The Next Woman Is Already Here
It’s happening again in the LCMS—because accountability still hasn’t.
I’m currently in conversation with a woman who is involved in an inappropriate relationship with an LCMS pastor.
It’s been going on for well over five years.
As these things often do, it began as an emotional affair and eventually became physical. This pastor used spiritual leadership to gain access to her life, then used emotional hooks to ensure her loyalty and silence.
This is happening right now.
She’s the third woman who has reached out to me with a story like this—either currently or previously involved with an LCMS pastor who has ties to Concordia Seminary, St. Louis.
The woman I’m speaking with now is in deep emotional pain. She describes depression, fear, and that sharp, thousand-knives kind of shame that whispers of suicide. She’s married. So is he. They both have children.
Like many women in this situation, she’s terrified to come forward.
She’s been following my writing closely. She knows many of the same people I know. She’s seen firsthand what happens when a woman speaks up. The man she’s currently protecting is loved and trusted by the very leaders she would have to report him to.
She’s afraid she won’t be believed. She’s afraid of being labeled unstable, manipulative, or worse. And she’s seen exactly what that looks like—because it’s happened to me.
The difference is, I now have the benefit of two years of healing, perspective, and growth. She’s still in it. Still carrying the weight in secret. Still trying to untangle what happened and how she got there. I have piercing empathy for her—not because she’s blameless, but because I remember what it feels like to know you’ve crossed a line and still be the one left holding the pain. I remember how shame distorts everything—how it isolates you, confuses you, and makes you feel like you deserve to be silenced.
The final straw that broke her courage?
Dr. Egger’s response to my husband’s email.
Instead of asking questions or expressing concern for the harm caused, he expressed pity for Erik—and called my public pleas for accountability, including the sharing of documented evidence, “irresponsible.”
With all the context I now have, after hearing from:
The Missouri District of the LCMS
Dr. Egger at Concordia Seminary
Dennis Bielfeldt at the Institute of Lutheran Theology
I want to say this as clearly and directly as I can:
Accountability is a form of care. You're withholding both.
I’m beginning to feel sorry for the MANY faithful LCMS pastors—the ones walking with humility and care—because your silence doesn’t just shield misconduct. It erodes the trust that good shepherds have spent years earning.
When you protect the institution instead of addressing misconduct, you create the perfect environment for exploitation. You signal to powerful men that their admiration and clout will shield them from consequences—that they can cross lines behind closed doors and expect the public to look the other way.
You don’t just fail to protect women. You embolden the ones who know they can get away with it.
This is the dynamic playing out right now.
One of the most essential functions of accountability is prevention.
It sends a clear message to those watching: this kind of behavior will be seen. It will be named. It will have consequences.
But if the message they hear instead is silence, protection, or pity for the perpetrator, what do you think they’ll learn?
They’ll learn exactly what Erik believed for a time:
That you can build admiration.
That you can collect influence.
That you can preach sermons and lead ministries—
And still manipulate someone behind the scenes without ever having to look back.
Because if that’s the way the system responds, why would anyone stop?
Right now, there’s another LCMS pastor in St. Louis still doing what Erik did.
Still using the same playbook.
Still hiding behind the same kind of silence.
Your failure to hold Erik accountable is not just about the past.
It’s affecting real people in the present.
You don’t have to wait for more women to come forward to see the pattern.
It’s already here.
Maybe it’s worth saying this, too: I’m the most unlikely person to be writing about this so publicly. I’m not an activist. I’m not a feminist. I don’t think we should always believe all women, because women lie sometimes. I’m a poetry-and-walks-in-the-woods kind of person. I like talking about art, beauty, and nuance.
But I lived this. And I do have a strong penchant for justice.
So I’m going to keep going—
as long as y’all keep mistaking silence for accountability.