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Where are the 2024 BTSS materials?

~ RevMoMo ~ 2 Comments

It’s mid-April as I write this, spring is really coming to northern Wisconsin, and my self-imposed deadline of February 1st for creating new yearly materials for Break The Silence Sunday (BTSS) long past. There won’t be new materials for BTSS this year (for a lot of reasons which I hope to explain a bit here) but even as I write this, I can feel the guilt welling up inside of me.

It feels as if I’m letting survivors down, all of them, myself included. My brain knows that guilt is misplaced, a whole bunch of other emotions changing themselves into guilt because that’s an emotion survivors know very well. My brain knows that, but my heart isn’t sure. Perhaps as I write, as I try to explain to you gentle reader, my brain and heart might get on the same page and help me understand too.

The past twelve months have been full ~ for my parish, my family, and the world. There have been births, and deaths, and transitions to different kinds of living facilities; jobs lost and found; the challenge of living in a swing state during a US presidential election cycle; inflation (which we might well call corporate greed) stretching already stretched budgets, and resources, and spirits.

And there’s been war in Ukraine, and Palestine, and Sudan, and Syria, and Haiti, and Myanmar, and so many other places where the violence masquerades under other names, but the result is always the same ~ the innocent suffer, sexual violence increases, lives and dreams are destroyed.

All of this feels like I’m writing an excuse for not producing new BTSS materials, and I’m really not. I’m trying to find an explanation that will satisfy my own heart and mind about why in 2023-2024 I couldn’t bring myself to sit down and revisit the statistics ~ every 68 seconds in the US someone is sexually assaulted ~ to write prayers that only a few will read or actually pray, to beg at the doors of the wider church for recognition and support for survivors.

The short of it is, I’m tired.

I’ve been a rape survivor for nearly thirty-six years, working on understanding my trauma; navigating a world that doesn’t understand what living with a traumatized brain, body, and heart is like (it’s not just soldiers who live with PTSD); and trying to transform the trauma that I might not transmit the pain to others, and might use it to help transform the world. Some days all that work goes well, and some days not so well, even after all these years. All days it is a lot of work.

I’ve been an ordained pastor in the United Church of Christ for just over twenty-two years now, sharing the work of ministry, of building the kingdom of God’s abundance and justice right here and right now, with the most amazing people at St. John’s UCC Cecil, WI, Trinity UCC Shiocton, WI and St. John’s UCC Black Creek, WI. My life with them, all of us working together on the life of discipleship, is my greatest joy and my deepest honor.

And for those years of ordained ministry, I’ve also been working to find a way for survivors of sexual violence to be actively supported by our denomination (and all faith communities, but I work most where I am already, in the UCC), a denomination that espouses abundant and radical welcome, our slogan of the moment saying, “no matter who you are, no matter where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.”

That work has often felt like knocking on a closed, locked, barred, bolted, and sandbagged door. Bringing the voice and experience of survivors to the layers of the wider church has been met with resistance, and anger, and rejection. Yes, there have been moments of door opening, of heart opening, and I’ll talk about those in a minute, but the vast majority of my experience doing this work over the past twenty-two years has been exhausting in its frustration when told, time and time again, that we’ll get around to listening to survivors and honoring their experiences when something else isn’t more important.

There have been, as I said, incredible moments when the door started to move, sometimes even more than a fraction, and those moments help me hold on to hope.

In 2015, Break The Silence Sunday was born when my Wisconsin Conference Minister, the Rev Franz Rigert and I sat down and dreamed it up. He offered the support of the Wisconsin Conference in promoting whatever resources I could dream up for this work, and I am indescribably grateful for his support then and through all these years.

At the 2019 UCC General Synod in Milwaukee, WI we brought BTSS to the entire denomination as a resolution, to adopt BTSS for the whole church, to bring the work of supporting survivors in the church to every part of our tradition. That experience, being the proponent of the resolution, working with the committee (chaired by the amazing Rev Cheryl Lindsay) was extraordinary. Hearts, minds, and spirits were opened. Stories, tears, and laughter were shared. And overwhelmingly (691 in favor, and 10 opposed), BTSS became an observance of the entire denomination.

Then, after what I refer to as “the plague years” when covid changed everything about everything, BTSS had a booth at the 2023 General Synod in Indianapolis, IN. With our purple themed space in the exhibit hall, we welcomed and talked to folks, so many folks, about BTSS. Many hadn’t heard about it because the publicity the national church might have done about BTSS got lost in the covid crisis, and the social upheaval of that time. We were honored to listen to more than 130 stories of survivors during the five days of Synod, about 7% of the total attendance, and I am sure that there were many more stories that survivors weren’t yet able to share. It was heart-breaking, and heart-filling, and exhausting.

And as I write this, I realize I’ve written “we”. There is a we to this work. My dearest friends, Lella Baker and Helen Rowinski, make up the other parts of our team. Helen does graphics design and support for me, feeding the cats, feeding me, listening to me ramble, and more. Lella is logistics and as she calls herself the “emotional support pit bull”, giving up her vacation time to fly to Wisconsin to drive with me to Indianapolis to hand out pounds of purple wrapped candy and hear stories, and all the while making sure I have enough iced tea to keep going.

But that’s it. That’s the entire team. Mostly (and I think Helen and Lella are ok if I say this), mostly it’s me.

I’m the one dreaming up fund raisers ~ making and selling soup, walking 400 miles in my purple converse high-tops to get donations to get us gas money and exhibit space money, and all that purple candy for Synod (more than $6,000). With incredible contributions in prayers, and poems, and songs (for which I am eternally grateful), I am the one writing and organizing the liturgies, putting them together publishing them on the website (which we fundraise to pay for), giving the interviews to promote BTSS, and such. I’m the one who wrote the resolution, and answers survivor emails and calls, and honors so many stories (an average of four a week, every week). It’s me, and I’m tired.

So as Synod 2023 wrapped up and I had some time on my sabbatical in June and then again in January 2024, I found that I just couldn’t get myself to sit down and write anything new for BTSS. I decided it was time for a break and so instead of new materials for this year, we’ve been working on redesigning our website, making sure all the materials have proper attribution for copyright, and other such things that aren’t exciting, but are essential for the ongoing work.

And I was feeling pretty ok with that pause, the needed break to breathe and regroup about what happens next with all the challenges in the church and the world, until a few things happened.

