Victor Vieth: Education, Theology, and Ending Child Abuse

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/11/16

Victor Vieth is Chief Program Officer, Education & Research, at Zero Abuse Project, where he leads training, research, and policy to prevent and respond to child maltreatment. A former Senior Director and founding director of the National Child Protection Training Center at Gundersen, he has spent 38 years advancing multidisciplinary investigation, prosecution, and survivor-centered care. Vieth developed national curricula, consults on complex cases, and helped launch trauma-informed spiritual care through the Center for Faith & Child Protection and Children’s Advocacy Centers. A lawyer and theologian, he writes and speaks on evidence-based prevention, child-friendly courts, and the ethics of institutional accountability.

In this interview, Victor Vieth argues that protecting children begins with a moral commitment backed by vigorous policy and education for staff, parents, and youth. He critiques narrow CDC-only approaches, urging responses that address all forms of maltreatment. Vieth distinguishes situational from preferential offenders, explains how religious authority can be weaponized, and calls for theological engagement and limits on clergy-penitent confidentiality. He rejects porn-centric explanations, emphasizes trauma-informed practice, and says small congregations can implement low-cost safeguards. Vieth highlights CAC–chaplain models, referrals to accredited providers, and experts to counter institutional self-protection, noting research showing lower abuse rates where policies are enforced.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: We’re here with Victor Vieth, the Chief Program Officer for Education and Research at the Zero Abuse Project. You were previously the Senior Director and founding director of the National Child Protection Training Center (NCPTC) at Gundersen, a multidisciplinary child-protection and training center.

When we think about protecting children—and this applies to both secular settings and religious institutions—what are the overarching principles of protection based on the rights of the child?

Victor Vieth: The institution has to have a moral compass that places the protection of children as a high priority. If you implement policies simply to lower insurance rates or avoid lawsuits, you’re already on the wrong path. There must be a genuine conviction that the protection of children is a core priority of the organization.

With that foundation, you should reach out to child-abuse experts—not lawyers or insurance companies whose focus is on reducing liability, but professionals whose mission is to prevent abuse or, when prevention isn’t possible, to respond effectively. Most experts would begin with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) standards for child-protection policies, which include several categories, each with additional guidelines.

However, experienced child-abuse experts would also note that the CDC guidelines are inadequate because they focus too narrowly on preventing sexual abuse within organizations. This leaves unprotected children who are being sexually abused in their own homes and completely ignores those who are being physically beaten, emotionally abused, witnessing violence, or being tortured.

Ironically, if we fail to address all forms of abuse, we cannot even achieve the narrower goal of preventing sexual abuse within organizations. Children who are abused at home—especially those who experience multiple forms of abuse, known as polyvictims—are more likely to exhibit visible signs of trauma. Research shows that polyvictims are more likely to become clear targets, and sex offenders are skilled at identifying those signs of trauma and exploiting them to violate the child again.

That’s a general overview. I would add that, by far, the most important policy is education. If you’re part of a youth organization, everyone who works with children must receive annual training—basic or advanced—in recognizing and responding to signs of trauma, understanding why policies exist, and enforcing them consistently.

Training should also include how to respond if a child makes an outcry. Each year, there should also be personal-safety education for the youth, because research and common sense show that when children are educated, they’re more likely to recognize when they’re in danger, to back away, or to seek help from a parent or another trusted adult. They’re also less likely to fall prey to the lies offenders use.

Parents need education as well, because sex offenders not only groom victims—they also groom parents. The good news, Scott, is that when you implement all these measures, research shows that you significantly reduce the risk of child sexual abuse. If you fall short of these standards, the status quo remains. We know what to do, and if we have the moral backbone to act, we can achieve real progress for children.

Jacobsen: Two things come to mind there. You mentioned sexual abuse at the end. The organization is called the Zero Abuse Project, which implies a broad purpose. Sexual abuse is obviously a very serious and important form, but there’s also a wider, clinically recognized set of abuses now. I assume some or all of these are relevant to children as well. What other forms does this methodology address—does it cover all of them, or do certain types of abuse require specific approaches to achieve greater reductions? What do we know about what works best in education? What approaches are most effective, and which absolutely do not work?

