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Victim-survivors don’t experience safeguarding as a policy. They experience it as a decision: will you protect me, or will you protect yourselves?

Many bishops now carry moral residue: the enduring weight of having chosen what was least disruptive rather than what was right.

Justice does not simply need to be done; it needs to be seen to be done. Yet the Church of England repeatedly behaves as though how things look to survivors is an inconvenience rather than a safeguarding imperative. Survivors are told to “trust the process” while watching the same group of senior leaders rotate roles; gatekeeper today, colleague tomorrow, and respondent the next.

The Church does not need a nurse to hold its hand. It needs a surgeon to cut out the cancer.

If Christmas—the feast of truth entering the world—is not the moment to tell the truth, then the silence is not pastoral. It is deliberate. It is public amnesia dressed in liturgy.

Policies and safeguarding frameworks may look great on paper, but behind the scenes, the machinery of reputation management is working overtime.

Clergy under investigation often feel — and, in my experience of diocesan safeguarding, too often are — presumed guilty. Cut off from support, they can be left in limbo for months. Even when cleared, the stigma lingers. Whispers persist, careers stall, reputations are bruised. The wounds seep on, staining trust and sapping the confidence of both clergy and their communities.

“We don’t want to take a clergy person’s agency away.” That was the repeated justification given by safeguarding leadership when asked why clergy members facing stalking and harassment weren’t being safeguarded.

When I found myself in a management meeting as the newly arrived safeguarding adviser — a lay observer in a collar-heavy room — I was utterly fascinated. The dynamics. The factions. And what appeared to me to be an almost obsessive preoccupation with sex. Then someone said it: “Shall we talk about LLF?”

In such environments, safeguarding ceases to be pastoral and becomes political. It shifts from preventing abuse to preserving power.

Speaking truth into an institution skilled in narrative preservation feels like dropping a stone into deep water. The splash disappears instantly, and the silence that follows is suffocating.

Money has been the golden thread running through the Church’s history — shaping ministry, mission, and survival alike. Yet in desperate times, the temptation to lean on emotional or spiritual pressure to keep the books balanced becomes all too real. Where there is trust, vulnerability, and unequal power, there is the potential for harm. That includes financial harm. This isn’t just a conversation for finance committees. It’s a safeguarding conversation.

Across the Church of England, many parishes are becoming more proactive about safeguarding — seeking not only compliance, but culture change. As this commitment deepens, clergy and PCCs increasingly ask the same question: “Are we actually allowed to use safeguarding consultants?” The answer is yes — but with important boundaries. Parishes can engage safeguarding consultants, provided the arrangement supports, rather than replaces, the Church’s diocesan safeguarding struct

safeguarding is not an “add-on.” It is an expression of pastoral care — rooted in the same common sense and compassion that shape all good leadership. When safeguarding is embraced as part of vocation rather than a burden, the church becomes a place where people can truly flourish.

Safeguarding is not simply about stopping harm. It is about bearing witness. It is about making sure that what was once silenced is not ignored again. It is about ensuring that every voice is honoured, even when broken, trembling or unsure.

“Lessons learnt”  is an instituional shield. Harm gets reduced to an abstract idea. No names. No ownership. No human accountability.

Clergy often work alone for significant portions of their ministry. This includes home visits, pastoral care conversations, late-night calls to parishioners in distress, and time spent in church buildings that may be isolated or poorly secured. Unlike many other professions, clergy are rarely accompanied by colleagues, support staff, or security when carrying out their duties. This exposes them to risks...

Credibility is the currency of safeguarding. Survivors who come forward with regional or working-class accents may face disbelief, quiet dismissal, or subtle mockery because of how they sound. How are they supposed to speak up if their voices are judged before their words are heard?

The 5 R's of Safeguarding are a simple framework used to guide anyone who has a safeguarding concern, particularly around children or vulnerable adults. 

Hello friends, Guarding the Flock was born from years spent inside systems and organisations where safeguarding too often came second to...