How Can It Be Abuse?

Understanding the complexities of adult clergy sexual abuse

Maybe you found this page by searching a question you've never said out loud. Maybe someone shared it with you. Maybe you're not even sure yet why you're here.

Whether you're the one who was harmed, or a leader trying to understand the dynamics of this kind of abuse, these questions are for you.

What follows are road signs for a journey you may be walking through alone right now.

Some questions sit in the back of your mind a long time before you acknowledge them. Before you ever speak up—or speak out.

How can it be abuse? is one of them.

Maybe you've told yourself you don't have the right to use that word. Abuse is for children. Abuse is for women who were forced. Abuse is for someone else's story—not yours.

What you're holding is real. The confusion is real. And you deserve honest answers.

A quiet word before you keep reading: if this isn't a safe page to be caught reading right now—if someone might see your screen or ask why you're here — it's all right to close this window.

These questions will still be here when it's safe to come back to them.

First, Let's Name It

Adult clergy sexual abuse (ACSA) occurs when a member of the clergy—a pastor, priest, elder, or spiritual leader—uses their position to exploit, harm, or sexually abuse an adult within their community. At its core, this is an abuse of power.

When this occurs, it isn't an affair. And it isn't only about physical contact. It can look like sexual comments, subtle coercion, touch that seems harmless until it isn't, or a pastoral relationship that slowly turns sexual over time. However it shows up, if your trust was used for his sexual or emotional gratification, that's abuse. Spiritual leaders carry real weight in a person's life — shaping how they experience faith, their emotional wellbeing, their place in the community, and even how they understand God.

Call it what an institution might call it—"sexual misconduct." Call it what it is—pastor sexual abuse, clergy sexual abuse. Whatever name gets used, it's the same thing underneath: spiritual trust and authority, exploited for personal gain. Which makes it, at its core, a form of spiritual abuse.

Learn more → Adult Clergy Sexual Abuse

(This is one expression of a wider pattern. → What Is Spiritual Abuse? · Ways to Spot Spiritual Abuse)

Note: the Q&A below uses 'he' when referring to the one who has abused trust. While the majority of reported ACSA is perpetrated by men—women can (and do) perpetrate abuse as well—along with other forms of spiritual abuse.

Twelve Honest Questions - at a Glance

Want to jump to a specific question? Click on the question below.

Twelve Honest Questions

I understand that children can be abused, but I'm an adult. How can what happened to me be called abuse?

Abuse is a nightmare, no matter what age you are when it occurs.

At its core, spiritual abuse of every kind is rooted in an imbalance of power. When sexual contact occurs between a spiritual leader and someone under their care, the power differential present in the relationship exerts too great an influence for consent to be freely offered or received. Even among those who might otherwise be considered consenting adults—no matter how willing the participants may seem.

Clergy have a fiduciary responsibility to protect the people within their care. That word—fiduciary—means entrusted. Bound by duty to act in your interest, not their own.

When that trust is leveraged for their own purposes, it has a name.

The word exists for a reason.

Wasn’t this all just a terrible mistake?

What can seem like a painful mistake is almost never that. It’s almost always something darker.

This is a pattern. And heartbreakingly, it happens in shocking numbers in churches just like yours.

People come to their pastors vulnerably. They offer trust that hasn't been earned yet — operating under the assumption that this man is godly, honest, and genuinely concerned for their wellbeing. When, instead, that trust is violated—when lines of emotional, physical, or sexual intimacy are crossed, it can be extremely difficult to understand what has happened.

These actions aren’t consistent with what a pastor’s heart and role are supposed to be. Because of this, most victims tell themselves they must have misunderstood what was happening - that certainly the pastor would not do or say what he did.

And then, he begins to share something of his own pain with her. His loneliness. His burdens. Her natural response—the one she was made for—is empathy. The desire to help, to comfort, to fix.This reinforces the relationship and forges a deeper emotional bond between the spiritual leader and the person under their care.

Before long, a predatory pastor may begin to subtly create divisions within her personal life, seeding doubt and dissatisfaction in her marriage, pulling her away from her family, and twisting Scripture to placate her about the boundaries he’s crossing. None of that is accidental.*

This is a pattern of predation, manipulation, grooming, and abuse - not a mistake.

Some difficult things happened, but I’m sure he didn’t intend to hurt me.

But you are hurt.

