Ursa’s Story
Reader content warning: the following account contains descriptions of grooming and sexual abuse.
The following story contains descriptions of grooming, sexual abuse, and abuse of power that may be triggering for many readers.
“Ursa” alleges that Christopher Lapeyre abused his power as a teacher and mentor to groom her while she was a minor and manipulate her into a sexual relationship with him when she was a very young adult.
While Ursa never attended an ACNA church, we are platforming her story because the alleged abuser has long attended ACNA churches and held various leadership positions there. Ursa wants to share her story out of concern for any past, present, or future victims in or outside of the church, as well as to corroborate the account of “Clarke,” a former ACNA church attendee who alleges Christopher Lapeyre groomed her in a combination of school and church contexts, shortly after the alleged abuse in Ursa’s story took place.
Note: Ursa received permission from “Malcolm” to include him in her story under this pseudonym.
Who’s Who:
Christopher Lapeyre: a former high school English teacher who went on to be a private tutor and college instructor after allegations of his grooming behaviors came to light; longtime member at Church of the Resurrection holding multiple leadership positions
Mark Rivera: Chris Lapeyre’s close friend, longtime member and lay leader at Church of the Resurrection and later Christ our Light Anglican (COLA), accused of sexual abuse by multiple minors and adults beginning in 2019
Church of the Resurrection (Rez): a large ACNA parish located in Wheaton, IL that serves as the Cathedral Church for the Diocese of the Upper Midwest, where Chris Lapeyre has attended since the mid-1990s and served as a volunteer youth leader and worship leader
I was 15 when I first walked into Christopher Lapeyre's classroom. I was 17 when he told me that he loved me. Soon after I turned 18, we entered a relationship that would leave me traumatized and ashamed. Christopher was 38. My pseudonym is “Ursa.” This is my story.
Christopher and his Creative Writing class. Photo obtained from Ursa.
Christopher was my teacher starting in junior year of high school, where he taught English and Creative Writing classes. I appreciated his lectures and the nerdy, chaotic energy he brought to the classroom. Although not all my peers felt similarly, he seemed approachable to me. He had a mentor-like relationship with many of his former students who were college-age. They dropped by the school often to say hello and catch up. Since he advised the school’s literary magazine, he drew a mix of artsy students in addition to the religious students. I gravitated toward him as well.
Christopher liked my work and recommended that I enroll in the class that produced the school's literary magazine. CW2 was less formal than conventional classes and had more of a hierarchical “boss and employees” structure. Right away I found my niche. I adopted every design-focused responsibility I could and found myself excelling. My confidence grew as he recognized my efforts and "promoted" me to senior editor roles. I started staying late after school to work on the magazine, partly to avoid going home.
At home, I clashed with my parents and struggled especially with my relationship with my father. I didn't have close relationships with many adults. Nor did I joke with teachers in the same way I saw other classmates do. Christopher's class, where I felt valued and heard, became a welcome escape.
Sometime in the spring of my junior year, I found myself alone with Christopher after school and started talking about the issues I was experiencing with my parents. I broke down crying. He watched and consoled me, and for the first time, I felt validated by an adult. I don't remember the words we exchanged, but I remember his worried expression. When I left the school that evening, I felt a new bond had formed. I knew Mr. Lapeyre was on my side.
After that, we started chatting more casually. I started to go by his classroom after school to say hi, and he was always happy to see me. Over the summer between my junior and senior year, we messaged over Facebook about the magazine, and I felt empowered as he allowed me to take on more tasks. He invited my boyfriend and me to his house for a housewarming barbecue with his family and friends. Being invited to his house felt like an invitation into his personal life.
Going into senior year, I couldn't re-enroll in Mr. Lapeyre’s Creative Writing 1 class. Instead, I became his student aide. Having Mr. Lapeyre at school felt like a tether—a lifeline. He started to feel like a father figure, and he seemed to accept this. He was always happy to see me, checking in and asking how I was doing. He would come see me in the production lab while I worked on the school newspaper, and on days after school where I had other extracurriculars, I would stop by his classroom afterwards to see if he was still there. So in addition to spending time together every day as his aide, I sought him out whenever I could, and he seemed to do the same.
By the second half of senior year, Mr. Lapeyre effectively deputized me in his classes. He deferred to me, consulted me, and taught me how to lead. We started chatting more over Facebook about plans for the magazine, which reinforced the impression I had that we were colleagues. I enjoyed feeling superior to my classmates by having such a special relationship with my teacher.
Facebook message from Christopher
Sunday, April 3, 2011 at 11:03 pm CDTJust to give you a heads up, I'm taking a personal day tomorrow. I've been a lethargic mess this weekend, and unable to sit down with a set of papers without falling asleep on it. So the long and the short of it, I'm getting snowed in tomorrow to get caught up (actually, I'll be at Caribou in Dekalb. And you needn't spread around the reason for my absence. For some reason, I'd like to just keep that quiet). I'll leave subplans, but mostly people should just do what you tell them to do. I'll be by after school to pick up the day's work, so you can stop by my room if you need anything. Hope you had a good weekend and that life is being nice to you.
