Grooming, Divine Proximity, and the Pursuit of Accountability
In light of recent allegations against a Christian leader
Christmas Eve is frequently associated with light in the Christian tradition. In fact, light features prominently as a theme in many religious communities and sacred texts. Light is as pleasurable as it is dangerous––a truth reinforced by religion and science alike. In the Christian scriptures, the birth of the god-child is as much about restoring hope to the oppressed as it is about toppling the kingdoms of the world. Light is both enemy and friend––it can comfort, and it can expose.
Appearing confident and resolute, America’s Bishop, T.D. Jakes, addressed in a Christmas Eve service recent allegations circulating on social media that he had participated in Diddy’s infamous sex parties — undermining his stance against extramarital sex; had sex with men — undercutting his opposition to “homosexuality” as a sin; and tacitly supported if not outright engaged in abuse — despite his long-career of advocating on behalf of the vulnerable.
Seeking to discourage internet viewers joining the service for less than liturgical aims, Jakes calmly yet firmly declared, “All of you who expect me to address a lie, can log off.” Yet, he went on to comment further, simultaneously whetting appetites and assuaging concerns. As if to reinforce his innocence, the Bishop evoked the word “lie” a second time: “I will not use this sacred day and this sacred pulpit to address a lie when I have a chance to preach a truth…. But there will be a time.” Promising future vindication, his comments earned supportive applause and raucous cheers from attendees.
The Bishop asserted that he would rather not take such sacred time to defend himself against what his spokesperson called “unequivocally false and baseless” claims — because by implication no defense was necessary. Instead, he would “preach the unadulterated and infallible word of God,” which, at one angle, seems to imply innocence by divine proximity. Such a rhetorical sleight of hand — evoking ministerial innocence by celestial association — has a history as old as the church itself. Yet, divine association is just as likely to expose one to judgment as it is to absolution — just read the Hebrew Bible.
What followed may have unsettled the ground the Bishop’s non-response response had gained.
A curiously timed reflection was soon posted by Pentecostal minister Manasseh Jordan on his experience of grooming behavior by a popular preacher he did not name at the time. Moments later social media commentator Larry Reid stoked suspicions that Jordan was referring to harm inflicted on him by the considerably older Bishop: “Everything he discussed in this video, he experienced it at the hands of Bishop T.D. Jakes, and he told me it was Bishop T.D. Jakes.” Reid went on to explain that Jakes took advantage of his mentorship relationship with Jordan and the fact that Jordan had been estranged from his father, the Archbishop E. Bernard Jordan. As of the writing of this piece, however, Jordan has not explicitly accused Jakes (though Reid has posted texts allegedly from Jakes to Jordan and Jordan has now named the groomer as “TD” but has not said whether the person is Bishop T.D. Jakes).
Yet incidents and claims of grooming and sexual abuse by religious leaders are unfortunately increasingly common — with several prominent examples having emerged in the broader Charismatic-Pentecostal-Evangelical world of which Jakes is part. Bishop Eddie Long, now deceased, was once accused of sexual misconduct by multiple young men, the cases ultimately settling outside of court. The International House of Prayer, founded by Mike Bickle as a hub of the 24/7 prayer movement, recently separated from Bickle, following what it took to be credible allegations of sexual misconduct made by a significantly younger woman this past October. An independent investigation confirmed in November that the senior pastor of Duluth Vineyard church in Minnesota failed to take action after multiple congregants accused his son, also a faith leader at the church, of sexually abusing minors. The public list of such experiences, ranging from grooming to sexual abuse, continues to grow, inspiring people to share their experiences under the social media hashtag #churchtoo.
Inspired by both the #metoo movement and an ever-necessary cultural confrontation with child sexual abuse, the #churchtoo hashtag sought to make clear that despite claims of the church’s perpetual innocence, much harm has been happening within its proverbial four walls, and sometimes, just outside. These populist interventions have embodied a desperate quest for accountability. Brave individuals who have come forward have sought to instigate a much-needed reckoning in which people in positions of power who have abused others and used their power to evade accountability, could — at the very least — no longer hide or feign innocence unchallenged.
Dubbing 2024 “the year of exposure,” Jordan shared that it was time to speak out and to call for accountability. Accountability, though, means different things to different people.
For some, accountability demands punishment, inflicting on the harmer the level of pain and suffering commensurate with the harm they have caused. A kind of retributive justice, this model recalls the Mosaic law of “an eye for an eye.”