Vieth: First of all, Zero Abuse Project is focused on addressing all forms of abuse. To my knowledge, we’re the only national organization that actually has a concrete, peer-reviewed plan to achieve the goal of significantly reducing—and ultimately ending—child abuse in the United States. We can’t reduce any single form of abuse unless we’re prepared to reduce all of them, because two-thirds of maltreated children fit into multiple categories of abuse.

The answer to your question is that education is, hands down, the most effective approach—and from education flows everything else. In terms of what doesn’t work, ineffective approaches are rooted in ignorance and myth.

I’m consulting on a case right now where a teacher was arrested for possessing a large number of child sexual-abuse images on his electronic devices. The school naively assumed this must be related to pornography and the growing use of pornography in our culture. So their response was to educate parents on how to talk to their kids about pornography. That’s a mistake. Pornography certainly causes harm—it can promote aggression toward women, depict sex unrealistically, and trigger unhealthy neurological responses—but it is not a driving factor in the sexual abuse of children.

When people jump to conclusions without evidence, they end up with no results—or worse, harmful results. If you know what you’re doing, you can implement good policies and effective responses. If you don’t, and you fail to seek guidance from experts, you quickly go down the wrong path.

Jacobsen: Given the familial grooming factors that often occur with abusers, it seems there’s a range of sophistication among offenders. Some may be driven by intelligence or by social sensitivity that they use for harmful purposes. What range are you aware of—from the incompetent criminals to those who are highly sophisticated, almost impossible to pin down?

Vieth: The minds of sex offenders are complex. Generally, we categorize them as either situational or preferential offenders.

Situational offenders are those who have fleeting thoughts about sexual contact with a child but do not usually act on those impulses unless certain conditions align. Policies and safeguards are most effective with this group because barriers can prevent them from acting on those thoughts.

Preferential offenders, on the other hand, are typically pedophiles—individuals whose primary sexual interest is in children. That condition is not curable. Treatment focuses instead on management. If someone is a pedophile who is primarily attracted to children, they don’t necessarily have to be particularly sophisticated to offend. It’s often not difficult for them to identify vulnerable targets.

They frequently focus on children who show signs of trauma—the “neon flashing lights” of victimization. They understand intuitively that if such a child makes an outcry, people are less likely to believe them because the child already faces multiple difficulties. Offenders are skilled at embedding themselves within institutions and appearing outwardly respectable. They know how to cultivate an image that discourages suspicion and often ensures support even if allegations arise.

Even those who are not well educated often have an intuitive understanding of how to operate undetected. That said, some offenders—particularly religious offenders—can be among the most successful. Research suggests that offenders in religious settings are often adept at using institutional trust, authority, and faith language to conceal or rationalize their behavior.

Just by the nature of being clergy or well-educated, many offenders in religious contexts have charisma. They’re articulate and skilled communicators. People freely entrust their children to them because they believe the rabbi, imam, Sunday school teacher, pastor, or priest is the “salt of the earth” and would never do anything nefarious.

Religious institutions often have the weakest policies—or no policies at all—so there are few barriers to abuse. Research shows that when an offender can incorporate religion into the abuse of a child, that form of grooming has a particularly profound impact in silencing the victim. It can also be used to manipulate the institution into protecting the offender or discouraging accountability.

NBC News published a major investigative report this quarter on abuse within the Assemblies of God, which powerfully underscored this dynamic.

Jacobsen: Building on that, we’ve touched on training already, but let’s go deeper into religious institutions. What are the preventable failure points in church abuse responses? You mentioned earlier the importance of having at least a policy—if not also a legal framework.

Vieth: The starting point, actually, is theological engagement. The reason is simple: clergy who are offenders often use theology both to facilitate the abuse and to justify weak or harmful responses.

