NEW YORK (NY)
International Policy Digest [Richmond, VA]
August 11, 2025
By Scott Douglas Jacobsen
Clergy sexual abuse is not confined to any one faith, denomination, or country—it is a global crisis rooted in power, secrecy, and institutional self-preservation. In this conversation, survivors, advocates, clergy, legal scholars, and researchers confront the patterns that allow abuse to persist and the systemic enablers who shield perpetrators from accountability. From the misuse of spiritual authority to the failure of church leadership to act, their testimonies reveal both the depth of the harm and the urgent need for reform. Together, they ask the questions that religious institutions have long avoided—and challenge the structures that have turned sacred spaces into sites of betrayal.
Katherine Archer is the co-founder of Prosopon Healing and a graduate student in Theological Studies, soon to begin a Master’s in Counseling Psychology. Her work lies at the intersection of academic research and nonprofit advocacy, focusing on clergy abuse within the Eastern Orthodox Church. Archer champions policy reform to address adult clergy exploitation, advancing a vision of healing rooted in justice, accountability, and survivor support.
Irene Deschênes, a survivor of clergy sexual abuse, first reported her case to the Diocese of London (Ontario) in 1992. Nearly three decades later—after a Supreme Court of Canada ruling—she reached a civil settlement in 2021. With a background in sociology and a career in social services, Deschênes co-founded Outrage Canada, a national, non-religious coalition demanding accountability from the Roman Catholic Church and justice for victims. Known for asking Canadians, “Where’s the outrage?” she works to prevent further abuse, protect children, and keep survivor voices in the public conversation through media appearances and documentary work.
Amos N. Guiora, J.D., Ph.D., a legal scholar and former IDF officer, has made a career of confronting institutional complicity and promoting bystander accountability. Author of The Crime of Complicity, Armies of Enablers, and The Complicity of Silence, Guiora draws direct lines between Holocaust history and modern abuse cases. His advocacy was instrumental in Utah’s 2021 bystander law, and through the Bystander Initiative, he presses for survivor-centered legal reforms. “All hands on deck,” he insists.
Father Bojan Jovanović, a Serbian Orthodox priest and Secretary of the Union of Christians of Croatia, is recognized for his unflinching critiques of institutional failings within the Church. His book Confession: How We Killed God and his leadership in the Alliance of Christians of Croatia reflect his commitment to ethical reform and moral reckoning. Jovanović calls for transparency and open dialogue as prerequisites for restoring trust in religious life.
Rev. Dr. John C. Lentz Jr. led Forest Hill Presbyterian Church in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, for more than three decades. Known for his passionate preaching and deep commitment to justice, compassion, and community leadership, Lentz retired in 2024 after a distinguished ministry. During his tenure, he inherited and confronted the traumatic legacy of clergy sexual abuse, guiding the congregation through its aftermath.
John Metsopoulos, a former Connecticut state representative and Fairfield’s first selectman, has publicly accused two Greek Orthodox bishops—Metropolitan Athenagoras Aneste (2017–2019) and the late Metropolitan Iakovos Garmatis (1970)—of sexual and psychological abuse, as well as financial misconduct. Now living in Central America, Metsopoulos advocates for institutional accountability and supports fellow survivors through the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests (SNAP).
Dr. Hermina Nedelescu, a neuroscientist at Scripps Research in San Diego, investigates the brain’s circuitry to better understand the neurobiological roots of abnormal behavior, particularly in the context of trauma and substance use. Her current research examines how sexual trauma is encoded in the brain, with the goal of improving therapeutic strategies for PTSD and addiction comorbidity.
Professor David K. Pooler, Ph.D., LCSW-S, teaches at Baylor University’s Diana R. Garland School of Social Work. Specializing in trauma, abuse, and institutional responses to misconduct, Pooler is a committed advocate for survivors. His research focuses on systemic injustice and ethical accountability within faith-based organizations.
