Speaking OUT to end clergy sexual misconduct.

Posts tagged ‘Episcopal Church’

Anger Rises to the Surface

It’s been two and a half weeks since I learned of Scott’s defrocking and eleven days since the congregational meeting. I’m relieved that the church is free of a dangerous priest, I’m grateful that the bishop called me directly to share the news, and I’m feeling validated since he finally dropped the veil of secrecy around my complaint.

Relieved, grateful, and validated: I wish that’s all I were feeling. I’ve been trying to write a relieved, grateful, validated response to the bishop’s words. But every attempt came out brittle, formal, and fake. Last night, I finally realized why.

Because I’m ANGRY. Once I got over the miracle that the bishop shared the truth at all, I start looking at what he said about my story. And what did he say? That what happened to me wasn’t that big of a deal, and that he still believes he was right to keep it from the congregation. 

WHO IS HE to say that Scott’s offenses against me “didn’t rise to the level of a Title IV complaint”? What kind of yardstick did he use? Does the church keep a manual that says if it’s only words, or if there’s only one complaint, then it’s okay to brush it under the carpet? (In 2010, the bishop actually told me that’s why he chose a “pastoral” response instead of invoking the canons). What if a priest deliberately misconstrues a directive from the bishop in order to continue meeting with his favorite congregants? What if he spends years working to gain a congregant’s trust, then misjudges and springs the trap too soon? What if he openly tells her that she’s part of a years-long pattern of inappropriate behavior toward “beautiful women”? Is a predator less guilty because a particular prey escaped without physical injury? 

The bishop ignored Scott’s pattern of grooming, instead focusing on a few words that he spoke to me on a specific day in 2008. Even worse, he ignored the impact of Scott’s behavior. Author Marilyn Peterson, in her book At Personal Risk: Boundary Violations in Professional-Client Relationships (Norton, 1992), says that the only reliable measure is the harm an offense causes to the victim. “Determining severity by content alone does not allow a violation to be identified as legitimate or valid unless and until it has progressed to the most severe and overt extreme. … To get a truer, more comprehensive picture, it is essential that degree of pain felt by clients be measured.” My injuries at the time — a serious eating disorder and a diagnosis of PTSD — were severe. Six years after the church closed the case, I’m still trying to process what Scott and the church did to me. Does this not signal an offense worthy of a Title IV response, and of a stronger warning to Scott’s next congregation?

And why did the bishop think the congregation didn’t need to know? At last Tuesday’s meeting he told us, “I made a measured decision [not to disclose].” He was vague as to how he measured it, but he has spoken clearly on this question before. When I brought my complaint, he was extremely reluctant to inform the congregation, protesting “he’s the dean of my cathedral!” Church scandals drive people and dollars away, and there was a lot at stake with this congregation. The bishop may have thought he could prevent this damage with secrecy. (So, how’s that working out?) Two years later, I was in the room when he told a group of clergy that this kind of news would be a “body blow” to a congregation — as if a group of full-grown Christian adults would be too weak to deal with hard truth. 

The bishop decided to avoid the harsh official sentences, placing Scott under pastoral direction instead.  “I [required] that he not do certain ministerial functions, and [required] him to do certain other things to address the behavior.” First of all, isn’t that what suspension is — a temporary ban from exercising some or all of the gifts of ordained ministry? Second, why use vague language like “certain ministerial functions”? Why not name those functions, as he did with me in January of 2010? The day I filed my complaint, the bishop told me that Scott was forbidden to offer pastoral counseling during the investigation. Two months later, he extended that ban for another 12 to 18 months. When a church’s senior minister is not allowed to do pastoral counseling, the congregation has a right and a need to know.  

Toward the end of last Tuesday’s meeting, the bishop had harsh words for the people of St Paul’s. “I’m going to be brutally honest with you,” he said. “We’ve had two complaints in the past six years, and it has not been easy for those who have been the complainants. I think this community can do a better job.” What?!? How can the bishop blame the congregation for responding badly to something that officially “never happened”? Instead of disclosing the truth, the bishop left my reputation in the hands of the priest who was then writhing under the humiliating restraints of pastoral direction. What did he think Scott was going to say about me? Now, six years later, he blames the congregation for not being nicer to me? I’m going to be brutally honest with you, bishop: you set those good people up for failure. You don’t owe them a scolding; you owe them an apology.

