The Church of England’s General Synod voted on 11 November, 1992 to ordain women to the priesthood. Why were the first women not ordained until March 1994? At 25 years’ distance it might seem that the ordination of the thousand or so female deacons into the priesthood could have proceeded within a few months. With my own silver anniversary on 23 April, I’ve been reflecting back on that process.

In order to get the legislation through Synod without splitting the Church, the House of Bishops made several substantial compromises. One of these was that all the women who believed themselves called to the priesthood, and who had already been through a selection process for ordination, would have to go through selection again. This time it was called a ‘discernment procedure’. In many dioceses ‘discernment’ consisted of little more than a chat with the bishop. I was in Manchester, however, where opposition to women’s ordination was strong. We had a more involved procedure culminating with an interview.

I knew it was going to be a hostile interview as soon as I walked into the room. The two interviewers (a Manchester archdeacon and a female deacon from another diocese) were sitting with their backs to the light, and far enough apart so that I couldn’t look at both of them at once. As the interview proceeded they alternated questions, so every question came from someone I couldn’t see, and I would have to turn to them to answer it.  Meanwhile the other would be observing me, but I couldn’t see them. It was a set-up calculated to put candidates off their stroke.

I was asked to recount the history of my vocation. My sense of calling dated back to when I was 9 years of age and my family were attending a Baptist church in the USA, so my answer required a little time and explanation. The interviewers listened with apparent attention. Then one of them said, ‘That can’t have happened.’ Incredulous, I asked, ‘Why can’t it have happened?’ ‘Because the Church hadn’t made its mind up then.’ I couldn’t understand how they could assume that God had no foreknowledge of the decision the Church of England would make, and had made no provision for it. I pictured God, on that November afternoon in 1992, being taken unawares and desperately scrabbling around to find some women to call to the priesthood. It was the more ridiculous because at my selection conference in 1983 there had been no pretence that my vocation was to the diaconate rather than the priesthood. So I replied to A and B, ‘Are you telling me God can only do what the Church of England decides to do?’ This did not go down well.

The whole interview was traumatic and for some days afterwards I was shaking and ill. Nor was I alone; women reported coming out of their interview and vomiting, or having repeated nightmares in the days and weeks following.  When we got the letter with our results, a number of women had been turned down on clearly spurious grounds. One mother was told having young children meant she couldn’t function as a priest; the same did not apply to her priest husband. Another, a lecturer at an ecumenical ordination training scheme, was told it didn’t give her a ‘sufficient sacramental base’ for priesthood – despite her also being attached to an Anglican parish. All but one of these had the decision reversed on appeal. Her case was particularly hard. Her interview was interrupted first by the fire alarm and then by a power failure. Before the discernment process began she had been promised an incumbency by her bishop, but now she was told she was unsuitable for the priesthood. The bishop’s reply to protests on her behalf was that to change the decision would ‘discredit the process’. , She was eventually priested after token ‘further training’.

When my report arrived, I found to my relief that I had been recommended for ordination. However, the report was so intensely negative that I didn’t see how they could have reached a positive conclusion. I could not have recommended for the priesthood someone with the qualities they attributed to me. I showed it to my spiritual director, an Anglican nun well versed in the ways of the Church of England. She said, ‘It makes me feel sick.’ She couldn’t understand the ordained female interviewer, whom she knew, taking part in this abusive process.

I was concerned that this very critical and unfair report would remain permanently in my file and affect future job prospects, so I asked the bishop to remove it. He refused. I am grateful to several clergy and lay people who then wrote to the bishop with an alternative – and more positive – view of my personality and abilities. One or two of these at least were retained in my file, as I discovered last year when I sent for it.

This was the background to my ordination as a priest on 23 April 1994. The ordination service was wonderful. It was personally healing and fulfilling, and the love and support shown for us was overwhelming. But we had been made to run the gauntlet to get there – and a senior diocesan figure admitted that the discernment procedure had been made brutal in order to placate our opponents.

Did I approach my ordination with hope? Well, I certainly hoped it wouldn’t be disrupted by protesters, and that I wouldn’t disgrace myself by falling down the precipitous chancel steps. And I hoped that eventually, as more women were ordained and moved into senior positions, the Church would become a juster and kinder institution. But I had seen senior women taking part in a process designed to hurt and demean their clergy sisters, and I had no illusions that simply promoting women would miraculously transform the Church. I had learned that the Church does not advance those who it fears will rock the boat by making a stand on principle. I had seen senior clergy play politics with the vocations of dedicated and godly women. And, not for the first (or last) time, I had seen a bishop refuse to do what he knew to be right, simply to avoid discrediting a Church procedure.

The iron had entered into my soul. I used to think that if we showed we were hardworking, capable, and didn’t make a fuss, the Church would eventually recognise that God had genuinely called us. We could then take an equal place alongside our male colleagues. I no longer believed that. I now recognised that we were dealing with bullies – and bullies must be resisted. Jesus told a story about an unjust judge who had to be inconvenienced before he would give a poor widow justice. When bishops put Church politics before justice and the kingdom of God, sometimes they need to be made uncomfortable until they do what is right.

The word ‘integrity’ is one which has many facets.  It is closely aligned to another word ‘wholeness’.  Both words speak of human flourishing in terms of health, honesty and goodness.  Integrity has a special link with the idea of moral trustworthiness.  A person of integrity is someone who can never betray moral principles in order to preserve their own interests or those of another party, such as an institution.  The great examples of martyrdom in Christian history were individuals who suffered the supreme sacrifice of life itself rather than betray this personal integrity. 

There is a word in the New Testament which is often translated ‘perfect’ but has a meaning close to our idea of integrity.  ‘Be ye perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect’.  I have always mentally translated the Greek word ‘teleios’ as relating to our notion of integrity and wholeness.  ‘Be people of integrity’ certainly seems to do justice to the Greek word.  If we are in any doubt as to what the word means, we need look no further than the example of Jesus himself.  I am not due to preach this Passiontide but no doubt if I were, I would want to explore how the life and death of Jesus are an outworking of both the meaning and practical implications of ‘integrity’.  Jesus was a man of whom it could always be said that his yes meant yes and his no meant no.  For the eyes of faith, the Crucifixion itself is a supreme proclamation of integrity.  It is one which can be pondered and internalised by the followers of the crucified one.

