A UK church has paid £100,000 to settle a sexual abuse case. Here is Claire's story

Last year, Claire*, a British woman in her mid-40s, received a six-figure financial settlement from the church she had worked at for much of her adult life. The astronomical figure was paid out in response to a civil claim for clergy abuse.

Claire’s story is long and tragic. We have summarised it in what follows, but you can read it in full and in her own words here. While the specifics may be unique, the patterns are not. In recent years, revelations of abuse have blazed through the Church, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. No one wants to imagine that such things could happen in their own local congregation, but admitting that it might – and being prepared to handle it well – is key to ensuring victims are put first, trauma is minimised and the reputation of Jesus is honoured above all else.  

Claire’s story

Claire was a student in her early 20s when a new evangelical church opened in her town. She and her husband joined the congregation and, after graduating from university, Claire was offered a job. She worked at the church for more than 13 years, becoming office manager and personal assistant to the pastor, Dan*.

Dan was married and twice Claire’s age when they met. A charismatic figure, he had been sent from overseas to plant a church in the UK. He viewed himself as a spiritual father to the young adults in the congregation, and quickly assumed that role in Claire’s life, too. 

At first, she loved working with him, and a friendship grew. He also counselled her regularly. But as time went on, Claire began to witness the shadow side of Dan’s leadership. He was “deeply insecure” and required “absolute loyalty”. When people disagreed or questioned him, they were quickly “slandered and shot down”, Claire says. “A lot of my friends were targeted. What he said was right. You did not question it.” 

It was like being slowly brainwashed. What I experienced was textbook narcissistic abuse

Dan led the church supported by two male elders, who were also trustees. One was Claire’s line manager, the other the safeguarding officer. All three were close friends. When Claire tried to raise concerns about Dan’s behaviour, she was “just closed down”, she says. “The attitude was: You had to respect the man of God.”

Over many years, the boundaries of Dan’s influence in Claire’s church, work and home life grew dangerously blurred. He became controlling and paranoid. One day, her spiritual father, pastor, counsellor and boss confessed that he was in love with her. Then, in 2015, Dan sexually assaulted Claire following a counselling session. After that, it became a regular occurrence. He used scripture to justify his actions, suggesting that God was using their ‘relationship’ to heal his own past hurts. He continued to minister, preach and prophesy on a Sunday while abusing Claire throughout the week. 

For the next 18 months, Claire told no one. “I had become manipulated into a place of secrecy and obedience,” she says. “I was convinced that if anyone found out, the church and both our families would fall apart, and I would be held responsible. The shame was too great.” 

Desperate to escape, Claire persuaded her husband to bring forward their plans to relocate to another part of the UK. Finally, with some physical distance, she was able to begin processing all she’d been through. 

Claire says that it took her “nearly two years” to name the manipulation, control, coercion and sexual assault she had suffered as abuse. But when she finally confided in her husband, he “saw it very clearly right from the start”. 

In March 2018, they made a disclosure to the safeguarding officer at their old church. At first, he refused to even receive their letter, rejecting it as a spiritual attack against God’s appointed leader. But eventually he could not ignore the evidence they presented.

What happened next was “a different kind of abuse”, says Claire. 

A false narrative

The church contacted the Churches Child Protection Advisory Service (now thirtyone:eight), who advised them to report Claire’s disclosure to the Local Authority Designated Officer (LADO), responsible for safeguarding children and vulnerable adults. The LADO said that it “did not meet their thresholds” but they would “encourage her to report this directly to the police”. This recommendation was never passed on to Claire.

Instead of an impartial, external investigation, the two elders went to visit their old friend. Dan had relocated after Claire left but was still employed part-time as the church’s senior pastor. At the meeting, Dan was given a statement from Claire’s husband which detailed the abuse she had suffered. 

Dan told the elders that he “accepted responsibility” for what had happened. Yet, despite his admission of guilt, it became clear to Claire that he “was going to be protected”. Instead of being dismissed for gross misconduct, Dan was allowed to quietly resign. He continued to receive monthly payments for at least a further year.

Shortly afterwards, the church’s overseer – another old friend – arrived in the UK. Claire was told that all parties were to write statements which would be “tweaked” by the overseer and shared with the church. “We were given guidelines of what to include,” says Claire. “I was told to state my regrets and seek the forgiveness of church members.” Her husband used the word “groomed”, but this was removed after her abuser objected. 

Less than two weeks after the initial disclosure, the statements were issued. Rather than referring honestly to the senior pastor’s sexual assaults and abuse of Claire, her experience was reframed and minimised. Against her wishes, the leadership had already shared the phrase “inappropriate relationship” with people.

“As soon as I saw it, I immediately emailed and objected. I said: ‘Please do not use that [terminology]. That implies an affair. This was abuse’,” says Claire. She never received a reply. Following a short “reformation and restoration process” overseas, Dan issued a vague apology to elders and staff. A follow-up letter from the overseer focused on how ‘painful’ it had been for Dan to deal with his “wounds and hurts of the past”. He ended by reminding staff that “all parties sought and gave forgiveness…Let us therefore keep it under the blood of Jesus Christ and give the enemy no foothold.” 

