Fixing Her Eyes
In many church communities, silence in the face of harm can feel like wisdom.
It preserves relationships, avoids conflict, and protects reputations.
But sometimes, silence is the very thing that allows harm to remain and to be repeated.
The renewed attention around the film Don’t Tell, recently featured in Netflix’s Top Ten, brings this reality into sharp focus. It recounts events of abuse within a Queensland Anglican school and the long, difficult path toward those events being acknowledged. At its centre are young women who spoke about what had happened to them, even when they were discouraged, dismissed, or not believed. Alongside them were others who had witnessed these events and could have remained silent but instead chose to finally step forward and tell the truth.
Their courage did not emerge in a vacuum. It came at personal cost, yet it also became part of what brought hidden realities into the light.
Stories like these raise important questions for Christian communities today. Not only about where harm has occurred, but also about what allows it to remain hidden, and who is willing to seek and courageously uncover truth.
This is not a new challenge.
Throughout Scripture, we see women who chose to speak and act with courage in the face of risk. Esther, Rahab, and Abigail each stepped forward at critical moments, using their voices to protect others and to confront what was at stake.
The Gospels offer a striking picture of Jesus that speaks into this space. When He enters the temple and overturns tables, He is confronting a religious system that was justifying wrongdoing and had lost sight of those it was meant to serve. His actions are clear, disruptive, and rooted in a deep commitment to justice.
As the story moves toward the cross, we hear that Jesus was not silent. He spoke truth about the hypocrisy of religious leaders and the coming judgment. We also see how that challenge was received. Those in positions of authority close ranks. They began to manage the threat to their leadership by planning to silence the voice that was exposing their misconduct.
However, Jesus cannot be silenced. He spoke powerfully by rising from death, overcoming the plans of those who sought control, revealing that He is truth.
He also demonstrates wisdom. When Jesus was led toward the cross, He chose when to speak. Before Pilate and His accusers, He did not defend Himself or argue His case. He remained silent. This restraint is not a retreat from truth, nor is it an acceptance of injustice. Rather, it reflects a deep trust in the Father and a willingness to bear what others have done, knowing it would ultimately lead to justice for us, as His death paid our price.
From this, we learn a principle for today that invites careful discernment. For us, there are moments to bravely speak, particularly when people are at risk of harm from a person, system, or institution. But there are also times to know when speaking up to those unwilling to hear truth is unlikely to bring protection or justice. In these situations, prioritising the safety and well-being of those at risk is the most important action.
The cross reveals many things. Among them, it shows us what can happen when preserving a system becomes more important than protecting people.
This is not only a pattern of the past.
Today, even within communities shaped by faith and good intention, it can still be difficult to name what is wrong. Concerns can be softened, delayed, or redirected. The desire to maintain unity can, at times, come at the expense of truth and the protection of people.
For many within church communities, these dynamics are not distant. They reflect personal experiences. But the way of Jesus does not lead us into silence when serious harm has occurred. Luke 8:17 reminds us, “For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open” (NIV).
Throughout His ministry, we see Jesus’ attentiveness to those on the margins whose voices were often overlooked. He creates space for them to be seen and heard, and He does not turn away from naming what is uncomfortable or confronting.
For women in Christian communities today, particularly those in positions of influence or leadership, this presents both a challenge and an invitation:
• To pay attention to what others might overlook or dismiss.
• To listen carefully when someone shares something uncomfortable.
• To discern truth with godly wisdom.
• To speak with honesty, courage, and compassion when needed.
There is a particular strength in this kind of leadership. It does not seek power, but neither does it shrink back from responsibility. It understands that protecting others sometimes requires stepping into difficult spaces to ask questions, raise concerns, or stand alongside someone whose voice is at risk of being lost.
Jesus does not bypass what is damaged, harmed, or broken. He brings it into the open. And it is there, in the light of truth, that the possibility of healing begins.
When truth is avoided, harm does not disappear; it is simply carried quietly and heavily, often by those least able to bear it alone.
But when truth is uncovered and named wisely, carefully, and courageously, it creates space for something different. It interrupts patterns that might otherwise continue, and it reflects the heart of Christ.
As Easter approaches, the example of Jesus is both convicting and comforting. He does not turn away from what is hidden. He does not protect systems at the expense of people. He walks in truth, even when He knows it will lead to the cross.
