One minute, I was sitting with my notebook and small tape recorder in a county health department meeting in Marshall, Texas. I was trying to figure out which agenda item would be newsworthy enough for a story for my employer, a small daily newspaper. The next minute, the director of the health department was ushering the public, including me, out the door for a closed-door executive session.
I checked the meeting’s agenda. No executive session was posted. That’s when I realized what my story should be: a violation of Texas’s Open Meetings Act by the county’s top health official.
Twenty years ago as a rookie reporter, I learned where to find the best barbecue for lunch in East Texas and how to take notes quickly, accurately, and respectfully at the scene of a four-car pileup. But I also learned one of the key things that makes democracy work—accessible information for the public. Since no leader is perfect, they can benefit from more eyes and voices to ensure mistakes aren’t made, power isn’t abused, safety is ensured, and people and funds are cared for well.
Fast forward to today, in which I report on abuses in churches and ministries, I often crave my early days of journalism (and Texas ribs). I wish I could send a church an open records request for financial documents or attend a board meeting for a ministry in the midst of a scandal.
These days, I’m privileged to spend much of my time interviewing scared, weary, but brave whistleblowers like many of you. I read through your email exchanges and listen to your legally recorded meetings—documentation that, when shared with a journalist, could cost you your job and your friends.
The American public and media have government-protected rights to obtain, share, and dissent about what the government does. But in order to reveal what goes wrong behind closed church doors, whistleblowers have to take personal and professional risks. And thank goodness they do. Religious institutions—and the people they serve—are better for it. Here are four reasons why.
Without whistleblowers, what happens in churches stays in churches.
While ministries have their own responsibility to use the power the public gives them well, they aren’t subject to the same transparency rules that American government must follow. In order to free them from governmental intrusion, religious institutions aren’t required to file 990 financial forms with the IRS. And courts rarely interfere in decisions ministries make due to the religious autonomy doctrine. While this may make some sense to protect religious freedom, whistleblowers have told me how it’s sometimes used to hide information needed to make ministries healthier.
For example, healthy churches allow members to request financial reports. However, churches often have the power to enact church discipline. So, an unhealthy pastor could refuse to disclose reports and instead, remove you from membership, which ends your ability to request information and enact accountability. And of course, you lose your faith community, too.
Also, many churches and ministries tie severance packages to nondisclosure agreements (NDAs), especially when the parting is not amicable. A leader may even retaliate by firing or forcing a whistleblower’s resignation. So, whistleblowers who are exhausted and traumatized from a long road of painful internal whistleblowing about bullying or sexual misconduct by a senior pastor now have to choose between paying their bills and retaining their ability to speak up further.
But without these voices, the information stays hidden and abusers stay in positions where they can do more harm.
Without whistleblowers, vulnerable populations could be exploited.
At their best, churches are havens. They draw the brokenhearted, the lost, the needy, the lonely. They use funds to feed people, offer hope to the desperate, and send missionaries to heal people. People believe they can trust pastors to speak truth, heal marriages, and protect children.
But much is at stake. If the trust is abused, people who were already vulnerable sink further. Unhealthy leaders may accuse whistleblowers of dividing the church or preventing more souls from being saved. But you’re speaking up for someone who walked through the doors needing an advocate, and instead met a predator.
Without whistleblowers, spiritual authority goes unchecked.
Churches are supposed to be rooted in deeply held values with a goal to follow teachings of a good, loving God. But when pastors misuse scripture, prayer, and God’s voice to control or exploit someone, their victims can feel betrayed not just by people, but by God. Whistleblowers have told me that spiritual abuse often goes hand-in-hand with other abuses—sexual, financial, bullying, whistleblower retaliation. But survivors tell me spiritual abuse causes additional layers of trauma.
So, if you’re reporting abuses within religious institutions, you’re keeping that power in check.
Without whistleblowers, toxic culture becomes entrenched.
The mixture of truth and deception in toxic cultures creates a confusing swirl for their inhabitants. Wrongdoing is masked by success, power, and charisma. Manipulation is wrapped in beautiful language. Control looks like care. Healthy organizations aren’t perfect, but they know how to self-correct. From what I’ve observed, unhealthy systems mostly worsen.
But then the whistleblower steps in with their ability to see truth, the courage to call out the lies, and the heart to sacrifice their own reputation, job, and community to save others.
Thank God for the whistleblower.
Share
(Disclaimer: This is my own personal opinion, intended as general information, and not meant to replace legal or psychological advice for your specific situation.)
