At The Crossroad: Surviving Sexual Assault and Black Church Culture
* Disclaimer: This story is the REAL lived experience of a female clergy member. It involves conversation about sexual assault and unwanted sexual contact, and mentions the word r*pe. This content may be triggering for some readers.
“Let me tell you what this article is NOT...it is NOT intended to make you feel comfortable in any way. I do not specialize in respectability politics or tone policing. Therefore, if your primary intention is to question the legitimacy of this story, victim blame, denounce Christianity in its entirety, ponder the “tarnished image” of the church (black church in particular); LOG OFF. We ain’t doing that in 2024.
”
RAINN defines sexual assault as “sexual contact or behavior that occurs without explicit consent of the victim,” with some forms of sexual assault inclusive of “attempted rape, fondling or unwanted sexual touching, forcing a victim to perform sexual acts, such as oral sex or penetrating the perpetrator’s body.”[1]
I am a seminary student with a soon approaching graduation date. I am a licensed, female, preacher in the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church with aspirations of being ordained as an Itinerant Deacon. I am a black woman who believes in the power of networking and making important connections within the Connectional church, so, when the opportunity presented itself to network with a high-ranking church official, I would have never imagined that sexual assault would be on the agenda.
For months I tussled with the idea of sharing my story because silence felt like the best option. It’s unfortunate but the offender’s position and authority in the church became the sea-witch that used a spell to steal my voice.
I feared that revealing what happened to me would cause me, and not my offender to:
be labeled
cause people within the church to look at me differently
use this incident as a weapon to stunt my career growth in ministry
use this incident as another opportunity to silence a woman in the AME Church (which has happened on many occasions in the past 206 years of the church’s existence).
For several months I compartmentalized and distracted myself with secular and seminary work. Coincidentally, my seminary work consisted of writing about the patriarchal and androcentric traditions of the AME Church that silences the voices of women who are victims of sexual assault and rape.
This work aligned with the story of Tamar and Amnon and Tamar’s radical decision to cry out about her brother Amnon raping her. It was the heroism of Tamar that helped to build up my courage to put my story on paper.
In telling my story, I am making the intentional choice not to go into details about location and time. I will say that I was in a very public area, and it was around dinner time. I make that choice to prevent you, the reader, from defaulting into your embedded theology that triggers you to dive into victim-blaming questions that ask the offended about where they were, what they were wearing, and the behavior exhibited that might have invited the assault to happen.
While I asked myself those questions after the incident, I was reminded by several people that the answers to these questions do not matter. Someone violated my body without my consent, period.
I am also making the conscious decision not to name my offender to the public – the people who need to know, know, and in their knowing hold a fiduciary responsibility to warn others about this person’s behavior. I am in no way protecting him, but I know how the church handles these incidents.
In her book, Hope in the Holler: A Womanist Theology, A. Crawford Brown states:
“victims and victimizers sit in the church every Sunday. Yet, for the most part, the church (including the black church) has been (and is) silent on the issue.”[2]
Our beloved Doctrine and Discipline, while a great tool for some things, does not explicitly tell victims what they should do. Instead, it tells offenders (first, and repeat) that their punishment is light. Even if someone filed a complaint, the most an offender would face is to be moved to another district. That penalty is for clergy, but what are the penalties for laypersons?
Upon further reflection and multiple conversations with my therapist, I’ve come to acknowledge that I was targeted by my offender. The offender waltzed into my church for a speaking assignment, but instead of fully focusing on what he was called there to do, he was focused on me.
I learned at dinner that he spotted me as he was walking to my pastor’s office. I further learned that he was watching me enough during service to see that I was not wearing a wedding ring, thus concluding that I was single, thus giving himself permission to do what he did.
I suspect that when he learned of my coming to dinner to network that he decided to take full advantage of the situation to accomplish the other side of his unspoken assignment.
The moment I sat down at the table, he went in for the kill. There was immediate flirting, confessions of his “watching” me, his disclosure of his marital status, his city of residence, his career and education aspirations, and his travel excursions.
At first, I honestly thought nothing of it. I nodded at the information and shared a little bit of information about myself. It was not until he started grabbing my hand over the table while talking about himself that I realized that he thought this was more than a networking meeting.
