congregations and contexts.

    And it’s so important that we get it right.

    Who is checking that the money invested in training is being used wisely? There’s a National Safeguarding Steering Group, which met for the first time at the end of 2016, and a National Safeguarding Panel which includes representatives from survivors’ groups. There are national and diocesan safeguarding teams; the national one has over 20 people working on it. There’s a Parish Safeguarding Handbook. Annual reports are published. From one of those, covering 2017, comments from those attending training courses included ‘Have not really been taught about abuse with vulnerable adults before’ but also ‘might put older people off volunteering’.

    In May 2018, Quentin Letts wrote a typically over-the-top piece – it appeared in the Daily Mail – on the horrors of being a Church of England volunteer having to attend what he called the ‘almost meaningless’ safeguarding training. He speculated that PCC members and churchwardens would ‘quit rather than succumb to any safeguarding course’. While annual reports list how many people took each training course in that diocese, it’s not clear what happens when some refuse to be trained.

    In her introduction to the IICSA enquiry into Chichester Diocese, the Lead Counsel Fiona Scolding said that the Church of England was ‘running to catch up’ with changes in the rest of society and characterised it as ‘an institution grappling with human sexuality and sexual orientation’. That links IICSA with another acronym, LLF: the Living in Love and Faith project, of which I am part. Like safeguarding, LLF has large amounts of money thrown at it. I’m not sure the figures are in the public domain, but we know from a question to the Chair of the House of Bishops at the February 2017 General Synod that the precursor – Shared Conversations – cost £384,525: of this, £300,000 came from the Church Commissioners.

    This is all about financial ‘cost’, but the real, human ‘cost’ both of abuse and of the Church’s current position on sexuality is not something we can easily measure.

    Janet Fife, a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and also an ordained woman, edited with Gilo Letters to a Broken Church. One of its requests is for reparation. In an open letter to the Archbishops, Janet asked for ‘funds for counselling for those who have made allegations of abuse’. In the July 2018 Synod, David Ison, Dean of St Paul’s, said ‘We should be making millions of pounds available to … those who have been hurt, who have been marginalised at our hands’. Is that happening?

    Appointing more people, producing resources (who will use them?), running training (what if people don’t participate?): it looks good, but what about practical ways of hearing and then helping those who have survived abuse, and those whose relationships can’t currently be acknowledged by the Church?

    In both safeguarding and sexuality, it seems to me that the Church needs to do far more both to listen to those who have been abused and to help those who have suffered at its hands.

     

     

     

  • Shhh….It’s Secret!!

    by the Revd Canon Rosie Harper, Chaplain to the Bishop of Buckingham and Member of General Synod

    Rosie Haarper

    ‘The vows you are about to take are made in the presence of God, who is judge of all and knows all the secrets of our hearts.’

    I get the point. The truth is the truth even when it is well hidden.

    If you believe in a personal God who relates to you rather like a human but with super-powers, then this is a bit creepy. A bit like a cosmic stalker. As a child I used to worry about this idea that God was watching me all the time; not just seeing what I was doing (even going to the loo) but knowing my thoughts and my motives. When I was about eight I accidentally broke an elegant large green vase that my father had just given my mother for their wedding anniversary. Money was tight and I knew he’d saved up hard to afford it and she was delighted with the gift. I worked out that the best strategy was to deal with it straight away. ‘Mummy, Daddy, I’ve done something awful and I’m so, so sorry. You are going to hate me.’ ‘Darling , you know we would never hate you.’ I thought that if I went in hard like that they’d imagine something monumental and be relieved that it was only a broken vase. The strategy worked a treat. I overheard them talking later and although they were fed up about the breakage they were so proud of their daughter who had been really contrite and had owned up to her mistake. I felt terrible. A real sense of shame. Not so much because I’d been manipulative but because of the weight of thinking that God knew and was disappointed in me.

    What we choose to reveal and what we choose to hide. It’s powerful stuff, and mostly it is driven by fear and shame.

    There are good secrets.

