On May 28th, 2022, a list was released of over 700 convicted abusers who have been affiliated with the Southern Baptist Church. This list includes pastors, youth group workers and other leaders, some still employed by churches. While the list is completely devastating, I was not surprised. When this list was first released, I was unsure how to respond other than through labor. I printed the list and began to go through it, googling each name and finding photographs of them. Due to redactions on the list and lacking internet presences, I found photos of 314 of the 700 abusers.

Thinking of works by Jasper Johns and Nick Cave, I arranged the faces of the abusers into a circle, envisioning a large bullseye. Inspired by the stained-glass window in my father’s church, I placed the circle at the front of the space, above where the congregants would sit in a sanctuary. The spinning, circular pattern can draw the viewer in, and creates a hypnotic effect, and the cyclical pattern speaks to the patterns of abuse being covered up by religious institutions.

When going through the list, the stories of the abused are haunting. Stories of ministers abusing young girls seeking counseling and pastors raping members of their congregation, covering up “scandals” to protect their church’s reputation fill every page. Drawing inspiration from these stories, I embroidered phrases in white thread onto columns of white fabric. I refer to these columns as “silent screams”. While the white text on top of the white fabric is a subtle effect, the pull from the embroidery creates a visual tension, matching the tension within the language. The draped columns shroud the abusers in the illusion of a clean, seemingly safe space– violating the pure nature of the white fabric. My journey of reclamation has not been a loud protest, but rather a quiet, slow, delicate process – a silent scream for help and healing.

The phrases vary in tense and temperament because healing from trauma is never linear, especially when the trauma occurs in a space that was once considered safe.

Trauma theorist Judith Herman talks about how sexual trauma makes the victim question their own sense of identity. Imagine how much more amplified this self-questioning becomes when the victim was raised within purity culture. Imagine how much heavier the guilt and shame feels when a victim is told they are no longer pure in God’s eyes. Imagine how much more severe the trauma is when the abuser is your own pastor. 

 

I can feel a nasty weight in the pit of my stomach – living there, festering there. It comes out in waves of screaming, tears, and whispers. I find myself basking in silence because my mind is so loud, filled with anger, hurt, and disbelief that women and children are unsafe even in a sanctuary.

Nothing makes sense to me anymore except to create and hope that it brings healing and peace.

 While creating this body of work, I have wrestled with how I could possibly visualize the complex ways I try to make sense of my own upbringing. I simultaneously value and question the ideals I was taught to believe – and attempt to create artwork that exists in a liminal space – work that honors the way I was raised and my spirituality while acknowledging the reality of religious trauma.

How can we come alongside victims of spiritual and physical abuse to help them reconnect with their spirituality and find restorative healing? I truly believe that art has the power to heal and create change through sparking conversation and I can only hope that as an artist I can contribute a small piece to this conversation.