And for some, accountability demands mercy, never inflicting on the harmer the level of pain and suffering commensurate with the harm they have caused — instead seeking to understand and rehabilitate them. A kind of merciful justice, this model recalls Jesus’ instruction to the angry mob that gathered to stone a woman accused of adultery: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone against her.”
For others, as Kay Pranis defines it, accountability is ultimately about reparative justice — taking responsibility for the impact of the harm one has done, taking steps to repair the harm and make amends, and changing the patterns or habits that caused one to do harm in the first place. This model recalls the biblical concept of repentance, which requires a behavioral about-face and a spiritual re-orientation, disrupting entrenched patterns of wrongdoing. It also evokes the practice of Jubilee said to have been observed every fifty years by the ancient Hebrews who took the occasion to forgive debts, free imprisoned people, and emancipate enslaved folks.
In a restorative justice framework, accountability is more demanding and exacting than typical punitive responses to harm because it requires a harmer to provide a rigorous accounting of the harm they have done — to identify what lurking within enabled them to do harm and then to justify it. This kind of accountability necessitates that the harmer offers a fulsome apology and engages in a dialogic process with those they harmed, provided that those harmed are willing to participate, to co-create additional steps that the harmer can take to repair the harm — and, importantly, to prevent it from happening again. While Jordan does not offer a comprehensive vision of the kind of accountability he seeks, his initial explanation locates him in the restorative justice camp: “You cannot have repentance until you have confession…. Repentance means changing of your ways…. This is not about exposing a person or bringing someone down. This is about bringing healing to the body of Christ.”
Boundaries can be life-giving and life-protecting, and when they are violated, they can cause long-lasting damage. Yet, like breached firewalls, collapsed bridges, and broken levees, repair is possible.
By now, I imagine that the person who harmed Jordan is aware that Jordan has begun to share his experience publicly. The harmer therefore has a choice to make––to double down on their innocence or harmless intentions or to address the lasting impact of their behavior. Only one of those choices is true accountability.
A person seeking to be accountable would reach out to Jordan and share that they want to own their impact and make things right. The person could ask for a facilitated process, held by a mediator or restorative justice practitioner, to address the painful breach in safety, trust, and communication in their relationship with Jordan. Afterwards, with Jordan’s permission, they could release an apology and a public accounting of what happened and what additional steps of accountability they are taking. They could commit to undergoing boundary training; participating in periodic reviews of their conduct by a team of diverse elders; shoring up child protection practices and policies in their church or ministry; strengthening mechanisms for reporting harm; and educating all congregants and ministry associates, especially leaders, on how to maintain appropriate boundaries and how to talk about boundary-crossings when they happen.
Relational boundaries and power dynamics may go under-addressed in many religious communities, particularly those without a governing centralized body, like most nondenominational churches, tasked with risk assessment and congregational health. Yet this attention is desperately needed at a time when pedagogies of power in most religious communities make it more likely that boundaries will be violated but not reported. Jordan was harmed as much by an individual as he was by a culture that fostered the harm in the first place.
Boundaries do not need to mean complete separation between those with more power and those with less power, adults on one side and young adults and children on the other side. Intergenerational relationships can be beautiful, as Matthew’s Jesus reminds us in a directive to his disciples, “Leave the children alone, and do not forbid them from coming to me.” For instance, Jordan himself has benefited from mentorship by the significantly older minister Benny Hinn. Over-attention to boundaries — which could result in a harmful separatism that undermines the benefits of mentorship — may be the lesser evil of inattention to boundaries, but it is problematic nevertheless.
The antidote to these extremes is a caring vigilance that centers the safety of the vulnerable, holds us all accountable to maintaining healthy boundaries, and creates a pathway for truth-telling and repair when those boundaries have been violated. As Adrienne Maree Brown writes in We Will Not Cancel Us,
“In the longest term vision I can see, when we, made of the same miraculous material and temporary limitations as the systems we are born into, inevitably disagree, or cause harm, we will respond not with rejection, exile, or public shaming, but with clear naming of harm; education around intention, impact, and pattern breaking; satisfying apologies and consequences; new agreements and trustworthy boundaries; and lifelong healing resources for all involved.”
Jason Craige Harris is a writer, educator, facilitator, and strategist specializing in crisis, conflict, and repair. He studied religion, ethics, and culture at Yale Divinity School and is on the board of Hidden Water, which organizes restorative justice responses to the impact of child sexual abuse. Jason lives in Brooklyn, New York.