In religious settings, we’re trained to assume the best—especially of our spiritual leaders. But the reality is that intent—or lack thereof is irrelevant. It isn’t a part of the equation when a spiritual leader has abused the authority entrusted to them,

If someone gets behind the wheel while intoxicated and has an accident where another person loses their life, they are responsible—even though they didn’t set out intending to kill someone.

The person is still dead. Or wounded.

Their intent doesn’t change the outcome.

When a pastor uses the authority entrusted to him for own gain, he abuses that trust – and leaves those under his care with wounds he may never acknowledge.

The wound is real. And he caused it

No one forced me into this. How can this be 'his fault?'

It was your spiritual leader’s responsibility to keep you safe. Instead, he positioned you in a place of harm, and left you with no easy way out.

This happens in many ways:

He may have positioned himself as the “voice of God” in your life - redirecting your understanding of scripture or right and wrong.
He may have positioned himself as a victim - at the mercy of an uncaring church board, with a wife who shows no affection or compassion - and that you are the only one who truly understands him.
He may have positioned himself as the only one who truly sees you for the amazing person you are, cultivating a deep allegiance and loyalty in you.

These are tactical choices meant to position you in a place where he can consume you physically, consume your goodness, co-opt your ministry, and steal from your own relational world. He has used you to meet his own needs instead of protecting you.

In all relationships with an imbalance of power, the responsibility falls on the person with greater power to guard and protect the boundaries of the person with lesser power—whether it is between a boss and an employee, a doctor and a patient, a counselor and their client, or a pastor and a parishioner. The person with lesser power has everything to lose - a job, a ministry, a spiritual community, a counselor who understands - the person with greater power has unearned trust that they may use to get their needs met if they choose to use that power for himself.

This is dark. And God is against it. In the book of Ezekiel, God speaks directly to those who should be protecting the flock but is instead feeding on them: “Woe to you shepherds who feed on the sheep.”

He takes seriously anyone who uses, coerces, manipulates, and wounds His precious ones. You were in someone’s care. They were supposed to protect you, not lead you into harm.

This is not your fault.

Why does the fact that he’s my pastor or clergy change this from an affair to abuse?

It’s simpler than it seems: the playing field was never level.

When you first got to know this person, it wasn’t like you bumped into a stranger in Lowe’s. This was someone our culture and society has told us we should trust and follow– like a teacher, a doctor, or a counselor.

We go into a doctor’s office and because of the diploma on their wall, we assume that their counsel will be for our good. They’re not trying to reach a quota of diagnosing eczema. They don’t get a bonus if they set more broken bones. They are there for one purpose: to bring help and healing.

And if – God forbid – we get the terrible news that we’ve got cancer, we trust them when they prescribe treatment with harrowing side effects to combat the malignancy. We’d never willingly take drugs that could make us sick and make our hair fall out, but because doctors are trained and trustworthy, we override our natural instincts and follow their advice.

Your pastor or spiritual leader comes with the same societal expectations. He is in a helping profession - there to bring protection and help and spiritual direction – and above all, to “do no harm.” He comes with “credentials” – a denomination who endorsed him; a board or committee who voted for him to lead the church; a degree declaring him educated, equipped, and trained to shepherd the flock. The normal vetting process you might go through to decide whether someone is worthy of your trust is short-circuited by the staunch recommendations of their ecclesial seat. After all, if the bishop signed off on him, who are we to question him?

This unearned trust leads us to override our own instincts and ignore the usual warning signs or red flags that we would normally pay close attention to:

His counsel seems unorthodox, but He’s been to seminary and I haven’t - he must know more about God’s ways than me.
He seems awkward and makes me uncomfortable, but I must be reading something into it. It must just be his personality.
He says that we shouldn’t tell anyone about our relationship - surely he’s trying to protect me, right?
I’ve confided vulnerable parts of my story with him, and he was so understanding - we have a special bond now. If I could trust him with my story, surely I can trust him with other vulnerable things.
What we’re doing feels wrong - but he says that no one would understand how close we are and they would misjudge our relationship. I want to get help or support, but he says that would bring down the work of God.

Before too long, we’ve been groomed and trained to dismiss the normal instincts that would keep us safe—the instincts telling us to run, to get away, to tell someone we’re in trouble. Somehow we keep believing that he’s got our best interest in mind, that he is as vulnerable and in need as we are, that our loyalty matters not just to him but to the kingdom. And that cultivated loyalty keeps us stuck - coming back for more and overriding our consciences, moral compasses, and best wisdom.

