In recent years, investigative reporting, court filings, and survivor accounts have spotlighted how the LDS Church has handled sexual-abuse allegations. Central to many stories are two features of church structure: local lay clergy (bishops) who are not professionally trained, and a Salt Lake City–based “abuse help line” that leaders are instructed to call for guidance. Survivors, journalists, and some advocates argue these systems have at times prioritized institutional risk management over victim protection; church officials say the systems exist to stop abuse, care for victims, and ensure compliance with the law
The Associated Press’s 2022 investigation into a sealed Arizona case involving Paul Adams—who admitted to his bishop that he was abusing his young daughter—became a touchstone. According to AP, bishops repeatedly consulted the LDS help line, were advised about clergy-penitent privilege, and did not alert police; the abuse continued for years. The church disputed AP’s characterization, saying the helpline is designed to stop abuse and comply with law, but the episode raised alarms about how privilege and church counsel were used in practice. In 2023, an Arizona judge dismissed claims against the church, holding that leaders had no duty to report because the information was obtained in a spiritual confession—an outcome that underscored how state privilege laws shape results.
AP later published recordings from a separate Idaho matter involving survivor Chelsea Goodrich and her former-bishop father. The reporting described a church attorney discussing how to keep a bishop from testifying by invoking clergy-penitent privilege and proposing a monetary settlement with a nondisclosure agreement—moves critics say impede accountability. The church has broadly said it condemns abuse and seeks to protect victims, but the recordings fueled concern that legal tactics can overshadow transparency.
In 2018, former MTC president Joseph L. Bishop faced public allegations from a onetime missionary who said he sexually assaulted her in the 1980s. Bishop admitted to some sexual misconduct (e.g., asking her to expose her breasts) though not to rape. Media and advocacy groups reported on church responses and internal communications, while the church issued statements condemning abuse and describing its actions. The case spotlighted questions about internal investigations of high-status leaders and whether reports were swiftly routed to law enforcement.
In West Virginia, multiple families sued the church alleging a cover-up of child sex abuse; litigation there also surfaced documents describing the help line’s operation. While outcomes vary, these suits have contributed to a growing documentary record critics cite to argue that risk-mitigation often eclipses pastoral care.
Because the LDS Church was historically one of BSA’s largest sponsors, many survivor claims in BSA’s bankruptcy overlapped with LDS-affiliated troops. A proposed $250 million LDS contribution tied to third-party releases was rejected by the bankruptcy judge; BSA ultimately proceeded without that settlement. The broader BSA plan (about $2.46 billion) went forward, though survivor payouts and insurer fights continue. The church’s role in negotiations—and the effort to obtain liability releases—figured into debates about institutional accountability.
The church’s General Handbook instructs leaders to stop abuse, help victims find safety and professional care, and comply with the law; it points leaders to an abuse help line because laws vary by jurisdiction. Public statements emphasize zero tolerance for abuse and say the helpline is meant to facilitate reporting and victim care—even where clergy-penitent privilege exists. The tension, critics argue, lies between policy on paper and how privilege and attorneys are used in practice
Outcomes in these cases often turn on state law. In Arizona, the 2023 dismissal rested on the clergy-penitent privilege for confessions. In Utah, lawmakers in 2024 expanded protections for clergy who choose to report abuse disclosed in confession (they are still not required to break the privilege), aiming to make reporting safer without eliminating the privilege—legislation that major Utah faiths did not oppose. These legal contours shape what bishops can or must do, and thus how alleged “cover-ups” are argued in court.
Advocates commonly call for: mandatory external reporting by clergy in all cases of current child abuse regardless of privilege; independent, trauma-informed reporting pathways outside church legal structures; clear rules prohibiting NDAs that restrict talking to law enforcement; and third-party audits of church responses. While the LDS Church points to its handbook, training, and helpline as designed to protect, the documented cases show how legal strategy can collide with survivor-centered practice
The public record reveals not just individual predators but systems that, depending on how they’re applied, can either surface abuse quickly or shield it from scrutiny. In the LDS context, the helpline, privilege rules, and legal tactics appear in multiple high-profile cases, prompting calls for reforms that put survivor safety and transparency first. The church’s stated policies condemn abuse and urge compliance with law; bridging the gap between stated ideals and lived practice is where many survivors and advocates say the real work remains.
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