    That delicious time when only you know you are pregnant! When you are engaged but haven’t told anyone yet. Maybe, I wouldn’t know of course, when you have won the lottery and keep it under your hat.  But most good secrets are transitory. You hug your good news for a while and then have great fun sharing it.

    There are sensible secrets.

    I’m guess that you, like me, think it is wise to keep some stuff about yourself under wraps. I have grown less and less prone to doing that. For example, I made myself a promise that I would try never to preach anything I didn’t believe. I don’t like that script that says ‘if only they knew what I really think.’

    Then there are bad secrets.

    The most obvious is the abuser who tells their victim ‘this is our special secret’ This is a hugely powerful way of exerting control. For a child there is a toxic mixture of shame and fear that can chase them through the rest of their lives.

    Secrets that are imposed are usually abusive, and the bible is not at all keen on such secrets: Mark 4.22 – ‘Everything that is hidden will be made clear and every secret thing will be made known.’

    The biblical principle seems to be that openness, transparency and mutual accountability are the way to go.

    So why is the Church rife with bad secrets? It operates at a personal level.

    Lizzie Lowe had a secret. She should never have had to believe it should be a secret. Sadly such was the Church culture that she believed her secret  – that she was gay –  was so shameful that it drove her to take her life. Many, many other men and women have kept their sexuality secret, sometimes even from themselves, and it has almost destroyed them.

    It also operates at an institutional level in a weirdly inverted way. Churches are one of the very worst places for confidentiality, and the leaky sieve is usually prayer.

    In the realm of the hierarchy of the C of E secrecy comes naturally.

    We are all waiting for ‘Living in Love and Faith’ – the work is hidden. There are, I believe, copies circulating but not for the plebs. If the Pilling Report process and text had been less secret squirrel we might have been able to challenge the ridiculous reliance on cod-science. Secrecy rarely make things better, but it does make those in the inner circle feel important.

    At General Synod we have the opportunity to ask questions. The idea is that we hold our seniors accountable, but the whole process is risible. Almost every answer amounts to ‘I am sorry I can’t tell you that  – it’s secret.’ I asked how many Non-Disclosure Agreements the Church has entered into and the answer was exactly that. Sorry Rosie  – it’s secret.

    It’s a fine demonstration that information is power. It matters because the NDAs mean that victims have to choose between financial recompense and bringing their wrongs into the light so that others can learn from them. The Church likes them because it saves them an expensive court case, the perpetrator because no-one gets to know what they have done and they may even be free to do it again, but the survivor gets given an other secret and of course secrets is often where it all began  – they are still being controlled. In most cases NDAs are abusive. Secular society is recognizing this but the Church holds on tightly to its culture of secrets.

    There is a parallel biblical strand about darkness and light. The very best thing about flying is leaving a dark rainy airport and rising above the clouds. And I sit by the window and feel the sunshine on my cheek and bathe in the light, and feel nearer to God.

    We are called to walk in the light…

     

     

  • Safeguarding & Survival Systems – Loyalty vs Trust

    by the Revd Canon Rosie Harper & the Rt Revd Alan Wilson, Bishop of Buckingham – co-authors of ‘To Heal and Not to Hurt’

    Rosie & Alan

    In an interesting quirk of coincidence the book that we co-wrote, To Heal and not to Hurt, was published on the same day as the BBC Panorama program Scandal in the Church of England was broadcast.

    Panorama was very carefully researched and took a cool, measured look at serious safeguarding issues in the Lincoln Diocese. The degree of cover-up was extraordinary, except of course that it was actually all too ordinary. The Safeguarding lead bishop, Rt Revd Peter Hancock, did all the familiar hand-wringing and apologising. He seemed very sincere but offered not the slightest glimmer of hope that anything was actually going to be different.

    In our book we look at 15 examples of the type of abuse that happened (they are true) and is likely to continue to happen within the church. We make some concrete suggestions which, if implemented, would make a considerable difference. Of course there is resistance from the top. They do not want to make any of these changes, mostly it seems because they introduce both accountability and taking responsibility for the consequences of cover up and wrongdoing.

    Instead we have more courses, training, staff and meetings. It’s still a tight circle and needless to say survivors are mostly kept out!

