Insecure. When not in a position of power, he was this shrinking, almost perpetually cringing guy (he was himself a victim of institutionalized abuse in a church organization I won't name). Whenever he got power over me, he moved instantly to get affirmation in what I suppose was the way he'd been wounded: sexual exploitation.
I still deal with what he's done, but I don't hate him for it any more. These days I just feel sad for both of us. I sometimes imagine punching his youth minister in the face for getting the cycle started.
We are not defined by our faults, or our wounds, but by the truth within us, which nothing can take away.