Finally, the bishop admitted that his official silence was no match for the real voices of hurting, angry people. “What I’ve come to realize is how broadly both Richardson and the complainant had talked about the matter.” He shouldn’t have been surprised; this is exactly what I told him I would do. When he wrapped up my case, I warned him that I was going to tell my friends why I was leaving the church. “I can’t carry the burden of this toxic secret any longer,” I said. He told me that if I did, I would “lose control” of the information. He was right; my words to a few trusted friends triggered an ugly wave of ostracism. I stopped talking for a while; I now speak through this blog. Although I’m not writing for my old churchmates, it seems that a few of them read it. If my strong voice helped the bishop find his, then I’ve done something right and I’m proud.

The waters are starting to settle. In my next post, I’ll be sharing the power and beauty of a very different kind of voice in response to clergy misconduct. Stay tuned.

 

What The Bishop Said

Bishop Mathes opened last Tuesday’s meeting in prayer. “It might feel like I’m praying too much,” he said, “if such a thing is possible.” He wasn’t the only one praying. I could see others praying; I was praying myself. A lot of healing hung on what the bishop was about to say — and he took his time saying it. He spent half an hour explaining how Episcopal church discipline works. He was wise to slow things down; it gave all of us time to prepare for what we were about to hear. I won’t share everything from those thirty minutes, only what readers will need to understand how Scott lost his credentials as a priest.

First, expectations. The church expects its clergy to be loyal to church doctrine, discipline, and worship; to obey their bishop; and to pattern their lives after the teachings of Christ. These vows are formalized in the service of ordination. To help clergy keep their vows, the church adds safeguards like boundary training; limits on frequency of pastoral counseling; and regular notices to congregants about how to recognize and report sexual misconduct. When clergy fail to keep their vows, the church’s Title IV process (the fourth of the five Canons, or governing laws, of the Episcopal Church) kicks in.

When any person believes they have been harmed by a member of the clergy, they contact an intake officer, who receives their information and helps them file a formal report. In most cases, the church investigates the complaint. When the bishop receives the result of the investigation, he or she has three options.
1. The bishop may dismiss any complaint that can’t be substantiated or that the bishop feels is not serious enough to warrant a formal response.
2. The bishop and the respondent (the clergy member who is the subject of the complaint) may come to accord, or agreement, on the appropriate ecclesiastical sentence.
3. Failing agreement, the bishop may order the appropriate sentence.

Title IV provides for these three sentences for misconduct of any type:
1. Admonition, or public reprimand;
2. Suspension, a temporary ban that prevents the offending priest from exercising some or all of the gifts of ordained ministry; and
3. Deposition, or permanent prohibition against exercising any of the gifts of ordained ministry. A priest deposed is no longer a priest.

To prevent the bishop from single-handedly controlling the process, Title IV requires collaboration. The bishop must consult his or her Standing Committee on any matter of consequence. In addition, a Hearing Panel (similar to a jury) may be convened if the bishop and respondent can’t reach an accord. But just as most court matters are resolved by settlement or plea bargain, most Episcopal disciplinary matters are settled by accord between bishop and respondent.

Title IV requires the bishop to offer appropriate care for all affected parties, and (notwithstanding any provision for privacy) allows the bishop to share information about the offense and any accord or order when the bishop deems it pastorally appropriate. The bishop told us, “The bishop is one who holds in tension the sometimes competing goods of transparency and confidentiality, of healing and justice.” (I’ll have more to say about these words in another post.)

At this point he paused and took a breath, and said, “Now let me talk about the matter at hand. And this is where it gets the most painful, because we are talking about real people.” This next piece – the bishop’s account of what Scott did and how the church responded – has huge emotional impact for me. If I paraphrased, I might introduce my own bias against Scott. To keep this post fair and objective, I’m going to use the bishop’s own words. I have omitted a few redundant phrases; otherwise the words in the next four paragraphs (italicized) are the exact words of the bishop.