    The other dynamic of the book  (do buy it!) is a long hard look at the internal drivers: theological, cultural, emotional. It comes down to that oft quoted point: ‘good people do good things, bad people do bad things, but it takes religion to make good people do bad things.’ But why? Why when we preach that ‘the truth will set you free’, do we then find ourselves watching open-mouthed as senior clerics make defensive statements that are peppered with inaccuracies. What is happening on the inside that makes such behaviour seem reasonable?

    Whilst discussing with a mutual friend the multiple high octane apologies from people who seem genuinely deeply sorry for the suffering of survivors without being able to help them effectively we came across the following theory.

    It makes a lot of sense, but if it is true it is chilling.  It is based on the concept of Systems of Survival, which was first developed by Jane Jacobs – an American Urban Activist.

    Her basic hypothesis is that that there are only two ways of making a living (ie. Surviving): Either (i) you have Territory, a space on which you can grow, hunt, fish, farm etc , or (ii) you find or make things to Sell.

    Each of these two Systems of Survival is based on a separate set of values.

    The first system is based on Loyalty and the second on Trust.  The Loyalty cultures are Politics, Government, Armies, Church etc.  The Trust cultures are based around commerce where deal-making is vital. As a society we need both.

    The error that we, and many like us have been making, is that we expect folk in the Loyalty cultures to be Trustworthy when we should in fact only trust them to be Loyal.

    This explains why in certain institutions that they may have very tight and well-developed whistle-blowing policies, in the end it is inevitably the whistle blower themselves who lose their jobs.

    It also explains how, if you are critical of anything in the Church the response never ever tackles the actual issue. The offence is not being right or wrong, the offence is being disloyal. The offence is daring to speak at all!

    This would help explain why George Pitcher, who until 2011 was Secretary for Public Affairs for the Archbishop of Canterbury, had no compunction in commenting in a memo: (IICSA Day 8 Page 154-5 (Chichester))

    “+Hind may have to be thrown to the press as a sacrifice. The potential scale of the scandal though — it seems to me — is such that the backwash must reach the Archbishop (quoting from a previously received email).

    The real danger here is that these stories are used to suggest that the CofE is as bad as Rome, both in abuse and cover-up”

    The game is to say what is necessary to protect the Institution. The actual truth is, it seems, secondary.

    And Loyalty is what we have seen in Church Safeguarding.  Loyalty to those who are in the team, in our camp, flying our flag.

    However hard outsiders like the two of us implore the Church to put survivors first they are genuinely unable to do so.  They can tweak the internal systems and processes, and they can wring their hands, but as for putting survivors at the heart of things – that is impossible.

    That place in their heart is already occupied by the Institution.

     

    ‘To Heal and Not To Hurt’ is available for £9.35 from WH Smith and is published by Darton Longman Todd.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • A Via Media in Safeguarding?

    by the Revd Canon Simon Butler, Prolocutor for the Province of Canterbury 

    presentation1

    Via Media is billed as Rediscovering the Middle Ground. Among the polarisations within the church today is the one that exists between what we might not-quite-helpfully identify as the “institutional church” (which is of course is real people doing real jobs) and the survivors of sexual and physical abuse in a church context.

    The temperature rose once more a week or so ago when the Liturgical Commission of the Church of England published a range of texts, prayers and readings for use in the context of Safeguarding. Although the resources issued were for use by many groups in the church, the publication of these texts prompted an unhappy, regretful letter in the Church Times from a group of survivors claiming that the consultation that was reported was not adequate and implying that the resources themselves were, potentially, harmful.

    It was in this context that I received an email from a survivor which I offer as another perspective upon this polarisation. I reproduce it in full and with permission, although understandably the author wishes to remain anonymous.

    Dear Simon (if I may),

    Can I say how glad I am for the work you are doing on clergy well-being in the national church. Although we would disagree about some important issues facing the Body of Christ, I do want you to know of my appreciation for this work and assure you of my prayers as you continue.