The first was the realization that the number of survivor stores I heard every week was going up, a lot. When I first started speaking up about sexual violence and being a survivor in the church, the stories would drip in, one or two here or there. Then the incredible #metoo movement started by Tarana Burke came to public awareness and the number of stories I heard increased. And it’s kept increasing through the challenges of our life together during these last years.

In some sense, that’s a good thing. Survivors are feeling slightly more able to tell their stories, to be honest about their experiences, to find a listening heart and spirit that won’t replicate the victim blaming and shaming that they’re so often met with, in society and in church. But, it’s also a worrying trend. The number of young people, and particularly young men, who share their stories with me is sometimes overwhelming, as are the people who are in their older years, the ones who start their stories with “I didn’t know what to call it” or “I’m 70 and I’ve never said anything about what happened when I was 5.”

Then a pastoral colleague told me if I didn’t produce new liturgy every year BTSS would fail. They said that it would disappear from people’s minds and hearts if I wasn’t producing new materials, constantly putting it in front of people on every kind of social media, weekly emails and more.

When I asked them what they would do to help, if they might write a prayer, or mention BTSS on their personal or church social media, or have an observance of it in their church, or send a couple of dollars our way they said, “oh, I can’t do that because it would upset people. We can’t talk about shameful things like that at church, but you definitely have to keep doing it or nothing will change.”

And finally, in January, just about the time I would have started compiling materials for BTSS this year, I received the newsletter of a nearby UCC church which included a description of their upcoming Lenten series. Their theme “saying no” sounded interesting, and important.

We can’t faithfully say yes to everything because it leaves us stretched far too thin. But …and you knew, faithful reader, that there was a BUT coming didn’t you…

But, the title of their first week was “saying no means saying yes”.

There, in print, was the antithesis of everything I’d spend the previous thirty something years as a survivor, the previous twenty plus years as an ordained pastor, and the previous nine plus years as architect of BTSS working against. There it was, in this church’s newsletter, the continuation of the victim blaming and shaming that silence survivors, particularly in the church.

After I freaked out a bit, I checked with some other folks (Helen, Lella, and a trusted team) to make sure I wasn’t misreading, or over-reacting. They all agreed I wasn’t, that this is the very basics of consent education, the  beginning of decency as a human being … no means no, and only yes means yes.

So, I reached out to the pastor, asking for some clarification, hoping that it had been an oversight, that they maybe just hadn’t read the title of that day’s talk out loud and hadn’t thought through the implications of saying in the name of the church, to a world where a low estimate is that 1 in 4 women and 1 in 10 men are survivors, that no means yes.

The response was underwhelming. The nearby UCC pastor, and the other pastor who was leading the series with them, had discussed it and considered the matter closed.

That’s it. No apology. No even attempt at explanation, communication, or conversation.

My heart gave way. I couldn’t imagine sitting down and writing even a single prayer, much less an entire liturgy, that would go up on our website, and be circulated amongst my UCC colleagues and wonder how many of them would respond the same way these two colleagues had ~ that they couldn’t do anything like BTSS in their church because it was private and shameful, or that they would look at the BTSS resources and dismiss them, their silence (or worse their words) reinforcing the oppression of the rape culture we live in.

And if that were not enough, then the April newsletter of the same nearby church came out and the same pastor who shut me down for asking about their “saying no means saying yes” statement, wrote about believing and supporting survivors including the line that “this might mean apologizing when we have caused hurt rather than healing.”

Even now, as I write this months later, I’m looking at the pages printed out from their newsletters, and I can feel the rage welling up in me again. It’s rage on behalf of all my survivor siblings, every one who has ever tried to say no to only have it ignored, or to have their abuser try to “persuade” them that their no means yes through force, threat, and intimidation. It’s rage for all the people who didn’t know they could say no, who were in places where they couldn’t because it wasn’t going to be respected, and for all those of us who did and whose no was completely ignored. It’s rage at the hypocrisy of a church (individual ones and all of us collectively) that espouses welcome and then silences people in so, so many ways.

Now I believe anger can be an incredible force in working for change. Indeed, anger has driven a lot of the social change that has included more and more people in the work of our common life.

But the current rage I’m still feeling, along with exhaustion, isn’t constructive, at least for me, in creating things for healing and hope for survivors in the church. So what started as an unintentional break for 2024 has become purposeful. I need to give my survivor self some attention, to figure out how to get that rage to move towards constructive anger. My support team (therapist, spiritual director, and did I mention Helen and Lella?) are working on it, and it’s coming, but you can’t rush or bypass this work. You’ve just got to slog through all the feelings of everything, or at least I do, in order to get to the hope on the other side.

The work of BTSS isn’t stopping. The stories of survivors are still being shared. Congregations like my parish and a community in Ohio I heard from today, are still having observances on the fourth Sunday in April (or another date that works well for them). There are tremendous resources from previous years all organized on our website (breakthesilencesunday.org). I’m working with some folks at the UCC’s national offices about ways to get the work of BTSS out into the world while we figure out where our work best fits within the national structure (it’s a justice issue that fits in a lot of places and intersects with many different parts of our work), and just today I gave an interview to United Church News about BTSS with the advice to pastors if they’re afraid of starting this work, to start small, learn their local resources, post our clergy commitment in their newsletter or by their office, and to remember none of us are in this work alone.

As I work through some things, moving from rage to constructive anger, I’ll be thinking about resources that help church leaders (lay and clergy) to introduce ideas about supporting survivors of sexual violence into many aspects of their life together, and their work in the world. I’ll be lacing up my new pair of purple Converse high-tops and walking 600 miles to fundraise for the next General Synod, July 11-15, 2025 in Kansas City. We’ll be figuring out what kinds of things we need to bring with us (those grape pop rocks were ridiculously popular), what kind of resources we need, and how we’ll keep our hearts and spirits open to the holiness of this work.

Between now and then, if you’re looking for ideas about observing BTSS in your community, please check out the previous year’s work on our website.

If you’re interested in writing something, anything ~ a prayer, a hymn, a poem, a question, a sermon, a few words, your own survivor story ~ anything, reach out and send me an email.

If you’ve got ideas, questions, or need help starting (or even thinking about starting) a conversation about BTSS in your community, I’m right here waiting for your email

I will close with a prayer I did write this year. My friend, and tireless advocate for BTSS, Rev Maren Tirabassi, asked me to write for the UCC’s Living Psalms, a reflection on the end of Psalm 22, the lectionary psalm for April 28th, this year’s official date for BTSS. If it had been anyone other than Maren, I would likely have said no, but Maren has been a great friend to BTSS, incredibly generous with her gift with words from the very beginning. I am grateful to Maren, for all her support, and for the nudge which got me out of my writing funk, and a bit further down the road out of rage.