If we fail to engage theologically, we end up with deeply flawed policies. Consider this example: if we say, “We need to keep children safe because it’s important to Jesus,” then within a Christian framework, we can recognize that Jesus was a descendant of at least three sexually exploited women, a near victim of child abuse himself—Herod tried to murder him.

Jesus was countercultural to his society. He said it would be better to have a millstone tied around one’s neck than to harm a child. He refused to exclude children, saying, “Do not keep them from me.” He declared that many religious leaders would be cast out on Judgment Day for failing to care for the least among us. He also rejected the Greco-Roman notion that children lack reason or worth, teaching instead that even infants can possess divine wisdom—hence the phrase “out of the mouths of babes.”

If you start from that theological foundation, you will naturally want vigorous child-protection policies. You won’t think narrowly about preventing only sexual abuse within your organization—something lawyers and insurers tend to focus on because that’s where lawsuits emerge. You’ll take a broader moral view: protecting all children from all forms of abuse within your congregation.

Another reason theological engagement is essential is that research shows clergy-perpetrated abuse has a uniquely damaging effect on victims’ spirituality. That spiritual damage often cascades into physical and mental health struggles. However, toxic theology can be countered and healed through trauma-informed theology—spiritual frameworks that restore meaning, agency, and dignity.

Survivors who develop a healthy spiritual equilibrium tend to do best overall—in mental health, physical well-being, and recovery outcomes. So the most important reform, which to my knowledge no faith community has seriously tackled, is genuine theological engagement with the topic of abuse. I actually have an article on this coming out in December in EBSAC (the Evangelical Biblical Society Academic Conference).

Jacobsen: It’s ironic. Within that theological frame, abuse might be described as a “spiritual ailment” or moral failing, yet it often takes years of legal action and massive settlements to bring accountability. For example, the Archdiocese of Los Angeles has paid well over a billion and a half dollars in settlements. So what begins as a spiritual problem often ends in a financial resolution—some form of justice, yes, but a tragic distortion of the moral framing. If you have any comments on that, I’ll follow with another question.

Vieth: It’s needless. I’ve been in this field for 38 years, and very few survivors actually want to sue their religious institution. What they want is justice, accountability, mercy, spiritual care, reform, strong policies, acknowledgment, and genuine apologies. When churches and faith communities refuse to provide those things, survivors often turn to the legal system out of frustration and anger. The result is large financial judgments—a reckoning brought on by the institutions themselves.

Jacobsen: How should faith leaders navigate clergy–penitent privilege in relation to mandatory reporting?

Vieth: As a theologian, I take the position that there is nothing in the Bible that mandates absolute confidentiality. You simply won’t find that in scripture. What you will find are strong commands from Jesus about protecting children at all costs.

In other helping professions—psychologists, doctors, social workers—we already recognize limits to confidentiality. Those limits include mandatory reporting laws, threats of harm to others, or risks of self-harm. In such cases, we bring in other professionals or authorities to ensure safety.

I don’t understand why some faith leaders insist on holding themselves to a lower moral standard than doctors or psychologists. Frankly, I believe that stance is sinful. In some cases, clergy know that an individual is a pedophile. The person might appear remorseful and say they feel terrible, but even a basic understanding of research tells us that pedophilia is not curable. That individual is likely to continue offending.

If a faith leader knowingly sends such a person back into the community—like a Jerry Sandusky–type predator—they may bear greater moral responsibility than the offender. The offender, after all, meets diagnostic criteria for a mental disorder. What is the religious leader’s excuse? Aren’t they more culpable? I wouldn’t want to stand before Jesus and try to justify that.

That’s my theological framework, and I approach it from a Lutheran perspective. I actually wrote an article about this. Not all Lutherans agree with me, but the good news is that the vast majority of faith leaders today acknowledge exceptions to absolute confidentiality in confession. They recognize that these communications are not universally protected from reporting, even within the Catholic Church, where there are some emerging exceptions.