It was a rewriting of the narrative that completely minimised the abuse Claire suffered. A veiled threat to not speak of what had happened wrapped in Christianese. Claire “could barely read the letters,” she said. “They did not mention abuse, and by this time I had evidently become invisible.” She felt that her forgiveness – which she had largely been forced into giving – had been weaponised.

Rewriting the past 

Claire and her husband tried to move on, but they struggled to find closure.

On several occasions, they asked their old church to tell the truth about what happened. In 2022, Claire approached the church’s new leadership team. Initially, they said they “were deeply sorry for what had happened”. They had brought in an independent safeguarding expert and there were many positive changes, including restructuring the leadership and teaching on healthy church culture. But while they acknowledged Claire’s abuse in private, it was still never spoken about publicly. 

Around the same time, Claire finally found the strength to report her sexual assaults to the police. A twelve-month investigation ensued, but several years on from the abuse, there was not enough evidence for a criminal conviction. She wonders if it might have been different, had she received the LADO’s initial advice back in 2016.

“Being brave enough to go places that are uncomfortable and hard is what Jesus has called us to do”

Finally, having exhausted all other options, Claire made a civil claim. Her motive was never financial, she says, but to have the abuse that she suffered acknowledged. To this end, the wording of her claim was specific: “For the avoidance of doubt the Claimant endured: Coercive, manipulative and controlling behaviour; Sexual assault; Sexual touching; Unwanted kissing.” As part of this process, a psychiatric assessment concluded that she had suffered post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) as a consequence of her abuse.

In September 2024, an out-of-court settlement of £100,000 was agreed. Claire assumed the church would finally be forced to correct the narrative. But instead, it released an obliquely worded statement referring to a personal injury claim that had now been settled “without admission of liability” (a condition of the church’s insurance policy). 

Claire was devastated. 

Silent – or silenced?

In 2022, when Professor Alexis Jay’s Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse was published, the report contained 20 recommendations. It noted that survivors often “emphasised the importance of receiving genuine and meaningful apologies from the institutions they saw as responsible for their abuse”. 

And this is at the heart of Claire’s story. Helen Horne of Enable Law, who represented Claire, says she would always advise churches to take “early accountability” when a disclosure of abuse is made. 

Not only does this minimise trauma for victims, it is also best practice, even while allegations are fully investigated. “You don’t have to make an admission,” stresses Horne, but “acknowledging what’s happened…goes a long way,” she says. “Some people don’t want to take any further steps. If they’re just able to be heard and be believed, that’s enough sometimes.” 

Whether or not concerns around admitting fault played a part in Claire’s story, it is clear that her church handled her disclosure poorly from the start. One complexity is that when the safeguarding officer reported Claire’s disclosure, the LADO determined that it “did not meet their thresholds” – most likely because Claire was an adult and therefore not defined (in statutory terms) as vulnerable. 

But Justin Humphreys, CEO of Christian safeguarding charity Thirtyone:eight, says this is due to a lack of understanding of spiritual abuse – and does not let the church off the hook. Using the biblical example of David and Bathsheba, he explains that an unequal power dynamic – such as that between Claire and her boss/pastor – means that “people who, in any other sense, would not be regarded as vulnerable, become so,” he says. 

Humphreys recommends that all churches should have a clear definition of spiritual abuse in their safeguarding policies. “On top of behaviour that would be recognised as coercive, controlling, bullying or even harassment, are we seeing a biblical or spiritual rationale for the behaviour or attitude? Is there a misapplication of scripture being used to justify a particular scenario? Are threats and consequences of a divine nature being injected, such as: ‘God won’t be happy with you if you don’t do what I say, because I’ve heard from God, and he’s told me that you should…’”

If so, clear procedures should allow a church to take quick action and do the right thing.

Creating culture

Policies and procedures often get a bad rap in church settings, but Suze Gurmeseva, of Perfect Grace HR, says they are a vital part of creating a healthy church culture. “Abuse flourishes in secrecy and in misplaced loyalty to leaders,” she says. “On a practical level, policies and procedures are key. On a spiritual level, the deeper issue is confronting the spirit of fear that silences victims, bystanders, the congregation and even leaders.”

It took Claire many years to understand that the power her pastor/boss/spiritual father exercised over her was what psychologists call a “fawn response”. This is where an individual subconsciously responds to trauma or threat by pleasing and accommodating others, effectively sacrificing their own needs and boundaries. Claire says that she did this for nearly two decades. She also generously recognises that, in effect: “the entire leadership had been groomed” by the pastor – and this potentially influenced how effective they were able to be when dealing with her disclosure.

In some settings, this is the result of an unhealthy culture of honour, in which the leader is viewed as being above criticism. Sometimes it is because the correct mechanisms are not in place to manage staff properly – whether complaints, grievance or disciplinary procedures. Sometimes, a church is just too far behind the curve, says Humphreys. “We’re a lot further forward than we were five or six years ago,” he says, “but spiritual abuse is not a universally accepted concept, and the definitions certainly aren’t always agreed.”