Dorothy Small, a retired registered nurse, has been a vocal survivor advocate with SNAP for decades. Having endured both childhood and adult clergy abuse, she began speaking out long before the #MeToo movement brought wider attention to such experiences. A cancer survivor and grandmother, she now writes about recovery, resilience, and personal freedom, amplifying survivor voices and pressing for institutional reform.
Michelle Stewart is a cult survivor, author, and activist whose memoir Judas Girl: My Father, Four Cults & How I Escaped Them All recounts her harrowing upbringing in extremist religious groups. Now based in Colorado, Stewart advocates for survivors of religious abuse, focusing on the harms of coercive control and religious trauma in children. Through public speaking, education, and support work, she pushes for greater awareness and protection for the vulnerable.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Drawing on your experience, conversations, and research, what broad trends and facts have emerged—either definitively or with near-conclusive certainty—in international cases of clergy-related abuse? Which truths, when stated consistently and publicly, are most crucial for reshaping the informational landscape—not only around misconduct in general, but clergy abuse in particular?
Katherine Archer: Clergy abuse has nothing whatsoever to do with sex; rather, it is sexualized violence that, at its root, is about power and control. We are now learning that the majority of clergy abuse survivors may be adult women, but because historically adult abuse has been mislabeled as an “affair,” women do not easily come forward and report their experiences. Many women delay disclosure or never disclose, and this isolation in secret-keeping exacerbates the injury.
Finally, clergy sexual abuse cannot be separated from spiritual abuse. There is significant spiritual injury before or as part of the abuse, and it is inseparable from the clergy abuse. This causes a truly profound double-injury, in that typically a victim-survivor has greater difficulty turning to a Higher Power or to one’s spirituality or religion to heal from a tremendous injury. In this way, it differs from other types of violence, wherein one might decide to turn to a Higher Power to heal. The place of healing is also a place of injury. It is like taking medicine that also feels poisonous.
There is a third, even greater injury when a religious community aligns against a victim-survivor. I would say that in most communities, congregants might understand that a priest exploiting an adult congregant is abusive as a theoretical idea. Still, when it comes to a situation in front of them, they do not view the adult victim that they know as an injured party. It’s common to label the adult victim with a mental illness in a derisive, dismissive way, and this is yet another abuse. If a victim-survivor is experiencing symptoms of what is termed mental illness, perhaps the priest’s actions induced depression, anxiety, or whatever it may be. The victim is not “crazy.” This is ignorant, and it’s unacceptable.
Irene Deschênes: What I have seen, not only from my personal experience, but also with working with other survivors of clergy sexual abuse, is that the church hierarchy’s knee-jerk reaction is to contact their lawyers before doing anything else. One would think a moral institution that purports to offer compassion and care to the most marginalized in society would instead take a pastoral approach to survivors who come forward. Sadly, this happens more often than not. First, the Catholic Church attempts to litigate its way out of dealing with the real issue – care and healing of the victim they created. Don’t get me wrong, most survivors need the monetary compensation that a civil suit might provide to deal with an interrupted work history. However, most victims merely want to hear, “What happened to you was wrong. It should never have happened to you. This is what we’re going to do…and, what do you need from us?” These words were never spoken to any survivor I have worked with in the 33 years that I have been advocating for and with survivors.
Secondly, members of the hierarchy, globally, obfuscate when speaking to their flock, the media, the public, and, more importantly, to survivors that come forward. The Roman Catholic Church have staff and unlimited financial resources. How can survivors’ voices, individually or even collectively, ever be heard with limited to no resources to tell our truths?
Thirdly, the secrecy is mind-boggling. Whether it be with meeting a member of the hierarchy or in litigation, a lot of information is held to the chest. Canon law even speaks of ‘secret files’ that must be maintained. Most survivors are told they are “the only victim,” and there is no way to verify or refute it. The church hierarchy has this information but refuses to release it to the public or even to lawyers or plaintiffs. It’s common knowledge that perpetrators rarely only have one victim; therefore, it’s of great importance that victims know they are not alone and that there have potentially been allegations against a clergy perpetrator.
