Trading One Fundamentalism For Another

I am not the first person to leave fundamentalism. In some ways, my story is not all that unique. What makes it somewhat different than many similar stories I have heard, however, is that when I left fundamentalism, I actually left fundamentalism. A lot of people don't do this. They just trade one fundamentalism for another.

I know people who have left the kind of Christian fundamentalism I grew up in. They grew tired of trying to live by the standards of no swearing, no alcohol, no movies, no rock music. They wanted to smoke a cigar or try a different Bible version or got a divorce. And so they left their independent, fundamental Baptist church. But for many of these people, the passion they once exerted toward the issues of Christian fundamentalism got redirected into something new. 



Some became fundamentalist atheists - just as confident and mean-spirited as ever, but now with a new target.

Others became neo-Calvinist fundamentalists - trading in the pope-like pastor of their independent Baptist church for a new infallible authority, like Mark Driscoll or John Piper.

Others became fundamentalists about some other cause - seemingly caring more about organic food or homeschooling or their political party than either Jesus or other people.

They may no longer self-identify as fundamentalists. But they are still fundamentalists.


Fundamentalism, whether it is Christian fundamentalism or another variety, is built on certitude. Fundamentalists know with unshakeable confidence what they know. This certitude produces legalism. Since they know these things to be absolutely true, then life absolutely has to be lived this way. Legalism produces judgment. People who don't live this way can and should be condemned for their failure.

Fundamentalism is a philosophical approach to life built on certitude that produces a rigidity of lifestyle and an attitude of judgment. It is possible to abandon the superstructure of one particular brand of fundamentalism without dismantling the underlying foundation. When that happens, people just slide from one kind of fundamentalism to another.


My break with fundamentalism was more fundamental than that. 

For me, the breaking point was not superficial things like language or dress or having a beer. For me, the breaking point with fundamentalism came when my certitude gave way to something far more compelling - authenticity.

That's what Fundamorphosis: How I Left Fundamentalism But Didn't Lose My Faith is about.

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Uncomfortably Numb: a reflection

I am one of those people who sometimes has a hard time admitting how I feel. In fact, I've realized over the years that I will feel something for a period of time before I have the words to express it. This can be very frustrating for Vanessa. She's very good at taking other people's emotional temperatures. There are times when she'll ask me if I am upset about something, and I will tell her "No," only to realize later that I actually am. Before I have the words to name my feelings, I have a hard time admitting and expressing them.

Last night, I discovered the words to describe how I've been feeling lately: Numb. Uncomfortably numb, in fact.


At Vintage, we have killed small groups. We've abandoned the traditional Bible study model of small groups and replaced them with what we're calling Experimental Collectives. We've identified that a lot of people know more about the Bible than they are putting into practice. We don't need more Bible studies, necessarily. We need laboratories in which we can experiment with living out what we already know. The point of our gatherings is to do something together.

My collective right now is focused on finding authenticity through silence. The way of Jesus is for me to be who God created me to be. But often, life is too busy, too hectic, too noisy for me to be who I really am. If I have the chance to still myself, maybe I'll have a better sense of myself. Maybe I'll be able to hear God's voice.


Last night, we talked about the physicality of stillness. Being still isn't just a verbal thing. It's emotional, spiritual, and even physical. What I do with my body matters. It doesn't just reflect my attitude, but what I do with my body can actually help to shape my attitude. It was a good discussion, which led to our time of silence together.

I took off my shoes, lit a candle, and sat on the floor. I was very conscious of how what I was doing with my body, which muscles were tensed, and what my posture was. And then, in the midst of my prolonged stillness, I began to gain some understand of how I've been feeling lately. I've felt numb. Not a physical numbness like when my leg falls asleep. It's an emotional and spiritual numbness. I've been feeling the lack of feelings. I've felt like I am going through the motions. I've lacked an excitement and a passion for most things. I haven't liked how I've felt lately, and I didn't like naming my feelings as numbness. But it is true and authentic. This is really how I've felt.

