Sex, Ministers, and Guilt
I really should be in bed right now, but instead I have been following links on blogs to other blogs with links to still more blogs. Of course, I've been reading along the way. I just stumbled on a post that not only made me stop and think, it took my breath away, and then filled me with the alternating waves of anxiety and intense guilt. There is nothing specifically wrong with this post... it just hit upon one of my triggers.
I don't know which is worse: the paralyzing anxiety that fills the pit of my stomach with an electric, butterfly-like feeling and leaves me short of breath, with a sense of "I must escape from this place or I WILL die" or the crushing guilt that makes my temples throb, my back ache from the weight pressing down on my shoulders, and leaves me with a nausea tickling the back of my throat to the point that I scan my surroundings for the best route to a toilet and a suitable garbage can to carry "just in case."
You see, I carry a secret. I've had the dubious luck or perhaps downright misfortune to have been raped twice in my adult life. Yes Virginia, lightening does strike the same tree twice. There are a lot of reasons for this... mostly relating to my childhood and my experiences growing up. But this isn't about the childhood stuff. This is about my first brush with rape as an adult. And, by the way, the rape itself is not the secret. We'll get to the secret in a minute.
Lately the news has been very difficult for me to watch. In fact, I've been avoiding it for a while. You see, I went to a seminary which shall remain unnamed, but the university that houses this seminary has been in the news a lot lately. It was at this seminary that I was raped.
When I went off to seminary I was dating the man I would later marry. I wasn't looking for romantic relationships. In fact, I have a very difficult time making friends. I don't think I had any friends at school. Ironically, I don't remember the name of a single person I met while I was there. But despite my difficulty reaching out to people, there was one fellow who befriended me.
He was an odd fellow. I can't quiet put my finger on his oddness. It wasn't really a pleasant or a fun oddness. It was just... well, odd. The funny thing is that a couple of my class mates asked me why I was his friend. They said I was much too cool to hang with him.
Now you've got to understand how ironic and totally mistaken it felt for me to hear someone call ME cool. I'm not. I'm a nerd's nerd. Shy, withdrawn, into technology, a fact collector, socially awkward... in other words, I'm a nerd. I've made peace with my nerdness and it doesn't bother me anymore. But in my early to mid twenties I wasn't there yet. When these people said I was too cool to be friends with this guy I thought one of two things had to be true. Either they were mocking me or in the hierarchy of nerds this other guy was really, really low down. In the end, I decided both of these things were true.
So why was I friendly with this man? Well...
I talked about my boyfriend back home incessantly, so I thought, or assumed, that we were all on the same page. He had to know that WE weren't dating. I never kissed him. We didn't hold hands. I thought everything was clear to everyone involved.
Then one night he raped me. He came by the house were I rented a room. My landlady was at work (she was a nurse on the night shift.) I don't really remember the details. I remember a lot of the emotions... feeling that I was in danger... that I couldn't escape... being separated from my body... becoming a small child unable to react or respond as an adult.
I didn't talk about the event for over ten years. The weekend after it happened I flew home. I wanted to drop out of school right then and there. My parents insisted I go back to at least finish the semester. At the end of the weekend they drove me to airport. We fought all the way to the airport. They literally had to pry my fingers off the door of the breeze way leading to the plane. I didn't want to go back and I couldn't articulate why.
Using my finely honed skills of dissociation, denial, repression, and generous helpings of depression I made it to the end of the semester. I continued to be friendly with this man because... well, I was existing in a fog of dissociation, denial, repression, and depression and he would drive me places.
So one day I was with him and he was upset. After some coaxing on my part I got him to tell me what was bothering him. He was about to graduate from divinity school and he was applying to various church conferences within our denomination for ordination. Part of the process involved a psychological evaluation. He had just had his evaluation and the mental health professional who meet with him told him that he was not fit for the ministry. In fact, he quoted the mental health professional as saying, "If you had a thousand years of therapy, I couldn't recommend you for ordination." I said a few words of consolation, but secretly I was happy. I was glad to hear that he wouldn't be ordained.
You see, I didn't tell anyone what happened to me, but I worried. What if this man... this rapist, became an ordained minister? Would it be safe for him to take the youth fellowship, with all the young and innocent girls, on sleep away retreats? Would it be safe for him to be alone with women who were suffering and seeking support and guidance from their spiritual leader? I didn't have the emotional strength to face what had happened to me and yet I was feeling serious guilt at the possible long-term ramifications of my silence. To discover that the ordination process was working and this man would be excluded from the ministry was music to my ears and a great relief from the guilt I felt.
At the end of that semester I took an official leave of absence and never returned to divinity school.
A few years later I was talking with one of my girlfriends from my undergraduate days. She had gone off to become a social worker in an economically depressed, resource poor part of the country. She was babbling and bubbly. She had met a man. A minister! She was happy and deeply in love. When I asked his name, she was evasive. "He doesn't want me to tell my friends his name." she said. "He has personal reasons." I thought this was odd, but I was too busy being happy for my friend to think about it too much.