The seal of the confession is making news in the United States as of late. Roman Catholic priests who learn of a child being abused by a penitent (one confessing to a priest) are not required under canon law to report the abuse. In Canada, everyone is a mandated reporter. Everyone. However, those professionals who work with the marginalized in our communities have a greater obligation to report. Does canon law supersede civil law? The church seems to think so.
Finally, on our website, our values are the extreme opposite of what the church espouses vs. what they do, in my experience.
Dr. Amos Guiora: To fully appreciate clergy abuse requires that we recognize the critical role played by enablers. While attention is generally focused on the perpetrator of the abuse, the role of the person in a position of authority/status who knows or should know of harm to vulnerable individuals demands our attention. That is the individual I define as the enabler. In a series of books and articles, I have argued that the enabler must be held accountable for the harm they caused. It is for this reason that I have engaged with legislators, the media, the broader public, survivors, and thought leaders both in the U.S. and internationally, with the aim of criminalizing enablers by enacting legislation addressing the crime of enabling.
In examining clergy abuse, I have focused on the actor who directly protects the institution, indirectly the perpetrator. Interactions with clergy abuse survivors shed powerful light on the harm caused by the enabler upon recognition that the perpetrator had previously abused and should not have had access to the vulnerable individual.
As I learned when writing two books addressing enablers, Armies of Enablers, and The Complicity of Silence, and a series of law review articles, the impact of the harm caused by enablers was, more often than not, a revelation (the word is not used theologically) to the survivors whose primary focus, for understandable reasons, been on the perpetrators. However, when we would “reverse engineer” the interaction with the perpetrator, the survivor would come to understand that absent the enabler, the abuser would not have been able to commit the heinous crime/s they did.
While I am not a person of faith (I am a secular Jew), I have come to appreciate the powerful role of the Church as an institution and the clergy as an individual in the life of a person of faith. Undoubtedly, in the overwhelming majority of cases, this triangular relationship is positive. Of great significance to the believer, the question before us is what happens when abuse occurs and is reported to faith leaders. THAT (caps intended) is the question that demands our attention; as I have come to learn, in many cases, the report is either not believed or the abuse of clergy is “shuffled” off to another location. Both reactions are devastating for the survivor who was not only physically abused but, no less significantly, emotionally injured.
Understanding the harm caused to them would result in neither punishment of the perpetrator nor acknowledgment of the abuse to which they had been subjected, which often resulted in re-victimization. This is the essence of institutional complicity, whereby (in the faith context), faith leaders make the conscious decision to prioritize the “good name” of the church, thereby casting asunder the survivor for whom, in many cases, the abusive clergy was an individual whom they revered and held in the highest regard.
The all-but instinctual reaction to hunker down, reflective of institutional protection, is oft-repeated, almost akin to a time-tested manual with one clear purpose: protect the institution, consequences to the individual be damned. Criminalizing the enabler is necessary to address institutional complicity that protects the abuser while re-victimizing the survivor and placing in harm’s way individuals who will encounter an abusive clergy in the future. Who is the beneficiary of the act of enabling by those whose primary obligation is to protect the vulnerable?
In a clergy-faith context, failure to address the consequences of the harm caused by the enablers is akin to saying to people of faith: we knowingly abandon you, and no less egregiously, we are consciously placing other vulnerable individuals in harm’s way. That, in a nutshell, is the essence of enabling.
The time to act is now, with the understanding that as the lines are written, an individual who should have been protected is in harm’s way because of enablers who have committed the act of enabling. To address this, we need an “all hands-on deck” approach, inspired by a handwritten letter from a Holocaust survivor who once wrote me, “You give voice to the voiceless.”
Ask any survivor: we do not have the luxury of time; given the numbers and accounts of clergy abuse, addressing the crime of enabling demands our immediate attention.
Fr. Bojan Jovanović: First hard fact: Abuse within religious structures is not a “failure” of individuals, but a result of a hierarchical system that enables complete control, isolation, and impunity for perpetrators. Abuse happened—and continues to happen—precisely because of the power that religious office holds: the unquestioning of authority, manipulation of conscience, and the belief that the institution stands above the law. These are not isolated incidents; they are patterns.