Jacobsen: Are there distinguishing markers—patterns or prevention strategies—that differ across faith traditions? When abuse occurs, do certain denominations or religions tend to handle it better—or worse—based on their cultural or institutional contexts? Are there traditions that have more evidence-based or appropriate responses, compared to those with no policies at all?

Vieth: Yes. In conservative Protestant communities, for instance, there’s still a strong adherence to the belief that corporal punishment—hitting children with objects—is theologically required. That belief has significantly contributed to child physical abuse and even child homicides in the United States. It’s also driven many young people away from faith altogether, saying, “Wherever God is, He’s not in the church.”

By contrast, in the Catholic community, there’s generally been less of a theological justification for corporal punishment. Catholic parents may still use it, but they rarely cite scripture to defend it. As a result, we see far higher rates of corporal punishment—and thus child physical abuse—in conservative Protestant contexts than in Catholic or more progressive religious settings.

That won’t change until we change the theology. In terms of sexual abuse, it crosses all religious traditions. Research suggests that while sexual abuse within religious organizations remains a persistent problem, institutions that adopt vigorous protection policies experience measurable improvements. On average, they show about a 13 percent lower incidence of child sexual abuse compared to those without strong safeguards.

This data aligns with research by Dr. David Finkelhor and others, showing that institutions with comprehensive prevention policies—screening, education, and accountability—see significant reductions. The Catholic Church, for example, has developed some of the most stringent policies, largely because it has faced the greatest number of lawsuits and public scrutiny.

Jacobsen: Looking at the broader picture—the MeToo movement, the Larry Nassar cases, and abuse in religious contexts such as Catholic and Protestant institutions in North America—what are the common through lines across these settings?

Vieth: Whether we’re talking about the MeToo movement, ChurchToo, Hollywood abuse cases, or Larry Nassar and the U.S. gymnastics system, the core dynamics are remarkably similar. The contexts differ—celebrity culture versus organized religion versus youth sports—but the underlying phenomenology is the same: systematic abuse, institutional complicity, and profound trauma for victims.

One universal denominator—whether secular or faith-based—is institutional self-protection. Most people oppose child abuse in the abstract, but not necessarily when they encounter it within their own family, community, or institution. When the abuse threatens something they love or depend on, cognitive dissonance takes over.

If they know the offender personally, which is often the case, the mind blocks out the incriminating evidence and floods itself with memories of the offender’s good deeds. Without trauma-informed understanding, people may also misjudge victims. For instance, they may dismiss a survivor’s credibility if the survivor exhibits mental health symptoms, anger, or instability—when in fact those reactions are entirely consistent with trauma.

This brings us full circle: education remains the most critical remedy. We must educate ourselves about trauma, cognitive dissonance, and our own biases. When abuse allegations arise, an outside expert with no connection to the institution should be brought in to assess what’s really happening.

Jacobsen: Many survivors experience deep spiritual injury. What makes pastoral care appropriate in those cases?

Vieth: First and foremost, the survivor must want spiritual care. You never impose it. But for many survivors, spiritual care can be healing because the abuse itself involved toxic theology. Offenders often manipulate spiritual concepts to justify or conceal their actions.

They may tell a child, “When I touched you and you had a physical reaction, that means you’re equally sinful.” Or, “You have the devil inside you, that’s why I had to punish you.” Some even claim, “God gave you to me to fulfill this desire,” or they burden the child with crushing guilt—saying, “If you tell, you’ll destroy the church, you’ll hurt the faith community, and God will be angry with you.”

That kind of spiritual manipulation places an enormous theological weight on a child, sometimes a very young one. Yet despite that, many survivors maintain or rebuild a spiritual connection. Not all do—but many continue to seek meaning, integrity, and faith even after devastating betrayal.

Many survivors who still maintain a faith connection have profound questions. They ask, “I prayed and prayed and prayed. I begged God to stop the abuse, but it kept happening. Does that mean the offender was right—that I somehow deserved these consequences?” You can begin to undo that toxic theology with a healthier reading of sacred texts. It’s almost like cognitive behavioral therapy: how you think shapes your emotions, your emotions shape your actions, and by thinking differently—through a new lens of theology—your emotional and mental health can begin to heal.

