Content Warning: CSA (Child Sexual Abuse)
I always hated the carpet in my room. It was blue and fluffy, but not fluffy enough to provide true comfort. My first memory is of that carpet. I was 4 years old.
One night, the sons of family friends babysat me. They were 12 to 13 years old. They were the only family I had. My father had passed away a week before, and this family became our closest friends. However, there is something about the word "friends" that does not fully do justice to our relationship.
One translation of 1 Samuel 18 describes Jonathan's soul as being "knit with David's soul." I love that image. Our two families' souls were knit together: unbreakable.
The night started like any other. According to my mother's written record of events, the older son had "done me a million times" before. He was with us. When we left the country for the first and only time on vacation, my mother bought him a ticket to come along.
That night, I sat on that cursed carpet. The people knit to my soul told me I needed to change into pajamas. It was bedtime. My memory of what happened next is vague. I was being touched in places I did not like. Anywhere on my naked body.
I begged them to stop. They did not. I tried to pull away. It did not matter. My 4-year-old body could do nothing. I remember this vividly. Since then, I did not like pajamas. I always slept in clothes, socks, and so on. Now, I understand the reason for that.
On another day, a boy visited, and I was in my mother's bed. They touched me, and one of them sucked my penis. I am convinced more abuse occurred. After this incident, still at 4 years old, I told my mother.
At some point during my mother's events, I told her, "Don't do those things when they are outside or with other people." My ability to observe their behavior means the fact that they babysat me "a million times" implies more instances of sexual abuse.
What is a Christian mother to do when abuse happens? Go to church - the body of Christ she loves. Our church at the time was an Orthodox Presbyterian Church (OPC). The parents of the boys were also OPC members. My mother spoke to the pastor about the second incident that occurred. He told my mother he saw the situation as "playing," not "abuse." My mother, at least partially, listened. And why wouldn't she? He was our community leader.
No police report was filed at the time. No action was taken. While our family bonds were broken, the two boys who abused me were allowed to live their lives as if nothing had happened. It was only a few years later that my mother filed a police report.
The inaction of our pastor weighs heavily on me to this day. The boys who sexually abused me went on to abuse other individuals. One boy abused a second child at the same time as me. Another boy abused another child after me.
Someone else was abused by the grandfather of the boys who attended the OPC church. This grandfather is now deceased. Looking back, I realize he was the one who abused the boys and abused me. I remember going to the grandfather's house when I was 9 years old. I remember jumping out from behind the wall of his basement office, scaring him with the daylight he feared.
The second or third time, he pleaded, "Nathaniel, don't be afraid of me, I have an evil heart!"
I stopped scaring him, but I regret it. Maybe I could have stopped the abuse right in front of me in the basement. Maybe I could have hastened his entry into hell.
One of my abusers became a counselor at a local camp where church kids and I attended. When I saw him at camp for the first time at age 8, I realized I remembered the sexual abuse. I knew he should not be working with children at camp. We avoided each other like the plague. Somehow, after the time he abused me, he felt comfortable working with children in our area.
I do not know if my pastor knew that one of my abusers was a camp counselor. Given the close intertwining of the church and camp communities, it is certainly possible. Regardless of whether the pastor knew, were these just boys playing, as the events were seen? Who knows how many children my abuser abused at camp.
rAge is all I feel. Anger that nothing was done. Anger that adults allowed the abuse to continue. Anger that the people and institutions I trusted in my life failed me.
Jennifer Greenberg, Amy Bird, and Valerie Hobbs spoke about how sexual and emotional abuse is hidden within the OPC. Cases similar to mine were discussed. People spoke about abuse by spouses, fathers, and pastors. They are silenced by the very institutions meant to nurture and support them.
It pains me that this issue is beyond me. OPC needs to step up, recognize the very serious systemic issues at play, and address them. So far, they have done nothing. In 2021, OPC voted against considering a resolution to allow a third party to investigate abuse in OPC churches (see pg. 43 #214).
Amy Bird stated, "When processes are used to ignore people, all talk about proper channels is cruel and rightly reflects Christ."
In the name of hierarchy and patriarchy, OPC has lost sight of who Christ is and what Christ would sense of what Christ did. By allowing a culture of abuse to persist, OPC simultaneously plays the roles of the robber and the Pharisee in the parable of the Good Samaritan. It robs the man, beats him half to death, and leaves him to die.
But where is the Samaritan? And how long must the man bleed, suffer, and be broken before justice is served? How long must we sit in silence while evil is done to us? The time to rise up is now.