Performative Peace: My Story

Tigger Warning: This post discusses sexual abuse and rape. Reader discretion is advised.

We often think peace means a life without conflict. But unity is often found through tension. Peace is not simply a feeling, but wholeness with God and his people. So how do we find that kind of peace? A peacemaker is not someone who sits idly by when sin creeps into their life, their family, or their church because complacency is easier than conflict. A peacemaker stands up, fights for the truth, and seeks restoration. The only place peace is found is in the truth. If you avoid truth, you will never know peace, but like all things, seeking truth comes at a cost.

There is a cost to keeping silent, and there is a cost to speaking up.

For years, I stayed silent because it felt safer than the alternative. While silence allowed my painful memories to remain buried and conflict to be avoided, it also came at a price. Silence isolated me, concealed patterns of predators, and allowed sin to continue unchecked. I am by no means shaming survivors who remain quiet; we all need to heal in our own time and in our own way. I understand the paralyzing fear and guilt that surrounds sexual assault survivors all too well. 

I personally realized I could no longer afford to stay quiet.

This article is not written out of spite or a desire for revenge. It is written out of love for the church and grief for what happens when truth is sacrificed in the name of protecting institutions, reputations, and leaders. It is time for my story, and the stories of others, to be told. Together, we can create churches that are safer, healthier, and better equipped to deal with sin.

The church should be a safe place. When it fails to be one, we must have the courage to ask why.

When I was 16, my family decided to check out a church with a big reputation in the community. I saw people I went to school with and felt at home the minute I walked through the doors. Shortly after attending, I joined a Sunday morning Bible study with a guy who went to my high school. Since I now knew him from church, I thought we could be friends as I believed there was an unspoken level of trust. I thought that since he was “churched,” that meant he was godly. 

One day, we were at a mutual friend's house for a bonfire after a high school football game. I lost something down by the fire, and he agreed to help me look for it. What started as a harmless conversation ended in my shoulders being pressed into the dirt and my lack of consent being ignored. 

I was in shock, as my body froze, so did my mind, and although my body could move afterward, my mind stayed frozen in fear for over a decade. I was terrified of what this man could do to me, as he had already hurt me once, but more so of what he could say about me. Men have the ability to ruin a woman’s reputation simply based on a rumor. It would have been my word against his, and I believed his word would carry more weight. After all, his family were big givers in the church and deeply involved. What could I say? I would go through public embarrassment just for him to get a slap on the wrist and me to lose my house of worship. So I stayed quiet. Little did I know that the belief system that encouraged me to stay silent about abuse was from the very institution causing the harm.  I ignored my own pain in exchange for community, something I now realize a healthy place will never make you do. 

A few years passed, and the pastor’s son and I started dating. He served on the worship team, and he was charismatic and charming. It started off well, as so often these kinds of stories do. However, one summer night, I fell asleep next to him and woke up to him violating me in my sleep. Once again, frozen in fear, I thought I could brush it off. I didn’t want to cause any shock waves in a so-called worshipful environment, so I pretended it didn’t happen.

When I heard him and my previous attacker laughing at me when I called the night at the bonfire nonconsensual, I pretended it didn't happen. When my first attacker later sent threatening sexual texts and unsolicited naked pictures, I pretended it didn’t happen. When the man leading worship repeatedly pressured me to engage in sexual activities despite my prior refusals, I pretended it didn't happen. When an older male staff member who knew of hidden abuse brought up both of these men on stage as strong, godly examples, I pretended it didn't happen. 

My experience did not end with these two assaults. Over the years as a church and staff member, I was subjected to unwanted touching and inappropriate comments from much older men within the church body. When I brought these concerns to a staff meeting, they were brushed off and ignored, reinforcing the message that this behavior was not being taken seriously. 

I thought I was alone, I thought this sin was done in isolation. Little did I know that I was one of many survivors. A voice for victims cannot exist in a place that puts a known abuser on the stage. These men were being elevated while I, as a staff member, was told I couldn't be on stage with my shoulders exposed because they "had to be extra careful with me" and that my very appearance could cause men to relapse into pornography. The message was clear: men's struggles were my responsibility to manage. Once again, the burden of someone else's sin was placed on a woman's shoulders.

So why did I stay quiet for so many years? Because I was in an environment that protected predators and silenced victims, not just by what was done, but by what was not done. Failure to act and speak against sin is a sin in itself. I saw leaders who knew of other abuse look the other way for the sake of protecting careers and last names. So what do you do when the leadership won’t address a dark sin? 

1 Corinthians 5:11, “But now I am writing to you that you must not associate with anyone who claims to be a brother or sister but is sexually immoral or greedy, an idolater or slanderer, a drunkard or swindler. Do not even eat with such people.” What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? God will judge those outside. Expel the wicked person from among you.”

I love the church, I am a leader in the church and I will always encourage others to find a place of worship. That does not mean you stay in an environment that disobeys scripture and allows the wicked to thrive.

I left that culture because I saw what it was doing to me, turning me into the worst version of myself. It was not healthy for my marriage, ministry, or spirit. No, you shouldn't be the one who has to leave, but if that is what it comes to, then go peacefully without guilt.

Exposing sin is exposing truth, and truth is the only thing that can lead to peace. Evil can visit any church, any home, any person, but it will stay and grow wherever it is allowed to hide. When we start hiding sin, we start preventing growth. You may grow in numbers, but you will certainly not grow in truth. We must be a church that encourages its leaders and congregation to confront sin, not to conceal it. 

As a Children's Pastor, I have a responsibility to create environments where children are safe, valued, and protected. That responsibility does not end with the children in my ministry. That calling is one of the reasons I can no longer remain silent about my own story. By sharing it, I hope to encourage church leaders to build cultures where sin is confronted, accountability is embraced, and the vulnerable are protected. My current church does just that: we regularly confront sin together, share each other's struggles, and embrace the conviction and grace that come from living in a fallen world. But that was not always my situation, and it may not be yours. 

If you or anyone you know has been a victim of predatory behavior in a church setting (or any setting), please know your voice matters, you are not alone, and we believe you. It is time we start holding the right people accountable so the church can be a safe place for everyone.

“Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.” James 1: 27

-Reverend Rachel Reigard