The Abuse Logic of the Church

In my second year of seminary, I attended a daylong training on pastoral care for intimate partner violence. The facilitator said something that has stuck with me for the past 20 years: “Women who go to their pastors for help with domestic violence are more likely to stay in abusive marriages. And the abuse does not stop.”

Until the 1990s, when the domestic violence awareness movement began to reach the church, Christian responses to survivors of intimate partner violence often focused upon pressuring them to forgive and to assume responsibility for changing their partner’s behavior. They used Christian teachings about suffering and the sanctity of the marital covenant to encourage women to stay with abusive partners. In traditional Christian thinking, divorce is worse than abuse.

The same could be said for how many pastors and Christian leaders think about church membership.

This week, I saw a blog post by Thom Rainer circulating on social media called “Don’t Divorce Christ.” Rainer, the former president and CEO of LifeWay Christian Resources, rebuts what he sees as common reasons that Christians give for not attending church. His rebuttal is largely based upon a traditionalist worldview that elevates allegiance and submission to institutions over the needs of individuals. Indeed, Rainer emphasizes that the church is not about meeting our needs, something I find a bit odd since much of Jesus’s ministry was about meeting people’s needs. Nowhere in Matthew 25 does it say that the designation of sheep and goats will be based upon how many times we signed the pew registration pad.

The way that Rainer addresses critiques of the church is pretty similar to how many pastors used to (and still do) tend to victims of domestic violence: dismissal, silencing, and belittling. His post echoed so many Christian leaders and laypeople who admonish people to remain invested in congregational life even when doing so causes them harm. Divorce, apparently, is worse than abuse.

Ironically, just last week, after seeing another leader’s post complaining about folks leaving church, I shared on Twitter that admonitions for why people should stay in church are remarkably similar to abuse logic:

Stay with him.
Try harder not to piss him off.
Help him change.
Pray more.
Stick with it for the kids.
You can’t survive without him.
It’s God’s will.

It’s bullshit…abusive, manipulating, gaslighting bullshit. And if I had a friend who gave me those reasons for why they stayed in a harmful relationship, I’d tell them the same. I’d still be their friend, I would listen to their concerns, and I would do what you’re supposed to when someone’s in an abusive situation: emphasize their need for safety and healing, and the abuser’s need for accountability and repentance. Without those, reconciliation isn’t even on the table for discussion. Instead, we grieve the death of relationship.

Sometimes, breaking relationship is a holy act. That includes relationship with the church.

We are not reconciled to the oppressors who whet their howl on our grief. We are not reconciled.”

Gloria Anzaldúa

Paint the Town Purple (and Pink)!

For as long as I can remember, pink has been my favorite color. Nearly everyday, you can find me sportin’ some shade, even if it’s just my carnation pink leather briefcase. Every once in a while, though, I get so inundated with pink that I need a break. In the year or two after I pledged Alpha Kappa Alpha, almost every gift from my relatives was pink or green – fuchsia suede shorts, emerald leather coat, rose-colored shirts, mauve sweaters, pink…pink…pink. For about 10 years after, I essentially purged my closet of all pink. It was still my favorite color; I was just sick of it.

This year, with Breast Cancer Awareness Month underway, I am starting to feel the same way. The entire city seems adorned with pink, from shopping centers to funeral homes. There was a time that I loved purchasing merchandise with that pink loop. My mother is a breast cancer survivor. She was only 41 when she was diagnosed with stage 4B breast cancer. When I tell that to doctors, they look at me like I’ve got an expiration date stamped on my forehead. That, together with my first lump scare at age 28, has had me going in for a breast smash annually for ten years now. And still, I’m getting tired of seeing the town painted pink.

Maybe it has to do with the commercialization of breast cancer. A few days ago, I passed a Rue 21 store with the display window full of ribbon-adorned shirts that had more to do with breasts than cancer. What percentage of this junk actually goes toward finding a cure? Or perhaps providing aid to the victims of this disease who are poor and lack health insurance? Saving ta-tas is nice, but saving lives is much, much better.

I think, though, that my frustration has more to do with the invisibility of the other symbol for this month. October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month. The month is almost over, and I’ve yet to see a single purple ribbon (much less a 10-foot-high one mounted in front of a shopping mall). I’ve seen no races, no marches, and no men, women, or children cheerfully declaring their status as survivors. The only acknowledgement that I’ve seen was a spoken word performance at the church my family attends in Birmingham (and I’m deeply grateful for the prophetic ministry of East Lake UMC).

Long before my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, she was involved in a physically abusive relationship. I saw and heard the abuse on more than one occasion. I have a distinct memory of being about 5-years-old and throwing myself between my mother and her abuser, yelling at him, “Don’t you hit my mommy!” But I was well into my 30s before I thought of it as domestic violence. My mother was not a passive victim. She fought back. She called the police. And when she was overpowered, she grabbed whatever she could to defend herself. She was nothing like those women on Lifetime movies, who cowered and hid behind sunglasses. So for years, I simply did not recognize her victimhood, even as I was a passionate advocate on behalf of women’s issues.

Domestic violence is one of those things we don’t like to talk about. Few people are eager to claim their status as victims or perpetrators. And even though 1 in every 4 women in the United States experiences domestic violence during her lifetime, those experiences often go unnamed as such. This is especially the case in the African American community. Growing up, I often heard African Americans dismiss domestic violence as a white issue: “No sistah is gonna let a man beat her. Black women are too STRONG to be victims. They fight back!” Collectively, we liked to pretend that a woman’s attempt to defend herself against violence actually nullified the existence of that violence, even though the perpetrator was usually larger and stronger. We allowed ourselves to believe the lie that Black women are less likely to be victims of abuse than women of other races, when in fact, approximately 29 percent of Black women have suffered violence at the hands of a romantic partner. We hid our heads in the sand while Black women, who comprise only 8 percent of the U.S. population, accounted for 22 percent of all intimate partner homicide victims.

If those of us who are survivors remain silent, how can we ever expect those who are still victims to find their voices? It’s time to end our silence. Let’s paint the town purple!