The wife of our senior pastor carefully guided me into her van. We didn't drive far, maybe a block down the road. She stopped the van and turned to me, grief in her eyes. There was a pause, a heaviness. Then she spoke the words I feared were coming: "They arrested your husband this morning."
That day I was looking forward to spending time with my husband, the student pastor at our church. I anticipated brunch, conversation, and the simple enjoyment of being together.
Plans soon changed. My husband disappeared briefly to take a phone call. He returned, wearing a tie and apologizing profusely. He needed to go to the office and help the staff prepare for the upcoming business meeting, he told me. Would I take a rain check? Of course I would. I was a pastor's wife. I understood.
Disbelief and Denial
Later that morning, the phone rang. It was the local sheriff's department. The officer insisted that I come to the station immediately. They were questioning my husband about an "inappropriate" relationship with a girl in our church. I didn't believe the officer. In fact, I hung up on him. There must be a misunderstanding.
Frantically, I called the church for my husband, but no one had heard from him. When I reached our pastor's wife, she said she would be right over. I crawled into bed, shaking uncontrollably.
When she arrived, she accompanied me to the sheriff's department where I was whisked away and told words that splintered my soul.
My husband, the daddy of my four children, was in an interrogation room. The things he was telling the officers were surreal, nightmarish.
He was not arrested yet. But I knew, arrest or no arrest, that our lives had been shattered by monstrous sin. There was no returning to the hours preceding the phone call. Life for our family, for the victim, and for our church and community, would never be the same.
How do you explain to your children (ages 8, 9, 13, 15 at the time) that their daddy has committed sex crimes?
Hearing the news, our church went into grieving. Shock, anger, and disbelief swept through us all.
The arrest came early the following morning. Four days after being released on bail, he was re-arrested when a second victim came forward. The felony counts charged against him eventually rose to 18. He admitted guilt and was held without bond. In the end he was convicted and sentenced to 17 years in prison.
It was a high-profile case. I sent my children far away hoping to spare them the media reports. I went into hiding. Divorce proceedings began, and I sank into dark depths.
How could I not have seen this coming? What did I miss? Guilt, fear, and grief crushed my soul. I was sick, thinking about the victims. I worried for my children. I mechanically made decisions that had to be made, with a growing sense that there was no hope and no reason to live.
No reason, that is, except that my children needed me. I signed some final legal documents and arranged to join my children hundreds of miles away. But before I left, there was a Sunday to live through.
Grace and Healing
I wanted my church to know that I was going to be alright, so I decided to attend one last time. I arrived after worship began, using a side entrance, to avoid interactions. I stood in the wings of the sanctuary and wept. I planned to exit right after the sermon. I would leave and never see them again. But that was not God's plan.
At the end of the sermon, an older couple approached me. Then a student. Then others came. Some spoke, others slipped money into my trembling hands. I shook, not just with tears, but with the sheer magnitude of grace. The line stretched down the aisle and around the sanctuary. They expressed grief and concern for me and my children. Some said nothing at all, but just held me.
Thus began the slow, tedious journey toward healing. Some days were terrifying. Yet this church never left our side. They provided us the parsonage to live in and gave me job leads. They gave my children food, clothing, and Christmas presents.
They didn't push, but allowed us to heal at God's speed. For a long time, that meant just allowing us to attend church quietly, our hurting souls being fed by preaching and corporate worship.
In the aftermath of the arrest, our church brought in experts to help us legally and biblically address the situation. Care was given to the victims and the grieving, confused teens. We re-examined policies to better protect the youth.
I am still in touch with the victims. I ache for them every day. But I also marvel at their strength and their desire to live courageous, beautiful lives. I am amazed at the resiliency of my children. We are thriving because of the gospel, because of grace. I have learned that God is more real than I could imagine, that he truly is the God who sees and knows (Ex. 2:25). And that his grace is felt every day in the warm embrace of his people.
Shelly Duffer lives in Seaford, Virginia. She serves in her church and is a board member of 127 WorldWide.
Copyright © 2015 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