My voice shakes, and still I sing;
to God I offer my praise,
though the memory of my cries of pain,
my despair and grief,
the Holy One had abandoned me,
my voice shakes, and still I sing.

The scars ache, and still I sing;
to God I kneel in worship,
remembering the words of my enemies,
their encircling threats,
body and soul torn apart,
the scars ache, and still I sing.

My soul is weary, and still I sing;
to God I offer my life,
knowing that, even in the pit,
I fed on unseen grace,
holding me, never alone
my soul is weary, and still I sing.

In grace and hope,
Moira

General Synod 2023 ~ the budget update

~ RevMoMo ~ Leave a comment

Friends, the time for the 2023 United Church of Christ’s General Synod in Indianapolis, Indiana grows near. We will be in Indianapolis from June 29th through July 4th (not counting some travel time).

We have registered our team (Moira & Lella), and reserved our exhibit all space. The spaces are 10′ x 10′ and together we decided that it would feel crowded to put all the things for both Break The Silence Sunday (BTSS) ~ the advocacy portion of the work that provides liturgy and support to congregations and communities standing strong in supporting survivors and speaking out against sexual violence in our communities ~ and Strings of Strength (SOS) ~ the support work that listens to survivors, hearing their stories and experiences (to date 1402 survivors have shared their stories with our team since the beginning of BTSS in September 2015).

So we have reserved two adjacent/joined spaces and now have 20′ (wide) x 10′ (deep) which will allow us to create a nurturing sharing space for survivors and advocates to sit, breathe amid the glorious chaos that is Synod, and have a chat. Hopefully it will also be a space where survivors feel comfortable sharing their stories with our team. Our space will also need some “swag” ~ things to give to folks who come by the booth (we’re working on stickers because they’re all the rage right now, and we’ve got buttons!), and we want some treats (candy), and need to dress up our space so it’s an inviting and attractive place to stop, learn & share.

All of this, of course, costs money.

Our budget comes to $7,330 (see the PDF at the end of the post for specifics)
We’ve raised just over $3,400 which is absolutely amazing!!!!!!!!
We also have $3,470 of in-kind donations for our hotel room & a minivan to get us to Synod.

We would like to raise another $1,750 to cover unexpected expenses (and price increases), leave a cushion in our account before we have to begin fundraising again, pay for the 2023 website fees.

Because I don’t think I know anyone with a spare $2,000 lying around I did some math (with $2000 which is just a little easier to deal with than the not very round $1,750)…
20 people with $100 each
40 people with $50 each
100 people with $20 each
200 people with $10 each

I know things are hard, with rising prices and stretched budgets, but if you are able to share even a little it would be so incredibly appreciated and we will put it to amazing use to support survivors of rape & sexual violence and advocate for churches and communities to do the work of support and advocacy to change the culture of victim blaming & shaming.

Paypal & Venmo both at breakthesilencesunday@gmail.com
or you can mail checks to
BTSS c/o Moira Finley
PO Box 691
Bonduel, WI 54107

Also, one other need we have which isn’t financial … if we know anyone in the greater Indianapolis area who has a couple of comfy, but firm chairs (not recliners, but kind of really nice library reading club wing chair kind of things), we would love to borrow them for our survivor space. It would be even cooler if they were of a color that would blend with our everything is purple booth, but we will definitely accept anything we can find that we don’t have to take with us. See the picture to the right for an idea of the kind of chair I’m thinking of.

Here’s the full budget as a PDF in case you’re that kind of detail person, or you’re interested in sponsoring a particular line item…

2023 Synod Advocacy BudgetDownload

Break The Silence Sunday 2022

~ RevMoMo ~ Leave a comment

As I write this, it’s January and we are nearly at the two year mark of living with the global health crisis of Covid-19 that has changed everything. In responding to the virus, we have changed the way we live with practices of social distancing and isolation. In many places in my part of the world, school became virtual and many who could were required to work from home, but both of those practices revealed problems in our society including lack of broadband internet access, lack of childcare, and the classism that resulted in someone telling me that “the important people” were working from home while store clerks, delivery drivers, utility workers, farmers and farm workers, factory workers, and more, the people on whom our society depends were on the front lines, often with little or no sick leave, having to work through whatever ills came their way.

And all of that is even before we consider what happened in other countries: places where social distancing simply isn’t possible; places where basic hygiene is challenging because of limited or no access to clean water; places where there isn’t internet so schools simply shut down completely. And, as I write this we are in the midst of the surge of the omicron variant in my part of Wisconsin. Infection rates are the highest they have been throughout these two years and our medical facilities and workers are overwhelmed, exhausted from fighting not only Covid, but the stream of misinformation that has made their work all the much harder. In the midst of this some churches and communities have returned to online only worship, while others have not returned to in-person worship since the initial shut-downs. So, what do we do about Break The Silence Sunday (BTSS) in 2022?

BTSS isn’t something that, at least in my personal and pastoral opinion, moves online well. It’s something that I believe needs the human presence, the being together in the same space. Much of being a survivor of sexual violence relates to how we honor and reclaim our physical bodies, how we occupy space with bodies that have been cruelly mistreated by others. That said, there are communities doing incredible work with their online worship experiences that could well provide a BTSS service within that space with care and integrity.

So, BTSS, like all things these days, can be itself in many different ways, in many different spaces – both physical and online. The most important thing is that every community that engages with Break The Silence Sunday does so carefully, with the knowledge that it is a difficult, sensitive, and essential topic for the church and that there is a plan for follow-up and after-care for whatever they do.

And that’s something I’m learning that BTSS needs. We started in 2016, providing complete liturgies each year since, but I’ve come to realize that perhaps that’s not enough, not the only thing we need. In 2021 we provided a couple of prayers in written and recorded formats that could be added to worship. They were well received. So this year I’m thinking of just stand-alone prayers, things that can be incorporated perhaps on April 24th, but also perhaps throughout the year, smaller parts of the service that can provide repeated encouragement to folks in the pews (or at home on their sofas) that they, as survivors, are welcomed and embraced by a community of faith.