Let me share an example. I consulted on a case involving a woman in her forties who told her psychologist, “There’s no hope for me. I’m destined for hell.” The therapist asked her to explain, and she said she grew up in one of the more conservative branches of Lutheranism. In that tradition, children don’t take communion until around age thirteen, based on the belief that the Eucharist is truly the body and blood of Christ. If you partake unworthily or without discernment, you risk eating and drinking judgment upon yourself.

Her father, who was her abuser, twisted that theological idea for his own purposes. He told her, “When you turn thirteen and start taking communion, I’ll stop touching you, because then Christ will be inside you.” She clung to that promise, believing communion would finally end her abuse.

The night before her first communion, her father raped her again. She said, “Dad, this is the last time. Tomorrow, I take communion.” He laughed and said, “There’s no God, honey. I just said that to keep you quiet. This will end when I no longer desire you.”

The next morning, filled with rage toward God, she went to church, spat in the communion cup, chewed the wafer violently, and said in her mind, “I hate you, Jesus. I hate you so much, and within an hour I’m going to flush you out of my life.”

Decades later, she was still convinced she had committed the unpardonable sin. But that belief was rooted in trauma, not theology. A trauma-informed pastor, working alongside her mental health provider, used a principle from Dr. Andrew Walker’s clinical research: the answer to bad theology is good theology.

They read the story of the crucifixion together. The victim said, “I see Roman soldiers spitting on Jesus, torturing Him to death.” The pastor asked, “And what does Jesus say to them?” She answered, “He says, ‘Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they’re doing.’”

Then the pastor turned it back to her: “If Jesus could forgive those soldiers for literally spitting on and mutilating His body, do you think the grace of God is big enough to forgive you for spitting in the communion cup at age thirteen—the morning after your father broke his promise and raped you again? Could God’s grace be that big?”

She paused and said, “I never thought of it that way. Maybe it could be.” And that was the beginning of healing. Through revisiting sacred texts, her toxic theology was replaced with something compassionate, grounded, and restorative. Her spiritual, emotional, and physical health improved.

We know what needs to be done, but almost no seminary in the United States teaches this kind of trauma-informed spiritual care. As a result, we have a large number of survivors who can’t turn to their faith leaders—because those leaders don’t know what trauma-informed care looks like—and they can’t always turn to therapists, because 82 percent of mental health professionals report having no formal training in spiritual care.

So many survivors are going it alone. I see them forming online communities, supporting each other, doing deep dives into their own sacred texts, and building new, healthier theologies on their own.

And I’ll add this: I have a seminary degree and have been faithful in attending worship for decades. But I’ve learned far more about God from survivors of abuse than I ever have from any Ph.D. theologian.

Jacobsen: When should clergy make referrals to clinicians? You’ve alluded to this a little already.

Vieth: Anytime it’s outside their area of expertise. Clergy need to stay in their lane—addressing the spiritual questions of survivors—but they’re not qualified to diagnose mental illness or manage acute psychological distress. If someone is engaging in self-harm, contemplating suicide, or considering violence toward another person, outside intervention becomes necessary.

They should also know in advance who the trauma-informed mental health and medical providers in their community are, because not every doctor or psychologist understands trauma dynamics. In the United States, I advise clergy to build relationships with their local Children’s Advocacy Centers—if they’re nationally accredited, they meet trauma-informed standards. Ask them: Who would you recommend I refer survivors to for mental health or medical support? Then have those referrals ready before meeting with survivors.

The bottom line: stay within your lane, and when something falls outside it, make a solid referral.

Jacobsen: Smaller congregations often lack staff and legal counsel. What would you consider a minimum viable safeguarding package?

Vieth: First, I reject the premise that small congregations can’t handle this. While they may have fewer resources, they can also adapt more quickly. It’s easier to gather the congregation and implement new policies. And most of the necessary measures aren’t complicated.

