Church: The Place for Predators to Thrive...
Five rows up and to the left, I see him . Sitting by his wife. Singing songs of praise along with the rest of the congregation. And all I want to do is scream. What looks like a normal, and maybe even holy and ritualistic picture, is the very thing that makes my insides twist and ache in agony. Perhaps the twisting in my organs is a result of still working through grief. But I honestly believe it has more to do with the injustice of it all. For while he and his wife sit there unscathed, I am sitting in the back pew alone and in tears with my heart pleading with God, “Why?” I want to know why it happened. Why a wolf in sheep’s clothing was welcomed in despite the known blood on his teeth? Why he was allowed to be on stage and standing at the front of the Sunday school class teaching? Why no one warned me despite me moving in to their home? Why his hand was barely even slapped though it had been on the bodies of one of your very own? Why he received