I wondered if I could feel anything. So I put my finger over the flame of the candle. It burned. It hurt. But it felt good to feel something. That's what I have been missing.


Numbness happens for a lot of different reasons. Sometimes we feel numb because we've been wounded. In my life, I've had two major surgeries on my right kidney. The second one, in fact, was to remove it. I have an eight inch scar on my side from where the doctor wounded me, cut me open. It's long healed, but the area around that scar is still numb. I don't feel anything there. I probably never will.

I think that's what's going on with my soul right now. I don't want to be overdramatic about it, but I've been wounded. Friends who don't want to understand me. People I thought were friends who have rejected me. People whose commitment to our church community wains. Unkind things said to me and about me. Some of the hurts have been big. And some have been minor. But they have all contributed to a certain amount of scar tissue building up around my heart.

• I'm scared to be vulnerable with people because I don't want it to be used against me.
• I'm scared to try to lead because some people won't go with me.
• I'm scared to invest myself in friendships that are just going to fall apart.

Disappointed. Rejected. Let down. Criticized. Misunderstood. Helpless. Alone. These are not enjoyable emotions. I don't want to feel these things. I'd rather feel nothing.

Or so I thought.

As soon as I named my feelings as numbness, I realized that I'm uncomfortable and unhappy feeling this way. The good news is that, in the past, when I was able to name my feelings, I was then able to deal with them. I could process them and move through them toward greater emotional health and wholeness.  

As I experiment with different postures of prayer and silence this week, my expectation is that the numbness will fade and I will again experience the pangs of hope.


Do you ever feel numb spiritually and emotionally? How do you handle it?

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Hope for the Depressed Pastor

On his blog today, Thom Rainer sites a Lifeway Research survey of pastors about depression and loneliness. What they found is that depression among the pastoral population is very common.

I didn't need a survey to know this. I know this from experience.

I am often lonely and depressed as a pastor. Recently, Vanessa and I did some research into our personalities. We learned that people with my personality take criticism so personally that it can actually be paralyzing. It's not that I don't think criticism is helpful or valid. I do. But when criticism comes, it triggers something in me that makes me want to climb under the covers and stay there.

But when I think back on the most depressed and lonely I have ever been, it wasn't necessarily criticism that sent me in that direction. It was the evolution of my theology that put me out of sync with my fundamentalist church upbringing.

I was pastoring a fundamentalist church in Michigan before we moved to Arkansas to start Vintage. Through a series of events - most notably, turning 30 and preaching through Genesis - I realized that I felt like I was wasting my life and spinning my wheels. I was faking it on Sunday mornings. I was pretending to be excited. I was pretending to believe the pat answers of fundamentalism. I was pretending to have all the answers.

This lack of authenticity sent me into a spiritual and emotional spiral that I didn't pull out of for months. I credit the patience of Vanessa, the words of people like Brian McLaren, and the renewed hope of doing something risky like starting Vintage for helping me climb out of my hole.

There are a lot of reasons why we talk about authenticity so much at Vintage. I think, for instance, that faith requires authenticity. In other words, we can't be Christians unless we are real. But I also push Vintage to be a place where people can be themselves because that's what I need. When we started Vintage, I was fond of saying that I needed to pastor a church that I would go to even if I wasn't be paid. I have to be authentic so that I don't go back to that very dark place.

I've got a lot of sympathy for depressed pastors. I've been. I'm sure I'll be there again. Let us hold unswervingly to the hope that we profess. And let us hold out hope for one another.

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Experimenting with Sacred Space

We are starting something new at Vintage. We are obliterating small groups as we have known them. No longer are we going to get together to do Bible studies and spent more time yapping. We are abandoning the old small group convention for this radical idea that we actually do stuff together. You know, not just being hearers of the word but doers also. We are calling them Experimental Collectives, and we're relying heavily on the wonderful work of our friend Mark Scandrette to help us reimagine what it means for us to gather together during the week.