The handling of internal disciplinary processes, without mandatory reporting to the state, has allowed rapists to be transferred from one location to another without any punishment. These “internal proceedings” are nothing more than a smokescreen to evade legal accountability. Every such cover-up is an act of complicity, which, in legal terms, qualifies as aiding and abetting or concealing a criminal offense.
Thousands of victims never got the chance to speak out because they were threatened with spiritual consequences—that they would be excommunicated, that they would “harm the Church,” that they would lose their community. This is institutional intimidation. In many cases, those who tried to report abuse were ridiculed, belittled, and their testimonies discredited.
To this day, in many countries, there is no legal framework that obligates religious officials to report suspected sexual abuse. This puts religious institutions above the law, and this must be dismantled in public discourse. Because an institution that delivers moral sermons while protecting rapists is not a sanctuary—it is an organization that must be held accountable like any other. If not more so.
Rev. Dr. John C. Lentz Jr.: What must be consistently stated in public discourse is the amount of clergy sexual abuse (aka “misconduct”) that continues to occur. Furthermore, it is not just a Roman Catholic issue.
I think it is important to note what denominations have done in the past 20 years or so to confront cases of abuse. For example. I know that in the Presbyterian Church USA, there are now criminal background checks for every hire of pastors, Directors of CE, Music directors, and staff. Sexual misconduct trainings are held for all elected leaders of the congregation, and all who volunteer with children (birth through 18) must have said training. Any allegations against a pastor must be reported to the Presbytery (regional governing authority,) and all allegations must be shared with all other Presbyteries if a job transfer is requested. However, it has not stopped abuse from taking place.
In the PCUSA, pastors are legally mandated to report cases of sexual abuse and misconduct. If a pastor is accused, then the Associate Pastor or Clerk of Session (ordained lay leaders) is legally mandated to report the pastor.
I think that most Protestant denominations have moved in the right direction in the matter of sexual misconduct and abuse in the past two decades. However, enabling and covering up continue. The status and perceived power of the pastor or priest continue to create barriers to reporting and accountability.
John Metsopoulos: It is not the fault of the abused, and it can happen at any age. It is a fallacy that it only happens to the young. The abuser uses many forms of abuse, including physical, sexual, emotional, and financial. They may use others to degrade the victims and increase their power and control over the victims. The abuser starts building up the abused, making them feel special, and then they begin to tear them down. In addition, the abuser attempts to alienate them from family, friends, and persons who might see a change in the behavior of the abused. Once they are isolated, the abused now has no one to trust, and the abuser now has complete control over the victims. The abused feels totally alone emotionally and mentally. The abused is further confused as they may enjoy the physical aspect of the abuse, as the body tends to respond to the abuse.
The abused hunt their victims, and seek out victims for the innocence of a person and their depth of faith. The stronger the faith, the greater the opportunity for the abuser. The abuser seeks out individuals whose family is going through turmoil. The abuser seeks out victims whose families have deep faith and would never believe a member of the clergy would abuse anyone. They make the victims feel that what is normal in their lives is abnormal and only they can bring normalcy. Abuse is a total, all-consuming devastation that leaves them alone and deprived of self-respect.
Dr. Hermina Nedelescu: The first truth is this: accused sexual offenders employed as “clergy” by Church institutions often remain in ministry—unimpeded—unless they are criminally convicted and physically imprisoned. Church administrators routinely go to extraordinary lengths to shield or reassign these individuals, often prioritizing institutional reputation over victim safety. This persistent pattern is exactly why enabling behavior must be criminalized, as law professor Amos Guiora has argued through his extensive work on the “enabler” phenomenon.
There is a noteworthy trend. In the Russian and even in Romanian Orthodox churches in Russia and Romania, sexual perpetrators are held accountable at higher rates than sexual perpetrators in Orthodox churches in the United States. Our preliminary data show that more accused clergy are defrocked or penalized by the Russian Orthodox Church in Russia compared to other jurisdictions.