There is one particular genre of literature much preoccupied with the idea of integrity.  This literature is known as Greek tragedy.  In a series of surviving plays acted in the open theatres of ancient Greece, two authors, Euripides and Sophocles, struggled with the big questions around human integrity when brought up against the demands of law and custom.   The heroes of these gripping dramas typically found themselves in situations where there was no happy ending or correct choice to be made.   In what seems like endless monologues, the hero bewails the fate that awaits him/her because she has to follow through with what choice, honour and integrity demand.  Execution, suicide or self-mutilation seem to mark the conclusion in all these plays.  The audience of these dramas was invited to identify with the dilemmas of life as presented by the dramatist.  How does one preserve one’s integrity in the face of conflicting values?   Society on the one side may tell us one thing while personal conscience may dictate something quite different.

In a small way I see the Church of England being caught up in a drama not dissimilar to a Greek tragedy.  The central actors are the bishops of the Church of England, especially the Archbishop of Canterbury himself.  The Archbishop was interviewed by Cathy Newman on Channel 4 News last week.  The topics ranged from Brexit to the stalled inquiry of John Smyth’s abuses.  A man of deep integrity was revealed.  Archbishop Welby had obviously been affected by the suffering of those who had been the victims of Smyth.  But there was another side revealed in the interview.  In answering the questions about Smyth, there was a rehearsed almost formulaic quality about the answers.  Someone, surely not the Archbishop himself, had created a narrative of distancing Smyth from the Church of England.  The fact that Smyth on his African ministry had identified with non-Anglican churches was somehow extrapolated back to his time in England.  Smyth was never a true Anglican. Surely the Archbishop or his advisers knew that Smyth had been a Reader in the Church.  I have never heard of anyone calling themselves a Reader who was not a baptised, confirmed member of the Church in good standing.  A second myth about Smyth was trotted out.  This time it concerned the organisations associated with him and thus indirectly overseeing all his activities while he was in England.  Like Smyth himself these organisations were distanced from the Church of England and presented as outside church control.  In my perusal of the documents connected to the Iwerne/Titus Trustees I have never seen a single name who was not a licensed officer or member of the national church.  The network that binds together Iwerne/Titus alumni has always been 100% Church of England.   The Archbishop knows this well. Separation in a legal sense may be claimed but there is no clear moral case for seeing the Church of England as standing apart from the activities of Smyth.  Also, those who, with arguably greater guilt, covered up Smyth’s activities for 30+ years were all individually card-carrying members of the Church of England.

The judgement that is being made of our Archbishop in this blog is that he is indeed a man of integrity in a Christian sense.  He genuinely feels the pain of those who have suffered and seems to want to do the right thing to relieve that suffering.  But there is a real sense in which his integrity is being severely compromised by outside loyalties to mysterious forces who are setting the wider agenda and who care little for these needs.  Unlike the main characters in a Greek tragedy, the Archbishop does not have to suffer pain in order to keep his integrity.  By repeating the establishment line, he manages to avoid experiencing the real costs of his position of sincerity.  He manages to live simultaneously in two places.  He identifies with survivors/victims while remaining loyal to those who shut them out for being too disruptive to the status-quo.  The same thing seems to be happening over the arrangements for Lambeth 2020.  The protestations of pain that he has had to suffer (by banning same-sex spouses) in order to serve the greatest good may be true, but one still hears the voice of establishment creatures who are manipulating the narrative behind the scenes in order to pacify the forces unleashed by the American Right.

The current events in the Church of England thus have some of the elements of a Greek tragedy.  But one element that is missing is the readiness of the central characters to sacrifice themselves to show their utter dedication to their principles.  As we approach the Cross, we see the central actor of the drama ready to give everything to proclaim his integrity and his complete faith in God.  Integrity, Christian integrity is sometimes to be found in our church.  Here in the Lambeth discussions and the Smyth inquiry interview on Channel 4, that quality is being compromised because the chief players are allowing themselves to be part of a hidden institutionally directed narrative.  These dark controlling forces that seem to have coached Welby in his carefully articulated but unconvincing answers last week have no names.  Whoever they are, they appear to be completely dedicated to the preservation of the institution, even if some people (the survivors) are hurt or destroyed in the process.  The conservative values of institutions like the C/E, the preservation of the status quo at any cost, have little time for the values of Christian integrity or any values for that matter.  As a result, we see the way that leaders are required to undermine or even destroy their reputations for posterity.  The Church will always honour the memory of people of integrity and honour.  It will be less impressed by those who followed the way of toeing the party line, even when they knew that line to be false and dishonest.

The dry cleaner in my Jewish neighbourhood looked first at the stoles I had laid on the counter, then at my clerical collar. Then he said thoughtfully, ‘When I was training, my boss told me always to clean the rabbi’s prayer shawl free of charge. So I think I ought to clean your robes free of charge too.’  And he did, for all the 8 years I lived there.

When I hear of Jews being targeted for hate crimes, I think of that generous dry cleaner and so many others like him – Jewish neighbours, shopkeepers, doctors, artists, rabbis I have known. Then there are the Jews whose talents have enriched my life, from Barbra Streisand to Yehudi Menuhin, How could anyone hate them just for being Jewish?

When I read of Muslims being shot while they prayed, I remembered all the gentle and hospitable Muslims I’ve known: the meals cooked for me by Iranian friends; the wise and kindly Pakistani student adviser; the competent Arab surgeon.

I’m lucky. My father worked with missionary organisations and I grew up knowing people of a wide range of nationalities, cultures and skin tones. It never occurred to me those things might be sources of distrust or dislike. When it came to different shades of Christianity, however – that was another matter. In our Chicago suburb Catholics did not mix with Protestants. We had separate schools, and I don’t remember our ever talking with our Catholic neighbours. My father was a conservative evangelical and distrusted those with more ’liberal’ or catholic views.

Chief Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis quotes historian Simon Schama as saying, ’there are now two kinds of people in the world:  those who are happy to live and engage with people who are not like themselves, and those who are not.’

What drives those who hate others just for being different? A psychologist would be better able to answer that question. In brief, however, there are several possibilities.

Some are crippled by a sense of inadequacy, and shore up their own ego by considering others inferior to them. ‘I may not be a hunk, an athlete or a brainbox, but at least I’m a member of the master race.’

Others cannot face the dark side of their own natures – the negative qualities and weaknesses we all have – and project them onto a whole race or group of others. ‘It’s not me who’s greedy or immoral or fanatical, it’s people who belong to that other religion.’