Our Oversight Team and a few others are spending the next six weeks or so immersing ourselves in our new approach. We have formed a collective that will help us to dive deep into the areas we will focus on throughout the year: authenticity, simplicity, purpose, freedom, and community. Last night, we met and began to explore authenticity. We talked about what our true identity is before God and the things that keep us from living in that identity. We also talked about the things that can help us to reconnect with our authentic selves: nature, solitude, creativity, silence, and stillness. We spent 20 minutes together in silence. It was moving.

We also decided together to do an experiment this week. We decided to find or create a sacred space for ourselves. We all need places in which we can be still. We all need holy ground where we can be quiet before God to pray and listen. This week, we're each going to try to find where that place can be in our lives.

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Here are some ideas I've got about how to find or create a sacred space in your life:

Find or make a beautiful place.
Several years ago, I stumbled upon a small stone chapel not far from my workplace. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. I started eating my lunch there three or four times a week. I talked with God more during that time than many others in my life. It was holy ground to me. But sacred spaces don't have to be stone chapels. They can be a bench in your backyard garden or a comfortable chair in the corner of your room with a side table for an icon, a candle, your Bible, and your prayer journal. Sacred space can be the spot on your back porch where you sit quietly with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and a cigar. Look or make a place, that when you go there, your heart aches a little bit. Don't worry about what other people think. Your sacred space needs to be beautiful to you and connect with your soul, not anyone else's.


Engage your senses.
Candles. Incense. Art. Gardens. Music. Rosary beads. All of these things have a way of transporting us. Go to a museum. Visit the local botanical garden. When you sit down in your chair, light a special candle as a way of signifying that this time of sitting is something different. Breathe deeply. Touch. And see and smell and listen to what is around you. God is all around you.


Walk.
Sometimes a sacred space can be a path that you hike once a week. Or a prayer labyrinth that forces you to slow down and enjoy the journey, not just the destination. Getting out in nature and exercising your muscles actually opens you up to be more aware of where you are and who you are. If you are the kind of person who really struggles sitting still, maybe an intentional walk alone would be a better way to create a sacred space in your mind.


Be intentional.
Sometimes, sacred spaces happen on accident, but for most of us, if we are going to quiet ourselves in stillness before God, we need to do it regularly and consciously. Maybe that's everyday. Maybe it's every week. Maybe it's just good to know that it's there when you need. Don't let your scared space be something that produces guilt or shame because you don't go there enough. Guilt and shame are not from God. Sacred spaces are an invitation to enter into our true selves before God.


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How about you? Do you have any experiences with sacred spaces? Have you created a place in your home to be still? Do you have some place special, some holy ground, that you go to when you need to be quiet and think and pray?

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Purity, Penn State, and All of Us

The Freakonomics documentary explores corruption in the world of sumo wrestling. In the book, sumo wrestlers were exposed for fixing matches to benefit one another in rankings and, therefore, social status and salary. The documentary takes this expose a step further, asking questions about how the cultural perception of purity that sumo wrestling has in Japan actually enables the cheating to take place.

Two Japanese words tell the story. The tatamea, the facade of propriety, that sumo wrestling has through its use of Shinto purification rituals hides the home, the real truth, that sumo wrestling is rampant with corruption and cheating. Here is how the authors of Freakonomics describe it:

"Purity is a good mask for corruption because it discourages inquiry."

"The illusion of purity can not only hide corruption; it can help to make it possible."

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Within the last week, the mask has been pulled off of the Penn State University football program. For years, Joe Paterno has been held up as the paragon of what is good in college sports. He was the successful coach who did it the right way. He ran a model program. He was the living legend. The college football coach of the year award is named after him. He was the moral compass of collegiate sports.

The tatamea is the aptly named Happy Valley, where there was no need to suspect any kind of corruption because the pure Paterno reigned. The home, the real truth, was that the program with the reputation of purity actually employed, protected, and gave access to a brutal pedophile.

Certainly, Jerry Sandusky, the pedophile, is responsible for his actions. But he is not alone in culpability. Penn State, Joe Paterno, the college sports media, and all of us, share the culpability for perpetrating the myth that the Penn State program under Joe Paterno was legendary for doing things the right way. The illusion of purity that we all participated in made the corruption possible.