    The prompt to email, though, isn’t directly about well-being. It’s about safeguarding. I’m a clergy survivor of sexual abuse in the Church of England. This is something that has affected my ministry and my personal life for many years. I’m careful about who I talk to about it, and I’ve not thought that a survivors’ group would be a very healthy place for me, although I’m glad that they exist for others. My journey over the years has been difficult but, by God’s grace, I’m able to function and minister to my congregation and local community in what I hope is a faithful and reasonably effective way – you’ll have to ask them I suppose! I know how much I rely on the grace of God and His Church here in [name removed].

    But I do feel I want someone to know among the ‘powers that be’ that I could not have been more supported by the Church than I have been. My bishops in….[name removed]… have been without fail sensitive and understanding, they have listened and provided me with prayer and practical support. I’ve confided to a few key people in my leadership team who are amazing prayer warriors for me in the moments when the memories return and it affects my ministry. I do believe God is slowly healing me.

    I decided to get in touch because I’m aware that this isn’t the story that often gets told by survivors publicly – typically the Church comes in for criticism, and often rightly so – but my story is also part of the story of survivors of sexual abuse. The way the Church treats us is sometimes far better than some of the louder voices make out. I’m very reluctant to criticise fellow-survivors, who have been through enough already, so all I want to ask is that the Church authorities listen to as wide range of survivors’ stories as they can and not just the ones who often pop up? I keep seeing some names in angry letters and blogs I do wonder sometimes how representative they are.

    If you can make any of this heard with those in General Synod, please do so, but I do not want to be identified. I sometimes get asked to see a survivor in my diocese to provide some support, but I think it would be unwise for me to stick my neck out beyond that: it would just bring a lot of the bad memories back and I try and move on rather than dwelling on the past too much.

    In Him, John [name changed]

    I was very touched by this honest letter.

    Not long ago I was pleased to be described by Gilo – a much-respected survivor – as a ‘natural ally’ of survivors. I hope I am. I’m aware, as a member of Archbishops’ Council, just how much work and resource are being done and provided to address past failures and to make the church a safe place for all. Much more remains to be done until, as Archbishop Justin said recently, churches should be the safest places in our communities.

    So I share this email as an ally of survivors both angry and content in the hope that some way can be found to de-polarise the current climate. If we are to avoid ‘othering’ – the making of one group not part of ‘us’ (and it seems to me that both the church and survivors risk doing that of the other party which is really not good for anyone) then we all need to find a better way of engaging. Without doubt, the Church must take the bigger step here so that, as far as possible, survivors’ are not rebuffed, as some, but as we can read above, not all clearly feel.

    At the same time, while recognising that survivors’ groups that exist cannot speak for the whole body of survivors and that being consulted and involved does not necessarily always mean getting one’s own way, can a way be found for survivors themselves, both those with a rightful sense of anger and those who feel well-supported by the Church, to make supportive and constructive criticism of the institutional church, not chiefly as ‘survivors’ but as fellow, equal members of the Body?

    Is it time for some proper mediation?

  • “Spiritual Abuse” – A Pandora’s Box?

    by the Revd Canon Anna Norman-Walker, Rector of Streatham and past member of General Synod

    Anna Norman-Walker

    In Greek mythology Pandora is created by Zeus and given as a wedding gift to the brother of his enemy Prometheus along with a jar containing the many evils of the world.Pandora's Box  Pandora opens the jar and on realising what she had done she tries to close it in haste; the anguish of the moment is captured in a painting by FS Church in which the young bride kneels helplessly on the box – as one might an over filled suitcase – in an effort to contain the escaping forces of evil.

    Over the past few weeks the call has gone out for the church to address the issue of spiritual abuse. This was triggered in part by a recent report carried out by Bournemouth University on behalf of the churches Child Protection Advisory Service (CCPAS) in which 62% of respondents to the study’s research survey believed they had been subject to spiritual abuse. Within a few days of the report’s release, news broke of Oxford Priest Revd Timothy Davis’ suspension from duties for the spiritual abuse of a teenager he had been mentoring following an investigation under the Clergy Discipline Measure (see also Are You Suffering From Spiritual Abuse by Jayne Ozanne).

