Silently, they stood outside the church’s tall black gates holding signs: Not in our city. Silent no more. Do you see us now?
About 70 protestors — survivors of sexual abuse, their relatives, friends and supporters — maintained a somber vigil outside Greater Grace World Outreach on Friday evening as congregants from around the world streamed into the church’s East Baltimore headquarters for an annual convention.
“What we’re fighting for is change,” said Sue Heidenreich, who spent years battling church leaders for accountability after her daughter said she was sexually abused by a Greater Grace pastor in Ghana, where the family served as missionaries.
“We know all of these people,” she added, gesturing at the hundreds of vehicles parked in the church’s massive complex. “These people were our friends.”
The protestors said they were galvanized by a Baltimore Banner investigation into child sexual abuse at the church, which has hundreds of offshoots throughout the world.
The Banner published a series of articles this month detailing claims of former church members who said that they had been sexually abused by prominent church members. The abuse survivors — and, in many cases, their parents — said that high-ranking Greater Grace pastors failed to take these allegations seriously, downplaying the claims or pressuring survivors to forgive and move on.
The articles centered on the work of The Millstones, a group of former church members who embarked on an investigation of child sex abuse in Greater Grace more than four years ago. The Millstones say they have spoken to 32 people who allege that they were sexually abused by a man of the church and three others who said they were groomed or manipulated by an abuser. Trusted sources also told The Millstones of 18 additional survivors of abuse in the church.
Greater Grace officials issued a statement saying the church “fully cooperates with any investigations conducted by law enforcement or childcare agencies.” Officials said they abide by laws that require adults to report “suspected or actual child abuse.”
“We welcome and support their interventions, expertise, and authority to bring perpetrators to justice for the protection of society,” church officials said.
Pastor John Love, who some had criticized for his handling of abuse allegations, broke his silence Friday, issuing a written statement in which he said he has encouraged people with allegations of abuse to “bring them to light.”
He noted he was not speaking on behalf of the church. “I do not, and have not, attempted to dissuade anyone from reporting abuse,” he wrote. “To the contrary, I earnestly strive to comply with what I believe to be my moral and legal obligations to report and address abuse allegations.”
To the protesters, the pastor’s words rang hollow. Some held signs with photos of Love, Head Pastor Thomas Schaller and Pastor Steven Scibelli, accusing them of knowing about the abuse.
Many protestors wore black T-shirts emblazoned with the words, “Not one more.” Most of them were returning to the church for the first time in years.
“It’s like the worst high school reunion ever,” said Tiffany G, who had flown from her Los Angeles home to attend the protest.
But G, who was raised in Massachusetts and Baltimore as her parents followed the church founder, Carl Stevens, said she found strength in being in the presence of others who say they were abused by church leaders.
“We all thought we were alone, we thought we were the only ones, but we’re not,” said G, who says she was abused by a pastor while a student at a church-affiliated school in Baltimore.
As congregants pulled past the protestors, some waved, but many looked straight ahead as if avoiding meeting the eyes of former church members. A few people from the church — including Pastor Brian Lange of Baltimore, a pastor from New York and the wives of two prominent pastors — embraced some of the survivors and advocates.
One woman from the church lugged over a case of bottled water. “Cold water from the Lord?” she offered. The protestors shook their heads; they had their own water. She left the case in the median.
Erika Slater, who had driven six hours from her upstate New York home to attend the protest, said she felt she was seeing “the next generation of survivors” riding into the complex in back seats of their parents’ cars.
Slater, who said she was abused by a prominent pastor while a student at a Greater Grace affiliate in the early 1980s, said she believed that the church’s doctrines and practices are manipulative and harmful.
“There is no one here who isn’t a victim of psychological abuse,” she said.
Sara Palmieri Tanguay stood holding a poster with a photo of her ex-husband, Jed Tanguay, who was sexually abused by a youth leader at the church in the 1990s. She said she could not bear to interact with current members of the church, which she left about a decade ago as her husband brought charges against his abuser.
But she hoped that her presence — and that of the others — would send a strong message to churchgoers.
“I want them to start doubting this seemingly unshakeable faith they have in their leaders,” she said.
Inside the church, congregants marched with flags representing the countries in which they lived or served as missionaries. An electronic billboard proclaimed, “From Baltimore to the ends of the earth!”
Nikki Heidenreich, the sister of a survivor and the organizer of the protest, said she envisioned the outside gathering as a parade of survivors — a somber contrast to the joyful procession within the church.
Johanna Veader, who says she was groomed by a pastor at a suburban affiliate while a high school student, found it empowering to protest the church where she experienced so much suffering.
“I feel strong,” said Veader, who carried a sign that said, “My abuser still preaches in your name.”
Nearby stood Ben Tanguay, with his daughter, Camden, a college sophomore. Ben Tanguay,like his brother Jed, was abused by youth leader Ray Fernandez. Fernandez was investigated by police, charged, convicted and sentenced to prison.
Ben Tanguay held a sign that said simply, “They knew.”
A former pastor, Ben Tanguay and his four children stopped attending the church about a decade ago, around the time he and his brother pressed charges against their abuser.
“I don’t know what Greater Grace is going to do to protect their kids,” he said. “But I know what I’m going to do to protect mine.”