To my delight, I noticed he started to seek me out more. He brought me lunch and coffee, which I happily accepted. “Malcolm,” my then-boyfriend and one of Mr. Lapeyre’s former students, regularly dropped by the school. We three hung out frequently, coworking in the lab: I worked on the magazine and Malcolm did his college homework while Mr. Lapeyre graded papers. It reinforced the feeling that we were all equals.
When Malcolm wasn't available, Mr. Lapeyre still seemed to be looking for ways to spend time together. It was after school one day that he suggested that he and I go to a nearby cafe to do some work. I perked up at this strange proposition and agreed, and we started walking outside. Halfway to his car, he hesitated, then stopped.
"You know what," he said, "actually, we shouldn't do this."
I didn't know what to say, genuinely unsure of how appropriate it was one way or the other, but I trusted him to make the right calls. We walked back inside the school.
A few of my classmates noticed the special attention that Mr. Lapeyre gave me and approached me about it. I brushed them off, secure that Mr. Lapeyre had the best of intentions. He was like a coworker, boss, mentor, father, friend, and teacher, all in that order. It seemed like he understood what he was to me, and with his implied approval, I didn't feel the need to explain it to my peers. In my mind, they wouldn’t have understood anyway. In fact, I felt safe—even bold—knowing Mr. Lapeyre had my back. I pushed the limits of my privileges.
Facebook message from Christopher
Thursday, May 26, 2011 at 10:13 pm CDTOr, I'll tell you what. I'll give you a B+ on your Independent Study on the strength of the work you turned in and the extraordinary effort you've given as the editor of [project]. If you'd like an A, turn in the work you're missing by Tuesday afternoon. But if feel like you're basically worn out and are content with a B+, we'll call it a day, and no hard feelings. Does that sound fair?
After I graduated, he encouraged me to start calling him Chris. Having been taught to respect authority growing up, this took me a while to get used to, but I didn’t mind since I wanted to stay in close contact with him. Our conversations became more frequent and increasingly personal as our relationship deepened. I figured we were just becoming friends in the same way he was with other former students. But in retrospect, I was in denial about what was happening. It felt like he began to look at me differently, to linger, and to seek out reasons to meet. He invited me to be a counselor at the annual Creative Writing Camp, the week-long sleepaway camp that he ran at the university in town.
The other three camp counselors were former students of Christopher’s with whom I got along well. We created a team-building competition for the campers and offered prize baskets to the winning team. When the campers had a movie night, I took the opportunity to put together the prize baskets in my room. Christopher found me there and offered his company. I remember him playing guitar while I sang along. And I remember at one point thinking it strange when he lay on my bed while we talked, but I didn't want him to leave, necessarily. It felt intimate. No one else knew we were there, alone in that small dorm room, door closed. I put this night out of my head until Christopher would mention it again two months later:
Facebook message from Christopher
Wednesday, August 17, 2011 at 3:33 am CDTI never wanted to sleep because I didn't want to miss a second of time with you. And when you put your head on my chest and I kissed your head and you told me that I had been like a dad to you . . . I can't even tell you how that felt
I do remember a loaded moment where he seemed to want me to say something, so I somewhat awkwardly (inwardly at least) told him the truth about how I felt about him overall, that he had been like a dad to me. I don't remember putting my head on his chest.
Later that summer for his birthday, he invited me to a concert in Chicago with him and his friends. It was the same day as my college orientation, but I pleaded with my mom to make it work. We drove three hours south to the college, attended orientation, and drove another three and a half hours back north where I met up with Christopher and his adult friends. After the concert, the plan was for him to drive me back to DeKalb before he went home.
I don’t remember what we talked about on the car ride home, but I remember the long hug he gave me before I went inside. I could tell there was something more to it. I didn’t assign it any ill intent, but I started to get the feeling then that my interactions with him weren’t enough for him, that there was something missing. I wondered if it was all in my head. Five months later, Christopher would confirm what I had perceived that night:
Chat with Christopher
Fri, Dec 16, 2011, 1:23 AMMe: And I remember that hug after the U2 concert.
Christopher: Oh yes. It was only honest fear of your age and of the possible horrible reaction you might have that kept me from kissing you that night.
Christopher: But I soooo wanted to.
A few days after the concert, he was considering posting about it on Facebook and asked me if it was all right if people knew I had gone to it with him. I told him I didn’t mind if people knew, but it might look weird for him. He wrote back: "Yeah, I guess when you put it that way, it does look weirder for me than for you. I suppose I should be more aware of these things."
He followed up a few days later: "Thanks for looking out for me! Once again, I performed an extensive analysis of your actions and came up with outrageously erroneous conclusions. A special talent I suppose. The datum in question was that you never mentioned going to the concert on FB. So yeah, thanks for being aware."
