Sgt. Adam Kleffman, right, of the St. Louis County Sheriff’s Office was the investigator on the Clint Massie case. (Leila Navidi/The Minnesota Star Tribune)
1. Massie’s Preacher Knew of the Abuse
I had wondered if Bruckelmyer might deny ever hearing about Massie’s abuse. But he did not.
“How many female victims do you think have come forward and said something to you?” Sgt. Adam Kleffman, the lead investigator, asked.
“There’s only been a few,” Bruckelmyer responded. “One, two, three.”
It’s not every day you see a recording of someone admitting that they knew about the abuse of children yet did little about it.
Bruckelmyer implied that he misunderstood mandated reporter laws in Minnesota (though another detective explained the law to him just three years earlier) and that he had “warned” Massie to stay away from children. He insisted that they made no attempt to “hide” Massie and encouraged victims to go to law enforcement.
But the words he chose stood out to me as well: “We don’t protect either one.”
Kimberly Lowe, a lawyer and crisis manager for the church, said its preachers are unpaid and therefore might not be legally required to report sexual abuse of children. Asked if she believes the preachers are mandated reporters under Minnesota law, Lowe would only say that the language of the statute is unclear.
2. Church Policies Did Not Align With Minnesota Law
At one point, Bruckelmyer pulled out two sheets of paper and passed them across the table to the investigators. It was a list of “tools to help prevent violence, harassment and sexual abuse from occurring,” issued by the Old Apostolic Lutheran Church of America.
“We have guidelines in the church that we are told and instructed as a protection for both,” Bruckelmyer explained.
Many of the guidelines made sense: education, counseling for victims and so forth. But when I obtained a copy of the document, I zeroed in on the part of the policy that seemed to describe a forgiveness session: “When harm has taken place: Individual conversations with the victim … If possible, individual conversations with the abuser. Later, but only if appropriate, a conversation with both parties together.”
The document did not mention mandatory reporting laws and instead seemed to give preachers wide latitude on whether to involve law enforcement.
As soon as I watched that document slide across the table, it was clear to me that this issue went beyond Minnesota. The OALC has 33 locations spread across the U.S. and Canada. In our months of reporting, we spoke to over a dozen alleged victims, some of whom named other church members as possible perpetrators in Delaware, Michigan, Wyoming, Washington state and South Dakota.
We plan to continue this reporting.
3. An Intentional Isolation From the Modern World
At one point in the video, Kleffman asked Bruckelmyer if he was aware of how sexual abuse scandals have played out in other churches — specifically, he said, that once one victim comes forward, it’s common for more victims to speak out as well. He cited a recent, local example: the conviction of a youth pastor from Vineyard Church in Duluth for felony sexual conduct with underage parishioners.
But Bruckelmyer said he was unfamiliar with the case.
I was struck by the lack of understanding that some church leaders and members demonstrated when it came to the impact of sexual assault on children, as well as an ignorance of other, similar sexual abuse scandals. But it seemed to go hand in hand with the ways that OALC members cut themselves off from certain aspects of modern life.
Former members told us that dancing, music, movies and television are all considered sinful. One former church member told my reporting partner that, as a child, she overheard a Taylor Swift song and was desperate to find another church member to confess to or risk going to hell.
We attended a Sunday service in Duluth, at the invitation of a spokesperson for the church, and were provided with literature that described some of the OALC’s history and philosophy.
“We Christians want to follow Jesus’ example and live a life that is simple and modest, whether it be our dress, our home or our way of life,” the booklet reads. “We do not believe it is right, nor do we have a need, to engage in worldly pleasures, alcohol and other drugs. The friendship we have in the church is so much more.”
Bruckelmyer was on the dais with the other preachers but would not come speak with us. So I tried to take in what I could: the hymns sung without accompaniment, the scarves on women’s heads and the toys in children’s hands.
During the three-hour service, I sat in a pew, fascinated by this small glimpse into a faith tradition and a lifestyle that I previously knew nothing about. Watching these families, particularly the young mothers with daughters in their arms, I couldn’t help thinking again about what we’d read in those police reports — in particular, the allegations that this sexual abuse has affected multiple generations of families. What these women and girls went through, not just the abuse but the silence that followed, shocks the conscience. We wrote this story to break that silence. Maybe it could prevent this from happening again.
