Once there was a young boy named Jimmy who was frequently put down and pushed around by a classmate named Max. Max was a popular kid. Super cool. Everybody seemed to like him—except for those who somehow got on his bad side. Day after day, Jimmy tried to just put up with the bullying. He’d tell himself, “It’s no big deal.” But one day it became a big deal. Max seriously crossed the line, hurting Jimmy so badly that he reported it. The Assistant Principal, Mr. Thompson, called Max into his office, along with Max’s best friend, Carl, who was in a different class and hadn’t seen the incidents. After their meeting, Mr. Thompson decided that Jimmy’s story didn’t hold up. Max and his friend both claimed that Jimmy was just overreacting and making things up. They even blamed Jimmy as the real problem, saying he was so hard to get along with. The letter Mr. Thompson sent home to Jimmy’s folks said that “it does not seem like Jimmy’s accusations are accurate.”
I told this little parable to my 6th-grade daughter one morning as we walked to school. I ended by asking her, “What do you think of that?”
She replied with one word: “Poop.” (Not edited—that’s literally how she talks. I’m welcoming her innocence as long as it lasts!)
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“Well, the Assistant Principal should have interviewed more kids from the class. Those who really knew what was going on. Who had seen stuff. That wasn’t fair!”
Simple enough for a 12-year-old to understand.
Here, my friends, is the meaning of the parable:
I no longer work at my previous church because I was bullied into leaving. I am no longer a part of my previous denomination because leadership so carelessly handled my complaint.
I share that in part because it’s a truth worth telling. That’s my story in the smallest nutshell possible. No matter what the spin doctors might say, that’s what happened.
I also share that because it’s worth finding a better way for Christ’s Church.
I’m aware that my story is not unique. Not in our local context, nor in our denominational context, nor in the context of the Church throughout the world. Bullies are everywhere. Coercion and control are exerted. Spiritual abuse happens. People are manipulated and run off. With a bit of grace I can say that humans will be humans. We don’t always hurt each other with malicious intent, but we do still hurt each other. And we allow others to do so.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I was in a conversation with a grandmother who has been taking her 10-year-old grandson to their local church. His mother is not a church-goer, and this grandmother wanted him to know the good news of Jesus. Then, a few weeks ago, as they drove home, her grandson said, “Grandma, we need to find a new church.” Why? Well, she knew why: Bullies. Her grandson had been bullied at that church for years, and enough was finally enough for his precious soul. The grandmother was fearful that his mistreatment would end with him—at such a critical age—giving up and church and God altogether. It’s hard to hear the good news when you’re treated badly.
This story pained me. Not just because of my relationship with them, but because of the circumstances: Because it happened in church, of all places. Because nothing was done to stop the bullying. “Why was nothing done?!” you ask. Good question. Simple answer: Because the bully’s grandfather was the preacher.
Bullying happens in church. It happens to children and to adults. And it continues, tolerated and unchecked, when power is more precious than people.
If I may draw a line to another much more famous parable: Sometimes it’s the priests and Levites who jump out of the bushes like thieves. Sometimes it’s their buddies in the religious industrial complex who walk on by because they have somewhere else to be. Because they have more important things to do. Because “that work requires unique skills and resources beyond our current capacity.” (In other words, “Because we’d rather spend our time and money elsewhere.”) Because it’s always someone else’s job. Because it’s always more convenient to just move on and forget about the victims.
We need to find that better way. We need safer systems. We need more protective policies. We need more robust responses.
So what is the better way exactly? Heck if I know. But I’m on the hunt. The good news, I’m finding, is that the trail is not hard to pick up. I’ve dropped some other findings in recent posts, but here’s another helpful quote that I think points us in the right direction:
Part of what has limited appropriate responses to disclosures to date have been limited policy and procedure in this area. Therefore when people to tell their stories there is very little that can be done in response. In the 2017 survey, only a third respondents stated that their church or Christian organization had a policy that included spiritual abuse—a quarter said they hadn’t and the rest were unsure… A lack of policy and procedure can create a situation in which abuse is maintained and continued.
—Escaping the Maze of Spiritual Abuse (Oakley & Humphreys)
Sad statistics.
Simple suggestion: Maybe begin by setting even a little policy and procedure. Just put some safeguards in writing. Make them publicly known. Fine tune them as you go. Get some training. Learn and grow. Do whatever you can to increase that dismal 33%.
Both our local church and our denomination suffered from “limited policy and procedure in this area”. Non-existent, even. Thus, as Oakley and Humphreys predicted, little could be done in response. So here we are, searching for safer pastures.
Thanks be to God for more research and education, for more safeguarding practices, for more good work by brave church leaders. And so long to those who demonstrate that they value power over people.