I will be writing these prayers over the next month or so, hoping to have them all to you by way of our website and Facebook page by the beginning of March. To use them faithfully in worship you’ll still need to do some preparation, making sure folks know that they’re coming, that you’ll be dealing with some hard subjects, allowing survivors and their supporters to prepare their hearts and minds, or absent themselves if they need to.

The need for Break The Silence Sunday is greater than ever. The years of the pandemic have made a lot of things worse. Survivors have, in many cases, been obliged to isolate with the person who is abusing them. Financial pressures have made already complicated situations even more volatile. With medical systems overwhelmed, survivors aren’t able to get to the physical care they need, and access to mental health resources, already incredibly difficult, has become near to impossible for many. Yet the need continues. In the first year of the pandemic, the number of calls I had from survivors needing to talk tripled. In the second year, that number has tripled again. Survivors are struggling, and the church is deafeningly silent.

For those of you who know me well, you’ll be able to testify that I am a card carrying optimist, a belief founded in the essential goodness of who we are and who we can be. But my optimist heart is tired, tired of trying to understand why the church, and the United Church of Christ (UCC) in particular since that’s my tradition, can’t seem to speak out in support of survivors. To be clear we do good work advocating for change, for teaching about consent culture, for the work of ending rape culture and those are all incredibly important things, but they come too late for me and for my survivor siblings. We’re already sitting in the church’s pews, and viewing the church’s online services, carrying with us in our hearts, our minds, our bodies, and our spirits the wounds the church doesn’t seem willing or able to address.

I was raped in 1987, and ordained in the United Church of Christ in 2002. When I have asked questions about the church supporting survivors I’ve heard the same things across all these years – it’s personal and private and it makes people uncomfortable – and then the platitude that we have lots of important things we have to address as the church, we can’t possibly give our time to everything, and it’s just not important for the church to address (that’s been said quite literally in those words).

Idealistically I believed when I was told that the secret to getting on the national church’s radar was to have a resolution passed at General Synod. So we did, the resolution to make BTSS part of the national church’s calendar passed overwhelmingly at General Synod in Milwaukee in 2019. But then the pandemic came, and the great social upheaval of the summer of 2020, and the election of 2020, and despite sexual violence being repeatedly in the news with the #metoo movement and more, and with a resolution about supporting survivors, the message of the national church was about preventing sexual violence, about consent education, an about Thursdays in Black (an important symbolic gesture started from the World Council of Churches … Wear a pin to declare you are part of the global movement resisting attitudes and practices that permit rape and violence. Show your respect for women who are resilient in the face of injustice and violence. Encourage others to join you.”). Again, all of those are incredibly important things, but they do little if nothing for those of us who are already survivors.

Supporting us, speaking to us about our holiness, saying overtly that we are welcome in the Body of Christ with our wounds, with or without forgiving our perpetrators, with the struggles and questions we have about where God was when we were victimized, helping us to find a way forward that honors our past without blame or shame – those are the tasks of supporting survivors that I believe are being done on the local level, in communities of care, but aren’t being addressed by the wider church, and I can hear their silence.

Last year I wrote:

The Body of Christ has been raped and abused and the Body of Christ must stand up to witness with and support survivors, saying repeatedly and clearly that they are believed, loved, and valued as they are.

We must continue to do the work of education about consent, and healthy relationships, and all the hard work that needs to be done to prevent future rapes, but we must at the same time stand in solidarity with those of us for whom consent education and prevention didn’t work, who bear the scars in our bodies and souls of other people’s violence.

I know that what I’ve written today might sound critical, but it is because I want the best for the church, because I know what the church can be when it gets it right, when it’s willing to stand up for and support survivors. I know this from first-hand experience – I wouldn’t be here today without the support of the church I grew up in and the encouragement of the churches I serve.

BTSS is a movement of hope, even if this moment seems to be a bit of the valley of shadows. That’s because it’s a movement and movements take time. We can do this, even if it requires a long view. We believe that, as individuals, as congregations, and as the wider church we can do better in supporting survivors, creating space where they feel safe sharing their stories, and honoring their courage and resiliency. We can find new ways of thinking about, and talking about our faith that don’t glorify suffering and don’t perpetuate the abuse that so many have suffered. And we believe that we can work together to change the culture that allows sexual violence to happen, building a future where survivors can share their stories without shame, and where all can live free from sexual violence.

And if nothing else gives us reason to hope it’s that you, yes you, are sitting here reading this material. Maybe your community has a supportive pastoral staff and all you need to participate fully. Maybe you’re the pastor who is going to invite your congregation to observe BTSS for the first time and you’re anxious, but also confident, that it’s what your community needs right now.

Maybe you’re reading this and thinking you’d like to suggest it to your pastor or worship committee or whoever in your context might be most supportive, and you’re just not sure any of them will be. Maybe you’re a survivor who thinks you’re perhaps, possibly ready to share your story and hoping your faith community will receive it with grace and love.

Whoever you are, whatever the situation you find yourself in, you are the reason Break The Silence Sunday will ultimately make healthy, sacred space for survivors in our faith communities.

The suggested date for Break The Silence Sunday is the fourth Sunday of April. This keeps us within the national observance of Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM), but it is just a suggested date. In 2022, that date is Sunday April 24th.

This is, in the UCC’s calendar also Pacific Islander Asian American (PAAM) Sunday, a vital part of the diversity of our life together. There are also churches that will observe Earth Day events at the weekend, particularly given the current state of climate crisis. Please feel free to pick a time that works best for your community.

Some have held observances in October during the observance of Domestic Violence Awareness Month, remembering that much rape and sexual violence occurs within domestic relationships. Other communities observe during the summer, and still others find Lent an appropriate time to take on the challenging work of learning about sexual violence and creating space for survivors. Whatever date you choose please feel free to adapt these materials, use them for inspiration, and craft whatever you need – worship, prayer, study – that best fits the needs of your community, particularly in these days of living with Covid.

If you’ve been with us from the beginning, thank you. The archive of materials is available on our website and you are welcome to change and modify them so they work best for your community. All we ask is that you use proper attribution for those who have written these materials.

Please, whatever you do, we would appreciate feedback about what you liked, and didn’t like, about these materials, what worked for you, what was a challenge, and what could be provided in coming years to help you better implement BTSS in your community. There’s a feedback form at the end of these materials if you’d like to mail it in, of you’re welcome to send questions and comments to our email at breakthesilencesunday@gmail.com.