The second truth is even more grotesque: victims of clergy sexual abuse are frequently blamed for their abuse. Church officials often reverse the roles, casting the victim as the perpetrator and the perpetrator as the misunderstood “man of God.” The immense power differential between clergy and laity suddenly disappears from their moral calculus.
We are talking about a crime—so, lacking any legitimate defense, they default to blaming the victim. I read about a case that involved a 4-year-old child accused of “encouraging” an adult man by wearing his boxer shorts. If defenders can stoop to blaming a toddler, they certainly won’t hesitate to call the abuse of an adult woman an “affair” or something “consensual.” That word—“consensual”—has become a favorite among Church apologists, conveniently ignoring the inherent coercion that comes from spiritual authority. But sexual abuse cloaked in sacraments is still sexual assault, which is a crime. Calling it “consensual” doesn’t make a crime any less criminal.
The third truth is a demographic pattern that should raise immediate red flags: clergy sexual abuse cases often involve victims who are decades younger than their abusers. Many of these clergy are well beyond retirement age, yet inexplicably remain in active ministry—exempt from both moral scrutiny and mandatory rest.
And finally, at a recent academic conference on religion and sexual abuse, we presented findings from our research into hundreds of clergy sexual abuse cases within Orthodox Christian communities. The data is clear: the Orthodox Church has a clergy sexual abuse problem. This is not hearsay. This is research-based.
Among U.S.-based Orthodox jurisdictions, the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America stands out for having the highest number of reported sexual misconduct cases in the public domain. Oddly enough, this American jurisdiction answers to a high-ranking official based in Istanbul—who was even honored this year with the Templeton Prize for his climate change advocacy.
I find it deeply troubling that a man can be celebrated while disregarding the suffering of women and children who were, and continue to be, abused by clergy under his spiritual authority. There can be no climate justice without social justice. Yet while victims suffer here at home, ultimate decision-making power remains half a world away, seemingly more invested in liturgical pageantry and accolades than in justice for the abused.
Dr. David Pooler: In public discourse around clergy sexual abuse, we must first name it as a phenomenon that is about the abuse and misuse of power, role, and position of a religious authority. The responsibility for the safety of people in interpersonal relationships is on the professional in a position of power. And this is especially true in relationships where someone with more power represents God.
This religious authority does not have to be a pastor or priest only. It is far more about the way the person has power in any given religious system. Even a volunteer who is given much authority and power can use their position to have sex with someone they support.
When the victim is an adult, we must unequivocally state it is not an “affair” and the person being targeted is not “participating willingly.” We must smash the idea that the victim in adult clergy sexual abuse wants this or should be responsible for stopping it. The harm done to a victim is profound and complex. The reason this is so urgent is that officials and spokespersons within religious systems continue to use the idea that it is an unfortunate case of consenting adults who had an inappropriate relationship. The longer we tolerate a false and misleading narrative like this, the longer clergy sexual abuse can be done with impunity, and the harm done to survivors overlooked or minimized.
Dorothy Small: The firm facts and broad trends—based on my personal experience and on conversations with other survivors of clergy-related abuse, whether as adults or as children—are consistent across international cases: dismissal, disbelief, victim-blaming and shaming, retaliation and ostracism after reporting, loss of faith or religious community, and the protection of clergy perpetrators and institutions over the needs of the abused. Silence is rewarded; speaking out is punished, often for the very reasons I’ve listed.
Victims frequently struggle with the emotional impact of grooming tactics. Trauma bonding formed through intensive grooming creates a powerful attachment, akin to an addictive mood-altering substance on brain chemistry. This bond gives the illusion of being “in love,” fostering an addictive pattern that overrides rational judgment. Pursuit behaviors—chasing after what once felt good—are fueled by intermittent reinforcement, alternating “love-bombing” with withdrawal and emotional coercion. This cycle drives the exploited person to dismiss the pain in search of the next emotional high. The victim often falsely believes their involvement was “consensual,” when in reality it was the result of manipulation, not genuine care or love.
Regardless of age, gender, ethnicity, or culture, human beings tend to respond similarly to such abuse, though specific factors can create unique challenges. For example, males sexually abused by males often experience heightened embarrassment and shame, which can adversely affect sexuality. Adults abused by clergy frequently feel responsible not only for what happened but also carry the guilt and shame projected onto them by their abuser.