There are those who are guilty but cannot (or will not) deal with that guilt, so focus on the supposed guilt of others. I have known two clergymen who preached fiery sermons calling others to repent, but who turned out to be living double lives. One was a paedophile; the other, a married man, was eventually outed after advertising for sex. He had been enjoying casual liaisons for 25 years, despite challenging other clergy who had affairs.There are many such examples among clergy, politicians and others. It’s not only the guilty who behave in this way; shame and anger can be directed outwards in similar fashion. Before I had come to terms with my abuse I was pretty good at preaching hellfire and damnation. I wince to think of it now.

There are people who find the world complex and frightening – as indeed it is – and find it easier to focus the fear on others rather than come to terms with living in uncertainty. Jews – or Muslims, feminists, LGBT people, Brexiteers or Remainers – are responsible for all the ills that beset us. Eliminate them, and there will be nothing left to fear.

These are just some of the mechanisms by which people come to see a group of people as ‘the enemy’. In reality there may be a mixture of these, and perhaps more, conscious and subconscious motivations at work when we find ourselves fearing and disliking other people. We all suffer from one or more of them to some degree. In addition, we absorb attitudes and prejudices from those around us; in churches these are often propped up with a ‘theological’ or ‘biblical’ justification.

The trouble is that when we class any group or type of people as ‘the problem’ or ‘the enemy’, we can justify treating them badly. In extremes, this can result in physically harming or even killing them, as we saw with the recent tragic massacre in Christchurch. Most people guilty of prejudice don’t go to those extremes, thank God. But bias can prevent us from hearing each other and result in discrimination and injustice.  On some Christian social media sites remarks such as the following are sadly common:  ‘”Openly gay pastor” translates to “rebellious lost sinner who doesn’t know the Bible”.’  For ‘openly gay pastor’ you could substitute ‘woman pastor’, ‘person who doesn’t oppose abortion’, or several other categories. Some Christians would exclude anyone who doesn’t believe and live exactly as they do.

We cannot do much about others’ prejudices, but how do we deal with our own? My negativity about Roman Catholics was banished when I moved next door to a very friendly Catholic family.  One evening, over a bottle of wine, we discussed the differences between Catholic and (evangelical) Anglican theology. I found that often when we used different language we meant the same thing; and when we used the same words we meant something different. Eventually Terry commented, ‘The trouble with you Protestants is that you’ve thrown the Mother out with the bathwater.’ I saw he was right – and during our long friendship I developed a reverence for Our Lady.

I might not have been so open to that conversation, without a realisation which had come to me a few years earlier. I had been taught that no one could be converted to Christ without first realising the extent of their sin (hence the evangelical tendency to ‘name and shame’ sins).  But I was working on a sermon one day when it struck me, out of the blue, that it was not my job to convince people of their sin:  that is the work of the Holy Spirit. My work is to proclaim and to live, as far as I can, the love of God and the forgiveness we find in Christ.

Like everyone else I have only had sight of the SCIE report for the past couple of days. In the middle of moving house, it has only been possible to scan briefly the 140 pages of text which contain an independent survey the Church of England and its management of safeguarding issues. Clearly, I need more time to read the recommendations in detail. What the document gives is a survey of the safeguarding achievements of the 42 dioceses in the Church of England.  In addition, and perhaps from our perspective more importantly, there is an attempt to record the experience of 50+ survivors and their experiences of dealing with the Church.  As we might expect, the picture is mixed but the reviewer notes some improvements in the past four years or so. Because I cannot claim to have read the full report, I want to focus my comments on a crucial sentence which has been highlighted by several other commentators. It concerns our two archbishops. The sentence which is a quote from a survivor, reads ‘the current two archbishops and the previous two archbishops of Canterbury have all failed to be open about major safeguarding failures’.

In many ways this sentence and particularly the word ‘open’ sums up many of the problems about safeguarding that are reported over and over again by survivors. The kind of comments that I have heard suggest that survivors of abuse feel that they are, in bringing complaints, pitted against what feels like a closed system. In my reflections I want to consider a wider question.  Why does an institution, here represented by two archbishops, find it so hard to be open in this issue of responding to failures?

Each of us is born into an intimate community we call the family. Later on, we may become part of other communities.  Some of us join the church and this extends our experience of community.  At its best it links us to God and other Christians, potentially from every part of the world. Community is a word which implies that we know people personally. We are bound to them in relationships of love and respect and this leads on to the possibility of being able to trust them.  We often speak about ‘Christian community’ and there is a special word from the New Testament to describe this reality.  This is the word koinonia, often translated as communion or fellowship. The word contains the double idea that our Christian relationships reach out simultaneously to our fellow Christians and to the divine. The Orthodox theologian John Zizoulas described the Eucharist as the central activity of the church because it enacts communion for Christians with God and with each other in a tangible way. This quality of relating beyond ourselves in and through the Eucharist is a central part of our Christian identity. The church of course exists not only in its local manifestation, however important this might be. It has an organisational aspect.  A denominational structure, such as the Church of England, allows hundreds of local communities to be bonded together for support, learning and oversight. Organisation implies rules, discipline and defined common aims.  Bishops and archbishops are part of what enables the church organisation to operate through their overseeing role.

The word ‘institution’, often used in describing the Anglican church, brings in another dimension to our church organisation. An organisation is an institution when it has a formal aspect.  This will be seen in things like constitutions, traditions and links with the past.  We could say that an institution is an organisation with extras.  These bind it in distinctive ways to the wider society.  Sometimes being an institution has advantages.  It is suggestive of stability and permanence which people want and respect.   But these same qualities also put brakes on flexibility and make change a very cumbersome slow process.  An organisation without a history or traditions can fairly easily reinvent itself. The institution, on the other hand, may take decades to enact change because there is so much to be disentangled every time it wants changes to take place. As an aside this may be what is making the Brexit process so slow.  Britain has acquired so many extra hidden links through its membership of the European Community that it is never going to be easy to cut these links and pretend they never existed.

Among my interests is to try to work out how institutions like the Church affect and change the people who belong to them. I am especially interested in looking at those who have to be in charge of the institution, one which is deeply rooted in the past and hard to change. Because of the power of what we might call institutional inertia, we must expect that most of those who take responsibility for an institution like the Church of England have to submit to this slow pedantic way of operating.  Leadership of a slow ship like the Church of England is possibly an impossible task.  The obstructions put in the way of a new broom may be impossible to overcome.  Inertia, tradition, a preoccupation with buildings and survival will normally prove more powerful than any individuals put in charge.  The fate of most church leaders is to become a slave of the institution rather than its inspirer. I wonder how many of those chosen to be bishops in the Church of England realise at the beginning how difficult it will to make a real difference within the institution of which they are nominally leaders.