In November of last year, the Diocese of California received multiple complaints against Scott Richardson. In a brief investigation and follow-up, Richardson agreed to accept a sentence of deposition, no longer being a priest. An alternate sentence of suspension was posited by the Bishop of California. Richardson chose the sentence of deposition. The sentence was imposed pertaining to three complaints against Richardson for multiple charges under… and I’ll read the canons and tell you what they mean. The first was Canon IV.4.1.h.1 which is any act of sexual misconduct. The canons define sexual misconduct [with adults] as sexual behavior at the request of, acquiesced to, or by a member of the clergy with an employee, volunteer, student, or counselee of that member of the clergy, or in the same congregation as the member of the clergy, or a person with whom the member of the clergy has a pastoral relationship. The second canon referenced in the deposition was Canon IV.4.1.h.6, conduct involving dishonesty, fraud, deceit, or misrepresentation. I think that one speaks for itself. Canon IV.4.1.h.8 is the last one referenced: ‘conduct unbecoming a member of the clergy.’ [To] anybody who’s a veteran, that language probably feels familiar to you. It comes out of the military code of justice. It’s sort of a catch all [for] anything that’s not a stipulated part of the code of conduct. These behaviors violate the vows undertaken by clergy at the time of ordination. 

Now, I want at this point to share with you another piece of information that’s particularly relevant to this congregation. In January of 2010, I received a formal complaint against Scott Richardson while he was dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The complaint resulted in a thorough investigation conducted by someone independent of my office. Richardson and the complainant fully cooperated with this process. After assessing the facts, which were not in dispute, I made the determination that the matter did not rise to the level of a Title IV complaint, but was a serious error. I placed Richardson under a pastoral direction. I’ll define what pastoral direction means for you. You may remember in the ordination vows it talks about “pastoral direction of the bishop.” The canons provide for the bishop to be able to give specific direction to clergy in extraordinary situations, that if that pastoral direction were not followed, it would be grounds for discipline as well. So it is a very serious thing. It is so serious that when we do our background check process, one of the questions on that is, “Have you ever been placed under pastoral direction by your bishop?” And so in this instance I put Jones on pastoral direction requiring that he not do certain ministerial functions, and requiring him to do certain other things to address the behavior. I subsequently gave a full briefing on this case as well as my response, to [the vestry of this church]. That was in June of that year, following the completion of this case.

 When Richardson was a candidate in the Diocese of California, our church [did] what our church does in these situations. We do background checks. We use a group called Oxford Documents. I received a request from Oxford Documents for Scott Richardson and truthfully filled it out, answering the questions, marking that a complaint had been made, that he had been under pastoral direction, that he had been accused of ethical violations. I further [gave a brief narrative description] and invited the Bishop of California to be in touch with me for further details, which he was. And we had an oral briefing as well.

It’s tempting to see these events, and our response, as an error in light of subsequent events. I assure you that I continue to ponder that, what we knew in 2010, and to turn that over and over in my mind. However, what we now know does not make what happened a different thing. We take these things in real time and process them in real time. Permit me to address another aspect of this. I made a measured decision then to disclose to the [congregational] leadership, and not the whole community. At the time that decision was made, it seemed commensurate with the matter at hand. It still does, looking it [in] real time at that moment. However, what I’ve come to realize is how broadly both Jones and the complainant had talked about the matter. And in hindsight, it would have been helpful for me to make a statement to the community at that time, stating from my position how the matter was adjudicated. I offer this information to you for two reasons at this time. One is that the complainant in the matter has given me consent to do so. In addition, the complainant has stated that it would be helpful to that individual’s healing. And that is a very, very important consideration. 

The bishop continued: ““Our challenge tonight and in the days ahead is to process this difficult information.” Response to clergy misconduct is an obligation not only of bishops, but of the whole community. The bishop acknowledged that Scott had done “some wonderful things at this church and over his three decades of service. But he also did some things that were so grievous that he can no longer be an Episcopal priest. There are injured persons. He has hurt people. And let me be as clear as I can on this point: the injured people are not to blame. It would be a violation of my ordination vows to tolerate blame of those upon whom there has been trespass. It is not consistent with my vows, and beloved, it is not consistent with yours.”