Again, please be in touch if there’s anything here you need to talk through, if you have questions or concerns, if you need to share your story, or if you just need a cheerleader as you work towards bringing Break The Silence Sunday to your community.

Thank you for your openness to this work, welcome, and God’s blessings.

Peace and grace, Rev Moira Finley

Silver For Survivors

~ RevMoMo ~ Leave a comment

In the summer of 2023, the Thirty-Fourth General Synod of the United Church of Christ will meet in Indianapolis, Indiana. Break The Silence Sunday (BTSS) needs to be there, and to do that we need your help.

We need to be at General Synod to:

  • to be a visible presence of survivors in the life of the church – we are here, part of every congregation and community and are in need of the vocal witness of the church to support our healing and wholeness;
  • to provide space for survivors to tell their stories without judgement and to have those stories honored through the work of BTSS’s project – Strings of Strength – that provides comfort items to survivors.
  • bring the work and witness of BTSS to more communities and congregations;
  • remind the national church of it’s commitment at General Synod 32 in Milwaukee where it overwhelmingly approved BTSS as an observance of the entire church;
  • to increase and expand our writer’s pool to reflect the great diversity of God’s people.

Our fundraising goal is $5000 which will provide:

  • Travel to and from Indianapolis for the BTSS team (2 people);
  • Housing & food during Synod
  • Booth space for BTSS in the exhibits hall
  • Promotional materials for BTSS

And how, you wonder, will be find $5000?
Through Silver For Survivors.

There are 575 days between 11/4/2021 and 5/31/2023.
We invite you to consider saving a silver coin every day to help the work of BTSS.

Silver dollar a day         …      $575

Half dollar a day           …      $287.50

Quarter a day                …      $143.75

Dime a day                    …      $57.50

Nickel a day                  …      $28.75

Of course, these are symbolic donations and we would welcome your gift at any level to help us continue to reach out to survivors, and to make our presence in the church visible, to remind the church of its sacred calling to support survivors.

Donations can be made:

Through our PayPal and Venmo accounts at:
breakthesilencesunday@gmail.com

By mail: checks to Break The Silence Sunday
c/o Moira Finley
PO Box 691
Bonduel, WI 54107

Questions? Concerns? Other ideas?
Pastor Moira Finley at either breakthesilencesunday@gmail.com or pastormoira73@gmail.com

Survivor and need to reach out?
Pastor Moira Finley at 715-851-3080 or pastormoira73@gmail.com

Need immediate help?
 Rape Abuse Incest National Network (RAINN) at 800-656-4673
or online at rainn.org for live chat and 24/7 assistance

P.S. If you’re wondering why start this today, November 4, 2021? A year ago the world lost one of the brightest lights and bravest survivors I’ve ever known, my friend Gwen. It seemed a fitting tribute to her life and legacy, and to the trust she placed in me to carry on the work of supporting survivors, to begin this campaign on the anniversary of her walking on to life eternal. She is dearly missed and I hope I am doing well by her in continuing the work she taught me about, the work of being as unashamed a survivor in this world as I’m capable of, and by being a life line for others.

BTSS 2021

~ RevMoMo ~ Leave a comment

Well, this wasn’t the year that any of us wanted. I’ve said in my parish several times that this season in our lives surely hasn’t gone as planned. For Break The Silence Sunday we should have been gearing up for the United Church of Christ’s General Synod this summer, expanding our outreach, getting more churches to participate after the success of passing our resolution in 2019, and generally doing amazing things with and for survivors in the church. But then, we all know how the story goes – covid. It’s been a challenging time to be a survivor, and a local church pastor. My pastoral care calls from survivors, about the challenges these times have brought, have tripled. It’s not just covid, but the isolation that has brought has been extremely difficult for many survivors. Add that to the rest of what we have lived through in this past year and it’s pushed a lot of people to the edge of their coping skills.

I am not providing new liturgies this year partly because the ones for 2020, along with the amazing survivor reflections that were included last year, didn’t get seen or used and they deserve to be. But it’s also because the decision about if to have a BTSS observance in your community needs a lot of careful consideration. Many congregations are still in virtual only mode and that presents its own challenges to providing care for survivors during and after the service. Other congregations and communities, like my own parish, are in a combined mode and that is a different set of challenges. Instead in this space in the next about week I’ll be posting some links to videos you can include, and the texts of the prayers in the videos, that will at least open up some space to let survivors know you’re with them.

There is a lengthy introduction in the materials this year because there’s stuff that needs to be said, some groups and work you need to know about, a personal remembrance about my friend Gwen, and some information you need to consider about the musician David Haas and other “celebrities” whose abuse has become known in recent months.

The materials are linked below.

Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if there’s a way we can help your community, or you personally, with Break The Silence Sunday, or with simply the work of being a survivor in the world these days.

Peace and grace,
Moira

breakthesilencesunday@gmail.com

Break The Silence Sunday 2021Download

BTSS 2020 & Covid-19

~ RevMoMo ~ Leave a comment

Here we are, the beginning of April, and I should be writing to encourage everyone to continue their planning for this year’s observance of Break The Silence Sunday (BTSS). I should be making a daily post about Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM), and I should be celebrating the first BTSS since it became an officially recognized observance of the United Church of Christ.

But, of course, I’m not. I’m sitting in my front room which has been converted to a home office, improvising and adapting like everyone else as we learn to live under isolation and quarantine rules for the covid-19 public health emergency. In my parish, as in so many others, pastors and lay leaders are working hard to keep people connected, to create worship that can be experienced by people in a variety of ways, making sure that people without internet capabilities don’t get lost in our move to video worship, cancelling long planned and looked forward to events, and worrying about all the people we can’t visit in nursing homes, assisted livings, and their own homes. We know it’s the right thing to do, that protecting our collective health while relieving the burden on our medical facilities and professionals is essential, but it’s still hard.

For BTSS and its work there are three important things to note right now: postponement & prayers & caution.

Postponement – At this point, with a suggested observation date at the end of April, it is my (Moira’s) advice that you and your community postpone your Break The Silence Sunday worship and educational events. It breaks my heart to say that, and it feels like a bit of a failure, but it is the right thing to do. This is NOT a service that can be done in a virtual context, at least not unless that was already your worshiping experience. There are too many risks involved – for worship leaders who aren’t familiar with the video/live technologies feeling extra pressure no one needs right now because this is a difficult subject to address in the church under the best of circumstances; for survivors who might be watching alone with no one to support them; for survivors who might be obliged to be in isolation with their abuser or who might not have disclosed to their now constant living partners about their histories (more on that in a minute). Perhaps you could consider a date towards the end of the summer when, prayerfully, things have reopened more fully, or in October which is domestic violence awareness month, or at another date when the calendar of your parish or community best fits.