It is in the context of institutional powerlessness and bondage to unseen forces that I read the critical comments by SCIE towards archbishops past and present.  Openness about the needs of survivors/victims is a task not straightforward for a cumbersome institution dedicated to the demands of survival and continuity.  The aspect of the church than can respond to these needs is the church operating at the level of community or communion.  It is there that issues of brokenness, pain and forgiveness can be addressed.  Even though the public sees many failures at the national level, the local church, handling the demand for true wholeness, has still much to offer.   

Every report that is published on the topic of safeguarding seems to produce a call for mandatory reporting to an outside body in cases of abuse.  Bishops and archbishops do need to release their control over cases of abuse.  This is not only because they lack the competence and necessary skills to deal with them, but as the SCIE survivor observed, they are too encumbered with the institutional bondage of their positions.  Are they able to be the right people to say and do the right thing when confronted with individuals who call out for healing and justice?

Last week on Wednesday a fascinating article appeared in the Guardian.  https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2019/mar/27/are-sexual-abuse-victims-being-diagnosed-with-a-mental-disorder-they-dont-have?CMP=twt_gu  I am not a regular reader of the Guardian but the topic, referenced by someone on Twitter, attracted my attention.  It was talking about what is now known as Complex PSTD and setting out the way that this disorder is found among survivors of any severe trauma.  A few weeks ago, I made reference to a book by Gordon Turnbull entitled Trauma.  This set out his pioneering work in challenging the psychiatric profession to take seriously the study of trauma and the therapies that are able to relieve it.  From his experience of being the psychiatrist who headed up the care of those who were first on the scene after Lockerbie, Turnbull has gained an international reputation in describing and treating this disorder.  As I mentioned in my short review, the main message from the book is that traumatic stress of every kind is not the cause of mental illness.  When the body has to deal with trauma, whether the result of single event or over a period of time, there will be expected and predictable symptoms.  These need to be approached quite differently from established mental disorders.

The Guardian article picks up this same narrative, the one which Turnbull wanted to communicate for the whole of his professional life.  When stress and trauma create a recognisable psychological reaction for which there are recognised therapeutic responses, a patient is being given a hopeful prognosis.  Any diagnosis which carries the implication that the sufferer of trauma is in some way mentally ill is far more alarming.  The Guardian article explores the way in which abuse survivors are sometimes labelled with the diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).  The implications of such a diagnosis can be dire.  Treatment options are very limited but worse still there is the suggestion that the mental health of the abused may have been fragile before the abuse took place.  The BPD diagnosis simultaneously labels them as chronically mentally ill but also untreatable.

It might seem impertinent to write about a dispute that is taking place among professionals where I have no expertise.  But it is clear to me that the issue is not just a matter of professional judgement.  If an expert gives what is effectively a diagnosis which carries with it a ‘life-sentence’, then he/she should at least allow some kind of second opinion.  If the authority of the expert prevents anyone, least of all the patient, challenging this drastic diagnosis, there seems to be a denial of the laws of natural justice.  To give prominence to one particular diagnosis over another, one that is equally credible and respectable within the profession is a political decision.  The author of the Guardian article, Alexandra Shimo, quotes Gillian Proctor from the University of Leeds who says ‘the borderline diagnosis for sexual abuse survivors is nonsense and misleading because it suggests that the problem is within the personality of the survivor rather than a result of what has happened to them’. 

A series of case-studies are given in the article which my readers are invited to consult.  They illustrate the point well as to how devastating the BPD diagnosis can be.  The abused find that they are carrying the extra burden and stigma of being considered mentally ill.   Such a diagnosis robs them of power and agency.  They are the object to whom things are done.  Their illness deprives them of any decision about what should happen next.  Of course, there may be aspects of the personality which have been damaged by the encounter with abuse.  Symptoms like depression and dissociation may well be found but these symptoms are not indicative, according to Gordon Turnbull of actual mental illness.

One facet of being labelled with the BPD diagnosis is its implications in the legal sphere.  One abuse survivor in Canada found herself undermined and humiliated by a defence lawyer because of this BPD diagnosis.  Stigma is a good word that is used to describe what happens to many abuse survivors when they receive the BPD label.  They feel themselves somehow marked out by the label and unable to access proper help or understanding from other professionals.  These therapists know the textbook definitions of this illness and that sufferers of this condition are a tough proposition and may be impossible to heal. 

In 2018 Complex PTSD finally achieved some recognition in the NHS but many therapists and practitioners still find it controversial and hesitate to diagnose it.  Meanwhile we end up with a situation where some people are deemed to be mentally ill because they have been damaged through an act of abuse.  Of course, professional people must be allowed to diagnose patients as they see fit, but the rest of us must also be able to point out the immense importance of getting things right for a sufferer.  Although my personal inclination is to side with Gordon Turnbull is claiming that PTSD is a description of the body responding to stress rather than a mental illness, the opposite point of view has to be heard.  The issue becomes more complicated when other things are added to the equation.  How do claims for legal injury work out when the professionals disagree?  Is it not a temptation for a lawyer seeking to limit legal damages to suggest that the victim was already a sufferer of mental distress before the incident of abuse? 

The claim that church abuse victims come up against a variety of obstructing institutional blockages is often heard. The church is sometimes seen to be deploying delaying tactics – ‘forgetfulness’ on the part of those in authority and various legal ploys.  The legal system is sometimes felt to be on the side of the abuser as well.  Now in addition, the Guardian article points to this further problem of the political divisions within the mental health profession that can also militate against abuse survivors.  What we would hope for is that the individual whose abuse is established beyond reasonable doubt would be automatically protected from further harm.  The opposite seems to happen.  Instead finding instant support and comfort, the survivor is made to jump through a series of difficult hoops, each of which requires considerable stamina.  Those who do follow through the difficult path and arrive at an apology or legal compensation may not feel as though they have won.   All that they have achieved is what feels like a grudging acceptance of the wrongs that have been to them.  Many others who have potential claims must feel deterred by the sheer difficulty of breaking through the many hindrances that are put before them to delay their pursuit of justice.  The absence of any sign of generosity on the part of those in positions of church responsibility continues to rankle among the survivors who speak to me.                        