    This case and the report itself has highlighted the urgent need for the Church of England to provide some clear definition of what spiritual abuse is and provide guidelines for parishes to follow in order to ensure good practice and the safeguarding of both those who may be vulnerable to spiritual abuse, and the alleged perpetrators it.

    I for one would welcome such a development and as General Synod gathers in a week or so’s time I hope that space will be made for the issue to be raised which might lead to the commissioning of a much-needed piece of work.

    However, as vital as this work is, we should be prepared for the opening of our own Pandora’s box.

    Just as #Metoo went viral on social media as women all over the world acknowledged their experience of sexual harassment, the Church may very well have to navigate a similar response from those whose experience of spiritual abuse in the church needs to find validation.

    The Oxford case was clearly a gross abuse of power but where should the lines be drawn?

    I can still recall vividly at the age of 13 sitting in a tent meeting on the final night of a Christian youth camp at which the leader, who we all adored, delivered the invitation to ‘stand up for Jesus’ and ‘make a commitment to follow him for the rest of our lives’. My rear was firmly glued to the chair, partly out of extreme embarrassment, but also by a genuine uncertainty that I was up for it. One or two ‘keenies’ jumped to their feet but there wasn’t what you would call revival breaking out. Then the leader said ‘The devil is pinning some of you to your chairs – come on, stand up for Jesus – don’t let the devil win!’ Immediately children were jumping to their feet all around me, one or two bursting into tears. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I was left with the sneaky suspicion that I was working for the opposition!

    Was that my #Metoo moment? Did some of those there look back and feel taken advantage of, abused?

    I don’t know (I am delighted to ‘stand up for Jesus’ these days) but my point is that I have no doubt  the wonderful camp leader sincerely believed that the devil was pinning the children to their chairs ( mine included) and he sincerely believed that we needed saving from powers of darkness and I have no doubt he gave thanks to God that evening when we were all tucked up in our sleeping bags, that the victory had been the Lord’s at the meeting that night. I slept very well rather enjoying my rebel status, but what about those who had cried and stood trembling as they made their profession early in the evening?

    What about the thousands of impressionable young people who flock to the front at youth events seeking prayer for a wide range of issues in their lives? Does sincere belief mitigate against a claim of spiritual abuse ? From ‘Father knows best’ to ‘The Lord has told me’ churches; thin ends and wedges come to mind….

    Faith and belief are complex issues and what is or is not coercion or the abuse of power will be hard to define in many instances. What some experience as abusive or damaging, others will welcome as the work of the Spirit and the discipline of discipleship. Is it possible or desirable to legislate for the experience of another?

    For many I suspect the realisation of spiritual abuse will remain undefined and unexpressed until the maturity of adulthood or the gift of hindsight is available to them.

    What the church needs to be clear about is that the issue of spiritual abuse and the stories of its victims are not going away.

    Pandora’s box is already open and we would be very unwise to try and shut it.

    The saddest thing about the story is that by the time Pandora managed to shut the box there was left inside just one thing and it was ‘Hope’.

    Any attempt to dodge the issues at hand here would likewise smother hope for many.

    We need to open this issue up, it will be painful and I don’t know where the boundaries should be drawn, but we can’t duck it if we are genuinely to be a Church of healing and flourishing.

  • Are You Suffering From Spiritual Abuse?

    by Jayne Ozanne, Editor of ViaMedia.News and Director of the Ozanne Foundation

    Jayne Ozanne (3)

    Do you know what Spiritual Abuse is?  Can you define it?  Perhaps more importantly, would you recognise it if you saw it?  Would you be able to guard against it for those in your care?

    According to a recent research report commissioned by the Churches’ Child Protection Advisory Service (CCPAS), 74% of respondents to an online survey said they were confident they knew what “spiritual abuse” meant.  Indeed, the report states that the “key characteristics of spiritual abuse identified were coercion and control, manipulation and pressuring of individuals, control through the misuse of religious texts and scripture and providing a ‘divine’ rationale for behaviour.”

    The research was carried out by academics at Bournemouth University under Dr Lisa Oakley, who has been the Programme leader for the only undergraduate course in Abuse Studies in the UK based at Manchester Metropolitan University, and as such is the lead academic in this area.