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Penn State is not alone. Churches and Christian organizations have suffered through this same kind of humiliation as the reality of their corruption has been made public. Certainly, the easy example is the priest pedophilia scandal in the Catholic church. But much closer to home for me is the ongoing investigation into the Association of Baptists for World Evangelism and its protection of a pedophile doctor in Bangladesh.

ABWE projected an image as a professional and pure proponent of the gospel, as the best mission agency with the best missionaries. Accusations of abuse were covered up because they threatened to tarnish that image. The home of pedophilia might compromise ABWE's ability to continue its tatamea of spreading the gospel. Even now, sadly, it seems like ABWE is still trying to sugarcoat the story to protect its image.

Certainly, Donn Ketcham, the missionary doctor in Bangladesh who perpetrated the pedophilia, is responsible for his actions. But he is not alone in his culpability. ABWE, its administrators, missionaries and supporting churches are all responsible too because they perpetrated the myth, not the reality, of ABWE. There was no need for anyone to make an inquiry because the mask of purity was hiding the corruption.

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Individuals do this too. If we act better than we are, people won't ask us hard questions. If we project an image of having it all together, people will just assume that we do. If we wear the mask of purity, we can continue to be corrupt without suspicion.

Here is what I propose:

How about we all just stop pretending?

How about we stop putting ourselves or each other up on pedestals?

How about we stop thinking that some politician, some football coach, some preacher is a moral compass for us all?

How about we stop trusting that governments and movements and corporations and charities and churches are pure or benevolent?

How about we all give up our bias of purity and employ a healthy dose of cynicism in regard to just about everything?

How about we all get real?

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"Sunlight is the best disinfectant." - Louis Brandeis

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15 Ways I've Changed as a Person in the Past 15 Years

1996 was a big year for me. I went to the Bahamas, got engaged, and graduated from college. I got married, moved to New York City, and started my first pastorate. When I think back on who I was then, I want to just shake my head and laugh. The key sentence in the first chapter of my upcoming book sums it up, “I am not who I used to be.”

To commemorate how I’ve changed in the past 15 years, I thought I’d do a series of blog posts about my personal transformation. In the coming months, I'll make lists about how I’ve changed as a theologian, as a husband, and as a pastor. But to get things started, I thought I’d write about how I’ve changed in general, as a person.

So, here are 15 statements that are true of me now, but I couldn’t have said about myself in 1996.

1. I don’t bite my fingernails.
I used to bite my nails a lot. During games. While I drove. But then, a couple of years ago, I got very sick while traveling in Florida. It was miserable. I was too sick to bite my nails. And I haven’t bitten them since.

2. I take money seriously and have an actual plan for it.
If I could tell the me of 1996 anything, it would probably be to take the money stuff seriously and to get it figured out as soon as possible. I can’t believe how much money I’ve wasted over the years. Two things have made a huge difference - the weekly budget lunch with Vanessa and Dave Ramsey.

3. I am authentic.
I grew up in a family and church culture where faking it was the norm. And then I married a person who is relentlessly real. Thanks to her, I’ve learned that it is better - and essential - for me to take off my mask and let people see the real me. Yikes.

4. I have a problem with anxiety.
So, speaking of authenticity, I can now admit that I get this unexplained, uncomfortable, unwelcome pain around my heart. I’ve blogged about it before, and I’ve been doing some things to combat it - giving up caffeine, exercising, and more - but I think being able to admit honestly that it is something I struggle with is a huge first step to getting better.

5. I can make it in the real world.
The summer after I graduated from college was miserable. I bounced from job to job, unable to find a place where I fit. When that kind of thing happens, you begin to wonder if you can make it in the real world. Then I started pastoring my first church, and making it in the marketplace was no longer a concern. Until we started Vintage. 6 years into being a bi-vocational pastor, I now know that I have skills and abilities that translate in the real world.

6. I care less about politics and more about people.
I used to think of politics as life or death, the future of the country and the world hangs in the balance. People on the other side of aisle are to be opposed and defeated. Now, I think of politics as a sport. I still root for my team to win, but I care much more about civility and understand than victory.

