I was a scrawny kid in an English boys’ boarding school, small for my age, a late developer, sitting prey for bullies. For several years I was regularly beaten up, emotionally hurt, and publicly humiliated. Not until I shot up a bit, filled out, and discovered my athletic ability did the bullying cease. By then, I had learned how to look after myself, using my fists if necessary. I was an adult before recognizing that this early experience had enabled me to identify bullies from a mile off, and to do something about them.
Bullying is not solely the realm of testosterone-overloaded teenage males. Alas, today we live in what might describe as a nationwide bullying culture, both in real life, online, and amplified by cable television news. Hardly a day passes without our hearing of another fatal bullying incident, while it has become the norm with politicians to shout abusive odds at one another, modeling the bullying culture for our “edification.”
It should not surprise us that there’s bullying in the life of the church. I have seen and experienced my fair share during 55 years of ordained life. I was naïve enough when made deacon in March 1969 to think I was removing myself from the danger of bullying, but it comes in varied shapes and flavors. It did not take long to discover bishops, priests, deacons, and laity (mostly male, but sometimes female) who were unrepentant bullies. There have also been times, I sadly confess, when I have been tempted into the sort of bullying seen in so many ecclesiastical settings. Sometimes it is evident; more often it is cunning, indirect, even flaunting a veneer of pretended spirituality.
Parish dynamics can be such that parishioners, often fine people in so many ways, develop a taste for picking on clergy, wardens, and so forth. The worst culprits are those whose emotional needs are not met either at work or home, so the congregation becomes the arena in which they work out ego issues, sometimes planting landmines for those in leadership.
I was 23 and very green when made deacon, beginning ordained life as curate of a lively parish in the Diocese of London. There were great folks and good things happening, yet I hadn’t been there long before grasping that the vicar had issues. My predecessor as curate, a delightful man, bailed out early.
We managed to survive for the three years to which I was committed, but I came within a whisker of leaving parish ministry, even abandoning the priesthood. The vicar was a surly man, a former naval engineer who treated people as if they could be coaxed into what he thought was the right shape, then welded into place. When they didn’t fit, he was deft with a heavy emotional hammer.
Fifty years have passed since then and my assessment of him is a little kinder than it used to be, but it was a mistake to ordain a man so prone to harassment. A loving mentor intervened, helping me find a setting in which I could thrive. He and his wife provided Rosemary and me with prayer backing, love, and encouragement. They were also there for us as we lived through two miscarriages. God’s grace and this priest’s experience had tempered the aggressive side of his strong personality. All this taught us that Christian leaders, clergy especially, need a network of friends and mentors for shelter and support.
I have served under 14 bishops in six dioceses on both sides of the Atlantic — diocesans, suffragans, coadjutors, and assistants. To date, all have been men. Four of them have been everything I could want in a bishop, especially when I have stumbled, been hurt, or have backed myself into some kind of ministerial or spiritual cul-de-sac.
Yet some were overbearing and inevitably domineering. I am sure they did not set out to terrorize, but under so many ministry pressures, bullying seemed to have become part of their defense mechanism. I have watched contemporaries being elected bishop, some maturing into shining examples of grace, especially when stressed to the limits, but others have cracked under the weight of being the ordinary, becoming aggressive, bad-tempered, and hiding behind all that a purple shirt symbolizes. I have wondered where grace in pastoral care and firmness in necessary discipline morph into hurtful abuse of those they are called to serve while leading.
Even as I have defended myself against bullies, it always makes me feel bad about myself. This then gets taken home. Being on the receiving end of ecclesiastical bullying can be a significant source of stress in a priest’s home life. We have over the years been greatly helped by good counselors and therapists, and our daughters have grown into stable human beings, mothers, and committed Christians.
As I said at the outset, ours is a bullying culture. Even as I was writing this, the phone rang and I found myself on the receiving end of a conversation that out of nowhere turned nasty when an elderly man turned on me over something that had not been part of our talk. His tone became menacing, blaming, and attacking. Such is the approach of the innate bully, but we managed to end without lasting animus.
Bullying is about grasping for power over others, snatching at a place higher up the pecking order, demonstrating a pretended superiority. Yet our model should be the one who humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on the Cross. The question is how we nurture this humility as citizens of the kingdom of Heaven, and in Christ.
The Rev. Richard Kew is priest associate at St. George’s Church, Nashville. He was born and raised in England, was educated at the University of London and London College of Divinity, and was ordained to the priesthood at St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, in 1970.