He stepped away from the podium. The moderator stepped forward and invited questions. Some congregants asked about Scott: “Why did he choose deposition if suspension were an option?” (The bishop refused to speculate on Scott’s motives.) “How do we pray for Scott?” The bishop responded, “there are people in this room who have been harmed. The notion of praying for someone who has been disciplined for misconduct may be hard to think about right now.”

The bishop talked about the role of the congregation. “There’s only so much my position can do,” he said. “We need the collaborative support of all of you. I’m going to be brutally honest with you now. We’ve had two complaints in the past six years, and it has not been easy for those who have been the complainants. I think this community can do a better job, and that is my call to you.”

I have much to say in response to the bishop’s words. But for now, I just need to share them. I’ve waited six years for this acknowledgement. Sometimes it still feels like a dream. By sharing the bishop’s words here, I make it one degree more real.

 

 

“There are no secrets in a healthy church.”

In April, I learned of a complaint of sexual misconduct against another minister at my former church. Earlier this month the bishop resolved the matter: the offender will retire and leave the church. He’ll no longer have license to serve as an ordained minister in my former denomination. Letters from the bishop and the offender were sent to the congregation. The bishop’s letter said this: “To be available to any who wish to be in conversation with me about this, I will be present after the 10:30 a.m. worship service on Sunday, August 31.”

I very much wish to be in conversation with the bishop about this! So this morning, for the first time since December 2009, I attended the Sunday service at my former church. It hurt to be there — it literally hurt. Halfway through the service I realized I ached all over, as if I had just run a marathon.

And then I strode into the middle of the social hour crowd to get a cup of coffee.

And then I walked into the Great Hall for the forum. I sat at a table in the back of the room with an older couple. The woman told me, “I think the bishop should have kept it quiet. I don’t know any of the facts, but I think he should have handled it privately.” The man said, “I don’t know the facts either, but I’ll find out — I’m having lunch with Pastor Lindquist [the offender] on Friday.” The woman said, “I don’t know the complainant. I wonder how old she is?” (“Why does that matter?” I asked.) The man said, “Some people are just so quick to take offense and complain.”

These were Lindquist’s people. As it turned out, the whole room was filled with Lindquist’s people. They were angry, and some of them got ugly. But the bishop showed courage and leadership from beginning to end. I haven’t always felt kindly toward him — we’ve definitely had our conflicts — but today I feel nothing but gratitude.

The bishop started by acknowledging the anger in the room — toward the offender, and toward himself, and toward the complainant. Next he promised to stay as long as we needed him. “No matter how long this takes,” he said. “I’ll be the last person to leave.” He spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the church’s complicated process for handling complaints. He said he could not discuss the complaint itself, nor the evidence, nor anything about the complainant. “I really try to do the right thing,” he said. “The great fear is not that we won’t get it perfectly right, but that we’ll get it perfectly wrong. So I strive to get it approximately right.” He said we were having this meeting because “there are no secrets in a healthy church.”

Let me repeat the bishop’s extraordinary words: “There are no secrets in a healthy church.”

The bishop had already seen me in the audience. He must have wondered what I intended. He may have wondered if I would expose the secret of my complaint and the admission of guilt from my offender. But I was only here to listen. Before I said a word, I wanted to hear the bishop, and hear the congregation’s response.

The bishop opened it up for questions. The “People’s Warden” was the first to speak. “Why didn’t you figure out a way for Pastor Lindquist to stay?” she pleaded. “I’ve heard from so many people about this. Everyone loves him. Why couldn’t he stay?”

The bishop was firm. “I wish this had never occurred, but it did. Something happened that was wrong, and someone was hurt, and there needed to be a response,” he said. “When we know the respondent it’s much harder because of all the good things we know. If we just had the facts in front of us, and we remove the knowledge of the respondent’s identity, it becomes a lot easier.”