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

As I reflected on the events that are unfolding at the University of Kent this past week, I was reminded of the proverb quoted above.  This reminds us how small things can have far-reaching consequences.  The organisers of Lambeth 2020 wanted to smooth over what they may have thought was a relatively minor problem — one which could cause potential offence to some of the bishops due to attend the Lambeth Conference.  A decision was made not to invite a small number of episcopal partners who are in same sex relationships.  This fateful decision has now blown up to become a major crisis.  The Council of the University of Kent, whose buildings are being used for the Lambeth gathering of bishops from all over the world, have been alerted to the decision that such partners are not being included in the official invitations. As the Secretary General of the Anglican Communion announced publicly on February 15^{th, ‘}it would be inappropriate for same sex spouses to be invited to the conference.’ Wives have always been included in the Lambeth invitations.  Clearly there is a blatant discrimination at work in this statement.

None of us know exactly how this decision was arrived at.  In all probability it was a pragmatic decision which avoided, seemingly, giving offence to those who maintain ‘biblical’ objections to such relationships.  If these same-sex partners are left at home, this thinking might have reasoned, the Conference can pretend that same-sex partners do not exist. Anglicans are quite good at this kind of thinking.   If a problem, such as the continuing needs of the sexually abused, is buried, then everyone can pretend that it does not exist.  Making sure that only heterosexual relationships are visible at Lambeth preserves the myth that only orthodox and ‘biblical’ marriage is to be found within the Communion and its bishops.

Excluding a small number of same sex spouses might have been, from a pragmatic point of view, a price worth paying to preserve harmony and unity at the 2020 Lambeth gathering in Canterbury.  Surely everyone recognises that although a few people might protest, this action is not illegal.  The Equality Act of 2010 certainly allows for the Church to make such distinctions between hetero and homosexual partners.  This calculation seems to have been a miscalculation and protests began almost immediately it became known.   What began as a small nail being lost, started to become a massive headache for the conference organisers.  Although it is not uncommon for people to expect a degree of discrimination against gay partnerships in the churches, this attitude is far from universal.  One particular factor in the protests and debates that have followed this Anglican decision is the siting of the Lambeth Conference gathering in a university campus. The one segment of the population that will never easily acquiesce in the conservative rhetoric about gay relationships are students.  Enormous amounts of money are spent across the world promoting the anti-gay message of the religious Right in the States and countries like Uganda.  Very few however among the under-30 generation are impressed by this message and they normally will not tolerate what they see simply as homophobia.   Even if church authorities argue their right to discriminate according to the religious exemptions of the Equality Act, students will not stop making their opinions known.  These protests have now come to the attention of the most senior members of the University of Kent and they have issued an official statement.

The letter sent by the Chair of Council and the Vice Chancellor of the University of Kent is a piece of powerful prose.  They make it clear that they are not withdrawing their invitation to the Lambeth Conference to their campus but they wish ‘to bring the Council’s concerns to their (the organisers’) attention and discuss the issues’.  They also pointedly extend an invitation to the excluded same-sex spouses to come to the campus. This is a ingenious way of allowing honour to be preserved on both sides.  The Conference is to go ahead but the uninvited will be welcomed and they will be honoured according to the values of the University. To quote the letter, this welcome places ‘great value on diversity of opinion, open, respectful debate, recognition of difference, and the central role of constructive engagement and dialogue…’  There are many in the Anglican fold who could say Amen to such sentiments, while recognising that there are those who want to turn their backs on such values.

A compromise seems to have been reached which will no doubt protect the Conference for 2020.  Conservatives in the Communion can pretend that they have preserved ‘gospel’ boundaries against gay partnerships among the clergy by making these partners invisible.   The University by welcoming the ‘invisible’ ones have stood up for humane and liberal values that they feel are central to academic life.  The balance of honour may be claimed on both sides.  But can it?  Can we really say that the organisers of a future conference will be allowed to plan for 2030 without a thorough vetting by the University in advance?  The patch up that seems to have been worked out for next year is only that – a patch up.  No vice-Chancellor or anyone else involved with the University is going to allow such a situation to occur again.  I for one cannot see that the University of Kent will ever allow a future Lambeth Conference to take place unless there is a radical shift towards the liberal values that the University itself embodies.  If the Anglican Church is able to move in this direction, then there is a chance that it can meet again on the campus above Canterbury city.  If the Church does not move but remains infected by the reactionary values of GAFCON etc, so amply funded by the wealthy foundations of the American Right, the University will simply tell the Conference to look elsewhere for its 2030 gathering.

On practical level the campus at the University of Kent is perhaps the only site possible for a large conference the size of Lambeth.   Its relative proximity to the mother cathedral of the Anglican Communion makes it particularly suitable to be a meeting place for 700 bishops and their partners.  Also being close to the ancient church of St Martin where St Augustine began his mission in 597 AD gives a further powerful symbolism to this unique expression of Anglicanism.  The organisers of Lambeth 2030 will have a choice.  Will they insist on doctrinal purity by excluding same sex partners of bishops, or will they accept that all spouses and committed companions of bishops are here to stay?  Will they by then understand that faithfulness and commitment is more important in the eyes of God than biological sex?  The nail that was lost when a decision was made to limit who comes to Lambeth in 2020 could mark the end of the Lambeth enterprise altogether.  The kingdom was lost … all for the want of the horseshoe nail.

I have been fairly reluctant to get involved in the Brexit debate.   I find that, having put energy and concentration into understanding the Brexit debates yesterday, I am today left with completely obsolete information.  The brain has been urged to attempt to understand complex arguments and perspectives to absolutely no purpose.

One comment that can be made consistently about the present Brexit state of impasse is that, among the political establishment, there appears to be an almost complete lack of leadership.  This is true of both the main parties.  The various factions are so bitterly divided that no one on either side of the political divide seems able to rise above the fray to suggest a realistic way forward.  It is this lack of leadership in the political sphere that is also causing so much damage to the fabric of society as a whole.  One senses that divisions have been created which may take a generation at least to heal.  Among many surprising statistics is the one that says that ordinary church goers are likely to be supporters of Brexit.  This does not follow the lead taken by most bishops and clergy.  Will this solid phalanx of Brexit loving older church people be another reason for today’s europhile youth to refuse to engage with the institution in the future?

There was a time when I tried to tackle some of the massive literature that is available on the topic of leadership.  Now that all my books are temporarily stored in boxes pending a house move, I cannot pull off the shelf one particular work that engaged my attention when I read it some time ago.  The book made the point that every definition of leadership is inadequate in some way. There are simply too many variables in the concept.  However, there is one idea around leadership that comes close to understanding what might be the ideal. 