When he said things like this, I didn't know what to say. Looking back, I already knew deep down that he was showing the same candid awkwardness that boys my age showed when they had a crush. He circled back to moments that threatened to reveal his true feelings if I asked just the right question, and it was almost like a challenge to me to recognize it. Instead, I chose to simply disappear from the chat or text conversation, later blaming it on sudden plans or bad cell service. Doing this made me feel guilty, as Christopher had made it clear several times that he would rather be talking to me than anything else.
Facebook message from Christopher
Sunday, June 26, 2011 at 10:46 pm CDTI made a group of just you, and shut everyone else off. I don't like being interrupted.
[...]
I don't like being interrupted when there's only one person I'm interested in talking to.
The relationship started to stress me out as I felt pressure coming from his direction. I would tell myself that he was just being an overbearing dad, and that I just didn't know what a normal father/daughter relationship looked like. I reminded myself about the day I cried to him at the school, how he was there for me without even really knowing me. That event had moved me, shaping the trust I had in him. Although he was no longer my teacher, I figured he was still teaching me how to be a good person, so I dismissed the inklings of discomfort as my own lack of life experience.
And despite his awkwardness about the Facebook post, I focused on his intent and took away from it a lesson in accountability. I tried to own up to what I perceived as my failures when I would ghost him mid-conversation. I told him that I was manipulative. But even then, saying this felt off. I didn't have the emotional intelligence at the time to realize that I was keeping myself in denial about his feelings for as long as I possibly could. After all, I wasn’t totally ignorant about boys. I was 17 and had relationships, both serious and fleeting. I could tell when they were interested, but I didn’t want to put Christopher into the same category in my mind as those high school boys. I couldn't.
Christopher and Ursa at the high school senior picnic. Photo obtained from Ursa.
Despite the ambiguous haze around our relationship, I was comfortable sharing a new side of my life with him that I couldn't share with my parents. When I drank with friends, Christopher expressed great concern about my safety. I found this endearing, as if it was evidence that he still regarded me as a daughter, despite the uncomfortable moments.
Chat with Christopher
Sunday, June 26, 2011 at 11:30 pm CDTI'm rather partial to rum myself. I was drinking some last night while I was texting with you, as a matter of fact. But seriously girl, I don't want to get all parental on you all of a sudden--but please, please be careful. Drunk girls are not safe around drunk guys.
[...]
Sorry to hover. It's just that (in a completely non-creepy way) i really, really love you, and I just want to see you safe, well, and happy.
The rest of my senior summer was spent going to graduation parties with my friends before we all went our separate ways. In between the plans and parties, Christopher and I texted more than ever. I hid from Malcolm just how much I was texting Christopher. Even though they were good friends, I knew it would cause tension.
Our relationship was again changing direction, but this time I didn't know where it was headed. I figured that going away to college would become a natural barrier, but until then, I wanted to hold on as long as I could. I certainly wasn't the same girl who cried to him just over a year ago. My confidence was building, largely due to my friendship with Christopher. I felt for the first time that I was in control of my life, and he contributed to that feeling by seemingly putting me in control of our relationship. For instance, as a going-away gift, he wrote me a card in which he pledged to regularly send me letters while I was at school if I wanted them. I tried to tell myself it was sweet that he wanted to keep in touch in such a personal way, but I knew this wasn't something he offered to every former student.
The awkward discomfort reared up again, and I felt myself pulling away while he was pushing to hold on. I didn't know what I was doing to make him keep fixating on me, and I felt deficient and guilty for not being thrilled to receive this gift. As I prepared to leave for college, however, I didn't have the time to initiate a conversation about our relationship—nor did I know how. So, outwardly, I pretended things were fine and kept up with our frequent texting. Then, five days before move-in day at college, while texting, he revealed in no uncertain terms that he was in love with me.
I was reeling from this revelation. I could no longer pretend that what he was showing me was anything less than romantic. Tasked with redirecting our entire relationship away from its complicated origins, I opted to drink in an attempt to shake out the subconscious answer he seemed to think I had. I expressed to him grief that one phase of our relationship was ending, and my regret that I ignored the signs of his interest. I explained my reasons for skirting his flirtations. Then I asked him to explain what happened.
While awaiting his response, I went about my last days in DeKalb preparing to leave for college. Conflicting feelings of guilt and flattery battled within me, manifesting in panic attacks that I couldn't tell anyone about.