Jesus invites us to follow Him, not only in faith, but in courage: to speak when it would be easier to remain silent, and to stand for what is right, even when the outcome is uncertain.
It is only at the foot of the cross that our sins of self-interest and pride can be laid down. Here, Jesus demonstrated His ultimate stand for truth. If we bravely follow Him, the cross will continue to overturn tables in lives today, bringing cleansing, hope, and renewal.
- Mar 3, 2026
For a number of Christian women, domestic and family violence is not a distant issue or a news headline. It is lived quietly in their homes, often behind closed doors, and sometimes in relationships that are outwardly presentable but misunderstood by others. The long-term impact of relational harm for those who suffer is significant. Women can be left questioning not only their safety, but also their faith, their mental wellbeing, their worth, and their understanding of love.
Over two decades ago, I left a marriage crushed by coercion, emotional abuse, and unfaithfulness. Thankfully, today my life looks very different. I am remarried to a man who is compassionate, supportive, and committed to mutual respect. He also carries his own story of harm, having grown up in a home shaped by domestic violence. Through our marriage, I have come to understand something that has reshaped my perspective: violence does not only wound women and children; it also harms men, often in ways that go unnamed and unaddressed.
Although organisations like The Red Heart Movement clearly document the devastating consequences of domestic and family violence in countries like Australia, the majority of Christians feel uneasy about the subject and unsure if they can offer help. Over many years of shared reflection, my husband and I have become convinced of this truth: women cannot carry the responsibility for ending domestic violence on their own. Nor can change come through women being more resilient, more forgiving, more supportive, or more discerning. Ending violence requires communities to be places where truthful accounts of domestic and family violence are clearly heard, the patterns of power and control in violence are understood, and safe men are educated and resourced to step forward and courageously use the influence they already hold.
Many men care deeply about the women in their lives. They love their wives, daughters, sisters, and friends. Yet when harm occurs close to home—within families, churches, or community organisations—many men feel unsure how to respond. They may fear making things worse, by misreading a situation, or overstepping. Too often, that uncertainty results in silence.
For women living with abuse, silence from others can be devastating. It can feel like confirmation that the harm is not serious enough, that speaking up was a mistake, or that protection is conditional on keeping the peace. While silence is rarely intended to harm, it can unintentionally reinforce the isolation that keeps abuse hidden.
Recently, an Australian organisation that supports vulnerable women asked if there was anything available to help the men connected with their work who care deeply, but feel ill equipped to know what appropriate help would look like. Their question was simple: How do we help men who want to support women’s safety, but don’t know where to start?
In response to that request, my husband and I developed a discussion guide for men to use with other men—one that draws on women’s lived experiences of harm and men’s understanding of the fears and struggles that can lead to control. It was written not to excuse behaviour or place responsibility back on women, but to help safe men—those who want to be part of the solution—learn, reflect, and act with wisdom. For concerned women reading this, knowing that such tools exist can be encouraging as they offer one tangible step towards women not carrying the weight alone.
Women who are living in harmful relationships need safe allies: men who are willing to listen without minimising and to act with informed wisdom. We need churches and communities where safety matters more than reputations, and where courage is measured not by endurance of harm, but by advocating for respectful action.
Jesus consistently aligned himself with those whose voices were overlooked and whose suffering was hidden. He asked both the men and women following him to care for the vulnerable through radical personal involvement.
Women should not have to carry the issue of domestic violence alone. And when caring men are given the opportunity and tools to step forward, by God’s grace, they don’t have to.
The Melbourne Anglican
When abuse leaves no bruises
Philippa Cleall
25 November 2025
Abuse that leaves no external marks, can be just as painful as physical violence, yet it is often overlooked or misunderstood. As someone who has lived through this kind of harm, and now walks alongside others in ministry, I want to encourage churches to continue conversations about more effective responses to intimate partner violence.
The Anglican Church in Australia has made important progress in recent years in addressing domestic and family violence. The 2021 National Anglican Family Violence Research Report revealed that Anglicans experience intimate partner violence with rates at least equal to the general population.
These findings led to the development of the Ten Commitments for Preventing and Responding to Domestic and Family Violence which was an important step in shared responsibility towards protecting and supporting those affected.
