Acceptance and The Mountain

The last few weeks I’ve noticed that some of the main triggers for me – things that send me back to the terrible memories associated with filing a complaint of misconduct – are, of all things, hymns. It’s not the melody; it’s the words and who wrote them. I yearn to be part of not just a whole and healthy church, but a whole and healthy faith – and I’ve been around long enough that I know (either directly or indirectly) quite a number of the authors in both of our hymn books.

Today it was a beautiful piece by Shelley Jackson Dunham. And today it was a good memory, though as is usually the case, good means bittersweet.

I strongly associate Shelley with The Mountain. When I think of The Mountain, I remember two things. The first is my initial visit there. It was maybe five years after the year from hell. My family basically dragged me there. I didn’t want to go, but I love my family and I went. I figured it would be beautiful, and it was. But what I hadn’t in my wildest dreams imagined was that I would feel accepted – by Unitarian Universalists. That was a time at my church when I wasn’t as totally marginalized as I had been, but I wasn't all that accepted either. I was in some grey area, and grey is how it felt.

One of the reasons I hadn’t wanted to go was figuring that the Mountain staff would know about what had happened, know about me, and accidentally-on-purpose shun me. That was the way things worked back then. Or maybe they wouldn’t know about my role, but I wouldn’t matter to them. As much as I thought about – which wasn’t a lot.

To my amazement, they were to a person kind, attentive and appropriate with everyone in my family, including me. Just to be that way with my family speaks volumes. We’re probably a typical UU family – too smart for our own good, highly opinionated, the younger ones edgy, the older ones sometimes cantankerous, scattered around the country, and many of us no longer UU. Larry Wheeler, in particular, took us all in with great good humor and grace.

The second memory that came to me in that instant of singing Shelley’s hymn was when I returned to The Mountain several years later for Leadership School. If you’re going to get anything out of Leadership School, you have to be who you are. I still didn’t know if The Mountain staff knew I was an infamous complainant, and as luck would have it, one of them, Robert E., was my small group leader.

I’m not a swearing sort, but as we were sent on our way to small group, I thought, “Oh s#*$&, I’m going to have to talk about the misconduct – with Robert E. The jig is up. Now the staff will know.” I couldn’t have been more wrong. For one thing, as I found out the last hour of that week-long amazing experience, Helen Bishop, the head of the school, knew about my history and had alerted the whole staff before any of us students ever arrived.

And everyone, Robert E., Helen and an amazing cast of others, were accepting of me. If you know Helen, you know accepting doesn’t mean molly-coddling. There were moments that week when I thought I’d never stop crying – and, really, I don’t cry that much about this stuff. But not that week. Especially towards the end. But everyone was fine with that. Some knew. Those who had to know did, and that was good. Some didn’t, and that was good too.

I’m particularly grateful not everyone knew, because that meant acceptance for who I really am. While I was a victim of misconduct, I struggle to minimize that reality as part of my identity. But I guess it will always be pretty close to the surface, if even hymns evoke it.

Two More Tools for Letting Go

I think I found two more tools today in my quest for letting go of anger over the injustices of clergy misconduct. The first came over lunch today, with one of the officers of our church. We’re lucky to have this woman on the Board. She's knowledgeable, kind, hard-working and very experienced with the UUA. She wasn’t around during our worst years, yet she doesn’t say the thing many do: “I wasn’t there, so I can’t understand.” Instead, when it’s needed she jumps right in and tries to understand – and I think she does.

As our conversation unfolded, we both agreed strongly that it’s likely that one of the core problems with the UUA leadership right now is not understanding that a few of their colleagues have serious personality disorders. We sympathize with them for not getting this. Neither of us has a background in psychology. I’ve had to learn the hard way how different an abusive personality is. I didn’t understand what was going on nearly as quickly as the mental health professionals did. I was used to a model of people not being perfect, but basically decent. I was projecting myself on them. And that’s what we think many UU leaders are doing with clergy who have abused congregants. They think it was just a misstep – that the accused minister is basically decent. They project themselves on to their colleagues. Most of the time this would probably be just fine. But not with clergy who have sexually abused others and never repented it.

This is a thought I’ve had a lot in recent months, and generally as happened today, others agree. The difference is that today I realized I could recall this piece as a way to calm down and let go. It doesn't matter that I'm not certain that's what's going on. It's a reasonable hypothesis, gives me sympathy for them, and helps me let go.

The second came on the heels of this validation. Again I’ve known for a while that the anger is in fact a mask covering fear – that it’s a biologic response having to do with self-preservation. What I was missing is that the fear is well founded. My fear is that UUA leadership will harshly mistreat me again. This is, in fact, extremely likely.

I had a fifth grade teacher who called the adrenalin of fear “fight or flight juice.” As I keep saying – I want to walk away. That’s the flight. But things keep tugging me back – even as directly as people asking me to talk to UUA leaders – when I don’t want to fight. I don’t want the anger.

So here’s the second tool. I don’t have to engage any more with UUA leaders. If they come and ask respectfully, then talking with them probably would be worth the cost of the pain of remembering all of the degradation, isolation, and so forth. But that’s unlikely to happen and that’s okay. There’s the key; I'm okay with that. It’s not revenge. It’s not acceptance. It’s just letting go.

How Best to Forgive

Lately I keep running into articles and posts about forgiveness. For the most part they have to do with minor grievances and petty annoyances – certainly nothing as serious as abuse. Nevertheless, I’ve found these writings helpful. If nothing else, they offer a different way to frame my response – which is a respite.

It’s a bit ironic, because back in the worst days, people would tell me in very black and white terms that either I must or I must not forgive the offending minister. There seemed to be no middle ground. Those who said I mustn’t believed he had to apologize first. Typically these were the people who supported and cared about victims. If I had to pick a side (if it really was so black and white), I would definitely pick theirs. Those who said I must forgive him invariably minimized the damage done, and had little or no understanding of possible misinterpretations. Essentially it made their lives easier.

Gradually I came to see that a personal, quiet forgiveness was possible. If you were to ask me if I forgave him and if I trusted you to understand, I would say yes, but that didn't mean I thought he was fit for ministry – that it was more like letting go.

Now, as I read these snippets on forgiveness, once again, I wonder what place it has in the picture? If I were to tell those who have recently hurt victims of clergy misconduct (including me) that I forgave them, they would think me presumptuous. As best I can tell, they don’t think they’ve done anything wrong. Since I don’t wish to appear (much less to be) presumptuous, this has the net effect, once again, of silencing me. So how do I do forgive now? I don’t have the answer yet. The closest I can come is letting go of the anger I feel as often as needed. I keep having to drag out that thing I learned a number of years ago. It doesn’t matter if the anger is righteous. I’m still the one most hurt by it.

On days like today – a Sunday, when church is more a part of my life – it seems as if I have to let go dozens of time. I see the author of a hymn I’m singing, recognize the name, and wonder, where is he on this issue now? I have to let go. Talk of GA is all around me, and I don’t feel safe going. I have to let go. I attend a meeting where talk of the MFC is central, and I have to let go. That was just today.

It’s interesting. The ones whose faces I know I have an easier time forgiving. The ones who are just names and harsh written words, I have to give them a pretend face. And then forgive. And let go.

The most helpful piece of all I ran into was about the Dalai Lama. "He also made a distinction between forgiveness and forgetting. Actual forgiveness means that you no longer keep any feeling of revenge. ‘Forgiveness does not mean you accept whatever has been done.’"

I don’t accept what has been done. But I certainly have no desire for revenge. I guess, therefore, I am in some measure succeeding at forgiveness. Now I just have to succeed at sleep. That too is much more possible without anger.