Start with basic volunteer screening. Provide simple education on recognizing red flags. Use free or low-cost online resources for personal safety training—there are many excellent ones. The key ingredient isn’t money; it’s will.

When I was a small-town prosecutor in the 1990s, our county had virtually no resources. Yet by 1996, we were leading all 87 Minnesota counties in substantiating abuse cases per 1,000 children. What we had were creativity, determination, and commitment to best practices. The same applies to small churches. Fewer layers of bureaucracy can actually be an advantage. No excuses—it can be done.

Jacobsen: What are the red flags of performative compliance? You know what needs to change institutionally, and you claim to be implementing those reforms. You make statements of compliance, but the substance isn’t there. So, outwardly you appear aligned with standards, but functionally little changes.

For example, think of the United Nations. There are powerful statements condemning war crimes—say, Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, following the 2014 annexation of Crimea. Many nations issue strong condemnations, resolutions are passed, but the real question is: what happens beyond the statements? Who’s providing humanitarian aid, defensive munitions, or tangible support to prevent further aggression?

There’s a difference between rhetoric and reality—the theater of compliance versus actual implementation. In your context, what are the equivalent warning signs that a religious institution is merely performing compliance rather than genuinely safeguarding?

Vieth: Theologically—at least in the Christian context—James says, “Faith without works is dead.” So I ask: have you truly changed your heart? Do you really believe this matters to God? Because if you do, the outpouring of that conviction will be visible. You’ll naturally develop strong safeguarding policies. You’ll follow up diligently. The good works will produce fruit.

You’ll see children empowered to seek help after receiving personal safety education. You’ll see adult survivors begin to approach their pastor about their trauma for the first time. Congregants will start correcting misinformation online and in conversations when they hear something that isn’t trauma-informed. The love of God will become visible throughout the ministry. Anyone with eyes will recognize: this is a safe, healing place.

I’ll give you an example. I worked with a Lutheran congregation in a community of about 25,000 people. They excelled. They preached about these issues openly, implemented every recommended policy, and grew—significantly. When I visited, word had already spread through the survivor community: Here’s a pastor who speaks about abuse in a trauma-informed way. Here’s a church that treats survivor care as sacred work.

They even built dedicated ministries for survivors of abuse. It became known locally as a theological refuge—the one place survivors felt safe in both spirit and body. Unfortunately, that pastor later accepted another call, and much of that progress faded. But I’ve seen many stories like this—instances where remarkable transformation really does occur.

Jacobsen: Final question: what have been legitimate examples of compliance and cooperation between faith communities and child protection teams?

Vieth: The best example is in Greenville, South Carolina. The Julie Valentine Center—one of the leading Children’s Advocacy Centers—partnered with us years ago to establish the nation’s first Children’s Advocacy Center chaplain.

Reverend Carrie Nettles serves as that chaplain. She’s part of the case review team and provides spiritual care when a child raises questions such as, “Am I still a virgin in God’s eyes?” She meets the child where they are spiritually—without proselytizing, without denominational barriers. She’s ecumenical, meaning she serves across traditions.

She also integrates spiritual care tools like Godly Play, which early evidence suggests can support healing. Carrie provides resources not just for children, but for their families as well. She also educates other clergy on what trauma-informed spiritual care looks like in practice.

For instance, if a Catholic survivor requests to see a priest, Carrie doesn’t refer them to just anyone. She finds a priest trained in trauma-informed ministry who knows how to coordinate with the Julie Valentine Center’s medical and mental health teams.

At least half a dozen Children’s Advocacy Centers have now developed similar spiritual care programs. Under a current federal grant, we’re working to expand that network and to conduct formal research on the outcomes—both qualitative and quantitative—of the Julie Valentine Center’s spiritual care model. Early signs are promising.

It’s a powerful example of how collaboration between child protection professionals and faith leaders can create a holistic, evidence-informed system of care.

Jacobsen: Victor, thank you very much for your time today. 

Vieth: Great—thank you. Take care.

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