For the next several months we talked more often than usual. We were both young and poor and long distance was expensive in those days. I figured she was calling me more because she was so happy to be in love and I was more than happy to share this joy with her. But she started to say more and more odd things... she couldn't tell me where her boyfriend went to seminary. She continued to withhold his name. Details about his family and past were sketchy. I was starting to worry that my friend was dating a con man or was being taken advantage of in some way.
Finally, my concern for her overtook my experience of her joy. I confronted her. It's funny how I can protect those I care about; but I can't protect myself. But her response blew me out of the water... he wasn't some anonymous con man. She wasn't in the dark as to the details of his life. She knew everything (well almost everything) about this man. She knew that this was the man I had encountered in seminary. My good, my beloved friend was dating the man that raped me.
The story gets really ugly here. She got angry at me because I no longer could be happy for her. She despised me for telling her to break up with him. She accused me of being a tease and using him as a sex toy. She said that I was his one true love and by rejecting him I made it impossible for him to ever love anyone else. She said I hurt him deeply and she was appalled at the way I had treated him. Our friendship did not survive. But that's not the secret either.
The secret is that I had within my control a chance to try and stop a completely unfit man from being ordained. But because of my own demons and my own weaknesses I kept my mouth shut. I could have done something to stop a rapist (and yes, I found out I was not his last victim) from becoming a minister. But I stood by silently and did nothing.
My friendship with his girlfriend didn't die right away. I found out from her that even though he had received an unfavorable psychological evolution, his conference ordained him because they were so desperate for ministers to fill their churches his disturbed warm body was better than no body.
It's been more than twenty years since I took a leave of absence from divinity school. Sometimes I still wonder... if I had said something would he be an ordained minister? And the question that really burns my soul… Am I responsible (even indirectly) for the rape of any other women?
I don't know which is worse: the paralyzing anxiety that fills the pit of my stomach with an electric, butterfly-like feeling and leaves me short of breath, with a sense of "I must escape from this place or I WILL die" or the crushing guilt that makes my temples throb, my back ache from the weight pressing down on my shoulders, and leaves me with a nausea tickling the back of my throat to the point that I scan my surroundings for the best route to a toilet and a suitable garbage can to carry "just in case."
You see, I carry a secret. I've had the dubious luck or perhaps downright misfortune to have been raped twice in my adult life. Yes Virginia, lightening does strike the same tree twice. There are a lot of reasons for this... mostly relating to my childhood and my experiences growing up. But this isn't about the childhood stuff. This is about my first brush with rape as an adult. And, by the way, the rape itself is not the secret. We'll get to the secret in a minute.
Lately the news has been very difficult for me to watch. In fact, I've been avoiding it for a while. You see, I went to a seminary which shall remain unnamed, but the university that houses this seminary has been in the news a lot lately. It was at this seminary that I was raped.
When I went off to seminary I was dating the man I would later marry. I wasn't looking for romantic relationships. In fact, I have a very difficult time making friends. I don't think I had any friends at school. Ironically, I don't remember the name of a single person I met while I was there. But despite my difficulty reaching out to people, there was one fellow who befriended me.
He was an odd fellow. I can't quiet put my finger on his oddness. It wasn't really a pleasant or a fun oddness. It was just... well, odd. The funny thing is that a couple of my class mates asked me why I was his friend. They said I was much too cool to hang with him.
Now you've got to understand how ironic and totally mistaken it felt for me to hear someone call ME cool. I'm not. I'm a nerd's nerd. Shy, withdrawn, into technology, a fact collector, socially awkward... in other words, I'm a nerd. I've made peace with my nerdness and it doesn't bother me anymore. But in my early to mid twenties I wasn't there yet. When these people said I was too cool to be friends with this guy I thought one of two things had to be true. Either they were mocking me or in the hierarchy of nerds this other guy was really, really low down. In the end, I decided both of these things were true.
So why was I friendly with this man? Well...
- He talked to me. That was a biggie.
- He had a car. I didn't and he would drive me places.
- I could make him do stuff. If I called him up at 11:30 at night and asked him to take me to the store because I wanted a soda; he would get out of bed, drive over to get me, take me where ever I wanted to go, and then take me home, again. I know it sounds awful that I would do this kind of thing... but I had never before been in a relationship were the other person would do something if I wanted or even needed their help. It was an intoxicating power to be able to say, "I'm really sick and I need this medicine." and then have the medicine appear. So, I guess I abused it a little bit.
I talked about my boyfriend back home incessantly, so I thought, or assumed, that we were all on the same page. He had to know that WE weren't dating. I never kissed him. We didn't hold hands. I thought everything was clear to everyone involved.
Then one night he raped me. He came by the house were I rented a room. My landlady was at work (she was a nurse on the night shift.) I don't really remember the details. I remember a lot of the emotions... feeling that I was in danger... that I couldn't escape... being separated from my body... becoming a small child unable to react or respond as an adult.
I didn't talk about the event for over ten years. The weekend after it happened I flew home. I wanted to drop out of school right then and there. My parents insisted I go back to at least finish the semester. At the end of the weekend they drove me to airport. We fought all the way to the airport. They literally had to pry my fingers off the door of the breeze way leading to the plane. I didn't want to go back and I couldn't articulate why.