7. I embrace mystery.
I don’t have to have it all figured out. How liberating is that?

8. I try to listen more.
When I worked at a church in Boston several years ago, I used to write a note to myself on top the agenda for each interminably long meeting I had to attend - “Don’t interrupt.” I’ve learned that it’s far better to, in Francis Schaeffer’s words, earn the right to be heard, than to simply be the one who talks the most or the loudest.

9. I exercise.
Seriously. Three or four times a week. This might be the craziest thing about me that has changed over the past 15 years.

10. I intentionally sabbath.
Sundays are the highlight of my week: up early for some alone time with God, Vintage, lunch with friends, nap, watching football or playing the Wii with Vin, family TV time, some alone time with Vanessa. This is what heaven is like, right?

11. I parent.
Three times, in the past decade and a half, when driving to either the hospital or the courthouse, I sang, “It’s the end of the world as we know it.” Three times I was right.

12. I value friendship.
It’s not that I didn’t value friendship 15 years ago. It’s more that I didn’t realize how much I should value friendship. Having a few guys that get me and love me. I’ve come to realize that it is a rare gift.

13. I wear my goatee short.
In 1996, my goatee rivaled that of Alexi Lalas. I rocked the long, red face mullet. 15 years later, it’s high and tight, as it should be.

14. I don’t run from conflict.
I don’t like conflict, but I am much less afraid of it. Just when I think I’ve seen it all in church conflict, something new happens. I’ve learned over the years that ignoring it and hoping it goes away doesn’t work. The best way to deal with it is honestly, humbly, and head-on.

15. I have tattoos.
Who would have guessed that.

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Responding in a Crisis: What ABWE Can Learn from Vienna Presbyterian Church

I have been watching with great interest how ABWE (the Association of Baptists for World Evangelism) would respond to a blog created by victims of sexual abuse in Bangladesh. The pedophilia was committed by a missionary doctor named Donn Ketcham. The story is long and heartbreaking, but the bottom line is this - ABWE did not make all the details of the abuse known publicly, and in the minds of many people, Donn Ketcham was able to get away with his crimes.

Since 2001, the victims of this pedophile have been trying to get ABWE to acknowledge what happened and respond appropriately. When those requests fell on deaf ears, the victims created a blog ... and a firestorm. Now, ABWE has finally agreed to an independent investigation. They have finally published the names of their board members.

However, even in recent months, their response in this crisis has been inconsistent and disappointing. There have been many times when their response has seemed much more like self-protection than repentance.

With this as a backdrop, I read with interest the article below that appeared on the cover of today's USA Today. Oh that ABWE would exhibit the same courage and faith that Vienna Presbyterian Church has. Throw caution to the wind and repent!

Church abuse cases and lawyers an uneasy mix
By H. Darr Beiser, USA TODAY

IENNA, Va. — When officials at Vienna Presbyterian Church decided to acknowledge the church's failures in handling reports of sexual abuse by a youth ministries director, they thought it might upset some in the congregation.

Vienna Presbyterian has a new ministry to recognize and respond to sex abuse.

What surprised them was the admonishment from the church's insurance company. And it wasn't the church's lapses in responding to the abuse a half-decade ago that bothered the insurer — it was the church's plan to admit those lapses and apologize to the victims.

The insurance company's position was clear: On March 23, a lawyer hired by the company, GuideOne Insurance, sent a warning to church officials:

"Do not make any statements, orally, in writing or in any manner, to acknowledge, admit to or apologize for anything that may be evidence of or interpreted as (a suggestion that) the actions of Vienna Presbyterian Church … caused or contributed to any damages arising from the intentional acts/abuse/misconduct" by the youth director.

But in a letter sent to congregants the next day, the church's governing board, known as a Session, took a different course.

"Members of Staff and of Session are profoundly sorry that VPC's response after the abuse was discovered was not always helpful to those entrusted to our care," the letter said.

