Clergy Abuse Tactics: A Real-Life Story and Analysis
I analyze the power dynamics and emotional manipulation present in one woman’s church story.
Introduction
The more stories I hear, whether shared online or in person, the more clearly I can see a pattern. Clergy abuse does not always involve an affair. Sometimes it takes the form of emotional grooming, spiritual manipulation, or public exclusion. The result is confusion, isolation, and a slow unraveling of a person’s trust in their own discernment, their place within the church, and the integrity of those who lead.
What follows is one such story. It’s not mine, though I recognize the shape of it. A woman who has been reading my writing on Reddit shared it with me, and I am presenting it here in her own words. After her account, I’ve included a breakdown of the specific abuse tactics present, which reflect patterns I’ve seen in many other stories, including my own.
Her Story
My story is one in which I started to notice some "red flags" in a relationship with my pastor. It felt so good being around him. In fact it felt too good! Then I started to feel uncomfortable and self conscious. The intense eye contact, what felt like forbidden attraction, etc... led me to start reading all I could on the topic of what leads to affairs with clergy. Thankfully this pastor never attempted to get me alone. In fact, quite the opposite. It felt like he started to treat me like a problem he needed to get rid of! This hurt. He found ways to purposefully keep me from being a part of ministry teams, even gloating about it from stage one Sunday. The relationship just became so painful and I still struggle looking back. How could he turn so quickly from attraction to hate? That's how it felt to me, anyways. But then lust, love, hate, can be intertwined I guess? I hated that because of the attraction between us I was never going to be truly allowed to be a part of the church. In the back of my mind I wondered if this was only because he recognized that I wasn't going to allow him to test my boundaries and he noticed that I had turned to my husband for accountability? I was thinking that if my pastor was as concerned as I was about the "temptation" he would respect that I was trying my best to be careful, not "make him stumble" etc.. But this didn't seem to be the case as time went on. He seemed increasingly upset with me and even tried to get my husband and I to go to another church. So it all ended up being a "no-win" kind of situation.
Thinking back now, if I had let the pastor have complete control over the direction the relationship was going, and allowed him to tell me what to do, I believe I would have been setting myself up for danger in that I could be too trusting and eventually compromise. But by having strong boundaries with him, if indeed he was upset of this, I think this may have led to why he chose to exclude me. I don't know if this is the case or not, but I wonder? It was all framed as my husband and I not being "submissive" or "humble enough" for church discipline in the end. I think he was able to get many in the church to turn against us. That hurts, especially knowing we were doing all we could to do the right thing while there, serving as best we could, giving faithfully, praying for others, etc... It was still a very fruitful season regardless, in that God used us in many different ways. I still grieve that we had to leave so abruptly though. Part of the reason we had to leave was that we discerned some issues with leadership even higher up and dared to ask questions about that, but that just opened a can of worms and they doubled down on trying to silence our voices. It was basically the ultimatum that if we spoke out about this leader we would be under "church discipline "for doing so. It was later found out that this particular leader was indeed covering up his father's abuse of kids and a blanket apology was given, but we were never given a personal one.
Abusive Tactics Present in Her Story
At first glance, this story may appear subtle, even uneventful. There are no physical violations, no explicit threats, and no closed-door encounters mentioned. Yet for those who have spent time listening to stories like this, a recognizable pattern emerges.
The details reflect more than a strained relationship. They follow a structure common to many experiences of clergy abuse. Wade Mullen, in Something’s Not Right, describes how spiritual abusers often create an atmosphere of emotional intensity and trust, only to withdraw affection or affirmation when control is no longer possible. Diane Langberg describes this as a distortion of spiritual authority, where Scripture and God-language are used to shame, silence, or reframe resistance as sin. Marie Fortune, founder of the FaithTrust Institute, defines clergy sexual misconduct not as a lapse in judgment but as a betrayal of vocational trust embedded within a power imbalance. Chuck DeGroat, in When Narcissism Comes to Church, notes that many pastors who harm others possess an ability to appear sincere while simultaneously operating from deeply narcissistic patterns. The intensity of their spiritual language masks an underlying desire to dominate. Their charm conceals entitlement. Their public persona disarms suspicion. Dee Parsons, co-founder of The Wartburg Watch, emphasizes that churches often place pastors on pedestals. She warns that such elevation makes it difficult for people—especially women—to recognize boundary-crossing or spiritual misconduct until it has taken root in the community.
Each heading in the breakdown below reflects these recurring patterns. They follow the emotional and structural arc of the woman’s story while drawing from the insights of Langberg, Mullen, Fortune, DeGroat, Parsons, and other leading voices at the intersection of theology, trauma, and institutional accountability. Naming these tactics allows us to see the scaffolding of abuse clearly, especially when it has been dismissed as mere misunderstanding or conflict.
Emotional Grooming Through Selective Attention
The story begins with the subtle dynamics of grooming. She describes how good it felt to be around the pastor and how his attention carried a sense of emotional charge that lingered. This is often how grooming unfolds within religious settings. The leader fosters a connection that feels spiritually meaningful and personally affirming, while gradually blurring the line between pastoral care and emotional intimacy.
“It felt so good being around him. In fact it felt too good.”
“The intense eye contact, what felt like forbidden attraction…”
These early moments often serve as the entry point. The leader initiates selective attention, praise, or personal vulnerability that communicates a kind of chosen status. The connection feels emotionally charged and quietly forbidden, and recognizably outside the bounds of normal pastoral care. The power differential remains hidden beneath a surface of mutuality, though the leader retains full control of the emotional tempo.