Prayers – now that my parish has figured out how worship will happen in these days, and we have a pretty good rhythm for it, I will be able to turn my heart and mind to writing some new prayers for BTSS, particularly short ones that can be shared in video or live formats, to at least honor and recognize the survivors in our midst, and our intention and commitment to more fully stand with with them, and work for change.

Caution – Wisconsin’s order, like that of many other states, is called “safer at home”, and I understand the intent behind that statement, but the reality is that not everyone is safer at home. For far too many, home isn’t a safe place and many folks are now locked in with their abusers. The outlets they had – school, work, shops, the library, the swimming pool, the park – all those places are closed and there is no where to go that is even remotely safe. Every shelter and crisis center I know of is experiencing an even higher than usual call volume, folks not knowing where they can turn when they can’t get away from the person hurting them. In addition, for many survivors the isolation and social distancing, as well as the general climate of fear around the virus, has threatened to overwhelm our already traumatized brains. For  many, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, and their associated physical symptoms have all been made worse by these days. My caution in these days in manifold. (1) be careful how you talk about “safer at home” and if someone tells you they feel stuck at home, listen and don’t judge, they have a reason for what they’re saying; (2) go gently, particularly when you’re sharing lists of extra things that could be accomplished in these days, how many more online meetings you invite people to, or what you’re expecting of folks while they’re coping with an unprecedented global crisis – no one’s brains, hearts, or bodies are functioning at their absolute best right now, adjust expectations accordingly; (3) keep these numbers and websites handy … Rape Abuse Incest National Network (RAINN) 800-656-4673 and live chat (a sometimes much safer way for folks to connect) at https://www.rainn.org/ and the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 (voice) and 800-787-3224 (TTY) and live chat at their website https://www.thehotline.org/help/

Finally, know that I am here by email (breakthesilencesunday@gmail.com), or phone (715-851-3080) if I can help you with your BTSS planning, or in any other way as a survivor during these days. ~ Moira

 

2020 BTSS Materials

~ RevMoMo ~ Leave a comment

Hello friends,

This is a quick post to get the materials out to you as soon as possible. I will write more about these materials in a few days, about the process that got these materials together, and some thoughts behind them. In the meantime, yes the full document is just over 100 pages – it includes three survivor reflections, a sample sermon, a full liturgy, a new full evening liturgy, and two speeches from this past summer’s General Synod (mine to committee, and the committee’s speech to the full floor). Those last two are included for archival purposes so they’re all together. There’s also information about Strings of Strength (SOS) and BTSS in a Box. I’ll have separate PDF files of everything up by the end of the week if parish pastoring allows.

Peace and grace, Moira

BTSS 2020 WORD

BTSS 2020 PDF

Synod committee day & my speech

~ RevMoMo ~ 2 Comments

My friends, today was … you know I’m not sure I actually have words to describe today, so I suppose I’ll settle for amazing. This has been, many of you know, a long journey filled with more than a few (thousand) setbacks, naysayers, disappointments, and more Today General Synod 32’s Committee 9 met to discuss and deliberate the resolution for Break The Silence Sunday.

The members of the committee opened their hearts, and minds, and spirits and truly did God’s work. They listened to each other, some sharing their own stories of why this work is important. They asked questions, not about IF we should do this work, but rather about HOW to do this work in different congregations, communities, and contexts. They thought through ways to make sure we are paying attention to the needs of different groups of survivors. They even added back in words about the church’s complicity in protecting perpetrators and perpetuating rape culture that I had taken out in previous drafts (in hopes of making the resolution more politically acceptable to a broad audience).

We still have some hurdles ahead. The modified resolution will be put before the full body of the synod either Monday or Tuesday. Our incredible committee chair, Rev Cheryl Lindsey, will present on behalf of the committee. I cannot say enough about how wonderful Cheryl was in facilitating and guiding the committee’s work. She framed our work with prayer, nurtured and listened to all who were present, gave me time to speak and answer questions, and truly showed what a chair can be.

After the vote by the full synod (presuming it’s a positive decision), the resolution will move to implementation and an entirely different set of challenges will face us – the work of taking BTSS to the wider church.

I ask for your continued prayers. I have been at this such a very long time and it’s strange to think I won’t have to push for this part of the process much longer. That will take some time to get from my brain to my heart, and then an even longer time to adjust to a new and different kind of work of advocacy and supporting survivors.

In the meantime, several people have asked for the text of what I said before the committee today so I include it for you here:

Address to the General Synod Committee, Moira Finley, 23 June 2019
(FYI, the number of stories heard that are referenced below needs to be updated to include seven more stories Lella and I heard today.)

Good morning. Thank you for your time, and your commitment to our denomination, to the work of helping shape the life and ministry of our churches.

And I thank you in advance for what I know is a difficult conversation ahead of us today. Rape and sexual violence are challenging topics for us to talk about because they ask us to be vulnerable with each other, and to face things that many of us would rather not.

I have to tell you that today feels a bit like a moment when the church I love, the one that professes extravagant welcome, will pass judgement on whether or not I, a rape survivor, am truly welcome.

In July 2003 the General Synod met in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I attended as a visitor and had the luxury of lots of time chatting with folks, particularly in the exhibit hall. In one of those conversations, at the Justice and Witness ministries booth I asked the national staff member what the UCC was doing to support rape and sexual assault survivors.

He told me that it didn’t really happen to people in the UCC, and that even if it did it was a personal, private problem that we, a church that claimed to offer a prophetic word and witness to the world, didn’t have time for because it just wasn’t important.

I wanted very much to quit, to hand in my ordination, barely a year old, and go off somewhere without the church, to find life in a place where, even if I wasn’t accepted, if my life and experiences weren’t welcomed there wasn’t the hypocrisy of saying I was while, in practice, I was asked to be silent.

I can say today that I am grateful the dear friend I was traveling with, Sharon MacArthur, wouldn’t let me quit. She said I couldn’t for two reasons, first because I just don’t know how, and second because we, the church, needed me not to. The church, if it was going to be true to its calling to follow Jesus, needed me to stay, to struggle for what I know we can be when we live as fully as we are able.

