Not “Whom can I trust?” but “How can I be trustworthy?”

Psalm 12:1-2,4

Help, O Lord, for there is no longer anyone who is godly; the faithful have disappeared from humankind. They utter lies to each other; with flattering lips and a double heart they speak. … those who say, “With our tongues we will prevail; our lips are our own—who is our master?”

These words that started my Psalm prayers yesterday morning jumped out at me shouting about the flood of sexual harassment accusations, confessions, and revelations that has recently been unleashed. Indeed, it seems now there is not anyone who is godly, not on the right or on the left, not in sports or entertainment, not in politics or business, not even in religion – religion that loudly proclaims exaggerated moral rectitude. And I join the Psalmist by screaming, “Help, O Lord! Can anyone be trusted? Does anyone have even a modicum of decency?”

The ones we are hearing about are considered to be stars, or at least think they are stars. They have all lived as though they believed that since they are stars, their victims let them do it, as though coercion and intimidation were consent. Is this a societal sea change in which the victims will no longer be silent and blamed, or is this only a momentary peek behind the curtain of domineering power?

I am all too aware that I cannot distance myself or the ordinary people around me from vulnerability. I cannot blame the stars for fostering an atmosphere that excuses me or anyone else from culpability. Along with Shakespeare, I recognize that a too vigorous assertion of innocence arises from guilt. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” is not limited to Lady Macbeth. That I do not think I ever said or did anything inappropriate with a girl or woman, does not excuse me from inappropriate things I have thought or seen, which may have slipped out unguarded. I am also aware of my flaws as a child and youth. Each month, when I pray Psalm 25:7 “Do not remember the sins of my youth,” with proverbial tongue in cheek, I have regarded age 25, like the number of the Psalm, as the boundary for the sins of my youth. Now that I am in my 70s, I speculate about moving it up to 40, 50 or even 60.

To be sure some of the accusations and incidents go back years, even decades, beyond the legal statute of limitations. Begging the question whether time heals, whether they have been repeated, whether the perpetrator has made a change, whether the motives for bringing the accusations are pure? While I certainly know I have grown and changed since I was an adolescent, hopefully for the better, I continue to wrestle with some of the same issues I did then, hopefully with more insight and maturity. Yet, when these old allegations are dismissed, all too often more current improprieties are exposed. I would suggest that brushing them off as obsolete is inadequate. They must be acknowledged and a suitable attitude of penitence and evidence of having made amends and embarking on a healthier path.

As a follower of Jesus, I certainly affirm forgiveness, second chances, and restoration. Nevertheless, the consequences of some things rightly persist through life. In my pastoral experience, I support the lifetime prohibition on contact with children for those who have molested or abused children. Similarly, I think those who have abused the unique position of pastoral care or counseling to take advantage of a vulnerable person should never have the opportunity to be trusted in that setting again. So where are the boundaries for resuming service after sexual misconduct? I don’t have an answer, but I would err on the side of caution in limiting opportunities and in setting up supervision and accountability. Presuming on grace in an unwise way sets up the prospect for repeat offenses. Yet, I do believe that with appropriate penance and candid confession, offenders may find new, protected roles in which they can serve.

I am very aware that the current highly charged environment false, unverified, distorted accusations can be made for political, revenge, or malicious motives. But asserting “fake news” is not vindication. More often than not, initial denials must be recanted or “modified” or are simply proven wrong. Blaming victims, the media, or political or business opponents is not exoneration. Those making such accusations also need to be held accountable for both the veracity and motivation for their claims. I know people who have paid dearly when they have been wrongly accused. Nevertheless, power people, stars if you will, are accustomed to diverting attention from their own culpability by attacking victims or the bearers of bad news. Recognizing the troubles that typically descend on those who accuse a prominent person of sexual misconduct, the benefit of the doubt goes to the accuser unless or until the veracity of their claims has been honestly discredited.

The misconduct of prominent people makes the news, but Psalm 12:1 despairs that any are left righteous. We have debated whether celebrities (entertainment, sports, etc.) should be considered role models. We are aware that even disowning that role, celebrities do influence the tenor of the culture. This is perhaps even more apparent for those who are in positions of public leadership in government, business, and religion. Some ordinary folk, even subconsciously, take a cue from the culture and in effect say to themselves, “If it’s OK for them, it’s OK for us.”  So does anyone who feels they have power over another feel permitted to abuse that relationship? While I know there are some women who are sexual predators, this is largely a male phenomenon. That it is more about power and dominance than sex is axiomatic. That is not to say anything about the relative righteousness of women and men, only to observe the unhealthy, ongoing impact of male power dominance in our society (The US is not alone, but we need to address ourselves and not divert attention to someone else).

As painful and grotesque as this season of sordid revelations may be, perhaps it does offer something healthier for our society, in which victims are taken seriously, in which women and children are respected, in which power people are held accountable, in which the unspoken acceptance of dominance and abuse is exposed and discarded, in which we can embark on a journey of rebuilding trust.

The Psalm and the current social environment beg the question, “Can anyone be trusted? If so, how do you know whom you can trust?”  We have too many examples of those who have abused their positions of trust to count on saying, “I trust my pastor, or president, or doctor, or therapist, or favorite news reporter.” The closer we have been to someone who has betrayed our trust, the harder it will be to believe we can trust someone else, even if we have known them well to be trustworthy for a long time.  No blood or urine test will tell us whom we can trust. Repair of trust is a prolonged, arduous journey.

My suggestion is to ask a different question. Rather than asking “How I can know whom I can trust?” we should be asking, “How can I be and signal to those around me that I am someone who can be trusted?” The answer does not come in a formula or prescribed program or set steps to follow. It is, as Eugene Peterson describes it, a long obedience in the same direction.