When I brought up what I was there for, he entertained the conversation for a moment and went back to his scheduled program. It escalated rather quickly. Before I knew it, he was sitting in the booth next to me. He placed his arm around my waist, and when I tensed my body in reaction, he removed his arm and placed his hand on my right thigh.
The nausea rushed rapidly over me. Other than the tensing up of my body and moving my thigh, I offered no other reaction because I was stuck – I froze. The only rationalization that I have for freezing is “because more times than not, the consequences of rejection are much worse. Seems more safe to just sit there and deal with it until it passes.”[3]
As a woman who is very clear on body boundaries and an advocate for women having full agency over their bodies, I was disappointed that I froze. As a woman who is so huge on my dislike for the Church’s role in policing black women’s bodies – I froze. The same woman who punched a man for pinching my butt at a party, froze. There was no fight or flight in me. I froze like a deer in headlights.
I did not understand why I did not speak up or punch him or slap him or do something! My lack of action left me feeling like the most helpless person in the restaurant. I wish I had left the moment he went to the bathroom. I wish I had done a lot of things, but I did not.
The disappointment I felt only enhanced the shame that started to wash over me. Why did this man think it was okay to do that to me?! Why me?! My drive home was filled with an Olympic level task of trying to disassociate myself from what had happened because I could not believe it. And when I crossed the threshold of my home, I called my mother to tell her what had taken place. I was sexually assaulted. I was touched unwantingly by someone who intentionally targeted me.
To this day, I have not been issued an apology. I may never get one because he probably does not think he did anything wrong. In fact, I imagine that because of his position in the Church, he probably does this to a lot of women. However, it is my belief that the buck has stopped here with me.
I have amazing people in my corner that have made phone calls to not only him but to others in higher positions within the Church. Much like Tamar, I may never get the justice I deserve and a part of me wants him to lose his position. But, I stand on the word of God which says that God will avenge me[4].
Even after all these months later, I still feel like I wish I had done more. However, releasing my story gives me an additional step towards my healing journey. I have learned through Jesus and therapy that this moment does not define me, and it does not have permission to discourage me from continuing to pursue the calling on my life. My offender holds no power over me, and his offense will NOT stop me from being me. If anything, this circumstance has only made me louder about my advocacy for black women in, and outside, of the Church.
I’m just getting started.
—Annonymous
[1] RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) is the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence organization.
[2] A. Elaine Crawford Brown, Hope in the Holler: A Womanist Theology (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002), 115
[3] A conversation I had with a friend.
[4] Romans 12:19: Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord.
I (Lady Mel) have gone through such a broad range of emotions as I’ve processed this situation. And let me be clear, my own emotional responses will never match the level of emotional processing that the victim will have to do. Therefore, me sharing is in no way to take away from the victim’s experience nor her trust in me to share it.
First of all, I am angry that a woman that I love and respect, had to experience this level of ultimate disregard and disrespect at the hands of an, insecure, weak man. I’m furthermore incensed that the person present, having the male PRIVILEGE necessary to stop the assault, did NOTHING.
Let me be clear, men (and women) in power who use their title, position, influence, as a weapon, are ultimately often very insecure. They feel that, alone, they are unworthy and unwanted, and therefore, resort to using power to get what they desire. And for some folk who receive this attention (perhaps stuggling with their own insecurities), the power alone is attractive.
Secondly, as a blogger, I am very much aware of the way in which public opinion can hurt/harm, and I do not want the victim to be further victimized by inarticulate and hateful comments from “church folk”, who are more concerned about the church’s image than the harm which occurs in silence, behind closed doors.
Finally, as a Black woman and as the mother of a future Black woman, I find resolution in the bravery it took to share this story with the world. I am certain this story is one of many (including my own), where women (and other folk with minority status in both secular and sacred spheres) are victimized by folk with power and privilege. I am praying for ALL victims of sexual assault, especially those occurring in SUPPOSED “Safe Sacred Spaces”, that they find the healing they need.
I am grateful that Ask The Preacher’s Wife, can facilitate a SAFE SPACE for sharing, as well as the beginnings of serious discussions to address the needs of victims of sexual abuse.
#JesusANDTherapy
If you are a victim of sexual assault, there is help for you! The Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network provides 24/7 support for victims of sexual assault. Click HERE to connect with RAINN.
“How can the church better support victims of sexual assault? How can churches begin to foster true “safe spaces” for sexual assault victims? Check in below!”