So here we are today. Sixteen years later, after a lot of pain and tears, and more patience than I ever imagined I had, thanks to the support and encouragement of some remarkable people.

I want to thank my friend, my support pit bull, Lella Baker for taking her vacation time and own money to be here making sure I get snacks and water and tissues.

And I want to thank my Wisconsin Conference minister, the Rev Franz Rigert, who helped me dream up Break The Silence Sunday five years ago, taking off its hinges a door that had felt firmly closed and bolted shut for more than a decade.

In thanking them I am aware that I am here, in many ways, because of the actions, both good and bad, of other people.

The men who raped me set my life on a path I did not choose, and do not want.

I did not ask for this to be my story, for this to be the work of my life, but having it set before me I have chosen to pick it up, and to use the horror of what I experienced, the pain I live with to this day, and the incredible grace of the people who have helped me along the way to do what I can, to do something to further the transformation of the world, in the hopes that my work, however small it might be in the grand scheme of things, might be my part in following in the footsteps of the man of Nazareth.

While I acknowledge that I was set upon this path by men who did almost indescribable harm to me, I have been held together, nurtured, strengthened, encouraged, and loved beyond measure as well.

I owe the greatest debt of gratitude to my momma, Nancy, who found a way to support me despite the grief and pain of seeing her daughter in such physical, emotional, and spiritual agony.

And a huge part of why I am here today, why I am so committed to what the church can be for survivors, is due to the love and nurture of some people at the church I grew up in, First Congregational UCC Albuquerque, New Mexico.

They held me and my family together through the most unimaginable of hells, helping with food and rides and more when nothing else could be done, waiting until we were ready to talk despite their million questions, and simply holding us in the light and grace of God’s gathered people.

I have been told I am too hard on the church, demanding we meet an unattainable standard of support for survivors of sexual violence, but I know it isn’t unattainable because I have received – from those folks in Albuquerque – the support I seek for each and every survivor, in each and every congregation in the UCC.

They didn’t get it all right. There were missteps and ill timed or badly worded moments, but they tried, and showed up, and kept showing up over and over again being the living presence, the hands and feet and hearts of Jesus in my life.

And I stand before you today a pastor of three UCC congregations, places where incredible healing and transformation has taken place because we have opened space for stories of the places where our lives haven’t been perfect, where the mask we show the world has fallen away and we have dared to be what we are – fragile, vulnerable, beautiful, and human.

But this resolution isn’t about me, or my congregations. We will continue to speak out, to break the silence. This is about us, the Body of Christ, the church together, and how we will respond to survivors.

Because I am who I am, and I have lived through all that has shaped me in these going on forty-six years, people talk to me, sharing their stories. When Break The Silence Sunday was born, in the fall of 2015, I started keeping track of everyone who told me their story. My list is now 778 stories long, 36 of those being since I arrived here at Synod on Thursday at about noon.

Survivors are desperate to find someone who will listen, who will treat them with dignity, and their story with the sacred respect it deserves, not trying to fix it.

They are looking for someone who will sit with them in the mess, in the uncertainty, with the struggles, doubts, fears, dreams, worries, hopes, and questions.

My survivor siblings, and I, are waiting for a voice from God’s people to say “we believe you”, and we cannot wait any longer. The silence of the church is deafening, and it is killing us.

Conservatively speaking at least a quarter of the people you share your pews and potluck tables with are survivors of sexual violence.

We live every day with the reality of our stories and we need to know, from the church, that we can bring that story to the community to be heard without shame or pity, that what we tell you will not face the victim blaming and shaming, the what were you wearing or why were you there alone or why did you wait to tell someone or why didn’t you try to get away, or all the other questions society is so quick to ask when we disclose what we have lived through.

We want to know that in the church we will find a place where we won’t be offered theologies that reinforce archaic ideas of purity, tired and hurtful theologies about suffering, and simplistic theologies about forgiveness that fail to understand the depths of pain survivors experience, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

The resolution before you isn’t a timely response to the #metoo movement in our society, but the work of my life, of more than thirty years of wrestling with being a rape survivor AND a person of faith.

This resolution asks our church to start talking about the reality of rape and sexual violence, but not as something we can fix by teaching consent, healthy sexuality, and constructive means of dealing with anger. Those are vitally important things for us to be doing, but they come too late for me, and for my survivor siblings, because we are here, living with the reality we bear in our bodies and our hearts of the most intimate violation of the body of Christ.

It asks us, the United Church of Christ, to be true to our calling, to truly be Christ’s people, to bind up the broken-hearted survivors in our midst, offering the love and grace of God without judgement or pity.

It asks us to be prophetic, not in the ways we usually understand that word, but by learning to listen, really and truly listen with our hearts and our souls

It calls us to the holy work of lament, of hearing stories that will unsettle us and upend things we thought we knew for sure, hearing pains that can be healed, not through our actions, but through our openness, our willingness to sit in the midst of the mess.

It invites us to be brave, as our survivor siblings are brave each and every day of their lives, to trust, deeply and completely, in the One who calls us each by name, opening space in our congregations, our communities, and our hearts for survivors to share their stories and experience the grace that carries us all.

I thank you for your time, and your prayerful consideration.

Lists, Or Synod’s Almost Here…

~ RevMoMo ~ Leave a comment

2019-Synod-Logo-verse

Anxiety Time (AKA, Let’s Make Lists)
Outside my window here in northeast Wisconsin there’s a storm blowing in unsettling all the living things inside and outside the house. On my computer screen there’s a countdown clock that tells me the United Church of Christ’s General Synod begins in just over NINE days. On an anxiety scale of 1 to 10 I’m a pretty solid 23 at the moment. There are lists upon lists:

  • Things to pack (must finish t-shirts and put new laces in purple shoes, oh and boxes of advocacy materials, buttons, and such);
  • Things to do to leave my parish in good shape during my absence (made largely possible by amazing people in all three of my congregations, and my tremendous licensed local pastor who will preach all three services on the Sunday I’m gone);
  • Things the kittens need, and instructions to their caregivers:
  • Things domestic like vacuuming, and laundry
  • Things to do to keep my head on straight like one more visit to Dr. Ben (psychiatrist), and refilling all my medicines
  • Things that need to be done for the advocacy work of Break The Silence Sunday at Synod itself which I confess I’ve been putting it off, the whole list including writing this blog post because thinking of the vulnerability required to do this well is overwhelming and the thought of how many stories I might hear, and how many times I might share mine, is humbling, and downright scary.