The successful leader is someone who has risen up the ranks in some way and now embodies and represents a number of people.  The group represented could be as small as a family.  Alternatively, it could be a nation.  The important facet of leadership is to be a person who has listened to and is tuned into the group in such a way that they, as leader, embody the essence of the group.  He or she is then able to act and move the group forward in some way.  In one sense Donald Trump is a successful leader.  He has effectively identified himself with the bigotry, the hatreds and the prejudices of a large segment of the American population.  In his speeches and tweets he well articulates the frustrations of that large group and gives it a voice.  The fact that his leadership is taking his ‘base’ in a malign direction should not hide the fact that it is always important to have individuals who can embody and represent others.  Our nation and our churches desperately need good leaders to represent us and raise our vision to give us positive hope for the future. 

Those with power within our UK political system seem estranged from the aspirations of ordinary people at present.  No one seems to hear what people in general really want in the present muddle and confusion of parliamentary strife.  It is easy to speak about a failure of leadership.  The main reason for this goes back to the time when the Referendum was first called.   Instead of taking on the burden of being a national leader, David Cameron handed over this role to a poorly thought out process of calling a Referendum.  It did not matter that no one really knew what were the issues at stake or whether they had been properly explained.  The confusion of today’s debates goes back to that moment when a British Prime Minister opted out of the task of leadership.

My suggestion that Trump is an embodiment of effective leadership may have seemed a somewhat perverse claim.  Effective leadership does not always have positive outcomes.  When a leader like Churchill was able to inspire among the led qualities of sacrifice, generosity and patience, we speak of a great leader.  In contrast to Trump’s ‘onward and downward’ style of leadership, Churchill during the War drew out of the nation positive qualities.  He identified with the nation and the people largely identified with him.  There was, in the best sense, a narcissistic merger between the charismatic leader and those who trusted him in this role.  This temporary arrangement helped to bring the nation through to victory.  Any collapse in morale could easily have broken what effectively was the necessary psychological spell binding leader and led.  These were needed to obtain final victory.

When we look at the state of the Anglican Church, we see similar crises in leadership to those faced by our political system.  Although Justin Welby and the bishops of the Anglican Communion are not leaders in the party-political sense, the ordinary people in the dioceses want them to be leaders.  They long for someone to represent them, their hopes and their aspirations for the future.   The problem is that the church is bitterly divided on issues that have been inflated by American Right-Wing caucuses.  In some extraordinary way, large swathes of Christians have been persuaded by these malign forces that the defining mark of a Christian is someone who hates the LGBT population.  Because support for this position has been backed up by large sums of institutional money across the world, the leaders of our church have been reluctant to confront this perverse teaching.  Thus, the power of this ‘orthodoxy’ remains unchallenged, or at any rate not properly confronted, because our church leaders are frightened by the power of such ideas.  Anglicanism has traditionally stood for the mutual respect for differing  views in a creative tension.  Evangelical and Anglican Catholic have always been allowed space together in the same overarching tent.  The way our bishops seem to buckle before these intolerant forces from home and overseas can be described as a failure of leadership.  They have not listened to what the vast majority think and feel.  Thus, they cannot help them to move forward with vision and hope.  Leadership has been exchanged for appeasement.  The bishops have become concerned only to preserve the Church as a place of safety and protection. 

The other topical test of leadership in the church is whether church leaders are doing the right thing for survivors and victims of past abuses.  As with the LGBT issue, the primary concern of our leaders is apparently always to take steps to protect the institution and its officers.  Openness and truth as well as doing the absolute best for survivors are never seeming priorities.  Being in touch with a few of these survivors, I hear of the frustrations that are constantly felt every time things happen that indicate avoidance of the problem and those who suffer from their past experiences.  Effective leadership might involve simple gestures like the picking up a telephone or even sending an email to a survivor.  These gestures are largely absent.  When there is a failure by church leaders to offer small gestures towards the abused, the impression is given that they do not care and are only interested in protecting the institution they serve.  In this this way they can be described as mere servants of the Church rather its leaders.

Failures of leadership seem to be all around us in this March 2019.  Are we so wrong to expect to have leaders in Church and State who listen to us and help us to move forward together?  Are we wrong to expect our leaders to be able to articulate what is in the best interest of all and help us with clarity and vision to move forward to embrace it?  

When I began this blog in 2013, it was an attempt to assist people who were grappling with the task of escaping from fundamentalist/extremist groups.  The target audience were people who had bought into authoritarian styles of church governance, at the same time coming to believe an ideology which, from the outside at any rate, made little sense.  Those who have followed this blog for any length of time will know that I have little time for the arguments of Creationism or many of the strange, even weird, propositions that are required of those who believe that the Bible is ‘true’ in every detail.  I have said more than once that the ‘cure’ for fundamentalist belief systems is to read the Bible text in an environment well away from an authoritarian preacher.  Once the Bible is read for what it actually says, rather than what the preacher says it says, then new possibilities emerge.  Unfortunately, the Bible is far from being an easy read.  Many people who attempt to go it alone find themselves quickly returning to the security of having someone in authority doing the reading the text on their behalf.  The comfort blanket of authoritarian teaching and strong directive church leadership is hard for many to escape.   When faced with a choice between uncertainty, ambiguity and even doubt and the reassurances of ‘bible teaching’, many Christians will always opt for the latter.

Today’s blog wants to explore whether the reason for the attraction of bible churches extends beyond simply being a way of resolving the intellectual challenges posed by the uncertainties of life.  Is the offer of answers to life’s deep questions really sufficient to explain why many people are attracted to authoritarian Christian groups?  Intellectual uncertainty and the need to know ‘truth’ do of course inform the decision of many people to join the more authoritarian churches/groups.  This would apply as much to the school-girls from Bethnal Green joining ISIS as it accounts for the young students finding their way into a Christian Union at University.  As my readers know, I approach this question of authoritarian recruitment from the perspective of those who study cults, whether political or religious.  Some in the academic world see joining a cult as a neutral act; others regard the dynamics of cult membership as posing a potential serious threat to psychological health.  This is not the time to enter this particular debate but merely acknowledge that such disagreements exist.  My perspective is that many religious/political groups are sometimes a source of great harm.  The harm is partly intellectual and partly psychological in nature.  The issue that I want to explore today is the way that some religious activity leads to damage in our capacity to form healthy relationships.