The next question, from a man I’ll call Mr. Arrogant, began, “Since the Lutheran Church exonerated him…”  … and then the beginning of a long, grandstanding diatribe. (I cannot be objective about this man; he was one of the people who harmed me directly after my ordeal).

The bishop stopped the question right there. “The Lutheran church didn’t exonerate him. They simply found that the incident didn’t rise to the level that would trigger their disciplinary process.”

Mr. Arrogant tried to keep grandstanding, but the bishop held his ground. Then the man sitting next to Mr. Arrogant (I’ll call him Mr. Bully; he’s the one who posted an accusation on my Facebook wall) spoke up. “This is just like McCarthyism!” he said. “This is just a smear campaign against Pastor Lindquist!” A third man (I’ll call him Mr. Knee-Jerk) spoke of the “accusations” that “destroyed” Pastor Lindquist’s reputation.

The bishop stood firm against all of it. Any time he heard inflammatory language (e.g. “McCarthyism”), he nipped it in the bud. “Look at the first letter I sent,” he demanded. “Do you see the word ‘accuse’ anywhere in it? I simply stated the facts: that there had been a complaint, and that I was putting the respondent on administrative leave, without prejudice. I am not going to share the facts of the case with you, because then you all would do your own jury work. And for better or worse, that’s what you hired me to do.”

A man in the back of the room (I’ll call him Perry Mason) gave a little speech about burden of proof and types of evidence. “The highest type of evidence is material evidence,” he said. “Was any material evidence presented in this case?”

Material evidence? Of a verbal violation?? Generally the only evidence in these cases is the damage in the victim’s life. I sat silently, steam coming out of my ears. Thankfully, the bishop kept a cooler head. “I’m not going to speak to the evidence,” he said. “In this instance, it was a different denomination that looked at the evidence.” But he pointed out that in cases of church discipline, “Clergy don’t have the same civil rights as you and I do in the courts.”

A woman to my right asked, “Why couldn’t this have been handled in your office as a conversation between the two parties?”

The bishop said that it is almost never helpful to make the complainant come face to face with her offender. He said if he had done that in this case, “I would be committing a Title IV violation.”

A man walked forward from the far corner of the room. “I’m a new congregant,” he said. “I don’t know any of the people or the facts, but I do know that the church doesn’t just throw out people who cause harm. There are people in this church who fought against civil rights, and there are people who fought against gay rights, and they’re still part of the church. We forgive them and we keep them in the family. Why can’t we do that here?”

The bishop responded. “The complainant is part of this process,” he insisted, “and the complainant deserves justice. Clergy take vows to be obedient to the canons of the church. When we do something contrary to those vows, there has to be a response.”

A woman (I’ll call her Mary) raised her hand. “I’m not officially a member of this congregation,” she said. “I’m not even Episcopalian. I’m a Catholic theologian. But my husband attends this church, and I consider it my home too. So I hope you’ll hear what I’m about to say. You all are telling the bishop you wish he would have kept it a secret. You all are wounded because a priest you love is now gone. But look what happened within my church. Because bishops didn’t have the courage to disclose, but instead sent predator priests quietly away to other churches, look how many children’s lives were destroyed. We need transparency! Your bishop may not have gotten this perfectly right, but the bishops in the Catholic church got it perfectly wrong.”

Many years ago, as I sat at my first meeting of the bishop’s Diocesan Council, he said, “I want to hear your voices. I don’t want you to silence yourself even if you’re going to say or ask something controversial. Follow the urging of the Holy Spirit here. If you have something to say and your heart is pounding and your hands are sweating at the idea of saying it, that’s the Holy Spirit — and you need to say it.”

As I sat listening to Pastor Lindquist’s defenders, and to the bishop’s insistence on justice, and to Mary’s call for transparency and truth, my heart started pounding a mile a minute. I knew it was time to speak.