Michelle Stewart: While most Eastern Orthodox clergy are not abusers, the hierarchical structure creates an environment in which abuse can flourish. Though the majority of clergy are likely well-intentioned, the system of spiritual authority within the Eastern Orthodox Church often acts as a petri dish for misconduct. Allegations must typically pass through multiple layers of hierarchy, where, in my experience, the benefit of the doubt is more often given to the accused than to the victim.
A well-documented example is the case against my former brother-in-law, Fr. Matthew Williams. Another is St. Innocent’s Academy, where reports of student abuse were ignored or minimized for years. In both cases, the Church’s delayed response not only obscured the misconduct but effectively enabled it.
The Church frequently resists external oversight, minimizing legal accountability. When it does respond to allegations, legal action is often delayed or actively resisted. My first encounter with this came nearly twenty years ago in the case of Christ of the Hills Monastery, when ROCOR (Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia) vigorously defended monks accused of child sexual abuse—even supplying character witnesses. As the then-spouse of one such witness, I overheard private conversations in which participants acknowledged the allegations could be credible. Yet the institutional response prioritized church sovereignty over victim protection, with statements like “this is a matter for confession” or, more bluntly, “this is none of the legal system’s business.” Similar dynamics are now playing out in the Fr. Matthew Williams case.
Confession and the authority of the spiritual father are often weaponized to silence victims. In Judas Girl, reflecting on my own experiences and broader patterns of abuse—particularly within ROCOR—I wrote: “There is no greater predator than the one who convinces you they have power over your soul.” Those unfamiliar with Eastern Orthodoxy may underestimate the influence of the spiritual father, especially within the sacrament of confession.
While I do not advocate eliminating confession for those who find it spiritually meaningful, it is important to note two critical points: In many states, clergy are mandatory reporters; however, the seal of confession often exempts them. Many Orthodox believers are taught that obedience to one’s spiritual father is essential for salvation—even when that guidance is ethically or spiritually troubling.
In my own case, when I disclosed emotional or spiritual abuse by my husband or clergy during confession, I was rebuked and told I was spiritually deficient for harboring resentment. I was told such matters were not mine to speak of, but rather the abuser’s to confess. This pattern is not unique to me. Several victims I’ve spoken with shared that after disclosing sexual abuse during confession, they were advised not to speak publicly—reinforcing a culture of silence and spiritual coercion.
Jacobsen: What question is the most crucial to ask about clergy-related abuse to you?
Archer: The most urgent question is why all 50 states do not have legislation holding criminally liable clergy persons who misuse their position of trust and authority. A clergyperson is in a position of trust and power relative to their congregant. A doctor or therapist cannot sexualize a relationship with a patient because professional ethics and state boards recognize the power differential and expressly prohibit this behavior. It is known to be abuse. There are no state boards for clergy. Why is it that clergy get a “pass” on ethical standards, when I would argue that there is even more implicit trust and intimacy in a relationship of soul-care?
I view this from the perspective of an Orthodox Christian, with an understanding of the long history of soul-care within Orthodox Christianity; however, the spiritual intimacy between clergyperson and congregant holds within many other faith traditions as well. Orthodox tradition recognizes a long history of psychotherapy, or care of the psyche. This is different from mental health therapy as it is practiced with a superbill and a co-pay, but truly no different ethically if a priest sexually abuses a man or woman who has gone to him for help. It should be criminalized so that a victim-survivor can gain some understanding of the injury, and a priest cannot continue to pastor.
In the absence of this kind of law in every state, many church bodies “investigate” these abuses as though they were affairs. There may be substantial evidence of what we term misconduct, but it is viewed through the lens of it being an “affair.” This is a reprehensible protection of the institution over a human person who has experienced severe injury. Church investigating bodies, which include attorneys and clergy, inflict greater injuries when sexualized violence is mislabeled as an “affair.” As a society, we should demand that all clergy understand this issue– even if religious seminaries are not addressing this subject well enough for clergy to use the correct language.
