Last night, I sat with two men—wise, thoughtful, and honest—talking about something that should never have to be discussed, and yet must be: sexual abuse.

The conversation was sobering. We spoke of statistics—how many people have been harmed, how often it happens, and how rarely it’s addressed with the depth and seriousness it deserves. But there was a moment that stopped me: we were looking at the numbers of victims, and my heart asked, “Then how many perpetrators does that mean?”

It was a gut-punch.

Because if we listen to the data—and more importantly, if we listen to survivors—then we must acknowledge that sexual abuse is not a rare, distant horror. It is a widespread, near-at-hand reality. It is not always some dramatic “stranger danger” moment; most often, the perpetrators are known and even trusted by the victims. They are youth volunteers, family members, coaches, neighbors, teachers, ministry leaders. They are often not visibly monstrous—they can seem disarmingly normal. Some aren’t driven by deep, deviant fantasies; they’re opportunists. They act when they think no one will notice, no one will stop them, no one will believe the child or the vulnerable adult they target.

And too often, they’re right.

The Church, of all places, must be where this cycle ends—not where it hides.

Because abuse isn’t just a crime or a psychological wound. It is a sin—an assault against the image of God in another human being. It is a desecration of innocence. It’s a betrayal that shatters trust and buries people in shame that never belonged to them in the first place.

As Christians, we are compelled—by love, by justice, by the very heart of Christ—to act.

We are called to:

• Believe the wounded when they speak.
• Break the silence that too often protects the perpetrator more than the victim.
• Build systems of protection that are not reactive, but preventative.
• Train our staff and volunteers, not with checkbox policies, but with trauma-informed, survivor-centered wisdom.
• Create cultures of safety, where abuse cannot thrive and where power is stewarded with integrity.
• Hold perpetrators accountable, not hide them in hopes they’ll just go away or “repent quietly.”
• Tend to the healing of survivors, not just spiritually, but emotionally, physically, and communally.

Jesus never turned away from the brokenhearted. He never protected the powerful at the expense of the vulnerable. He flipped tables. He fought for justice. He restored dignity. He invited the wounded near.

So must we.

This isn’t just about protecting our reputations or checking off legal requirements. It’s about reflecting the heart of Christ. It’s about building churches, ministries, and communities where survivors are safe and seen, not silenced or shamed. It’s about acknowledging that for every statistic, there is a story—and that story deserves not just our awareness, but our action.

If we say we follow Jesus, we cannot ignore this.

The cost of silence is too high.

The need is urgent.

And the time is now.

“The systems we build either protect the vulnerable or preserve the powerful. They rarely do both.”
— Diane Langberg