Withdrawal as Punishment
Once the woman turned to her husband for accountability and refused to enter into secrecy, the pastor’s demeanor shifted. The warmth she once experienced disappeared. The connection that had felt affirming was replaced by distance, irritation, and eventual rejection. This transformation was not arbitrary. It reflected a common abuse tactic: punishing the establishment of healthy boundaries through sudden withdrawal.
“It felt like he started to treat me like a problem he needed to get rid of.”
“How could he turn so quickly from attraction to hate? That’s how it felt to me, anyways.”
This shift in the pastor’s behavior creates emotional dissonance. The same leader who once seemed drawn to her now treated her as a problem. His warmth turned cold. His inclusion gave way to distance. These changes often leave a person confused, especially when the rejection follows an attempt to set a healthy boundary. What feels like a relational collapse is, in fact, a form of retaliation.
Targeted Exclusion and Public Humiliation
After the pastor’s emotional withdrawal, exclusion followed. The woman was no longer invited to participate in ministry leadership. More than a personnel shift, this was a calculated act of retaliation. Her removal was not handled quietly. It became a tool for public messaging, designed to communicate who belonged and who did not.
“He found ways to purposefully keep me from being a part of ministry teams, even gloating about it from stage one Sunday.”
This form of punishment exploits visibility. It signals to the congregation that the person in question is no longer spiritually aligned or safe to trust. The impact reaches beyond the loss of opportunity. It severs community connection and reinforces isolation, all while allowing the leader to frame the exclusion as discernment or stewardship. In reality, it’s humiliation masked as leadership. The harm lies not only in being removed but in being publicly reduced.
Theological Justification for Control
Once she stepped back and set boundaries, the pastor seemed increasingly upset. He did not receive her caution as care. Instead, her efforts to be thoughtful and accountable were reframed as a lack of submission and humility. The language of discipleship became a tool for dismissal.
“It was all framed as my husband and I not being ‘submissive’ or ‘humble enough’ for church discipline in the end.”
This tactic represents a hallmark of spiritual abuse. Rather than confronting his own behavior, the pastor used theological vocabulary to shift the moral burden back onto her. Words like submission and humility, when misapplied in this way, become tools of control rather than invitations to maturity. They function as spiritual veils for retaliation. This distortion is profound because it not only affects how the victim is seen by others, but also how she sees herself. The exclusion often leads to deep self-doubt, leaving the person wondering if speaking up or setting a boundary was wrong.
Institutional Complicity and Group Isolation
The effects of the pastor’s behavior did not remain confined to their individual relationship. Over time, the woman and her husband experienced a broader shift within the church community. People turned away. Their voices were no longer welcome. What began as private tension became public alienation, reinforced not only by the pastor but by the silence of those around him.
“I think he was able to get many in the church to turn against us.”
“We were doing all we could to do the right thing while there, serving as best we could, giving faithfully, praying for others…”
Spiritual abuse rarely stays isolated in one relationship. When a leader controls the narrative, others often adopt it. The community absorbs his framing and begins to mirror it. Questions are labeled as disloyalty. Healthy boundaries are interpreted as spiritual arrogance. People in this situation often carry more than just the pain of being excluded. They also face the confusion that comes when friends or church members suddenly pull away. The isolation makes everything harder. The place that once felt safe and sacred becomes a source of loss and disillusionment.
Threats of Church Discipline
As the woman and her husband raised concerns about leadership beyond their pastor, the institutional pressure intensified. Rather than responding with transparency or pastoral care, the leadership issued an ultimatum. If they continued to speak, they would be placed under church discipline. The purpose was not restoration or reconciliation. The aim was silence.
“It was basically the ultimatum that if we spoke out about this leader we would be under ‘church discipline’ for doing so.”
This tactic represents a gross misuse of spiritual authority. Church discipline, in its biblical intent, is meant to guide, protect, and restore. In abusive systems, it becomes a weapon of fear. Rather than addressing the original harm, the institution reframes the truth-teller as the threat. The power dynamic is enforced through formal channels, giving the illusion of order while protecting the one in control. Those who resist are not only excluded but threatened into invisibility. The message is clear: loyalty matters more than truth, and silence is the cost of belonging.
Broader Leadership Corruption and Lack of Personal Apology
The woman’s story concludes with a devastating realization. The problems they had discerned within their local church extended beyond their pastor. Higher-level leadership had participated in a cover-up involving child abuse. Although a public apology was eventually issued, no one from the institution reached out to her or her husband directly. Their experience was acknowledged only in general terms, without repair or recognition.
“It was later found out that this particular leader was indeed covering up his father's abuse of kids and a blanket apology was given, but we were never given a personal one.”
This final layer of harm is deeply familiar to many survivors. Institutional leaders may offer general apologies or public statements once exposure becomes unavoidable.* Yet those most affected are often left without a direct word of sorrow, let alone an act of restitution. The omission is not minor. It signals that appearances matter more than accountability. Survivors are asked to accept broad gestures of regret in place of personal responsibility. The wound is not just what happened, but how easily the people in power moved on.
Closing Reflection
This is how spiritual abuse often works. It begins with attention that feels personal and affirming. It ends with exclusion, retaliation, and silence. The person who resists becomes the one removed. The community closes ranks. The story is rewritten.
This woman’s account shows this pattern clearly. She set boundaries. She stayed grounded. She asked the right questions. For that, she and her husband were pushed out.
This is not rare. It’s repeated more often than most people realize. Indeed, I certainly was not aware of this large-scale problem before I met Erik Herrmann.
If any part of this feels familiar, you are not imagining it. You are not alone. Naming what happened is the beginning of clarity.
*I have a feeling this is where my story is headed. At some point, someone will have to make a public apology or statement, and I expect it will be vague. Too much time has passed for it to carry the weight of real acknowledgment.