The Church’s commitment to prevention, culture change, and improved outcomes, can be further strengthened by listening to relevant professionals, and survivors who carry the lived experience of harm.
More than 25 years ago, I experienced abuse in my first marriage. There were no bruises to witness, but I lived in constant confusion and felt unsafe. Publicly, my husband attended church with me, appearing kind and attentive. Privately, I was belittled, neglected, and spiritually undermined. He mocked my faith, put me down, and dismissed any concerns I voiced as paranoia. As a result, I questioned my own judgement, especially suspicions of his infidelity.
Read more: Why a domestic violence survivor wants better relationships education in schools
It was only later that I discovered evidence of the truth that there had been serious betrayals. What increased the harm was not just his unfaithfulness, but his deliberate gaslighting and deception that kept me in the dark and convinced me I was the problem. For me, the impact of this has been painful and long-lasting.
At the time, I was young and lived far away from extended family. I had no language for this kind of abuse. Without outward signs of harm, it was hard to explain to anyone in my church that I needed support.
Now, after many years of healing and a second marriage built on mutual respect and kindness, I am sharing my story because there is still a need for better understanding and support within churches.
Gaslighting, humiliation, intimidation, neglect, and betrayal, are forms of abuse that can be hard to identify in Christian communities because the abuser often appears kind, concerned, generous and spiritually encouraging in public, while behaving in these abusive ways in private.
This dual persona not only confuses the victim but also protects the abuser by preserving a positive public image. It is a form of manipulation designed to control both perception and people. Churches need to learn to recognise this dynamic.
In recent years, as a counsellor, court chaplain and longtime church member, I’ve seen how easy it is to misread these dynamics. As a result, victims in church communities can be told to forgive quickly, reconcile prematurely, or simply pray harder, while the abusive behaviour remains unchallenged.
When Christian concepts like submission, forgiveness or reconciliation are applied without wisdom, they can cause further harm. Churches that emphasise grace and second chances at the expense of truth, may miss seeing the difference between real and performative repentance. In a desire to preserve unity or avoid conflict, some leaders might encourage relationship reconciliation too early. This can place victims at risk of further harm.
True pastoral care needs courage as well as compassion. It should involve protecting people before defending and listening wisely before offering advice. Most importantly, it will seek truth and prioritise safety above appearances.
In considering what resources could be helpful for churches, I wrote the novel Restoring Hope. It is a story that draws on real experiences, including my own, to demonstrate the challenges of recovering from abuse and to model supportive trauma-informed pastoral care in a church community.
The story follows Hope, a survivor who begins to heal after years of hidden abuse. She meets Pastor Tom, a church leader who does not dismiss her pain or make any assumptions. He listens, he protects, and he responds with pastoral courage. Tom stands in contrast to those who might focus on grace at the expense of truth. He names sin, defends the vulnerable, and leads with humility and strength.
The novel is not intended to tell one story, but to open the door to understanding many people’s experiences. It invites churches to ask difficult questions, to wrestle with what true repentance looks like, and to imagine what faithful, trauma-informed pastoral care might be.
Read more: Family violence wrecks hearts, minds, souls: Victims
Trauma-informed ministry doesn’t mean ignoring grace or justice. It involves leading with wisdom, ensuring safety and compassion, while pursuing truth.
Some important practical steps for churches are:
• Training clergy and lay leaders to recognise less visible forms of abuse
• Reviewing how forgiveness and repentance are taught
• Partnering with counsellors, legal advocates and police when appropriate
• Offering gender-specific support groups for trauma recovery
• Placing people above reputations in our church responses
Repentance shouldn’t ever be assumed. It needs to be demonstrated over time, through humility, accountability, and consistent behaviour change.
Our response to abuse needs to be more than just following safe ministry procedures. We need to reflect Christ himself. This involves being willing to protect His flock and care for those who are hurting.
May our churches become places where wounds are seen and healed, where truth is sought, and where hope is restored.
If you or someone you love needs confidential information, counselling or support contact 1800 RESPECT. In an emergency please phone triple zero (000) to reach ambulance services or police.
