In busy seasons like Easter, it’s easy to focus on the practicalities; services, music, hospitality, and managing the flow of people. But alongside all of this sits a quieter responsibility. Safeguarding isn’t separate from welcome; it’s part of what makes welcome real.

This blog reflects on themes raised in Martin Sewell’s recent commentary, published on Surviving Church, about the experience of victim-survivors and the institutional response to persistent or ongoing safeguarding concerns within the Church of England. His reflections raise difficult and necessary questions about accountability, whistleblowing, and safeguarding culture. The reflections that follow draw on my own experience and build on earlier posts on Guarding the Flock.

I am deeply grateful for every single one of you and for the encouragement you continue to show.

Serving on a Parochial Church Council (PCC) is more than a voluntary commitment. Trustees carry significant legal responsibilities under charity law, yet many step into their roles without clear training or preparation. This gap can lead to challenges in governance, compliance, and safeguarding the parish’s mission. To address this, the Empowering Trustees session offers practical, focused training tailored to the realities of church and faith-based charity governance.

Institutions don’t reveal themselves in their policies. They reveal themselves in rooms where they think nobody is watching...

Safeguarding competence is not a matter of sex or gender. Sex or gender does not make someone a safe pair of hands. Safeguarding is about judgement, accountability, humility, and moral courage. It is about how power is exercised, constrained, and scrutinised. It is about what happens when harm is disclosed, when difficult questions are asked, and when institutional reputation is at stake.

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.

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?”