I was sexually abused within the church. I start my article with this rather bald statement, not because I am about to offer a testimony (although it has been quite a struggle to stay in my role as Christis writer rather than furious, damaged child, and I haven't been able to keep this article entirely impersonal), but because my experience is obviously going to colour what follows, and because I feel very strongly that this is something that we should not be brushing under the Church carpet. Over the last few years there has been a proliferation of stories in the media that describe and analyse the sexual abuse of children, and it is not something from which the Church is immune. Far from it, as we are reminded with every new scandal about paedophile priests and abusive cults that hit the headlines.

Statistically, one in three women, and about one in seven men, are sexually abused as children. Go and stand in a crowd of people and think about that. Horrible, isn't it? If you think about this in terms of how many abusers this means, the stats become even more terrifying. The media are inclined to forget this when scaremongering about how many Catholic priests abuse children. Of course it is horrific that someone in a position of power could so grossly abuse it. But I would be very surprised if the percentage of priests abusing children did not correlate pretty closely with the number of abusers in the general population.

The sexual abuse of children is not exclusively the Church's problem, and by focussing on it as such we risk ignoring what is a much more wide ranging social problem, affecting thousands of lives. It is surely the role of the Church to speak out where we see injustice, and what is more unjust than the destruction of young lives and sexualities? While it may be difficult to admit that this is happening within our own communities and churches (sometimes literally within the church buildings, as I could testify), this is something that affects us as a people, rather than a Church. This is everyone's problem.

We need to acknowledge what is going on within our own communities, not because we have nothing to be ashamed of (obviously the abuse of our children is something that should cause us enormous sadness and shame), but because if we stand firm and say, "this does not happen to us," then we are discouraging victims from speaking out, and proliferating the idea that if a child speaks out against an adult, possibly one who is well respected and liked, they will not be believed. And believe me, it takes more courage than most of us could ever summon to tell someone what has happened. It takes even more (certainly more than I have) to push this through and have something done about it. There is so much shame to fight through. Abusers exploit the culture of shame and fear that we have allowed to build up around sex, and young people are frequently too confused and frightened to speak out.

We also need to think about how the prevalence of this issue affects our own behaviour. The Church has not been particularly successful at creating an environment where sexuality can be discussed comfortably, and this can be hugely problematic for those struggling to reconcile traumatic experiences. Seeing things in black and white is not helpful, and it is a very rare preacher who can talk about the sanctity of sexuality while acknowledging that many people have a level of sexual experience that they have certainly not chosen. The judgements that some Christians habitually make about sexual activity caused me particular problems as I struggled to unravel what had happened to me. Was it a sin if it wasn't my choice? But what if I didn't say no? What if I just can't remember what happened? Was it my fault? It is quite amazingly painful to be told that you should never be naked with a man who isn't your husband when you have been systematically stripped of both your clothing and your dignity by someone whose catchphrase is "God says it's all right," especially when that someone is the person entrusted to teach you about God in the first place. Quite simply, the combination of what had happened to me and the Church's attitude to sex conspired to make me feel like a complete slut. Our generally puritanical and negative view of sex is not at all helpful for those for whom sexuality is already a very difficult issue.

That said, were it not for the Church, I would not have survived the years following my abuse. Although going to church was too painful until I moved away to university, when I tentatively joined a new church (carefully chosen because there were virtually no men in the congregation, and the formality of the services meant that I would never be touched unexpectedly) I was treated with immense care and gentleness. I have found huge support and encouragement from people within the Church, particularly the three or four men I have confided in, whose general wonderfulness has finally convinced me that not all men are crap and evil. It is a myth that only men abuse and only women can help victims of abuse. Women can be just as abusive as men, and men every bit as caring and supportive as women. There is something immeasurably owerful about being supported by someone who is the same gender as your abuser, but who treats you in a loving and respectful manner. The Christian doctrine of forgiveness has been something I have struggled with but which I have eventually found to be an essential (though difficult) part of my healing process. For both victim and abuser, the Church's teachings on redemption and rebirth are a relief and a liberation.

The Church should be a place where we come together to worship and deepen our understanding of God. It is also hugely powerful: an institution from where we can fight to protect and heal people. We are also a family, and, like most families, we have our dark secrets and our shame, which we much acknowledge and deal with before we can move on. Luckily for us, we have an all-loving, all powerful Father figure at our head, one who loves all His children and will never let us down.

Anonymous