He Could Have Told the Truth. He Didn’t.
And now that I have, I’m free.
Closure
In his email to my husband and me, Dr. Egger seemed genuinely befuddled that I would bring something into the light that could cause pain to Erik and his family. What he missed entirely is that the pain they may feel now—now that Erik can no longer keep them in the dark—is the same kind of pain my family felt two years ago. It’s the pain I carried not in silence, but through two years of private truth-telling: to my husband, to my therapist, to my pastoral counselor, and to the small circle of people who walked closely with me through the worst of it.
I’ve spent those two years working through what happened, what it meant, and how to let it go.
Right before I began writing publicly about all of this five weeks ago, I knew I was stuck in the final stage of my healing. I was standing on the threshold of closure, but something was still caught. Writing became the way I uncaught it. It took the last of the weight out of my body. It pulled the final pieces of the story out from where I had been holding them and brought them fully into the light.
Now, I am no longer holding or hiding anything for Erik.
Which is to say: I finally have closure.
Maybe Dr. Egger is genuinely befuddled by my willingness to speak publicly because he doesn’t know the full story. Maybe he hasn’t read everything, which would be understandable, given his schedule. But it’s less understandable when you consider the conclusions he seems to have drawn about how “irresponsible” my husband and I are, all without knowing the full picture.
Hm. If only there were something that could close those gaps. A way for everyone to know the truth. Something like... accountability. Shared language. Clear facts. Everyone on the same page.
For example, he might not know about the voicemails Erik’s wife left for my husband.
In case you haven’t seen that post yet, Erik’s wife called my husband a couple of weeks ago, claiming that my salvation was at stake because I was involved in a libelous campaign on the Internet. She insisted I was lying and, as a result, I was in danger of going to hell. (We have the voicemails.) When she left those, I realized something I hadn’t known until that moment: she doesn’t know the truth. Not all of it. Not even close. If she did, she wouldn’t have left those voicemails.
And Erik knew that.
He let her call. He let her believe. He let her walk into that moment on his behalf, unarmed with the truth and fully exposed. He didn’t protect her. He didn’t correct her. He let her speak for him, knowing she didn’t know what really happened.
That’s not just cowardly.
That’s calculated.
It’s manipulative.
It’s sinister.
And no, it’s not “old news.”
It just happened a couple of weeks ago.
For two years, I naively assumed that at least his wife knew the truth. That even if I wasn’t told the full story, surely she was.
But now I see: Erik didn’t tell the truth to anyone—not to his colleagues, not to my husband, not even to her.
He didn’t tell Egger.
He didn’t tell his colleagues.
He didn’t tell my husband when he was confronted.
He never told me.
And he didn’t even tell her.
All this time, I was asking institutions for accountability. I was hoping someone in leadership would say what needed to be said.
But now I realize: Erik could have offered accountability at any point.
He could have told the truth.
He didn’t.
So I did.
And now, I am free.
A Note About Perspective
It’s possible Dr. Egger doesn’t know the full story. He may not realize just how far Erik has gone to avoid accountability, even at the expense of those closest to him. But that’s exactly the problem.
Throughout our relationship, Erik told me more than once that he had been instrumental in bringing Dr. Egger to Concordia Seminary. He spoke confidently about knowing how to talk to him—how to shape his thinking when needed. I don’t know what Egger believes now, but I do know what Erik believed about his ability to manage how others saw him.
So when Egger responded with concern for Erik’s pain but not for the harm he caused, I couldn’t help but see it differently.
His instinct was to protect Erik and his family from further pain, without asking whether that pain was the result of exposure or the result of years spent in the dark. He expressed compassion without context. And in doing so, he offered comfort to the one who caused the harm, not to the ones still carrying it.