We’ve seen a recent story in Colorado Springs that echoes the stories of abuse, secrecy, and leadership failure we’ve seen in the past, both here and in many other cities. It’s a story that exposes and reopens pain, that strikes a blow to trust in the church and church leadership, and has even caused many to question or walk away from God. My wife and I have been far closer than we would have liked to scandal and abuse in the church, and when the truth came out, each time we found ourselves asking, “Why wasn’t anything done sooner?”

Now, another moment of exposure has unfolded—one that again invites the Church into a hard but holy reckoning. While I won’t name individuals or organizations here, I want to speak to the moment we’re in. Because how we handle trauma, abuse, and brokenness—especially as leaders—matters deeply to the heart of God.

We’ve been entrusted with the ministry of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18). That means there is no sin that is beyond the saving and healing power of Jesus Christ. No matter how low, how often, or how severe, we can be healed, redeemed, and reconciled. But this isn’t meant to be God’s shortcut around justice. Reconciliation is the fruit of truth, not a substitute for it. Too many churches and leaders have tried to use their love for the platform, their concern about causing pain to the church, or frankly, their own self-interest and self-protection as a screen to keep truth hidden and display a “form of Godliness, but denying its power.”

Grace is not a private eraser for sin—it’s the empowerment to face it and those we’ve hurt with courage and humility. In moments of moral failure, especially when another person has been harmed, the Church must be clear: while privacy is important, and the whole world may not automatically deserve full access to someone else’s story, secrecy is not the same as privacy. Privacy is a healthy boundary that honors dignity. Secrecy creates a smokescreen—a carefully crafted facade that keeps things looking pleasant on the outside while hiding both the victims and the corruption that wounded them. It doesn’t just conceal sin; it protects the system that enabled it. It denies an outlet for truth and keeps victims in a place of silence and powerlessness. When the law has been broken, or when power has been abused and used to coerce, control, or oppress others, the truth must come out in such a way that victims voices are heard and action taken to right the wrong that was done, and prevent it from happening again.

A culture of honor means we are responsible to steward truth well. In the recent case involving a prominent church and an underage girl, based on court documents and church statements, it appears that leadership chose to protect power rather than people. Once the truth came to light—and it became clear that leaders had failed to report the abuse or remove those responsible—those in the know had a responsibility to act. They should have stepped forward, not to manage optics, but to champion and prioritize the victim’s safety and dignity. Instead, leadership doubled down on hiding the situation and justifying and ignoring the actions of the perpetrator and those who knew about it. Victims matter. Their dignity matters. And biblically, they are not an afterthought—they are a priority.

So if we want to steward truth with honor, what does that actually look like in moments of exposure and pain?

  • It looks like protecting the vulnerable, not just preserving the brand.

  • It looks like calling law enforcement when appropriate, not circling the wagons.

  • It looks like clear, humble communication with the body, instead of calculated silence and crafted denial.

  • It looks like repentance with fruit (Luke 3:8), not just sorrow in statements.

  • It looks like caring for all hearts in the situation and taking the messy route to true healing, rather than seeking the appearance of goodness without the cost of true repentance.

We believe in restoration. We believe in grace. We believe no one is beyond redemption. But restoration begins with truth. And when that truth includes harm to another—especially a child—it’s not enough to offer spiritual covering without legal accountability. We’re called to bring both. The Church is not exempt from justice. In fact, we’re called to lead the way in how it’s carried out with integrity, humility, and compassion.

There are situations less severe than this—ones that carry nuance. Not every failure of a leader belongs on a platform. Some messes can and should be walked through in private with trusted accountability. But we’ve seen too many patterns of legitimate abuse and predatory behavior being hidden and undealt with, and too many weak justifications and denials given. Abuse and corruption need to be dealt with in our hearts, and as leaders, we’re called to step out first and be those who model protection, not of ourselves and our ministries, but of the children of God. Sometimes what feels like wisdom in silence is actually fear in disguise—concealing truth and aligning with abuse through passivity. There’s a holy invitation right now for leaders to repent, not just for individual sin, but for systemic responses that have silenced victims and eroded trust.

We grieve with those who’ve been hurt. We honor their voice. And as a Church leader myself, we’ve committed that we will be a body that tells the truth, protects the vulnerable, and rebuilds on the foundation of both grace and justice.

But this isn’t just a message for church leadership—it’s a call to all of us. Whether we lead in our families, our workplaces, or our communities, we’ve been entrusted with influence. God isn’t after a good performance. He’s after the heart. When we choose authenticity in our story, we not only step into greater freedom ourselves—we create safe spaces where others are protected from the wounds that secrecy can cause.