Deschênes: The hashtag I used on Twitter was #thechurchcantpoliceitself—and that’s exactly what has been happening for a long time. There is no transparency, only secrecy. All matters are handled internally, leaving victims unaware of what discussions take place or what decisions are made. Many survivors are told the offending clergy is no longer serving their community. Yet, in reality, they often remain in place or are quietly transferred to another parish—sometimes across provincial or federal borders—where new victims can be found.
The Roman Catholic Church, as many can attest, has changed little in its thinking or modus operandi. The few changes that do occur happen over a lifetime, not years or decades. The Church should reevaluate how it responds to victims. One member of the hierarchy once said, when told that most victims simply want an apology, “That can’t happen, because then we set ourselves up for litigation.” Survivors who have endured litigation know how arduous, re-traumatizing, and drawn-out the process can be—delaying healing, if healing is even possible.
My question is: why not evolve and change your approach when a victim of sexual assault by one of your members comes forward? Why is litigation the first response? Why protect your “brother” instead of a member of your flock? What do you lose by treating victims with compassion and care?
I believe the secrecy exists to protect the Church’s reputation. It may have worked in the past. But with the internet, survivors can find one another, offer mutual support, and learn—often through the media—about credible allegations against clergy. What is the Church’s real reputation today? Person A: “Our parish priest was charged with sexual assault.” Person B: “Another one? Well, that’s the Catholic Church for you.” That is the reality now. What institution would want that?
Metsopoulos: What is the true number of cases of abuse by clergy? It seems that a true figure does not exist. It is important to get a true number, as it is a lot higher than the churches or their attorneys admit. They do not want to face the problem, as it is a problem that is at the core of the church’s organization. The abusers in the churches are the majority of the institution. The clergy all have incriminating evidence on each other and blackmail each other to silence each othe,r preventing the truth from coming out. To get a true figure would decimate the churches, and it would become apparent that the rot goes all the way to the top.
Also, the legal professionals associated with the churches are not concerned with the truth coming out, but with protecting the church, allowing the abuse to continue.
The attorneys and churches, under the pretext of wanting to end clergy abuse, seek victims to share their traumatic events to bring justice, when in fact they are attempting to cover the tracks of the abusers and discredit the victims of abuse. The goal is not to achieve justice for the victims but to evade the law. The attorneys play both sides against the middle. They are the worst of the legal profession and, in some ways, worse than the abuser, by providing false hope for the abused.
Why are victims afraid to come forward?
The victims are victimized by the church, the public, friends, and family. They feel isolated, empty, and guilty for coming forward. They feel shame and guilt for allowing it to happen and allowing it to continue. They may confuse healthy sexual relations with abuse. In the end, the victim is victimized and left alone.
Nedelescu: The most urgent question is this: Why are church officials who knowingly enable clergy sexual abuse not held criminally liable?
People including Melania Sakoda and Cappy Larson have spent decades cataloging the crimes of abusive clergy within the Orthodox Church (all jurisdictions), and while that work is continuing by Katherine and I, it is no longer enough. A new frontier of accountability must now target the enablers—the bishops, chancellors, general counsels, and senior administrators who receive complaints, suppress evidence, intimidate victims, move or cover for perpetrators, and then dare to call themselves “spiritual leaders,” “protecting the Church,” or seeking “truth.”
These enablers rarely touch the criminal justice system. Why? Because our legal frameworks still treat institutional cowardice and bureaucratic cover-up as unfortunate oversights rather than as deliberate acts that perpetuate harm. And yet, without the enabler, the perpetrator cannot persist. The real scandal is not just the abuse—it’s the system that sustains it.
We must stop pretending these enablers are merely misguided managers. They are collaborators. Their silence, their memos, their settlement clauses—all of it—forms the infrastructure of abuse. And until we criminalize enabling behavior, the Church will continue protecting predators while branding survivors as “unstable,” “sinful,” “temptress,” or “misunderstood.”
