A decade ago, when I first began calling on Baptists to institute
protective measures against clergy sex predators, some people warned me that “Baptists
are hopeless.” But I was an optimist.
I thought that, if only Baptists understood the extent of the problem,
they would surely choose to implement clergy accountability systems similar to
those that exist in other major faith groups.
I was wrong.
I thought that, if only Baptists understood the soul-murdering trauma
that comes from sexual abuse by clergy, they would take action to better prevent
the harm and minister to the wounded.
Again, I was wrong.
The inaction of Baptists derives not from a failure of understanding
but from a denominational lack of will and a surfeit of institutional
self-protection.
Does the fact that I was so wrong mean that this decade of effort in
Baptistland has been of no value? Far from it.
Gains during the last 10 years
Over the past decade, there have been over 560,000 pageviews on this
blog, and even more on the StopBaptistPredators.org website (which I stopped
maintaining in 2012). So a whole lot of people have been made aware of this
systemic problem in Baptistland, and many have seen the cruelty that resides at
the heart of this faith group -- the cruelty of turning a deaf ear to those sexually
savaged by clergy and of leaving children as sitting ducks for predatory
pastors.
Over the past decade, many journalists have become more savvy in
understanding the dynamics of clergy abuse cover-ups in Baptistland. I will
always feel grateful for the few journalists who were at the forefront in chronicling
Baptist clergy abuse stories, and now, the next generation’s journalists are more attuned.
Over the past decade, more attorneys have begun exploring avenues for
legal accountability in Baptist abuse cases. For the first time ever, a jury verdict was handed down against a statewide Baptist
denominational entity, and you can bet that we will see more of such “appropriate” rulings in the future. I’ve been told that Baptist
denominational entities have settled other abuse claims, and though it sadly
seems that Baptists are still using confidentiality agreements, even with such secrecy,
the spending of denominational dollars on defense will eventually have an impact.
The tenacity and creativity of America’s trial lawyers will someday bring
Baptists into the movement for clergy accountability.
Over the past decade, other bloggers and advocates have begun to speak out about Baptist clergy sex abuse
cover-ups, and no doubt, more will follow.
Over the past decade, the world’s largest clergy abuse survivor network,
SNAP, has increased
outreach efforts to Baptist abuse survivors, and recently, SNAP predicted that the next “Spotlight”-style exposé would likely focus on the Southern Baptist
Convention.
Over the past decade, Baptist churches themselves have begun adopting policies
for dealing with clergy sex abuse. One prominent pastor estimated that, ten
years ago, “probably much less than 1%” had any kind of policy at all. Now, at least some
churches do. The policies tend to be inherently inadequate and often little
more than window-dressing -- for reasons I’ll talk about below -- but ten years
ago, most in Baptistland were denying even the existence of a problem.
Finally, and most importantly, over the past decade, hundreds of Baptist
clergy abuse survivors have begun their own healing journeys and have realized
that they are far from alone in what was done to them -- done to them not only
by the sexual abuse of predatory pastors but also by the re-victimizing complicity
of countless other Baptist leaders. Some of their stories have been reported in
the media; most have not. But this much I know for sure: What will someday
bring change to this recalcitrant faith group is not the preached platitudes of
Baptist leaders but the cumulative courage of clergy abuse survivors. This is
where hope resides -- in the terrible truth of survivors’ stories.
Backward steps in 2016
Despite the decade's many gains, 2016 was a year in which that
“hopeless” word often took hold in my head. Not only was
there the continuing flood of clergy abuse cases with the same awful patterns of cover-ups and do-nothingness, but there were also institutional decisions that made the Baptist badlands
seem even bleaker.
For starters, in 2016, the Southern Baptist Convention, this country’s
largest Protestant faith group, elected a known clergy sex abuse cover-upper as its president. It
was as though the cover-up of child sex crimes had rendered the pastor promotion-worthy
rather than making him subject to accountability.
The Baptist General Convention of Texas, the largest statewide Baptist
denominational entity, announced that it was abolishing its confidential file of
abusive ministers. Though the BGCT’s public relations people spun this as a
positive, survivors saw it for what it was -- a step backwards. The BGCT’s file
was always part of a seriously flawed practice -- because the BGCT would receive reports only
from churches (who almost never report their own ministers) and because it kept
the information in a closed cabinet rather than proactively seeking to warn
other churches -- but survivors had long hoped that the BGCT would amend its
practice so as to accept abuse reports from the victims themselves. In 2016,
that hope was dashed.
