"I did not pursue this man. I never wanted a relationship with him. If it were not for his power over me as a “man of God,” as my counselor and father figure, he would never have been able to get me to participate in any of the horrible things I did. I was not infatuated with him because of his position, or for any other reason. There was no attraction. He was, to my husband and me, the father figure we needed." ~ Samantha Nelson

I had noticed odd things for quite some time, things I couldn’t quite put my finger on—the way the pastor would pay special attention to me—a look, a touch that seemed innocent, yet not—frequent phone calls or email and so on. I thought he just really enjoyed the friendship we all shared since on several occasions he had mentioned that he didn’t keep many close friends. My husband was unaware of some of these things prior to my commencing counseling with the pastor. Due to my lack of knowledge of the effects of abuse at that time, I couldn’t fully comprehend the magnitude of what was happening. I didn’t realize the pastor was grooming me to be his next victim. And besides, who wants to think that their pastor is capable of having ulterior motives in anything he says or does? A pastor is a representative of Christ, and in our eyes, a pastor could (should) do no wrong. I tried to talk to my husband about it, but I couldn’t really express what was happening and neither of us could understand, or knew how to discuss it.

Then I started noticing more and more things and, finally, I asked the pastor (via email) if he emailed all the church members this way or just me. I was not prepared for his reply “just you,” he said. That seemed to open the floodgates of emails and phone calls and then he began sharing his personal feelings for me. It wasn’t until much later that the pastor admitted he had “set his sights on me the moment we walked through the church doors that first day.” I had no idea at this point how to stop what had begun or how to tell my husband. I was afraid. I felt trapped. I was no longer myself, but a woman who lived to please her pastor, keep his secrets and keep him from getting upset, and a woman who could no longer confide in her husband as she had done for so many years. I became controlled by this pastor and did whatever I could to keep him from getting upset with me. I was crushed with guilt and shame and didn’t know how to make things better.

I know it seems totally absurd, but I honestly believed that he could, and would, counsel me and help me. I never dreamed he would use the time to further his own agenda. Immediately after we started counseling together, he tried to become more physical with me. Eventually, after a few appointments, he raped me in his office. I thought I would die afterward. I certainly wanted to. I could not fight off his constant pressure and demands for physical contact. I didn’t have the emotional strength to do so and I didn’t know how. So I continued to give in. I eventually believed that I must have been “in love” with him since I was involved with him in this way. After all, he had told me this was God’s will (all kinds of twisted Scripture!) and that he had never been happier in his life. I was, to him, his cure-all. He needed me. Why did I keep going? I don’t know. Somehow I believed I needed him and the help he gave, or was promising to give, I should say. I prayed for God to stop it, I begged the pastor to stop what he was doing and to stay with his wife. He only reiterated his love for me, his need for me, and he begged me not to tell anyone (especially my husband) and to run away and marry him.

By this point I didn’t believe I could quit counseling with him because I thought for certain I would die. Isn’t it odd how someone who is supposed to help you can be abusing you and yet you still feel like without his help you’ll die? That’s how I felt. Truth be told, I was dying either way. I had already begun the self-abuse patterns (cutting, beating, etc.) that I went through as a teenager, and I was making concrete plans to end my life. I was deeply depressed, even to the point of having hallucinations, and was becoming less and less able to function. The pastor knew these things and his response was, “I wish you didn’t feel the need to be so harsh with yourself.” Through the pastor’s bewitching influence, Satan had taken complete control of me and convinced me that I could not live without this pastor and that he was the only one who could help me.

My husband and I had a very hard time coming through this. The church, unfortunately, was not very supportive, and did not handle the situation as well as it could have. Firing the pastor was the right thing to do, but that should have been only the beginning. Truth should have been told—to us and to the church family. But everything was kept hush-hush. My husband always supported me and kept trying to get me to open my eyes as to how I had been deceived and abused by the pastor. He wanted me to see how Satan had taken control of the pastor, and then me, and caused this whole mess. Don’t misunderstand—it was not an easy thing for us to go through. We had many fights and arguments and often thought we’d never survive the whole ordeal. But, praise God, He kept us together and helped us through it all.

What opened my eyes to the truth? Through God’s Providence, we were invited to a Tamar’s Voice meeting and learned the truth—that pastoral abuse is sadly common and that it is wrong, period. Later, after much prayer and growth in my relationship with the Lord, I learned that the greatest responsibility was with the pastor because he had the power, and that someone in a counseling/pastoral or other powerful position has the responsibility to protect and nurture the one who is seeking help. He is not to harm the one he is trying to help.

Although I was not completely innocent, I did lie; I did commit adultery; I was not the one to blame. I did not pursue this man. I never wanted a relationship with him. If it were not for his power over me as a “man of God,” as my counselor and father figure, he would never have been able to get me to participate in any of the horrible things I did. I was not infatuated with him because of his position, or for any other reason. There was no attraction. He was, to my husband and me, the father figure we needed. His family was the type of family we desired to be a part of, or so we thought. That was all. It took me a long time to understand that this was not an “affair.” It was abuse. It was calculated and premeditated. And we were the victims.

*Note—With the help of her husband Steve, Samantha Nelson was able to escape her abusive situation and make a full and miraculous recovery.  Together, Steve and Samantha went on to found The Hope of Survivors, and have since helped countless abuse victims find hope and healing through Jesus Christ. 

This story is an excerpt from Hope Renewed, which can be found here.

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