The urgent question is no longer “Who abused?” but “Who knew—and did nothing?” And if the answer is a bishop or a synod or a patriarch, the next question must be: When will that enabler be indicted?
Pooler: To further advance the study of justice in clergy-related abuse, the most crucial question to ask is what barriers stand in the way of churches setting up rigorous protocols to prevent abuse from happening and responding well when abuse is discovered or reported? One answer is Clericalism, the invisible force at play that teaches people to trust a spiritual authority and distrust themselves blindly. Religious leaders benefit from this arrangement, and therefore, religious systems appear impervious primarily to outside feedback and seem to struggle to reflect and accurately appraise how well they train leaders, develop useful processes to deal with abuse, and respond to survivors. In my observation, churches are largely ineffectual in addressing these issues and cannot admit it to themselves or others. And truly, one of my most profound questions is “why”? It would seem to me that churches could lead the way and model to society the virtues of kindness, generosity, care, and create robust and thoughtful responses when a leader injures someone in their care. But churches appear to fail at this repeatedly and often. And a second question is, why aren’t churches asking this question for their own sake? The fact that there isn’t a great answer to either of these questions deeply troubles me.
Small: The most urgent question about clergy abuse is this: Why is it still an issue today, given the decades of documented complaints, known victims, and our expanded understanding of the serious, lifelong health consequences? Addiction, for example, is one such consequence, with far-reaching effects. It is a global epidemic, and research has long shown that at the root of addiction often lies complex post-traumatic stress and other severe mental health conditions, frequently stemming from abusive relationships and relational traumas.
In other caregiving professions, abuse has been met with legal consequences—heavy fines, imprisonment, and loss of licenses—effectively removing offenders from positions of trust. Yet in religious institutions, whose reach and influence are vast, the problem persists. This is a public safety crisis of epic proportions. The data clearly show the profound damage such abuse inflicts on mental and physical health. The most powerful institutions have the capacity either to heal and unify, as they were meant to, or to cause lasting harm, as history has shown.
Why, then, is it so difficult for religious institutions to sanction and remove offenders instead of shielding them—often by transferring them to new locations where they can prey on the vulnerable again? The Catholic Church’s global presence, for instance, allows abusers to be relocated to other countries, where they continue to exploit trust. Vulnerability is universal; trust itself makes anyone susceptible. While minors are the most at risk, vulnerability spans all ages.
Why is immediate corrective action so rare when credible accusations arise? At the very least, institutions could remove the accused from active roles and make their names public. By the time a survivor fully recognizes they were abused, decades may have passed. Concealing an abuser’s identity only leaves others at risk. During the grooming phase, a victim may sense something is wrong, but the perpetrator—armed with authority and institutional backing—can manipulate, plant doubt, and gaslight the target into confusion and compliance. This dynamic not only weakens victims but also enables escalating abuse.
Stewart: The most urgent question is: How can external accountability be meaningfully enforced within the Eastern Orthodox Church, particularly among the clergy?
Abuse can occur in any organization and may never be fully eradicated. However, the decisive factor is how institutions—especially those in positions of authority—respond when abuse surfaces. Their response determines whether the organization actively works against abuse or inadvertently becomes a breeding ground for it. In hierarchical systems like Eastern Orthodoxy, abuse is not merely the result of individual misconduct; it is often facilitated—and concealed—by the very structures designed to provide spiritual guidance. The rigid church hierarchy, combined with the protections of confession, can allow perpetrators to avoid legal scrutiny, while internal mechanisms have consistently failed to safeguard victims.
As documented abuse cases accumulate, the Church—and those responsible for holding it accountable—now stand at a critical crossroads. Raising awareness is an essential first step, but the next imperative is to implement enforceable mechanisms of accountability that address and dismantle the systemic enablers of abuse. While some within the Church hierarchy may resist what they perceive as external intrusion, there is, hopefully, a broader majority of clergy and faithful who are willing to support reform. Their participation is not only desirable—it is likely essential to achieving meaningful change.
Jacobsen: Everyone, thank you for taking a little time to discuss this straightforward topic with complex derivatives. I appreciate the courage, forthrightness, and honesty.