Using my finely honed skills of dissociation, denial, repression, and generous helpings of depression I made it to the end of the semester. I continued to be friendly with this man because... well, I was existing in a fog of dissociation, denial, repression, and depression and he would drive me places.
So one day I was with him and he was upset. After some coaxing on my part I got him to tell me what was bothering him. He was about to graduate from divinity school and he was applying to various church conferences within our denomination for ordination. Part of the process involved a psychological evaluation. He had just had his evaluation and the mental health professional who meet with him told him that he was not fit for the ministry. In fact, he quoted the mental health professional as saying, "If you had a thousand years of therapy, I couldn't recommend you for ordination." I said a few words of consolation, but secretly I was happy. I was glad to hear that he wouldn't be ordained.
You see, I didn't tell anyone what happened to me, but I worried. What if this man... this rapist, became an ordained minister? Would it be safe for him to take the youth fellowship, with all the young and innocent girls, on sleep away retreats? Would it be safe for him to be alone with women who were suffering and seeking support and guidance from their spiritual leader? I didn't have the emotional strength to face what had happened to me and yet I was feeling serious guilt at the possible long-term ramifications of my silence. To discover that the ordination process was working and this man would be excluded from the ministry was music to my ears and a great relief from the guilt I felt.
At the end of that semester I took an official leave of absence and never returned to divinity school.
A few years later I was talking with one of my girlfriends from my undergraduate days. She had gone off to become a social worker in an economically depressed, resource poor part of the country. She was babbling and bubbly. She had met a man. A minister! She was happy and deeply in love. When I asked his name, she was evasive. "He doesn't want me to tell my friends his name." she said. "He has personal reasons." I thought this was odd, but I was too busy being happy for my friend to think about it too much.
For the next several months we talked more often than usual. We were both young and poor and long distance was expensive in those days. I figured she was calling me more because she was so happy to be in love and I was more than happy to share this joy with her. But she started to say more and more odd things... she couldn't tell me where her boyfriend went to seminary. She continued to withhold his name. Details about his family and past were sketchy. I was starting to worry that my friend was dating a con man or was being taken advantage of in some way.
Finally, my concern for her overtook my experience of her joy. I confronted her. It's funny how I can protect those I care about; but I can't protect myself. But her response blew me out of the water... he wasn't some anonymous con man. She wasn't in the dark as to the details of his life. She knew everything (well almost everything) about this man. She knew that this was the man I had encountered in seminary. My good, my beloved friend was dating the man that raped me.
The story gets really ugly here. She got angry at me because I no longer could be happy for her. She despised me for telling her to break up with him. She accused me of being a tease and using him as a sex toy. She said that I was his one true love and by rejecting him I made it impossible for him to ever love anyone else. She said I hurt him deeply and she was appalled at the way I had treated him. Our friendship did not survive. But that's not the secret either.
The secret is that I had within my control a chance to try and stop a completely unfit man from being ordained. But because of my own demons and my own weaknesses I kept my mouth shut. I could have done something to stop a rapist (and yes, I found out I was not his last victim) from becoming a minister. But I stood by silently and did nothing.
My friendship with his girlfriend didn't die right away. I found out from her that even though he had received an unfavorable psychological evolution, his conference ordained him because they were so desperate for ministers to fill their churches his disturbed warm body was better than no body.
It's been more than twenty years since I took a leave of absence from divinity school. Sometimes I still wonder... if I had said something would he be an ordained minister? And the question that really burns my soul… Am I responsible (even indirectly) for the rape of any other women?
posted by Liz at 11:28 PM
2 Comments:
You, my dear, are responsible for you. Your healing.
Your friend, knows of his history, of your history with him, and has made unreasonable choices. You are not responsible.
HE, and only HE is responsible for any future rapes that he has CHOSEN to do.
He was in a christian environment, where at any time, he could have chosen to repent ...to turn, to walk away, to lay it at the foot of the cross ... and be the redeemed person that Christ intended for him to be. He chose not to.
You, my dear, are in my prayers.
Regarding the post above about everyone hating you, no, this makes me care even deeper!!
At the time this event occured, the term date rape at not entered our vocabulary yet. It certainly was not something that would have been believed at a seminary!! You did the things you needed to do at the time to keep yourself alive. Remember our talk about surviving? You were doing that. You did what you could for your friend. Now that you are stronger, it may be time for you to go to this man's denomination and tell your story ... or it may not. But either way, whatever may or may not have occured in the intervening years is on his shoulders not yours. He has committed the crimes. His wife(?) may have been enabling him. But neither you nor she are responsible for them. No one would have believed you. In fact, you probably would have been blamed for whatever trauma you had gone through at the time. At about the same time two friends of mine were raped on campus at my college in different incidents. There were strong undercurrents of blaming the victim in both cases. Let go of it. Don't blame yourself any longer. If there are things you can/need to do now, we'll help you do them. But otherwise, your conscience can be clean.
And hating a victim is so not justified ...
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