In a sermon the following Sunday, March 27, Pastor Peter James went further: "We won't hide behind lawyers. … Jesus said the truth will set us free."

Then, turning to a group of young women in the audience, he continued:

"Let me speak for a moment to our survivors," he said. "We, as church leaders, were part of the harm in failing to extend the compassion and mercy that you needed. Some of you felt uncared for, neglected and even blamed in this church. I am truly sorry … I regret the harm this neglect has caused you."

As churches nationwide struggle with disclosures of sexual abuse in their midst, many find inherent conflicts between the guidance they find in Scripture and the demands of the insurance companies and lawyers responsible for protecting them from legal claims.

Common religious tenets of atonement — admitting mistakes, accepting responsibility, apologizing — often run counter to the legal tenets of avoiding self-incrimination and preserving all avenues of defense against potential lawsuits.

"This sort of conflict is happening all the time," says Jack McCalmon, a lawyer whose company, the McCalmon Group, is hired by insurers to help churches set up abuse-prevention programs.

"The church is in the business of forgiveness, of being forthright and open and truthful, but that often creates liability in a world that's adversarial, in the judicial world," McCalmon says.

Meanwhile, he adds, insurers are in the business of limiting liability. "So, the insurance company has a contract with the church that says, 'If we're going to put our assets on the line, we want you to perform in a way that protects our assets and interests.'"

Church officials often face a wrenching dilemma: If they do what they feel is right in the eyes of God, they can put their church at risk of financial claims that could end its existence.

For the lawyers and insurers obligated to protect those churches, the decisions are equally difficult: If church officials make admissions that suggest liability for the damage caused by sexual abuse or other wrongdoing, the resulting claims could ravage the insurance company.

It's an issue that can fundamentally shape the way churches respond when they discover sexual abuse involving clergy or lay employees.

Since 2002, when reports of sexual abuse by Catholic priests in Boston made national headlines, scores of churches have wrestled with similar problems.

Dozens of lawsuits have been filed against churches by people alleging sexual abuse by clergy or church employees. Jury awards and settlements have ranged from tens of thousands of dollars to
many millions.

In a 2007 case, the Catholic Archdiocese of Los Angeles agreed to pay $660 million to 500 people who alleged they were sexually abused by clergy.

It has been five years since the Vienna Presbyterian congregation got a letter from church officials saying they'd learned that Eric DeVries, student ministries director, had "crossed the boundary of emotional and physical propriety in his relationship with female students."

In the years since, there have been many painful conversations, but so far no lawsuits.
DeVries, hired in 2001, resigned in September 2005 amid allegations that he forged romantic relationships with female students. Church officials reported him to authorities upon learning of the conduct, and he was charged with taking indecent liberties with a minor, a felony.

He later pleaded guilty to the lesser, misdemeanor charge of contributing to the delinquency of a minor and received a 12-month suspended jail sentence.

The church community reacted with a mix of disbelief, confusion and repulsion.
Some supported DeVries, even writing character references for his sentencing hearing. And, as the pastor's sermon noted, the church did little in the years that followed to help the students who said DeVries had mistreated them.

In 2009, the church began to re-examine what went wrong.

It was through that process, Pastor James said in his March 27 sermon, that church officials "became aware that we were not caring adequately for the victims of Eric's abuse."

The church formed a new ministry to care for those women and is setting up a program to educate its community in preventing, recognizing and responding to sexual abuse. The discussions also led to the decision to acknowledge failures in responding to the abuse, apologize to victims, and recommit the church to their care.

In letters and e-mails, GuideOne and a lawyer it hired to defend the church against possible claims raised increasingly adamant concerns about Vienna Presbyterian's approach. Church officials who were handling that matter responded with increasingly adamant refusals to let legal interests steer their decisions.

Among other things, the correspondence shows, the church balked at the idea of defending potential lawsuits by invoking the two-year statute of limitations or raising questions about the sexual histories of women who might file claims.

The conflict intensified when GuideOne learned that church officials were cooperating with The Washington Post on a story about the church's failures — a course the insurance company's lawyer had warned against.