And the bishop did the most courageous thing of all: he saw my raised hand, and he called on me. My voice was shaking, and I was awkward and inarticulate, but I managed to convey a few words of truth. I thanked the bishop for the courage to disclose and to stand in front of a hurting congregation, absorbing their pain and anger. I acknowledged the pain in the room. “Pastor Lindquist was beloved,” I said. I thanked Mary for reminding us how important transparency is — and I used the bishop’s own words, “There are no secrets in a healthy church.” I told the gathered crowd, “I hope this won’t be the end of the conversation. I’m not a member of this congregation any more, but I hope the conversation continues.” And I turned to the bishop and said once more, “Thank you.”

The bishop began to move toward closure. “What this was not,” he said, “was an effort to convince you that I’m right. What this is is about being in church. The church, like our Savior, has been wounded.” We heal, he said, by coming together.

The bishop invited the church’s new priest-in-charge to speak. She told us, “This is an especially difficult issue for clergy. The new Title IV is much more strict. Anyone who has been ordained for a decade or more has probably done something that could raise a complaint.  We see this process and we think, ‘That could have been me.’  It sometimes feels unfair to clergy — but to be fair, that’s what we signed up for when we took our vows.”

She then turned to the bishop. “Some people have asked me if we can celebrate Pastor X’s legacy by having a farewell party for him.”

GOOD LORD. A PARTY?? For a man who has caused so much harm to a vulnerable congregant???

The bishop spoke sense. “The church should not be doing that. We have a complainant who has been hurt. The minister has admitted fault, and this is part of the consequences.”

A woman to my right spoke up. “I appreciate this forum,” she said. “I’m glad you gave us a chance to speak. Now we do need to move on.”

“Yes,” said the bishop. “In the fullness of time.”

He said sadly, this will not be the last complaint he’ll adjudicate as a bishop. And then he promised that he will always disclose the truth, and he’ll always invite the congregation to work through their pain together with him.

The bishop was true to his word. He stayed as long as we needed him — nearly two hours. I don’t know if he was the last to leave, because I was one of the first. Even four years later, it still takes courage just to be in the room with some of those people.

So, did the bishop get this meeting “approximately right?”

No.

He got it perfectly right.

When the bishop handled my complaint four years ago, he erred by insisting on secrecy. He can never undo that decision, and he can’t undo the harm he caused me as a result. But because of his courage today, he has restored a piece of my faith in the institutional church. He heard my voice. Even though he didn’t always like what I was saying, he listened. He couldn’t offer healing to me, but his courage makes healing possible for the next victim at my church. Because I suffered and the bishop heard my voice, another injured woman received better justice.

Today, I took another mile forward in my journey toward peace.

How to Screen Out Potential Offenders

Rule #1 in preventing clergy sexual abuse: don’t hire offenders. But how can we tell who they are? Many potential offenders don’t even know themselves, and those who do are hardly going to share their dark truth with a hiring committee.

Last month I highlighted a resource of The Episcopal Church, a model policy aimed at preventing sexual exploitation of adults. The policy includes a sample interview that could identify potential offenders. It’s an excellent tool that could help all faith communities, so I’m sharing it on this blog. The interview starts soft but eventually gets to hard questions about the candidate’s professional, civil, and criminal record. To encourage truthful responses, interviewers may want to begin the interview by saying, “We’ll be doing a standard background check, of course, but these questions will help us understand better how you might handle challenging situations as our pastor.”

According to the Church Pension Group of the Episcopal Church, here are the questions that could help protect congregants and staff against clergy sexual exploitation.

1. Please tell me about the last time a member of your (congregation, youth group, office staff, etc.) demanded too much of your time. How did you handle that?

2. Please give an example of a time in your work or volunteer history when you thought the policies were too rigid. How did you handle that?

3. Please describe a time when you felt a special bond or friendship between yourself and a member of your (congregation, youth group, office staff, etc.).

4. Please give an example of a “boundary violation.” Has that ever happened to you, or has anyone ever said that you violated a boundary of some sort?

5. Has disciplinary action of any sort ever been taken against you by a licensing board, professional association, ecclesiastical body or educational or training institution? Have there been complaints against you that did not result in discipline? Are there complaints pending against you before any of the above-named bodies? If yes, please explain.

6. Have you ever been asked to resign or been terminated by a training program or employer? If yes, please explain. 

7. Have you ever had a civil suit brought against you about your professional work or is any such action pending? Have you ever had professional malpractice insurance suspended or revoked for any reason? If yes, please explain.