Back in the 1950s the American public was intrigued by the issue of ‘brainwashing’.  Soldiers who had been captured by the Chinese Communists in the Korean War appeared to have fallen under the spell of a kind of mind-control.  Another way of explaining this process was to call it thought-reform.  The writer, Robert Jay Lifton, wrote a highly influential book, Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism, to explore this phenomenon.  His work was deemed to offer also a good explanation of what happened to the victims of cults.  The problem for those who use the brain-washing model to explain what happens to cult-members is that it has proved impossible to define exactly what brain-washing is.  Thus, it has never been an acceptable term in a court of law.  In recent years the law has to some extent caught up with a new term, ‘coercion and control’.   Since 2015, men (and some women) in the UK have been prosecuted for holding their partners in a form of psychological bondage which has not involved physical violence.   Coercion and control remain a good description of what goes on in many authoritarian religious groups.  It may only be a matter of time before a case is brought against such a group for harming a member through such methods. 

The old model of ‘brain-washing’ had one further limitation.  It focused on the individual and his/her mental state.  In other words, religious groups were supposedly harming people by manipulating their imembers’ inner mental processes.  Such arguments have their value and no doubt the cult academic world will continue to debate the problem using this model.  But there is another model which is currently on offer, one which I much prefer.  This model takes the individual cult member and examines the relational context in which they find themselves.  In other words, every individual lives in a context which has been formed by their relationships, both past and present.  The author of a book which explores this relational approach, Daniel Shaw, is a New York psychoanalyst.  In his book, Traumatic Narcissism, he explores the dynamics of cults through examining the narcissism that pervades the inner lives of both leaders and led.  From the perspective of his psychoanalyst practice, he was able to see that the leaders of so-called cults were ‘invariably traumatizing narcissists’.  By this he was describing the way that leader and led were caught up in a destructive cycle of harm.  The leader, the traumatising narcissist, was engaged in a process of ‘feeding’ off the followers in a variety of ways.  He/she might be exploiting them sexually, emotionally or financially.  The followers had, by a process of identification, obtained access to a place of self-esteem which was embodied and articulated by the leader.  His narcissistic messianic pretensions, grandiosity and delusions of power were all shared with the followers as long as they stood close to him.  In the original act of surrender to the leader and his claims, the followers had shed themselves of much, if not all, of their self-determination and core-selves.  The narcissistic dynamic had regressed them to the situation of a needy dependent child.  Escaping from such a situation is no easy matter.  The follower has to reclaim back the personality that had been surrendered to the charismatic/narcissistic leader at the helm of the organisation we describe as a a cult. 

What I have written about recent thinking among cult experts comes close to being a critique of some Christian groups.  Do we recognise the pattern of surrender to a powerful charismatic leader who has all the answers to life’s problems?  When individual Christians cease to think for themselves and let a leader do their thinking for them, are they not entering the dangerous dynamic of narcissistic dependency, a dependency that is so hard to escape?  Shaw’s book is full of wisdom and helpful insight about the way that groups and individuals sometimes behave when bound together in a situation of mutual need.  It has encouraged me to believe that a deeper understanding of the dynamics of Narcissistic Personality Disorder is a key to unlocking some of the appalling problems in our churches as they struggle to uncover unhealthy dynamics which sometimes afflict leaders and congregations.

Martin Sewell writes:

In a week when one might have though the behaviour of MP’s over Brexit had placed the term “honourable member” beyond parody, evidence to the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse demonstrated that the low point may not yet have been reached. 

Whilst giving evidence at IICSA last Thursday Lord Steel admitted that he had recommended his party colleague Cyril Smith for a knighthood, having not only heard rumours of his involvement in child abuse, but having received a direct admission of guilt from his criminal colleague. This is outrageous on two levels.

First, through such complicity, Lord Steel placed other young people at continuing risk, facilitating Smith’s narrative to victims that he was too well connected to be held to account for his abusive behaviour. This is a familiar theme to regular readers of this blog who will know that for many, many years Bishops and senior clergy in positions of prominence and influence within both the Anglican and Roman Catholic Churches knew of credible evidence of abuse by known malefactors, yet permitted them to continue predating the vulnerable for reasons of corporate reputational management.

This resulted in abusers being quietly moved on, sometimes within this country, sometimes abroad yet as in the case of Lord Steel, it denied protection to those who thought they could trust those receiving the imprimatur of trusted Establishment institutions. There were approximately 144 victims, many residents of local authority care homes in Rochdale who were already vulnerable and known to be in need of protection. The sheer weight of numbers is shocking. 

Second, by recommending the honour, Lord Steel misled his Sovereign by representing Smith to be a fit and proper person to receive it when he knew this not to have been the case. He had learnt of the allegations in 1979 but rather chose to see his colleague honoured because it was not a matter for him. That was a severe misjudgement. Can an advisor who has served his monarch so badly really continue to remain a member of the Privy Council? 

The Queen had necessarily relied upon her advisor in such a matter; he was a senior Parliamentarian with a history of principled stands on matters that he considered rightly or wrongly to have important moral dimensions. He later served as Presiding Officer (Speaker) of the Scottish Assembly and was also known to be a significant member of the Church of Scotland which he later served as Lord High Commissioner of the Assembly of the Church of Scotland. Radical thinker he may be, but you do not get much more Establishment than Lord Steel, and his recommending status meant something both at the time and now.

Yet like politicians and indeed Bishops before him, he has demonstrated a dreadful blind spot where the terrible effects of child abuse were concerned. I note it is still being described as sexual and physical abuse whereas, as my previous blog highlighted, it is the institutional Emotional Abuse and re-abuse that is especially wounding. In passing one ought to note that in this, he is far from alone. The crass remarks of Boris Johnson  on the subject demonstrates that the under appreciation of the issue in public life is depressingly widespread. https://www.bbc.com/news/amp/uk-47560192

To their credit, the Scottish Liberal Party have moved swiftly to suspend and investigate Lord Steel’s case. In this they put to shame the Church of England. At virtually the same time problems have again hit the Church of England with reports
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2019/03/13/longest-serving-church-england-bishop-faces-calls-resign-court/
from Chester Crown Court that the local Diocesan Bishop had received an admission from a priest abuser but accepted an assurance that he “would not do it again”. This has resulted in campaigning journalist Andrew Graystone writing to directly call for the Bishop’s resignation.  The basis for this call is that whilst a clear admission was made to the preceding Bishop, Victor Whitsey ( himself a recently accused abuser ) the fact of this matter having been discussed, came to the attention of the Diocese in 2009 and yet no proactive steps were taken to protect future potential victims, or to alert the police.