In a Feb. 10 letter, GuideOne reminded the church of its contractual obligation to "cooperate with us to the fullest extent reasonably necessary" in protecting against potential claims.

The church's actions "have impeded our right to investigate the claims and the future defense of this matter," the letter warned. "Any failure … to comply with the conditions of the policy will jeopardize any future coverage available to Vienna Presbyterian Church."

The church stuck to its plan.

"The directions from the insurance company and its lawyer were clear and possibly correct from a legal perspective," says Peter Sparber, who is on a panel of elders handling issues related to the abuse. "They did their job, but as elders, we had to do ours. We still have lots of work cleaning up the mess created by Eric DeVries, but not following their legal advice was a good start."

Officials at GuideOne declined interview requests.

"The situation with Vienna Presbyterian Church continues to evolve, and we have a policy to not comment on open claims," Sarah Buckley, a company spokeswoman, wrote in an e-mail.

Buckley noted that GuideOne offers clients extensive resources to help them respond to abuse cases. The company encourages churches to react with concern and compassion, report allegations to authorities, investigate and document all events, seek legal counsel, and encourage counseling for victims, she added.

But what happens when a church feels the need to do more — to apologize or accept some responsibility for the damage caused when one of its own emerges as a sexual abuser?

Satisfying those needs while shielding the church from liability "is the most delicate task of lawyering in this situation," says Robert Tuttle, a professor of law and religion at the George Washington University Law School.

"It's not unusual for (church officials) to think they did something wrong because they feel grief or guilt for what happened, when in truth they might not be legally responsible," Tuttle adds.

This often results in discussions between the church, the insurer and its lawyers to "find a way for the church to express the sense of the wrongness of the conduct and to be sorry it happened without inappropriately taking legal responsibility."

Both the church and the insurer have an interest in avoiding a potentially devastating lawsuit, but that doesn't mean they can find common ground.

Clergy and legal experts who have been involved in such cases say churches often struggle with the notion that they should let concerns about legal liability dictate the terms on which they apologize or hold themselves accountable.

"For a church, doing what is right is informed by our understanding of what God would have us do, so there's a very clear standard, articulated in Scripture," says Monsignor Edward

Arsenault, president of the St. Luke Institute, a Catholic ministry in Silver Spring, Md., that offers mental health services to clergy.

Lawyers typically want to shape a church's response based on questions of intent and legal responsibility, says Arsenault, who has advised clergy struggling to chart a course in responding to abuse cases.

Churches, meanwhile, are more inclined to focus on concepts of "restorative justice," taking a more general, unencumbered view of what went wrong and how to make injured parties whole again.
'Do the right thing'

Ultimately, Arsenault adds, lawyers are advisers; the decisions clergy and congregants ultimately reach must be their own.

"I have dealt with instances where there was wrongdoing in the past and my church wanted to do the right thing, but a lawyer representing the insurance company said, 'No, you can't do that,'" Arsenault says. "My solution in that instance was, 'I'm going to do the right thing, and I believe you owe me coverage. And if you don't extend me coverage, I'm going to do it anyway, and then I'm going to come back and argue that you owe me coverage," after claims are settled.

But the risks of such a course are substantial: If a church loses its argument that its insurer is responsible for paying a claim, it could be left with a debt it can't afford. In a worst-case scenario, that could mean closing its doors.

There's no telling how often that sort of impasse occurs. Discussions between churches and their insurers on how to handle abuse cases are typically kept confidential, as are any resulting settlements.

In the case of Vienna Presbyterian, the church's decision to ignore the demands of GuideOne and its lawyer was as plain as The Washington Post's page 1 headline on the first Sunday of April: "A church seeking redemption; Riven by an abuse scandal, Vienna Presbyterian tries to do right by the women it says it failed."

Since the story ran, the rancorous discussion between the church and its insurer about potential liability has remained in limbo. And if no lawsuits are filed in connection with DeVries' abuse, it may never be resolved.

"We don't know what happens next," says Sparber, the church elder. "We'll just have to wait and see."

Bangladesh MK Blog
ABWE Responses

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