8. Have you ever been charged (formally or informally) with any ethics violations, sexual exploitation, sexual abuse or sexual harassment? Are any such actions or complaints pending against you? If yes, please explain.

9. Are you now or have you ever had sexual contact or attempted sexual contact (sexual intercourse of any kind, intentional touching, or conversation for the purpose of sexual arousal) with any person you were/are seeing in any professional context or in a pastoral relationship (i.e. parishioner, client, patient, employee, student)? If yes, please explain.

10. Are you now or have you ever been involved in the production, sale, or distribution of pornographic materials? If yes, please explain.

11. Have you ever had a restraining order, injunction, order for protection or the like issued against you? Have you ever had your parental rights restricted, suspended or terminated or have any of your children ever been in foster care? Have you ever been accused of domestic violence? If so, please explain.

These questions, and the entire model policy, were developed by the Church Pension Group and the Nathan Network for The Episcopal Church. Please note that commercial use of this sample interview, or of the Model Policy, is prohibited by the church’s copyright. To order copies or for more information, please visit the CPG website.

Erik’s Story

Thank God for survivors like Erik Campano, who had the foresight to organize hundreds of pieces of evidence supporting his complaint against a priest and her bishop. After talking with Erik and reviewing his account, I shared his story this afternoon with a few respected journalists. Here’s what I told them:

At the American Church in Paris, new Episcopalian Erik Campano survived a classic case of clergy sexual misconduct. He joined the church, caught the attention of an Episcopal priest-in-training, initially resisted her advances, gradually succumbed, and eventually agreed to a sexual relationship that he had to conceal from his friends at the church. Although he was flattered, Erik was also confused and fearful about being sexually involved with his minister.

Ginger Strickland’s bishop, Pierre Whalon, clearly considered her a protégée. As a candidate for bishop, he had asked Strickland to give his nomination speech. Unfortunately, Whalon placed the newly minted Yale M.Div. in a non-denominational church that had no sexual misconduct policy. When Strickland asked her supervising pastor (not an Episcopalian) if she could date a congregant, she got a green light. Against Episcopal Church protocols and against her seminary training, she went ahead.

And yet it was never a real relationship. Even before she was ordained, Mother Strickland’s power as Erik’s minister made it hard for him to say no, and therefore impossible for him to give meaningful consent. The stress led to serious health problems. Finally, Erik broke off the relationship and reported Strickland for misconduct, but to a bishop who was heavily invested in her success. Bishop Whalon took extraordinary measures to protect Strickland’s career. He misrepresented to Erik which office had jurisdiction to hear the case, he delayed forwarding Erik’s complaint to an Intake Officer for months, he ordained Strickland to the priesthood despite this serious unresolved disciplinary matter, he published in the New York Post his intention to discredit Erik’s story (and may have actually done so through attorney John Walsh), he failed to meet with Erik even once to hear his complaint, and he defamed Erik’s character in his October 2012 report to the Convocation of the Episcopal Churches in Europe.

It is this final action that I address in my letter to Bishop Katharine.

In Trauma and Recovery, Judith Herman eloquently describes what the Episcopal Church may be doing to Erik Campano. “Secrecy and silence are the perpetrator’s first line of defense,” writes Herman. “If secrecy fails, the perpetrator attacks the credibility of his victim. If he cannot silence her absolutely, he tries to make sure that no one listens. To this end, he marshals an impressive array of arguments, from the most blatant denial to the most sophisticated and elegant rationalization. After every atrocity one can expect to hear the same predictable apologies: it never happened; the victim lies; the victim exaggerates; the victim brought it on herself; and in any case it is time to forget the past and move on. The more powerful the perpetrator, the greater is his prerogative to name and define reality, and the more completely his arguments prevail.”

A powerful institutional church seems to be working hard to silence its victims. And who are the church’s victims? With the Episcopal Church we have worshipped, served, and shared not only our spiritual hopes and fears but also our financial resources. We are, in fact, the church itself. Now we are silenced by the very power we helped to create.

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