His response came the night before I moved:
Facebook message from Christopher
Wednesday, August 17, 2011 at 3:33 am CDTI allowed the "acceptable" feelings to be a cover for the growth of my "unacceptable" feelings. I had this swelling of paternal and friendship feelings (those words aren't parallel, which bothers me, but I can't think how to fix it right now), and my love for you hid underneath those. But even the paternal feelings were too intense and out of whack. I wanted you to live in my house and eat at my table. I wanted to ask you every day how your day went, and listen to your problems, and kiss you on the forehead as you went to sleep and when you came down for breakfast in the morning. I wanted to hold you as we watched movies on the couch together. I wanted to yell at you when you came home too late and ask you what you had been up to and why you hadn't called. So even my paternal feelings were out of control and out of touch with reality, always longing for what I could never have. My romantic feelings started showing up in November. I started having dreams that we were the same age and that we were together. These were never sex dreams, by the way, if that matters to you. They, in fact, involved very humdrum activities, but that wasn't the point. My reaction was to be very disturbed, but I figured my subconscious was just acting up, and that it would go away. Crushes like this usually are very shallow and do go away. But this didn't. And I remember shortly after that looking back on FB at your prom pictures with [Malcolm] and thinking that you were the most beautiful girl in the world. And every day when I saw you I would think the same thing. And then I would kick myself and tell myself to keep it together. So I started this whole process of trying to emotionally let you go. It usually worked for a while, but then suddenly I'd find the same confused mess of feelings coming back, having sprouted two more heads. Going to church, by the way, always recentered me in who I was supposed to be, but because my spiritual life during the week was more or less for shit, that never lasted much beyond Sunday. You asked about [redacted] and the girls. Well, I love my family, and I would never do anything to hurt them. But I started deceiving myself about that. I figured you would never return my feelings because to you I was just an old man. You were dating [Malcolm], and that was all good. And I knew that even if you did start feeling something for me that I would draw the line. But that seemed extremely unlikely. So, because I hadn't sought these feelings, and because despite my best efforts they wouldn't go away, I allowed myself little indulgences. I would drop by after school to see you at work on the [project], and that kind of thing. Nothing too scandalous. Yes, I did treat you differently from other students, and I started to worry that this was noticed. But I knew that the worst I could be accused of was being unwise or partial, and I didn't mind the risk at the time. I thought I could ride the line without crossing it.
[...]
So you ask, in essence, what did you deserve all this crap on the eve of your going to college? Nothing. What did I expect you to do? Nothing. I only told you, I guess, because I felt like I couldn't just do an about face and resolve to fade graciously away with no explanation of what had just happened. I guess I thought, despite all, that we had some sort of friendship, and I wanted to explain why I was going to disappear. I thought that you might want to know; if I was wrong about that, I'm truly sorry. Another reason is that I had been stumbling around alone in the darkness of my own thoughts and feelings for so long that I felt like I needed a point of contact with the real world. I needed to know, from your reaction, what was really going on. That reason was selfish, because it was just about what I needed, but if it's any consolation, it has made a huge difference in my attempts over the last several days to get myself together. The last reason was also selfish: I just wanted somebody besides me to know what I'd been going through. There's just no excuse for that, so again I'm truly sorry.
Despite saying he didn't expect me to do anything, passages like this seemed to shine a light on my failures. I thought, if only I had been vocal about the weird moments, if I had just established boundaries when I felt uncomfortable (which he had often encouraged me to do, without drawing lines himself), this never would have happened. I felt I owed it to him to help him through his feelings after all the times he had been there for me. He seemed so vulnerable that I felt bad about selfishly exploiting his attention to hold on to the mentor relationship I craved. He made it seem like I should have known we were now just friends, no longer teacher and student. I felt guilty about not being a good friend to him, a 38 year old man.
But despite the guilt, I was flattered at capturing his affections. I savored his flowery words. I didn't have romantic feelings for Christopher, but it was impossible to imagine my life without him.
I saw this pivotal moment as a test of my maturity as I saw two paths ahead: I could either remove myself from Christopher's life, or counsel him through this so that we could have a normal, former-student-and-teacher friendship. The first option was unthinkable. The second option was daunting. So instead, I framed it in my mind as an opportunity to bring to life a common fantasy. Over the last few months I'd certainly imagined what it would be like to push our relationship further, but I never seriously considered it, nor was I attracted to him. In the light of his true feelings, however, I reconsidered both those obstacles.
I was half-present during my college move-in day with all these thoughts churning in my head, going between reading his long confession to facing my mother, my dorm-mates, and a new chapter of my life.
I had been excited to put my newfound confidence to the test at a school where I had no friends. But as I stumbled back to my dorm room at night, my thoughts returned to Christopher, his “love,” and this secret world that he had opened up, far away from my life at school. Though I did not outright reciprocate his feelings, the difficulty of living away from home motivated me to catch up to his vision of our relationship—a vision in which we were adult equals.
We checked in with each other at all times of day with chats, texts, emails, and calls. He began to open up to me about his depression, his mother's illness, his marriage, and the ways in which he was trying to get over me. Not knowing exactly how to console someone about such issues, I reflected back his lessons in sympathy by mirroring his tone and asking encouraging questions. I took his heartfelt confessions as a signal of his deep trust in me.