A Sure Thing
There’s a nagging voice in my head that says none of it will be enough, that one more time my request that the church support survivors of sexual violence will be met with disdain, and dismissal, the refrain that we’ve got other more important justice issues before us, that this just simply isn’t an issue for people in the UCC, or that it’s a private, personal matter that can’t be talked about in congregations because it makes people uncomfortable. (FYI, all these are things said to me by various people, clergy and laity alike, in the UCC over the last seventeen years.)

Many folks keep telling me that the resolution for BTSS to become a national observance of the UCC is a “sure thing”, but enough of my roots are in Kentucky, steeped in horse racing, to know that there’s no such thing as a sure thing. (Plus, I’m a Boston Red Sox fan and we all remember that the utterly improbable happened in 2004.) I know these folks are trying to be reassuring, I do appreciate their words, and maybe they’re right, maybe it’s finally the moment, but until Synod Committee 9 has met, and referred the resolution to a vote on the floor of the Synod, and until the entire Synod has voted to adopt the resolution I don’t think I’ll be convinced (and maybe not even then, but that’s why friend Lella will be with me, to remind me of such things).

As I see it, one of two things will happen – the resolution will be adopted, or it won’t. Either way, the work of Break The Silence Sunday will continue because I know exactly the impact it’s having, and lives are literally in the balance, survivors are hanging on, sometimes by the thinnest of threads, needing a listening heart, a kind set of ears, and a welcoming hand of friendship and solidarity.

A Mere Ten Minutes
When the committees meet on Sunday I will have ten minutes to address them about why we are bringing forward this resolution, why BTSS matters, Trying to figure out how to condense it to a mere ten minutes will be the work of the coming days. How do you condense hundreds of stories, including your own, into ten minutes? How do you let the impact of the statistics – once in every 92 seconds someone is sexually assaulted in the United States – sink deep enough into people’s hearts, and minds, and souls that they understand the urgency of this work? How do you help people to understand that sexual violence isn’t about sex, but about violence, power, and control? How do you explain that you believe prevention work, and teaching consent, and all those good things are indeed important, and valuable, but they aren’t enough, and they didn’t work for people who have already been sexually violated? How do you help people to understand that the focus on prevention often leads to more victim blaming, shaming, and guilt? How do you help people understand that yes, you’re hard on the church, demanding even, because you know what it can be when we get it right, a place of incredible healing and hope? How do you do all this, be honest and open about your story, and not turn into a giant puddle of goo? I’d appreciate any feedback you’ve got on what you would include in a ten minute talk about why the church should support survivors as vocally as BTSS asks them to because it’s really tempting to say “it’s important because people are dying” and sit down, but that probably won’t do.

One More List (How You Can Help)
So, perhaps (hopefully) you’re wondering how you can help? I’m glad you asked, I have (here’s a surprise) a list:

  • Follow the new Break The Silence Sunday Instagram account (@breakthesilencesunday) where we’ll be posting oodles of pictures from Synod, advocacy items, and solidarity with and support for survivors, and probably pictures of a lot of cups of coffee;
  • Follow us on Facebook where, if I’ve done everything technologically correct, the Instagram account will also connect;
  • Contact delegates in your conference, particularly those who might be assigned to Committee 9, and encourage them to learn about the work of BTSS, and why it’s important;
  • Reach out to a survivor you know and check on how they’re doing, these are mighty tough times to be a survivor;
  • Pray, light a candle, hold us in the light as it’s going to be a tough week from June 20th to the 27th;
  • If you’re a survivor, reach out to us (or someone) because we believe you, and you are not alone;
  • Let me know your thoughts on what you’d include in a speech about why BTSS matters
  • If you’re a survivor who’s comfortable with doing so, reach out to us with a photo of yourself holding a sign that says “this is what a survivor looks like #BTSS”, you can email them to breakthesilencesunday@gmail.com
  • Financial donations are always welcome – PayPal and Venmo both at breakthesilencesunday@gmail.com

So here we go, in the home stretch, at least for this part of the work. I know we have what it takes, but it’s going to take everything we’ve got. But in the end I have to remember some of the words of the incredible Audre Lorde who said:

“And of course I am afraid, because the transformation of silence into language and action is an act of self-revelation, and that always seems fraught with danger. But my daughter, when I told her of our topic and my difficulty with it, said, “Tell them about how you’re never really a whole person if you remain silent, because there’s always that one little piece inside you that wants to be spoken out, and if you keep ignoring it, it gets madder and madder and hotter and hotter, and if you don’t speak it out one day it will just up and punch you in the mouth from the inside.” (from Sister, Outsider)

2019 Break The Silence Sunday Materials

~ RevMoMo ~ Leave a comment

“There is nothing to writing.
All you do is sit down at the typewriter and bleed.”
~ Ernest Hemingway

I’m not a huge Hemingway fan, not the least because he seems to have a hatred of commas, writing all those short staccato sentences that feel like gunfire when I read. But this quote has come back to me over and over in the past couple of weeks, a reminder that the work of writing is intensely hard, and at least for me, costly in body, mind, and spirit. It is also work I am honoured and privileged to do.

This is the fourth year I’ve written materials for Break The Silence Sunday. Every year I think it should, somehow, get easier, and every year it seems like more is required of me, as a pastor, as a survivor, as a human being.

Part of this is, of course, because of the world we are living in, the stories on the news every day about rape and sexual violence, and the general state of society here in the United States.

Part of it is also that I want to do better every year, make the liturgy, and commentary, and everything else the best it possibly can be. I remember a class in seminary where we were discussing the purpose of the church and how what we say about Jesus’ life and ministry shapes that purpose. I was frustrated because my classmates seemed to be having an intellectual exercise, all hypothetical ideas about some ideal church. I went to my professor to share my concerns. He listened with a pastor’s heart and said something like, “well, the problem, my friend, is that you know these aren’t just ideas, they’re matters of life and death.”

I want these BTSS materials to be their best because lives really, truly are hanging in the balance. In these days where sexual violence is a story on the news, a joke at the comedy club, and a derogatory meme on the internet, survivors are desperate to be heard, to know that their stories, and their lives matter.

So here they are my friends, the 2019 materials for Break The Silence Sunday, as both BTSS 2019 WORD and BTSS 2019 PDF.

I hope you’ll pray about ways in which your community can support our work, and support the survivors in your midst.