In both cases, plainly those exercising misjudgement are not bad people. I constantly remind readers that the context of the time must be factored in.  However, the time for this to be an excuse allowing us to continue, simply apologising, undertaking a “learned lesson review’ and moving on, has surely passed. That scenario has been played out too many times in too many places. Victims need to see more robust responses either from the individuals concerned or from the relevant institutions. 

Until such public figures pay a price, either through voluntarily resignation, through the withdrawal of honours conferred upon them, or through being shunned by the court of public opinion, we shall continue to have a culture of minimisation and cover-up. Hitherto the only ones who have paid a price for these matters coming into the public domain are the victims who have to revisit their history of pain, humiliation, anger and all the tragedies within their personal lives that go with this. 

If the Establishment, secular or faith, is to retain any credibility, it is time for its members to grasp the personal responsibility that such cases require. Great reputation and personal advantage goes with public status: with great privilege goes great responsibility. Respect for both victims betrayed and the institutions served requires no more feet shuffling but bold moral acceptance of consequence through principled resignation.

Anything less would demonstrate precisely the kind of cynicism which our Archbishop advised us to give up for Lent when he addressed the General Synod last month. It will continue to poison our public discourse unless or until those privileged with public approval voluntarily surrender it when public confidence is no longer merited, 

The theme of betrayal is one known to biblical writers in both Testaments.  The account of Judas betraying Jesus with a kiss is a key moment in the Passion narrative, but we do not often go on to reflect deeper on the meaning of this word.  The book I am currently reading explores the word in a secular context and the way that it finds a prominent place in many abuse scenarios. 

A lot has been written in recent years about trauma and the way it impacts individuals physiologically and psychologically.  Typically, someone faced with assault, abuse or sudden catastrophe will automatically activate primitive levels of the brain in an attempt to deal with the threat.  The response of the body/brain to any dangerous challenge is the fight/flight reaction.  Such a reaction may well assist survival but there are some situations where abuse is faced but neither of these reactions is viable.  One scenario that makes fight/flight impossible is the domestic abuse situation.  A woman or child cannot easily escape an abusing man as the home they live in is the only place on offer for physical survival.  ‘Battered wives’, as they used to be called, often have nowhere to go, so they adopt a third approach to the abuse which is to freeze inwardly and hope that the abuse or violence will stop.  Of these three responses, freezing is probably the least effective in terms of putting an end to violence

The book Blind to Betrayal by Jennifer Freyd and Pamela Birrell sets out the way that domestic violence does far more damage to a victim than an incident of random attack by a stranger.  To be beaten up, psychologically and physically by a lover, sometimes over many years, is far more damaging than physical pain.  It is a betrayal.  It betrays the trust, the loyalty and the love that had originally brought two people together.   It has a devastating effect on the confidence of the abused.  The likelihood of being destroyed psychologically is enormous.  One of the factors in a domestic violence situation is that both parties have in the relationship made themselves vulnerable to the other.  If one party decides to turn on the other violently, he or she will have gathered plenty of ammunition through which to damage and abuse the other partner.  Much of this abusing is done without anyone else knowing, so, in addition to the pain, there is often a dreadful loneliness.

It has become a commonplace of psychological thinking that man and women are born to build relationships and attachments.  From the time of babyhood every child reaches out to those who are responsible for her care because she knows that she needs them for mere survival.  If the carers/parents abuse or neglect the child, there is no alternative on offer.  The child cannot fight or flee but, like the abused partner, she has to cope as best she can with the scraps of attention available.  By not having basic emotional needs attended to, the child has to grow up without a proper sense of self or adequate levels of confidence and self-esteem.  The list of psychological issues that can befall the neglected child when they become adult is extensive.  Having had their self/subjectivity neglected, the damaged child often grows up depressed, disassociated and unable to cope with forming lasting relationships for herself.  The child from the earliest days had reached out to the parents/carers, seeking affirmation and protection as well as the chance to become a person.  The nurturing relationship between parent and child was tragically not present.

A further casualty of the legacy of neglectful/selfish parenting is the inability to trust.  We can speak of the right of every child born into the world to be able to trust their parents.  If the ability to trust the nurturing parent is responded to by abuse or other failure, the legacy for the child is massive.  How will the child ever learn to trust anyone outside herself if the parents have failed in this area?  Every act of abuse represents a catastrophic episode in the child’s life, and if the abuser is in a position of trust, the damage is especially costly.   People in positions of power in the family/church/school are all representing places that should always be safe.  When those places cease to be safe in the child’s eyes, the world becomes a far more dangerous place.  The act of betrayal by the adult has changed the child.  Instead of an attitude of openess and trust towards the world, there is one of suspicion and fear.  Growing up to learn about life in and through the experience of others becomes impossible.    The abused are often left to fight all their battles totally alone unless they can receive expert help.  The abuser has taken away ready access to the support of others through the ability to trust.

Enough has been said to indicate the point that the experience of betrayal on the part of someone who should be able to be trusted will always make abuse a far more serious event than the original act.  When an act of betrayal is perpetrated by a man of God, then the situation becomes still more complicated at a variety of levels.  The survivor is unlikely to look to the church as a source of help since the institution and the offender may be one and the same in their minds.  Can we really blame any survivor from mistrusting officials and representatives of the church which was the source of the original hurt? The sense of betrayal by what was once a place of safety may also have alienated them from their sense of trust in God.  The abuse, in short, has robbed them of their sense of self, their faith and their ability to trust what had been once a place of security and love.  It is hard to know how these important markers of identity and potential happiness can ever be returned.  How do we give back the possibility of faith and inner security to someone who has had it brutally and suddenly snatched away from them?  Can the church not have far more compassion towards those who show inevitable bitterness and loss in the face of so much betrayal and pain? 

Those who are responsible for the good name of a church denomination often fail to recognise how much is lost when individual members are betrayed by the failure of leaders in an act of abuse.  The loss to self-esteem and identity that is experienced by an individual is inevitably going to be shared as others come to hear of the abuse and the institutional failure that surrounds the event.  In Australia the sentencing of Cardinal Pell is not only about one act of sexual abuse committed decades ago.  It is about a potential collapse of trust by many people in an institution that has failed at so many levels.   People quickly realise that for every perpetrator of horrendous acts against children, there are always bystanders and colluders who have made the action and a cover-up possible.  Destroying trust through acts of betrayal is a serious matter.  It takes humility and contrition on the part of an institution or an individual to put right the broken trust.  If things are ever going to be right in our broken churches, we need to see much more evidence of this contrition on the part of leaders.  It needs to be freely extended both towards those who have been wronged and those who look on with dismay and sorrow.