    Interestingly, Dr Oakley and her co-author, Justin Humphreys (Executive Director of Safeguarding at CCPAS), are keen to flag at the start of their report that:

    “Existing work around this experience (which is characterised by a systematic pattern of controlling and coercive behaviour in a religious context), is still in its infancy, to the extent that there is not currently universal agreement about this as a term.”

    The alarming matter though is definition or no definition, nearly two-thirds (1002 out of 1591) of respondents said they had experienced spiritual abuse themselves and yet only a third said that their church or church organisation had a policy that included spiritual abuse.

    So twice as many people had experienced spiritual abuse than have a policy to recognise and address it!

    This should concern us greatly in an era when the Church is finally learning about the true scale of the damage it has done (and continues to do) through poor safeguarding practices.

    The Church it seems now has a choice.

    Either it hides behind the excuse that we have yet to properly define spiritual abuse and so we cannot effectively safeguard against it,

    or

    It works with those who believe they have been victims of spiritual abuse to understand more about what they have experienced, and therefore how it can make the Church safer for others.

    I for one would like to see the Church own and champion the issue of Spiritual Abuse, and be a role model to other denominations and religions about how seriously it should be taken.  Whilst the Church of England is indeed a few (small) steps ahead of other denominations, mentions of spiritual abuse are still confined to the appendices of reports, and not brought centre stage.

    I also believe that the government needs to recognise Spiritual Abuse as a formal category of harm – particularly with children –  and add it to their current four-fold definition of abuse – physical, sexual, emotional abuse and neglect.

    That way the likes of the Revd Tim Davis could face a proper court for the harm inflicted on vulnerable young teenagers. As the Church Times has reported, Mr Davis, of Christ Church Abingdon, was found guilty on December 28th 2017 under the Clergy Discipline Measure (CDM) 2003 of “conduct unbecoming or inappropriate to the office and work of a clerk in holy orders through the abuse of spiritual power and authority.”

    What I found chilling about this particular case was the level of fear that was experienced not just by the victim, but by all those who involved with Mr Davis, which appeared to stop them from coming forward.

    His former Assistant curate, the Revd Jitesh Patel gave evidence of Mr Davis’s “anger and the fear that his curate felt as a result”. The victim himself gave evidence that he “found it impossible” to tell Mr Davis that he wanted less contact, and that Mr Davis “became angry” if he did not ring him or respond to his texts.  The mother also gave evidence that “he would be angry if (her son) did not come to an evening service” and the judgement sets out that “she told us that (Mr Davis) would say that he was God’s anointed and a person had died because he did not do something that (Mr Davis) wanted.”

    It strikes me that there is one very good indicator that can show us what Spiritual Abuse is – it is where there is paralysing fear, that keeps things hidden and in the dark, and stops people coming forward.

    This fear is manipulative, dehumanising and totally overpowering – and more often than not the perpetrator is can be completely unaware of the fact that he is creating such a climate, given that he or she may have little self-awareness and/or emotional intelligence.

    Anyone within the church who seeks to engender fear by coercive control, bullying or overpowering behaviour runs a significant risk of being guilty of Spiritual Abuse, whether they are ordained or not.

    The challenge to us is that people are often so under the perpetrator’s “spell” and so bound by such fear, that they will rarely come forward of their own accord.  It takes a third party to step in.

    That is, unless we get better at naming those we fear, and looking at why we fear them.

    So, are there those you know in the church who you fear?  I wonder what might lie behind that?  If it is because you fear their wrath or their anger, then can I suggest that you consider talking to someone in authority about it – your archdeacon or your bishop perhaps?  Particularly as you may not be the only on, but you may be the only one brave enough to do something about it!

    The Church should be a place of love – when it becomes a place of fear something has gone terribly wrong, and we need to find the courage and strength to name it for what it is:

    Spiritual Abuse.

  • Spiritual Blindness & its Root of Fear

    by Jayne Ozanne, Editor of ViaMedia.News

    Jayne Ozanne (3)

    Do you believe in Spiritual Blindness?  I must admit, I do.