How can it be abuse when I didn't walk away?

It’s natural to feel complicit. You seemed willing. You didn’t leave.

But that framing misses what had already been done to you.

A “spiritual father” chose you, groomed you, dismantled your defenses, and then drew you to cross lines, sending your moral compass spinning – eroding the ground under your feet. Your spiritual discernment was strategically manipulated and warped so that you questioned your own instincts and began to let his direction and judgment override your own– all in the name of followership and loyalty.

Narratives such as “we’re both equals”, “no one understands me like you”, or “this relationship is helping my ministry” have been seeded, nurtured, and grown over time, until you don’t know which end is up. The cognitive dissonance that emerges as a result of a “man of god” doing such ungodly things - and using scripture to justify it! - puts you in a severely compromised position.

Your deep desire to follow God by following the man of God and the emotional bonds and loyalty that has been cultivated and nurtured over time leaves you making your decisions “under the influence” of a potent force - the spiritual and emotional sway of your spiritual leader. He groomed you to follow him instead of your own discernment and conscience.

Of course you didn’t walk away.

I still have feelings for him. Does that mean what happened wasn't really abuse?

No. The feelings are real. Or yours are, at least.

What you felt wasn’t built on nothing. He invested in you. Acted like he cared for you. And he cultivated something that felt real—something that might have felt like love. Feelings that grow in that kind of soil don’t simply vanish because you begin to understand what was happening underneath.

This is sometimes called a trauma bond. It isn’t weakness. And it isn’t proof that what happened was mutual or good or right. It’s the deep, painful impact of grooming that affects your heart, your mind, and your understanding long after the direct abuse has stopped.

The feelings may make the betrayal harder to name. The fact that you care about him doesn't mean he treated you well. It doesn’t mean he didn’t abuse your trust or his position. But it does mean he was skilled at making you care.

This holds such grief. And you’re allowed to mourn the loss of something that mattered to you but also hurt you.

He said his marriage was already over. Doesn't that change things?

It doesn't.

Even if what he said was entirely true—and it is worth noting that this is one of the most common things a predatory pastor says—the status of his marriage does not change the nature of the relationship. The power differential exists regardless of what was happening in his home or personal life.

A doctor whose marriage is falling apart still cannot pursue a patient. A counselor whose marriage has ended still cannot cross lines of intimacy with a client. The protection exists because of the relationship itself, not because of the pastor's personal circumstances.

His private pain was offered to you as a reason to lower your guard. It may or may not have also been true. But it was also leverage. The two things are not mutually exclusive.

He used Scripture to explain what was happening between us. Doesn't that mean God was in it?

Scripture can be twisted.

In the wilderness, when Satan tempted Jesus, he quoted Scripture. He used it accurately— the Psalm he cited is real, and the words are there. And Jesus named what was happening: the Word of God was being bent toward a purpose it was never meant to serve.

The very thing meant to bring life—the bread of life—is turned into a stone. What should bring healing and life is instead used to wound and destroy. What is meant to reveal truth is used to obscure it.

If Scripture was used to explain why what was happening between you was holy, or permitted, or blessed—that use of Scripture is itself a mark of the abuse, not a defense against naming it. God's word, rightly handled, does not lead a shepherd to consume his sheep. It leads him to lay down his life for them.

It didn't go as far as it could have. Am I making too much of this?

Abuse is about more than what happens to you in the worst possible moment—or the memories that haunt you.

Wounds don’t require a particular act to be real.

It starts with a comment, a look, a hug that lasts too long, a ‘joke,’ a ‘misunderstanding,’ something that stretches your boundaries but claims to be innocent—the backrub, the closed-door meeting, the shared confidences. All of these undermine you and erode the ground under your feet. And all of them count.

No matter how far things have gone, any relational, emotional, or sexual intimacy between a member of the clergy and someone under his care is an abuse of his position and power.

It’s not the degree of intimacy that matters.

Any crossing of those lines – even if it didn’t go as far as it might have – is still abuse.

He apologized in tears and seemed genuinely sorry. That surely means this wasn’t abuse, right?

An apology is warranted.

But an apology—even one offered with tears and apparent remorse—does not necessarily indicate a change of heart. Nor does it negate the impact of the deep betrayal of trust you have experienced.

Emotions and remorse can come from deep repentance before the Lord, but they can also come from the intensity of being caught – or the fear of the consequences ahead. They may or may not tell the truth about someone’s heart.