Chat with Christopher
Tue, Oct 25, 2011, 3:02 AMChristopher: As for my feelings about you, I never would have done something immoral, such as leave my wife and children. But if we lived in a polygamous culture, I would promise your father anything to allow you to marry me, and I would have put you in charge of my entire household. I would have gladly fought [Malcolm] for you, and though he bested me with his youth and energy I would yet win because of my canny experience. If [redacted] died of a brain aneurysm tomorrow, I would wait a descent [sic] period and then I would camp outside your door until you let me in and then I would woo you with honeyed words and the purity of my passion.
[...]
Christopher: I can honestly say, I've never felt anything quite like this for anyone. It really pissed me off that it wasn't until this time in my life that I ever was so completely bowled over by anyone. But what can you do? It is what it is.
Me: Man oh man. I didn't know things like that happened in life. The more you learn, I guess. I'm learning a ton.
Christopher: I didn't know they did either. And I'm not sure it always does, or that it necessarily means anything. Maybe that feeling would explode in six months and we'd be driving each other crazy. But for now, you still look like the prettiest girl in the world, and there is nothing more magical to me than you.
Although Christopher did not consider this level of correspondence to be cheating, I knew Malcolm would not be happy we were having such conversations. And now, roleplaying as Christopher's confidante, I started to feel the toll of this secret world on every aspect of my life. I neglected my homework until the last minute, often instead drinking with Christopher as we video chatted late into the night. I drank to do homework. I drank every weekend, at parties, and alone in my room if I had nowhere to go. I had health issues during this time that intensified due to the stress and alcohol. I would talk with Malcolm, who was away at his own college, but left out details about Christopher. It was difficult to be present day to day, and I always looked forward to the next conversation.
We lightly joked about the intense, secret nature of our relationship. I watched Kubrick's Lolita, ironically at first. Yet over the next several months, I secretly watched and rewatched Lolita compulsively. I analyzed every line and expression Kubrick worked into the film, as if seeking guidance for this situation in which I felt so alone. There was never a happy resolution. I mentioned the film to Christopher, who expressed fear that he was similar to Humbert Humbert. I assured him that he wasn't anything like the fictional pedophile.
For my 18th birthday that semester, Christopher sent me a video of his Creative Writing class singing me Happy Birthday and wrote a poem commemorating my transition into adulthood. I had not asked for these gifts, but I enjoyed the poem, which made no mention of his romantic feelings. The video, however, unnerved me. It felt very weird that he recruited his whole class to make an appearance in our personal relationship. Again, I brushed the uncomfortable feeling aside, somehow concluding that these gestures were platonic. I had mixed feelings about this, as I was quickly becoming extremely dependent on him.
He seemed to notice this and suggested I start counseling. Halfheartedly I went, but I always found more comfort back at the screen with Christopher. The counseling didn't stick. He suggested I turn to God, something which he raised several times.
Email from Christopher
Sat, Oct 29, 2011, 10:49 AMI'll do my best to be a good husband and love my children, not just in externals, but in my heart. The words of Jesus always haunt me: committing adultery in your heart isn't less of a problem than doing it with your body. It's time I faced up to those words. Fortunately, he also says "Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more." So it's time to face those words too.
Still, I considered the possibility of a romantic relationship with Christopher while knowing the only responsible course of action was to disengage completely. I was dependent on him emotionally, but at the same time, I wanted to show him that I was not what he wanted. I was too corrupted for him, a married and religious man. I drank recklessly with strangers and sought out random sexual encounters. I felt guilty and disgusted with myself. I told him about it, and still, his adoration and concern didn’t let up.
Chat with Christopher
Oct 29, 2011, 3:26 AMChristopher: So basically, I want to tell you that I really care about you. I'm glad to know all this, because I always knew that there was something more that you kept back. I always felt like I wasn't quite seeing you. Did I expect all this? No. But I want to know the real you and not just an image. I was thinking tonight before we talked that there are some poems I've read that I've savored, I've "known" every vowel and consonant of, and I've known why they make me love reading that poem out loud. And I thought that that's how I'd like to know you. And know my heart really is pounding I'm trembling almost violently. Shit.
[...]
I didn't realize it would be contagious. I've spent so much time telling myself that you must recoil in horror at the idea, that I thought I could tell you my feelings without it seriously tempting you. I still can't believe how good it felt, though, to read your reactions. "Such wonderful shit" is what you said. I was high on that phrase.
It was me who escalated the relationship next, out of restlessness at the liminal state of things. Late one night in November, I drunkenly emailed him that I thought I loved him. He replied with weak resistance, and we spent the next few days trying to pretend it never happened. It didn't take long, however, for us to go right back to messaging, emailing, and calling whenever we could.
