Accountability Is Not Public Shaming
Telling the Truth Isn’t the Harm—It’s the Healing
Author’s Note:
Over the past six weeks, I’ve been writing about my experience navigating spiritual abuse, institutional silence, and the quiet resignation of a public church leader. What began as a personal disclosure quickly expanded into a broader reflection on the systems that protect power instead of people, and the cost of that silence.
This essay steps back from the specifics to explore something deeper: what true accountability requires, what it is not, and why clarity, not concealment, is the most faithful path forward. While it is rooted in my own story, the implications reach far beyond it.
If you’re new to this conversation, you can read the documented evidence, including communications from LCMS leadership, here.
Institutional silence is often mistaken for wisdom. Discretion is praised, even when it functions as evasion. When leaders avoid naming wrongdoing under the banner of grace or professionalism, the result is rarely healing. More often, it is confusion and harm left unacknowledged.
Those who speak openly about misconduct, especially when it implicates a respected figure or institution, are frequently accused of trying to shame or destroy. In reality, the impulse to tell the truth is often met with resistance, not because it is cruel, but because it is clear.
Protective silence shields reputations. Public clarity protects people.
The distinction between accountability and public shaming is not a matter of tone—it is a matter of intent. It is essential to make that distinction because when truth is mistaken for cruelty, harm remains buried, and the burden falls once again on the already wounded.
What Accountability Really Means
Accountability is not about embarrassment, exposure, or punishment. It is about truth-telling, ownership, and a commitment to repair.
In healthy systems—whether churches, workplaces, or schools—accountability involves:
Naming what happened
Acknowledging who was harmed
Taking concrete steps to prevent it from happening again
According to the Project On Government Oversight, accountability helps prevent abuses of power and fosters trust in institutions (POGO). When exercised appropriately, it is not only ethical—it is protective.
How Public Shaming Differs
Public shaming, by contrast, is reactive and punitive. It is designed to humiliate, often with no pathway toward restoration. It fosters fear rather than responsibility, and it typically leaves the underlying issues unresolved.
Shaming says: “Look at what this person did. Let’s ensure they suffer for it.”
Accountability says: “This happened. Let us name it honestly, make it right, and ensure it does not happen again.”
Why the Distinction Matters
Many institutions—particularly those with spiritual or moral authority—tend to conflate public accountability with cruelty. This conflation often results in silence that, while intended to preserve dignity, ultimately protects the system at the expense of those who were harmed.
This dynamic became clear following the resignation of Erik Herrmann from Concordia Seminary and the clergy roster of the LCMS. After I submitted a report of sexual misconduct through the proper channels, Herrmann resigned. However, no public explanation was ever offered. There was no acknowledgment of the report. No communication with the seminary community. Only a quiet departure, presented as a personal decision.
At the time, I believed that the matter had been addressed. When I met with Missouri District President Lee Hagan in the early days of that process, I assumed that someone who had resigned under those circumstances would not be placed back into positions of spiritual influence, especially not at events tied to the LCMS, such as Best Practices in Ministry.
For a year and a half, I lived with that understanding. It wasn’t until much later—after the fog of the relationship had lifted and after I saw Herrmann once again teaching and preaching—that I began to ask deeper questions. Questions that could have been quelled by a simple public statement. Questions that never would have arisen if the institution had chosen clarity over concealment.
Leadership training literature reinforces the importance of that clarity. When leaders take responsibility for missteps and model openness, they foster cultures of growth and trust (Betterworks).
Accountability, properly understood, is not about tearing people down. Rather, it is about elevating communities by rooting them in truth.
So What Does Healthy Accountability Look Like?
Transparency when harm occurs—not silence or euphemism
Restoration when possible, and protection when needed
A documented process, not an informal arrangement behind closed doors
Space for public clarity, especially when the harm occurred in a public context
When the Harm Is No Longer Private
Some will argue that the situation described here was private—that because the relationship occurred in secret, it should have remained that way. But this reflects a narrow and often misused understanding of what “private” means.
A relationship may begin in secret. The harm, however, does not always stay there.
When a leader who holds public trust—especially a spiritual leader—violates that trust, the consequences are rarely confined to the people directly involved. The breach extends outward: into classrooms, pulpits, institutions, and communities. Others are drawn into the silence required to protect appearances. Opportunities are reshaped. Narratives are controlled. Reputations are guarded. In that way, the private becomes public—not because someone speaks out, but because the consequences already have.
In my case, the relationship was hidden. The consequences were not. They reached into the structures of the church, the seminary, and the broader faith community. When the man involved was allowed to resign quietly, without any public acknowledgment of the harm or the report that prompted it, it left those around him unaware, unprotected, and unable to make informed decisions about how to engage.
Some pastors teach that sins should remain private unless they occur publicly. Others, like President Hagan, understand that when the effects of a moral failure ripple through public roles and institutional life, the matter becomes public by nature—even if it began in secret.
This is not about spectacle or humiliation. It is about truth-telling in the service of protection and healing.
As one church leader once reminded me, silence might preserve a reputation, but it does not restore integrity. Only truth can do that.
Some have suggested that by speaking publicly, I am seeking to harm Erik’s family. I understand the impulse to protect those closest to him, especially when the truth is painful. But it is important to be clear: the harm began in October 2022, when Erik chose to engage in a six-month emotional and physical affair with me. I harmed his family by participating in that affair. That is where the damage occurred—not in the telling of the truth, but in the breach of trust that made truth-telling necessary.
Silence did not protect his family. Or mine. It protected a system that quietly replatformed him and left others to deal with the confusion. Telling the truth is not the wound; it is the suture. And it is the only thing that has ever had the potential to stop the bleeding.
Conclusion
When institutions remain vague or silent in the face of wrongdoing, they may believe they are protecting their mission. In reality, they are weakening their credibility and failing those they exist to serve.
Accountability is not public shaming. It is the act of telling the truth so that healing becomes possible, care can be extended to those affected, past and present, and so that others may make informed, thoughtful decisions about how they engage going forward.
Telling the truth is not aggression. It is a moral obligation that makes restoration possible for individuals, communities, and the institutions that claim to uphold truth in the first place.
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