Fixing Her Eyes
- Oct 28, 2025
Over the past decade, significant progress has been made in identifying vulnerable groups in churches who need support through targeted safe ministry programs. However, the hardest groups to provide support to are those who have needs that can’t be visibly seen.
Twenty-five years ago, I experienced emotional abuse and unfaithfulness in my first marriage. To the outside world, including our church, my husband was charming, capable, and helpful. He had close friendships with men at church and said all the right things. But behind closed doors, he was belittling, cruel and neglectful. At the time, I didn’t have the words to describe what was happening. “Domestic violence” sounded too dramatic. “Emotional abuse” wasn’t something people talked about. And “coercive control” wasn’t a term I had even heard of.
I lived far away from extended family and was young, so I wasn’t sure if behind closed doors everyone struggled with difficult marriages. For a long time, I stayed and tried to be a better wife and a more forgiving Christian. Because I thought that’s what faithfulness looked like.
Eventually, after years of being gaslit about my “paranoid” behaviour questioning his faithfulness, I found concrete evidence of an affair and decided we needed to separate. This was a difficult decision as I had been taught that a good Christian wife doesn’t give up on relationships. I was encouraged by the church to reconcile, but I was free from abuse, and I was safe. He demonstrated no repentance or sorrow for the harm he had caused, and no commitment to become faithful or desire to change, so for us there could be no relationship restoration.
Years later, I remarried a man who treats me with kindness and respect. He’s someone who has demonstrated that love doesn’t control or manipulate, and that Christian marriage can be a partnership where love is shown through faithfulness and commitment to serving each other.
Through the past decade in my work as a Children’s and Family Counsellor, and now as a volunteer Court Chaplain, I’ve walked alongside a number of women who have been suffering quietly in their marriage. They’ve also been met with silence or unhelpful advice when they have reached out to their churches.
Reflecting on what went wrong in my first marriage, I began thinking, what would it look like if the Church got it right?
What if a minister or pastor had seen what was happening?
What if someone had wisely confronted and challenged him?
That wondering became the seed of a novel: Restoring Hope.
When Words Open a Door for Healing
The book is fiction, but it flows from real experiences, both my own and those of other women I’ve walked with. Its purpose is to demonstrate the complex nature of hidden abusive relationships and what can help in the path towards healing. I felt that writing a fictionalised account of recovery from abuse could incorporate elements of real-life stories but protect the privacy of people’s lives.
In the story, a woman named Hope begins to rebuild her life after spiritual and emotional abuse in her marriage. She authentically struggles. She questions God. She wrestles with forgiveness. She doesn’t trust easily. And she learns that healing after abuse in relationships isn’t a certainty.
At one point in the story she is told,
“Forgiveness without wisdom can become another kind of harm.”
Like many Christian women in harmful marriages, I had been told to “just forgive” and “reconcile.” But no one in my church helped me to understand that genuine repentance and behaviour change are required for forgiveness to allow movement towards relationship reconciliation. I wasn’t counselled about the wisdom of safe boundaries or told that God’s love didn’t require me to stay in a place of harm.
In the novel, fictional Pastor Tom confronts an abuser not just with Scripture, but with courage. He shows what it looks like to be a shepherd who protects his flock, not just spiritually, but practically and emotionally.
I found myself wanting to stand up and cheer after finishing that chapter because it was what I needed, years ago. And it’s what many women still need now.
The Church I Still Believe In
This book is not a criticism of the Church. I serve as a warden in my local church parish, and I know that many church communities are faithfully seeking to follow Jesus in loving and serving others.
But I also believe that we need to grow as a Church to face hard truths, to listen more effectively, and to become safer places for the wounded and wary.
While fiction doesn’t solve problems, it can open our eyes and can start conversations we’ve too long avoided. For small groups and church leadership teams who would like to talk further about themes from the story, I have developed free discussion guides to spark these conversations.
For the Woman Reading This Quietly
If you’re reading this and thinking, this feels familiar, I want you to understand that you are not faithless for questioning abuse.
You are not unloving for setting boundaries.
And you do not have to feel alone.
Jesus does not coerce. He does not shame. He does not manipulate. He honours truth and is gentle and humble in heart. He cares more about your safety than someone else’s reputation.
Your healing matters.
Alongside a safe and trauma-informed community, your hope can be restored.
Philippa Cleall 