According to Gurmeseva, one key to this is transparency, alongside “strong record keeping” when it comes to internal complaints. Responsibilities for safeguarding, line management, whistleblowing, grievances etc should not be held by one person. And power should not be concentrated in a small group of friends, particularly all of one gender. 

“When safeguarding is only about ticking a compliance box, the consequences are devastating,” she adds. “Without a living culture of accountability, the vulnerable go unprotected, abusive behaviours are covered up, and trust in the Church is eroded. Instead of being the safest place in the world, the Church becomes the hardest place to find help.”

To counter this, churches must strive to develop policies that “incorporate scriptural principles, going above and beyond the letter of the law,” she adds. “These should be not only legally compliant but also rooted in biblical values of justice, dignity and care for the people.”

Gurmeseva quotes Ezekiel 34, in which God condemns Israel’s leaders for not taking care of their flock. “This speaks directly to the responsibility of trustees, staff and congregations to create a safe culture where bullying, exploitation and abuse are challenged, not ignored.” Putting “reputation, power or self-interest above protecting the people” is simply antithetical to God’s heart, she says.

A royal reputation

Sarann Buckby, who leads on reputational governance for Jersey Road, a Christian public relations firm, echoes this point. “A large proportion of the crises that churches face are a result of known risk issues.” In other words, as in the well-documented cases of abusers such as Mike Pilavachi or John Smyth, there have likely been multiple times that someone was alerted to something. But when these concerns are ignored, minimised or not properly documented, an opportunity to build up a fuller picture – and potentially prevent further harm – is missed.

If concerns are not reported – due to fear, or lack of trust that they will be believed or acted upon – this is an even bigger concern, says Buckby. “That means taking a proactive role in understanding not just how to respond when a crisis happens, but how are we actually mitigating against potential issues before they escalate into a crisis?”

“Without a culture of accountability, the vulnerable go unprotected, abusive behaviours are covered up, and trust in the Church is eroded”

Buckby is also clear that the purpose of this is not to protect the reputation of an organisation or person, but to prevent harm – and to represent Jesus well. “We want to reflect Jesus, and do what Jesus would do in the situation,” she says. “Which is to expose it, to shine a light on it.” 

After years of abuse scandals, some are sceptical that the Church is able to do this, and this affects the credibility of the gospel. “Unfortunately, [that perception] is reinforced by situations like this, where instead of dealing with these issues head-on and being transparent and accountable, they’ve tried to cover it up,” she says. Being brave enough to go places that are uncomfortable and hard is “ultimately what Jesus has called us to do”.

Coming back to the start  

Grace St John is a psychotherapist who has worked with many survivors of Church abuse. “It’s one of the hardest wounds to heal, because it taps into how we understand God – and that does something to our psyche that’s very difficult to unpick.

“So many people I work with leave the faith. They don’t want to know about God anymore, or the Church.” Despite all she’s been through, Claire has held onto her faith. But she knows many who have not. Some can no longer go to church as they “feel so triggered”. “There’s this underlying trauma and it’s never been addressed,” she says.

If the church is a community of believers, then what happens in that community becomes “a communal story”, explains St John. If the story is buried: “it will come back up somewhere”. No matter what is done to improve leadership structures, implement new policies or change the culture of the church, if the pain and trauma isn’t acknowledged and space isn’t made to grieve and lament it, then not only will the individual find it harder to heal, but the whole community will too. “The ripple effect is that everyone will have been touched by it on some level, whether directly or indirectly. So, if we’re not going to name that collectively, it will just go underground, or people will leave and take the hurt somewhere else. It’s very harmful.”

Reflecting on what happened to Claire, St John is clear that the lack of control over how her experiences were communicated would have had a devastating effect. “The two things that are most pervasive when people go into trauma is isolation and disempowerment,” she explains. “They feel alone, and like they’ve lost their power. So, when we’re thinking about restoration from trauma, it’s giving people back that connection and sense of empowerment.

“In this story, none of that happened. She became more isolated, because they weren’t really seeing her. They weren’t giving her agency. They still had all the power. So, you can’t heal.” It’s not honouring, she says. “It’s not the way Christians should be.”

It is only fitting therefore that the final words of this article go to Claire herself. 

“I don’t want this to sound like I’m telling a horrible story to bring a church down,” she says. “I’m not after pity either. But how many more of these cases are hidden, unable to be spoken about?” 

Even after winning a huge out-of-court settlement, defamation laws prevent Claire from being able to talk more openly about her story. Yet even within the anonymity that has been forced upon her, she is reclaiming her voice. “It was like being slowly brainwashed,” she says. “What I experienced was textbook narcissistic abuse. My hope is that by speaking, I might help others begin to make sense of their own experiences.”

Unexpectedly, Claire says that making a civil claim was the most healing thing she did. “I was finally shown respect,” she says. “I felt cared for and carried. It was validating and empowering.” Now, sharing her story is another powerful step, both in her own healing and, hopefully, in helping other churches respond better should the unthinkable happen under their roof. “My greatest comfort through this journey has been the knowledge that God sees and knows,” says Claire. “It is not God who abuses, but people. His tangible presence has held me together. He values justice and stands with the broken. When I felt at the bottom of the pit, there, in gentleness and power, was God.” 

*names changed