The Repentance of Immanuel Baptist and the Hope I See

Immanuel Baptist Church

The summer before my 6th grade year I was sexually abused by a Christian camp counselor. The counselor began grooming me while my family attended a conference at Lifeway’s Ridgecrest Conference Center, sent several letters to my home over the ensuing weeks, and eventually came and visited both me and a friend whose family had also attended.

One night, while I was sleeping over at this friend’s house, this counselor came out of the guest room where he was staying, laid on the couch where I was sleeping, and began touching me inappropriately. Embarrassed, scared and confused, I let this go on for a long time, before eventually telling him I was tired and wanted to sleep, at which point he left. For the next 20 years, I told myself “I’m so glad that wasn’t worse,” not realizing that the abuse I’d experienced had deeply twisted my soul in ways I wouldn’t understand until I was in my 30s.

When, in the last few years, I began telling people this story I noticed something odd: Many of them felt the need to dismiss it, minimize it, to tell me what I had always told myself, “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” One well-meaning person told me I should have said something 20 years ago so the abuser could have been punished, which is pretty high on the list of “things you don’t tell an abuse victim.”

Immanuel Baptist Church and Our Problem With Victim Shaming

This bizarre, repeated response led me to ask a question: Why are Christians so quick to minimize sexual abuse? I had heard enough stories to know I wasn’t alone in my experience, and so I began to research, and interview survivors of abuse far more horrific than mine, and eventually I wrote an article attempting to see sexual abuse in the evangelical church from 35,000 feet that was published in The Washington Post this past week. I hope you read the article itself, but the summary of it is this: From small rural churches to urban megachurches, from Reformed churches, to Baptist churches, to non-denominational churches, sexual abuse is rampant, and the way it is dealt with often horrifying.

The article centers on Rachael Denhollander, a former gymnast who made national news in her outspoken quest for justice against Michigan State University doctor Larry Nassar. It discusses how Denhollander became one of the leading voices in calling Sovereign Grace Churches to account for allegations of ignoring or minimizing abuse claims within their own walls for years. When Denhollander’s church—Immanuel Baptist Church in Louisville, Ky.—began publicly defending SGC founder C.J. Mahaney, inviting him to speak regularly from their pulpit, encouraging people to pray against the “attacks” against him, Denhollander told the church leadership she believed their actions were inappropriate given that there were still dozens of allegations against Mahaney. She was told 1) that she was projecting her own abuse on to Mahaney and 2) that if she couldn’t submit to the church’s decision maybe she should find a new church.

This is, far too often, the church’s response to those who speak out about their own abuse, or the abuse of others: They are minimized, unheard and in severe cases like that of former Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary President Paige Patterson, treated as though their sin in some way contributed to the abuse and thus need to be “broken down.” After six months of research, what I have found is that the horror stories emerging about Patterson’s behavior are far from an isolated incident, but rather a template of what happens when leadership fails to hear the voice of victims. It’s easy to look at the scandals of other evangelical churches and institutions and wonder how they could behave so poorly, but the answer often isn’t complicated or particularly insidious. So many times victims of abuse are silenced by arrogant church leaders who believe they 1) know how to handle sexual abuse even though they’ve never had any training on the subject, 2) don’t need to involve outside authorities but can keep it “in-house,” and 3) fail to invite a plurality of voices into their decision making (all too often the response to a woman’s sexual abuse is decided by a group of men sitting in a closed room).

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Joshua Pease
Josh Pease is a writer & speaker living in Colorado with his wife and two kids. His e-book, The God Who Wasn't There , is available for purchase on Amazon.