    I define it as something spiritual that happens to people, often because of something that has happened to them in their past, which then stops them seeing what everyone else can see plainly.

    Sadly, you can’t rationalise with people when they are like this.

    We’ve seen a perfect example of this just this week with the Republican supporters of Judge Moore, who are blaming their fellow Republicans – rather than the conduct of their candidate – for the loss of one of the safest Republican seats in the Senate.

    More broadly speaking, we see it at work in the US with the right-wing evangelical supporters of Trump – who believe that despite all the evidence to the contrary, their President is beyond reproach.  They will therefore continue to support him at all cost, believing him to be God’s anointed man for the White House.

    And we see it here in the UK when dealing with the issue of sexual abuse and power within the Church.

    Perhaps most clearly, though, we see it in the harsh unloving treatment of the LGBTI community by so many self-styled conservative believers.  Despite all the scientific and medical evidence, despite all the heart-wrenching testimonies (and sadly even suicides), despite all the biblical exegesis about our God being a God of Love, who welcomes and embraces all they stand resolute, defiant to the last.

    I would like to believe you can talk and discuss things with everyone in the Church – but my personal experience has shown me that not all are seeking a dialogue, but rather an opportunity to “explain” to you why you are wrong and how “clear” the Bible is.  Any alternative view is seen as mistaken at best, and sinful at worst.

    I have been reflecting what the root cause is of this irrational blindness.

    I believe it stems from a root of fear.  A fear of a God of wrath, a God of anger and a God of judgement.  A God who seems to have mislaid the Gospel of Love.  It is Zeus with his thunderbolt, not Jesus with his open arms on the Cross.

    This terror of God – a seed of an image of God planted often in youth, and watered through the years with the tears of unanswered prayers – is not a Godly fear.  It is one that sadly reflects a lack of assurance of the unconditional love of Christ, who gave Himself willingly so that all may have life.

    Lest we need reminding, this self-sacrifice was an act of love – indeed, it was the ultimate act of love.  Conceived in love, born of love and lived out in love.  To the very end.

    If there is one thing I could shout from the rooftops, it is this – the cross is not a place of fear!

    It is a place of awe and wonder of the Amazing Love that is lavished on us all, wretched sinners that we are.

    I state this purposefully, words so familiar to so many of us, because I believe it is this foundational belief which seems to be where we actually really disagree.

    It has been at the core of my own struggles, replacing a warped image of a God of wrath and anger with a true image of a God of LOVE.  More than that, a God who loves us unconditionally.

    As we are so often told, there is nothing that we can ever do that will ever make Him love us more (not even choosing to be celibate!).  Similarly, there is absolutely nothing we can to make Him love us any less (even if we have committed the most heinous of crimes).  That’s what unconditional means.  It’s what Christ showed to us whilst hanging on the cross, and even then showing unconditional love to the man hanging next to him.

    If I may, can I suggest you read that last paragraph again, and again, and again – until the enormity of it seeks in?  It has taken me over 40 years to begin to grasp, and I’m still grappling with it on a daily basis.

    How can I be so sure of this, of the love of God for me?

    Because I know there is NO fear in love – as the Apostle John tells us (1 John 4:18).  We so often quote the second half of this verse, that “perfect love casts out fear”, without understanding the first half.

    But where there is fear, then sadly the devil can have a field day!

    It is this fear that, when fully grown, can eventually stop us seeing things which are in plain sight.

    For instance, it is fear that stops parents admitting that they know their children are gay, even though the evidence is right in front of their eyes from a very early age.  It is this fear that stops us seeing the domestic abuse that is going on amongst our friends, even when we can plainly see the bruises – both physical and emotional.

    It is this fear that stops us making certain decisions we know to be right as a Church for fear of the financial implications that they might reap, or the impact on our reputation – not that the latter can get much worse.

    The only antidote to fear is of course LOVE.

    Does this mean that we have to love those who are spiritually blind?  Well, if we believe we are Christ’s agents of love on this earth, the answer has to be a resounding “Yes!”.

    And we then have to trust that the Holy Spirit will do the rest.