Seeking a Way Out of the Dark

by

Contrary to what one might expect, this has been a sad, somber week for those of us who have survived sexual assault. The conviction of former Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein on the lesser charges against him, coupled with the revelation that L’Arche founder Jean Vanier sexually abused at least six women, have aggravated old wounds that never fully heal.

Every time another episode emerges, many of us find ourselves struggling with post-traumatic emotions. Well-meaning friends and family who know of our experiences tried to encourage us to “just let go of it?” Among Christians, another phrase – “and let God” – often follows.

God knows we can’t let go of “it,” because “it” will never let go of us. Like warriors who carry shrapnel in their bodies, survivors of sexual assault bear wounds so sharp and deep that our lives have been permanently deformed. Those of us, like me, who went for decades sublimating what had happened, may now understand why we’ve acted out in ways that shouted our hidden truth. Even after we acknowledge the harm, we are often disbelieved, shunted away by those who don’t want to consider such evil. We’re treated as if we are the violators because we dare to say we were violated in the most intimate, terrifying, soul-searing way. It’s no wonder that we survivors hesitate to speak out; better to suffer in silence than risk public disbelief and humiliation.

We’re “walking wounded,” and we find it difficult to cope with a world where far too many people are abused every day. It’s ironic that Harvey Weinstein’s conviction and the revelations about Jean Vanier come as Ash Wednesday begins the season of Lent. At times like these we survivors find ourselves exhibiting re-traumatized behaviors: we startle easily, recoil from human touch, feel anxiety around those who remind us of our attackers, and often panic.

What makes weeks like this most trying are the questions. How could Harvey Weinstein have gotten away with decades of abusing women? How could a spiritual leader like Jean Vanier, whose writings have inspired many, have taken advantage of women as he did? Closer to home, how could the West Ohio Annual Conference let Donald "Bud" Heckman off with the clerical equivalent of a slap on the wrist after years of sexually harassing and abusing women?Why don't authorities believe assault victims, who are mostly women, when they say they’ve been violated? Most of all, why won’t people understand that sexual assault isn’t about sex, it’s about power, the power to impose one’s own desires on another person?

These and many more conflicted emotions will keep me from joining Ash Wednesday worship this year. I don’t need to be reminded that I am dust and will return to dust; I’ve been down that road. I’m not even sure I’m going to mark Lent as I have in the past, because I’ve done four decades of penance for a sin that wasn’t mine.

When I began this essay, I thought there was no way to observe a healing Lent. Then I read an article by Thomas Reese, a Jesuit priest who writes for Religion News Service. Here is his counsel:

"Many people turn away from God because they cannot resolve the problem of evil: How can there be a God when there is such evil in the world?

"I have the opposite question. 

"Granted that we have been struggling to survive ever since we crawled out of the muck, evil does not surprise me. I am surprised by the problem of good. Why is there good in the world?

“Given where we came from and the world in which we live, why is there love? Why is there self-sacrifice? These are miracles of grace. These are signs of the Holy Spirit, God’s presence in the world. It is the Holy Spirit that pushes us upward in our evolutionary journey beyond selfishness and sin to kindness and love.”

This Lent, I need to pray for miracles of grace for everyone who bears evil’s scars. I can’t see any other way out of the dark.

Cynthia B. Astle serves as editor of United Methodist Insight, which she founded in 2011.