How Language Was Used to Hide Abuse on the Mission Field

a glimpse of life in Ethnos360

They called it sin. They called it gossip. They called it rebellion.

In reality it was a crime, a cover-up, and it was cruelty.

I’ve been thinking a lot about language.

How it shapes what we see—and what we’re allowed to say.

One of the reasons it took me so long to recognize the truth about what was happening around me on the mission field is because of the language we were taught to use.

Words were carefully chosen—not to reveal reality, but to distort it. Not to protect the vulnerable, but to shield the powerful.

In the world of Ethnos360, the language was spiritual, even biblical. It was also deeply manipulative. It turned instinct into rebellion, pain into bitterness, and truth-telling into sin.

When someone dominated others, demanded control, and harmed people spiritually or emotionally, they weren’t called abusive.

They were called “strong leaders.”

If you didn’t fall in line, the problem wasn’t the leader’s behavior—it was your lack of submission.

What we were really being asked to do was this:

Submit to spiritual and emotional abuse.

They didn’t call it rape.

They didn’t call it child sexual abuse.

They didn’t call it assault.

They used softer words—words that made it easier to stay silent.

They said someone had “sinned” and the victim had been “sinned against.”

They said they were “hurt.”

When someone tried to warn others—maybe a mother raising concerns, or a member sounding the alarm—it wasn’t called courage.

It was labeled “gossip.”

If you asked questions, they said you were “sowing division.”

If you told the truth, they said you weren’t being “submissive to leadership.”

Then came the phrase that always signaled the end of the conversation:

“Leadership has dealt with it.”

Translation?

Stop asking.

Don’t look any closer.

Keep it quiet.

Move on.

Yes, what happened was sin.

But that’s not the whole truth.

It was also a crime.

That distinction matters. Because when you label something merely as sin, you can keep the circle small. There's no need to tell the authorities. You can forgive it privately. You can frame it as a moral failure instead of a criminal act.

You can call for grace and reconciliation and restoration—without ever involving the law, or considering the lasting damage to the people harmed.

If a survivor couldn’t move on fast enough—couldn’t smile, serve, or pretend everything was fine—they instantly became the problem.

Meanwhile, the person who caused the harm would offer an apology, maybe shed a few tears, quote some Scripture—and suddenly they were the ones being ministered to.

They talked about grace.

About second chances.

About how “we all sin.”

Before long, the one who had abused was back in leadership.

Back in ministry.

Back in power.

To question their return was to question the gospel itself.

Because, they said, “They’ve repented.”

But here's the truth:

Forgiveness doesn’t erase consequences.

Repentance doesn’t guarantee reinstatement.

And “grace” without accountability isn’t grace at all.

Boundaries still matter.

Safeguards still matter.

The safety of children still matters.

Truth still matters.

Language —the words we choose—matters more than we realize.

I wish I had realized this years ago:

• It’s not bitterness to warn others.

• It’s not unforgiveness to protect the vulnerable.

• It’s not gossip to tell the truth.

When you start using accurate language, everything changes.

You begin to see clearly what was once obscured by religious language.

What they called “bitterness” was someone reporting a crime.

What they called “gossip” was a desperate attempt to protect children.

What they called “rebellion” was a plea for truth and accountability.

What they called “hurt” was sexual assault.

What they called “faithful parenting” was abuse. The physical beating of children.

What they called “leadership” was unchecked control.

What they called “putting the gospel first” was covering up abuse.

And what they called “unity”?

That was just silence, dressed up in spiritual terms.

I’m done pretending.

I’m done speaking their language.

From now on, I will tell the truth, and I will call things what they really are. It's amazing how much easier it is to see things clearly that way.