But no matter where the emotions come from, the reality of abuse is not based on them – or a pastor’s intent, or remorse or sadness shown after his misconduct comes to light.

Spiritual abuse occurs when someone uses their spiritual position or authority for their own gain – when they use those they were entrusted to protect.

Their emotions about what they’ve done does not change or lessen this painful reality.

If I’m honest, there were times that I initiated some of what happened between us. How can I call myself a victim?

The question of complicity is a complex one. How do we grapple with the longings that were stirred? With the desires for connection and choseness that were fanned into flame? Surely my need, my weakness, my desires negate the idea that I am a victim, right?

Wrong.

We are all human. We all have longings and desires for belonging, connection, and acceptance in this world. And those longings and vulnerabilities should have been protected and safeguarded by your spiritual leader.

Often when we come to our spiritual leaders, we are in a place of vulnerability. We seek their counsel when our marriages are struggling. We join their teams when our desires to be valued and to make a difference are stirred. We share matters of the heart with someone who should be trustworthy with such confessions—with someone who should help us find God’s kindness and care and grace where we need it most. Someone who is responsible to guard and protect us from anyone or anything that would prey upon our vulnerability.

Instead, you found an open door.

Someone who preyed upon your weakness instead of protecting you.

Even if in your need you pursued a closer connection with your pastor, the responsibility always rests fully with the person in the position of power to uphold and secure the relational boundaries. Clergy have a fiduciary responsibility to protect the people within their care. They are bound by duty to act in your interest, not their own. You should have been protected—even, in vulnerable moments, from your own misplaced longings.

Instead, you were chosen, groomed, and manipulated – and the ground under your feet was systematically eroded. And in your vulnerability, you were used and preyed upon.

No matter who “started things”—no matter how far things went—any relational, emotional, or sexual intimacy between a member of the clergy and someone under his care is an abuse of his position and power.

It’s not the degree of intimacy that matters.

It’s not the initiator of the connection.

It is fully the pastor’s responsibility to maintain relational boundaries with those under his care.

Any crossing of those lines is the spiritual leader’s responsibility, and it is abuse.

If you have experienced the heartbreak of adult clergy sexual abuse, we know it isn't easy to accept or name this reality. This can be difficult at any level when your trust has been betrayed.

You may not be ready to name it yet. You may wonder if your experience even counts, or whether you're making it bigger than it was.

Many survivors of adult clergy sexual abuse don't initially recognize what happened as abuse. The grooming process, the spiritual framing, and the genuine care that seemed present at the beginning make it hard to name. That confusion is part of what was done to you—not evidence that nothing happened.

You have been groomed to be loyal to your perpetrator, and breaking free from that loyalty can be extremely difficult. It takes time and is rarely easy.

What happened to you matters to God. It is not incidental to Him. You are not incidental to Him. We encourage you to reach out to someone on our team who can help and point you to more resources for your journey.

You don't have to figure out the next step alone.

If This Resonates With Your Experience

What's My Part?

While we cannot presume to know the nuances of your story or how you came to this site, we can tell you that abuse is never the fault of the abused.

It can be tempting to turn on yourself—to treat your longings to be seen, chosen, or known—as the enemy. As if your longings or vulnerabilities caused the abuse of power another perpetrated against you.

They didn't.

Your longings are not the enemy. They're not weakness. They're not wrong—they're part of your humanity.

Each of us holds good longings—and we are far more likely to share something of our vulnerabilities with those called to shepherd us or bring care.

We turn to our pastors and spiritual leaders to process childhood wounds, a marriage that's in a hard season, grief over a loss, seasons of doubt or loneliness. This is simply part of what it means to be human at the intersections of our pain and our faith—and to need others. But that does not grant license to exploit those vulnerabilities.

Is it possible that your good longings or your vulnerabilities overrode something of the warning signs that might otherwise have cautioned you? Maybe. Does that make the longings themselves the problem? Absolutely not.

Neither our human vulnerabilities nor our good longings are an invitation to be harmed. The wrongdoing belongs entirely to the one who betrayed their calling—and your trust—to take advantage of them.

Your Heavenly Father knows exactly how the ground was eroded beneath your feet, how your vulnerabilities were used against you, and how your heart aches today. He is not angry with you. He is fighting for you—and He is bent on your rescue.

Learn more:

Adult Clergy Sexual Abuse

Spiritual Abuse

Explore Other Resources

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit

- Psalm 34:18 NIV