The national body of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship established a “clergy sexual misconduct task force” in 2016, and from
initial reports, it appears the CBF has opted to follow the
denominational hands-off model of the BGCT and SBC, with the timid provision of “awareness”
workshops and policy samples for churches. These things are fine but they’re a far
chasm from what’s needed -- and from what other faith groups, including some
congregationalist groups, are already doing. I had long hoped that the CBF
would eventually follow the model of the American Baptist Churches USA, the one
Baptist group that has implemented denominational review bodies and
record-keeping so as to provide at least the possibility of holding abusive pastors
accountable within the faith group even when they cannot be criminally
prosecuted. And, back in 2007, the small Alabama CBF had actually adopted
such a model, giving rise to even greater hope that the national CBF organization
would someday follow suit. That hope is now gone. (The Alabama CBF’s prior denominational
review policy can no longer be found on its website, but you can
still see the elements of that policy here).
Rationalization for
denominational do-nothingness
It was particularly sad to see the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship offer
up the same “local church autonomy” rationalization that Southern Baptists
have spouted from the get-go, as though their purported lack of “hierarchical structures” could insulate
denominational officials from moral
obligation. It is a rationalization that has left a trail of destruction in
countless lives, as survivors have pleaded with denominational officials to consider
their reports and to help them in trying to protect other kids. But even when
it’s too late for criminal prosecution (as it so often is, in part because of church cover-ups in the past), and even when the
accused pastor is still in the pulpit, and even when he’s still working with
kids, denominational leaders wash their hands of the problem and tell survivors
to go to the church of the accused pastor to report him. Not only is this a callous
response in terms of care for the wounded -- akin to telling bloody sheep that
they should go to the den of the wolf who savaged them -- but it’s also an
ineffective response in terms of prevention -- local churches necessarily lack
the objectivity to responsibly consider abuse reports against their own
ministers. This is why Baptist church policies are usually inadequate: Effective
accountability systems require the use of outsiders.
The reality of how few cases can be criminally prosecuted and the importance
of outsiders in accountability systems are two reasons other faith groups have
instituted denominational processes for considering abuse reports and warning
congregations. But Baptists refuse to follow this developing standard of care,
and their refusal gives rise to a critical safety gap. Less than ten percent of
child molesters ever encounter the criminal justice system, and so most won’t
have a record that shows up in a criminal background check. So, without denominational record-keeping, most clergy sex
predators can easily roam to find new prey.
The simple truth is that Baptist churches are networked in all sorts of
ways and they cooperate for all sorts of other endeavors. This is why Baptist
ethicist Robert Parham wrote that “Baptist
leaders are being disingenuous when they hide behind the shield of local
church autonomy to avoid taking needed actions to protect children from
predatory preachers.” In effect, by distorting
their doctrine of polity, Baptist leaders render faith itself complicit in
abuse: “It’s our religion” is the Baptist excuse for denominational inaction
against clergy predators.
Like many, I have come to believe that Baptist leaders’ posturing on “local
church autonomy” is primarily a risk management strategy. They have weighed
the “responsibility and liability issues” and, unlike most of
this country’s other major faith groups, Baptists have come down on the side of
trying to protect their denominational coffers against liability risks rather
than on the side of trying to protect kids against the risk of clergy
predators. It is a perverse ordering of priorities and one that,
shortsightedly, serves only the corporate structures of the denomination rather
than its people.
Without modern systems for accountability and record-keeping, Baptists’
denominational structures enable the secrecy that allows clergy sex abuse to
thrive. A church in Florida should be able to readily learn if a new minister
from Texas has been credibly accused of sexual abuse. But without
denominational systems to facilitate the sharing of such information, it will
reside at best, and if at all, in the closed file cabinets of local churches --
churches that are often reluctant to say anything when another church calls for
a reference for fear of being sued by the very man who has been accused. So they
do little more than to confirm dates of employment. This is such a common
practice that it has a name: “passing the trash.”
Networked churches should rightly carry networked responsibilities and
risks. A denominational review board wouldn’t intrude on the autonomy of churches
but would instead empower them. Not only could it provide churches with the
resource of outside experts to assess abuse reports, but with systematic
record-keeping, it could provide churches with better information for better
decision-making. In addition, it would allow autonomous churches to pool the
risk of speaking out about a minister who has been credibly accused but who has
not been criminally convicted.
What’s needed in Baptistland
Here is what Baptistland needs: (1) a denominational “safe place”
office to receive reports about clergy sex abuse (particularly for cases that
cannot be criminally prosecuted, which is most); (2) the systematic logging of
abuse reports within the denomination; (3) the responsible assessment of abuse
reports by a trained panel of experts who are outside the church of the accused
minister; and (4) an efficient means of assuring that assessment information
reaches people in the pews -- i.e., a database. In these ways, not only would
Baptist churches be better served with shared information about a minister's fitness, but children and congregants would be better
protected.
Someday, change will come even to this most recalcitrant of faith
groups, and these sorts of denominational safeguards will seem quite ordinary. People
will look back in wonder at why it took Baptists so long.
Thank you
Many thanks to my readers over the course of this past decade. I don't plan to blog further at this site, but I will post a notice here when my next book is released. Survivors: My heart is always with you. Happy trails.
Posts