The relationship contorted as our conversations got more and more intimate. He shared details about his marriage that he said he'd never told anyone else. He asked about my sexual experiences, which I was eager to share, partially motivated to find his breaking point where he might figure out he wasn’t actually in love with me. In one conversation, he asked about my exposure to porn and sex on the internet as I grew up. I was less forthcoming with this. Despite everything, this seemed too inappropriate to discuss with him, even if he was just making conversation.
As finals week approached, the combination of my neediness and a lack of connections at school made it easy to decide to move back home the next semester, where I could attend college near DeKalb. We had more emotionally intense conversations, building up to him encouraging me to finally reciprocate his feelings:
Chat with Christopher
Sun, Dec 11, 2011, 3:30 AMChristopher: One time.
Christopher: I. Love. You.
Me: Ohhhh Chris. Chris.
Christopher: It's simple. Just the words.
Me: This is a moment of weakness. You are having a moment of weakness. If I say it, we're both condemned to utter misery.
[...]
Me: Shit, I'm gonna go before I cave.
Christopher: Yeah, you should. And so should I. you were so strong, and I'm so proud of you.
[...]
Christopher: I'm shaking too. But Oh, my [Ursa], this has to end. Say it or don't . Either way, we know what has to happen from here on out.
Christopher: Good night [Ursa]. I won't leave you to have to make that choice. Be well.
Me: wait
Christopher: ok.
Me: Just one time, then complete zero contact, right?
Christopher: No. Seriously, I have my head again. And we really better not. How can I stand to say it to [redacted] with the memory of it said to you still in my head, knowing that one was true and another a lie. I know it seems so innocent, and that it would sustain us. But it would taint everything. You were right at first.
Five days later I was back home, meeting him at a coffee shop. There was snow on the ground when we left the cafe that evening, or maybe it was snowing, but I remember it was cold as we walked outside to leave. Next to my car, Christopher pulled me into a tight embrace under the streetlamps. He held me for a long time before he kissed me, right there in the open parking lot. I don't remember how long we stayed like that, or if we talked more before he went home to his family. But that night I journaled a single word: “Affair."
In truth, we had already been engaging in an affair for months. By comparison, the time when we were honest about cheating on our partners was brief. But now with the physical boundary finally brought down, he devised ways we could be alone. I met him in parking lots and at the high school. Each encounter for me was a new effort to see him as a sexual being.
The memories of these encounters are painful for me to relive, but most unforgettable is the first night he saw me undressed. We were video chatting one late night in December. Christopher sank into a different demeanor as the conversation turned sexual. He told me to take off my shirt, which I did. He told me to remove my bra, which I did.
Through the computer screen, his gaze actualized the feeling I’d sensed in him for so long: the feeling that he wanted something from me. And when it was finally in front of him, I didn't feel like me. It was as if he was looking at me through a lens of his previous imaginations. While he took in the view of my body, I thought about the origins of our relationship. I felt intuitively that this was not the right outcome for a man who stepped into my life as a father figure. To then know I was satisfying him in a way I’d never wished for, while at the same time genuinely enjoying his attention and approval—it was terribly confusing. Realizing that he must have thought of me sexually before that night, I again questioned the entire relationship, and wondered if it had ever been truly innocent.
Despite the confusion, I continued, partly in order to fulfill the fantasy, and because it seemed like the only thing to do in the moment. I had been 18 for less than three months at that point.
Email from Christopher
Dec 20, 2011, 1:03 AMPardon me while I interrupt your essay. But I just want to mention that I am so very turned on by the memory of you. My only regret is that I was not able to get even better acquainted with your breasts, which I have long suspected of being just about most perfect ones in existence. Now back attempting to write this test. But ooooohh my goodness. The blood is stirred.
He created a secret email account dedicated to our relationship, and I followed suit. Through this secret account, he expressed his “love” for me unrestrained. The pretense of the relationship was knowing things were not right, but we were so "in love" that we would ride this short wave of happiness for as long as we could. It was extremely unhealthy.
Chat with Christopher
Jan 4, 2012, 1:40 AMChris: I never told you this: you remember when I first told you I loved you? I did so in the context of saying that I needed to back off of contact with you. Well one reason the pressure in me was so high to make a break was that it was my anniversary the next day, and I felt like a total shit celebrating my anniversary when all I could think about was the next time I would be able to text with you. So it was sort of an under the radar anniversary present to [redacted].
In the course of a few weeks, the relationship yo-yoed: he showered me with adoration, but whenever we talked seriously about the relationship or had a particularly emotionally-charged encounter, one of us would pull away and attempt to end it. Then we would meet up to say goodbye, often engage sexually, and revert back to our secret world. This would happen in a matter of days, again and again.
I dissociated heavily as he pushed me to explain my feelings, which I constantly avoided talking about. He would get frustrated with how casual I appeared during this time, and long after the "affair" ended.
Chat with Christopher
Wed, Mar 14, 2012, 12:58 AMChristopher: Really? You felt no desire to talk about these things? You had no idea that if you mentioned a bottle of wine and getting drunk that I'd stay with you and that we'd talk about things like this?
Me: call me stupidly optimistic
[...]
Christopher: [Ursa], you had to have known that I'd take any chance to chat with you, and that, drunk, you'd say things you wouldn't let yourself say otherwise.
Christopher: But to skewer myself too-- of course I went along with it, knowing that I'd get a chance to say things that I know I shouldn't say. I pretend that it's just a spontaneous, "Sure, let's go!" when I know that you've got something you want to say but don't feel like you can.
We both recognized our codependency and confided in our closest friends about the relationship. Christopher reportedly told Mark Rivera, a Fr. Stephen*, who he’d recently spent time with at a Church of the Resurrection retreat, and two of his other adult friends (including an ex-girlfriend). Recounting some of these conversations to me, he described how understanding they were while gently encouraging him to let me go:
Chat with Christopher
Sun, Dec 11, 2011, 3:30 AMChristopher: Well, I went on this retreat and talked to [redacted church friend], who was great, and confessed the whole thing to Father Stephen, who was also great, but very firm. Then I spent the remainder of the weekend grieving very hard, most of which took place in front of this gigantic icon of Christ or else on the absolutely gorgeous grounds of this Catholic retreat center. And after that, I just had to basically break the habit of thinking about you all the time, and gradually that's happened. I practiced praying for you and [Malcolm] and all of my former students with whom I'm still connected and then forgetting about you.
Chat with Christopher
Mon, Dec 12, 2011, 12:51 AMChristopher: [redacted church friend] just listened and expressed amazement and sympathy. Fr. Stephen was also very empathetic, but he also said no contact ever again.
Chat with Christopher
Wed, Feb 8, 2012, 10:39 PMChristopher: I think I told you about Fr. Stephen getting this startled look in his eye and saying, with surprise: "You really love this woman, don't you?"
It seemed like he was surrounded by priests and other adults at Church of the Resurrection and elsewhere who didn’t necessarily see our relationship as problematic, and in fact saw merit in his feelings. I was naïvely grateful that he was able to talk about this to anyone at all, as he had portrayed himself as being trapped in his feelings with no outlets. Meanwhile, I was pushing away my loved ones to keep this secret, including my best friends, who told me to just leave.
Christopher was spending the winter break out of state with his family due to his mother’s illness. While he was away, he found time to sext with me. On New Year’s Day when he was staying at a hotel, we exchanged explicit messages late at night as he locked himself in the hotel bathroom to have cyber sex while his family slept. Shortly before winter break was over, he flew back a day before his wife and children, explaining that he needed to get back early in order to submit the semester grades. He started planning a way for me to meet him at his house.
I don’t know why I agreed to go over. He had me shower as soon as I arrived and use his soap to cover my scent. Much of that night is a blur, but I remember him looking me straight in the eyes as he pulled off his wedding ring before we had sex in his children’s playroom. I blocked out memories of this night for nearly ten years.
After we had sex, the illusion of Christopher’s love for me was broken somewhat. I couldn’t shake how prepared he was for me, that night at his house—his ushering me right to the shower, that look when he took off his wedding ring, and the condom he had ready, how he jokingly told me about his cleanup efforts after I left. It clashed with his adamant swearing that he had never done anything like this before.
Torn, I kept turning to Christopher, but knew that I had to play this role of his mistress or we would inevitably have to go “zero-contact” for a long while. At that point, he was the only person who understood what I was going through, and I couldn’t lose that. He never coerced or begged me to continue the “affair” because he didn’t have to. I resented this greatly, and the cauldron of my toxic emotions surrounding Christopher finally bubbled over, pushing me to end the relationship for good.
Afterwards, we went through cycles of going “zero contact” then breaking it. This turmoil made 2012 the worst year of my life. I engaged in more self-destructive behaviors and acted out in strange ways to exorcize the resentment, hatred, betrayal, self-loathing, shame, guilt, and fear caused by our relationship. Finding myself without adult guidance once again, I kept turning to him. I was needy as I sought his wisdom on how to move forward, and feebly hoped he might still be my mentor.
Although he apologized to me numerous times, it did little to undo the confusion and pain I now harbored. I didn’t even understand why I felt so much pain. I told myself to suck it up since I had voluntarily entered and ended the relationship. He spun his narrative of us into apology letters that I internalized. I read them over and over, comprehending the words but not feeling any more at peace. I told myself I probably just wouldn’t understand his letters until I was older. I told that to myself every year for the next nine years.
Email from Christopher
Thu, Mar 8, 2012, 7:00 AMAnd I'm sorry that I've not allowed those times to slip into the past when it's clearly not a good memory for you. You always regretted that we had sex. I haven't as much, (I mean, I've known intellectually it was wrong, and I knew I was supposed to regret it, but I didn't really feel sorry) but as I see more and more it's lingering effects on you, I do begin to feel genuinely sorry, and to wish I could undo what I did. And I suppose that will have to go for the rest of it too. I do wish you didn't have to carry this around and feel uneasy when people say things. I'm genuinely sorry, [Ursa], that this is what you're left with.
The one thing I would add though, is that when we were together I was not your teacher and you were not my student--and I don't mean that in any superficial technical sense, although that's true as well. I mean that emotionally, we were just Chris and [Ursa]. Maybe I deceive myself in thinking that we could, in such a short space, have moved beyond the circumstance in which we met so that we can't fairly be judged according to those categories. I genuinely don't know.
In any case, I've been troubled by the knowledge that given the opportunity, I know that I wouldn't hesitate to be back in a relationship with you--assuming that I knew that things would be different and that it wouldn't make you unhappy, which so far has been my only heartfelt regret. But seeing how the effects linger, I guess I'm closer to some genuine repentance. (I know by the way, that I should repent for the sake of [redacted] and the girls--it's horrible that I can't. But the feelings won't come. And that makes me feel like a terrible person. And I don't know what to do about that.)
Anyway. That's all. And thanks and thanks and thanks.
--Chris
Over the next two years, our communication dwindled. It wasn’t until he emailed in December 2014 to tell me that he was being investigated by the high school for an inappropriate relationship with his student aide that the pieces came together. He was quick to clarify that there was nothing to find, but I once again felt betrayed. I had worried greatly for his students, particularly his student aides, who had all been female. He had assured me numerous times that he would never engage with another student the same way he did with me, and yet, I thought, there had to be a basis for an investigation.
Soon after, I received calls from DCFS and the police asking for interviews about Christopher. They hounded me, so I reluctantly agreed to sit down for separate interviews. I told them the truth. I purposefully left out details that I knew would result in real consequences, like the fact that we had a sexual encounter at the high school. I begged them not to take away his kids and insisted he was a great dad. After these interviews, I was never contacted again by either authority, which cemented the blame I placed on myself. I held onto this shame until discovering the connection between Christopher and the allegations against Mark Rivera in 2021, and started to learn the terminology: Manipulation. Grooming. Abuse of power.
Christopher’s actions completely altered my developing sense of self in ways that still affect me today. He was my teacher and mentor at an age where I needed guidance and support that I did not receive at home. He saw the effects of that lack firsthand, that very first day I cried to him after school. He then helped me to identify my passions and provided encouragement in a way no other adult had. I became confident and trusting, largely due to his mentorship. As his behavior became grooming, he easily influenced my teenage self into entering a relationship with him. Then by asserting my agency was equal to his—at an age where I couldn’t possibly understand the ramifications of entering a relationship with a man 20 years my senior—Christopher ensured I would not trust myself again. Not for a long time. He insisted that his needs were emotional and did not fixate on his sexual gratification, even showing disdain when I spoke crudely about sex. So when he did start to express sexual desire for me, it caused immense distress and splitting as I fought to keep that boundary, then conceded. It was the only way he could remain in my life emotionally.
These are concessions that no one—much less a teenager—should ever make. As a result of Christopher’s choice to reveal his “love” to me instead of seeking counseling, I carry a deep mistrust at the core of each new relationship I forge, both personal and professional. Following the relationship, I saw myself become cold and withdrawn as I avoided connecting with others.
My story is just one of many that have come out in relation to the ACNA. I feel compelled to speak up, however, specifically because I never attended Rez or COLA. Abusers do not exist in a vacuum. Christopher groomed me in his professional capacity while teaching high school, conscious that I had barely any insight into his church life. His close circle contained other adults at church who validated him with their complicity. I never had to step into Rez or COLA to be permanently affected by the silence of Fr. Stephen, Mark Rivera, and the other friends who knew about the relationship while it was happening.
Christopher and Ursa at her high school graduation. Photo obtained from Ursa.
Without having awareness of it, grooming can be difficult to identify because the discrete actions don’t always look suspicious in the moment. Much of Christopher’s actions to me were easy to excuse as well-intentioned or even helpful at the time, but all put together, the favoritism, boundary-breaking, and manipulation is clear. Only after connecting with other survivors of grooming have I been able to understand his behavior toward me for what it is: a pattern.
I am telling my story now to describe some of the signs of grooming as well as the short- and long-term harm on the victims, and to break the cycle of complicit actors in Christopher’s abuse of teenagers and young adults under his guidance, especially after learning that his grooming behaviors allegedly did not stop with me. If there is anyone else who has been groomed by Christopher, it is my hope that they can begin to identify his abuse as such and feel empowered to reclaim themselves from his influence.
To anyone who has experienced grooming by someone who held power over you: please know that it was never your responsibility to make the right decisions. It was always theirs.
*To ACNAtoo's knowledge, the only Fr. Stephen on staff at Rez at this time was Fr. Stephen Gauthier.