I considered: “If this is true, am I to blame for my mother’s death because I didn’t have enough faith? Is my local church to blame because we collectively didn’t have enough faith together?” As a young woman — just twenty years old — I questioned, “Isn’t God sovereign?”

Around the same time, I began to hear about a man named Bill Johnson. I learned he had written books like Face to Face with God and Supernatural Power of a Transformed Mind. I’m an avid reader so I picked them up, hoping to learn more about who Bill Johnson was. Bill quoted scripture in a different way than I had ever heard it. Overall, the message seemed to be: there’s a bigger purpose God has for you; what price are you willing to pay to have all of Him? They were compelling reads, but what did this “supernatural life” Bill Johnson described really look like? According to him, it looked like healing and deliverance. It looked like signs and wonders as an inheritance for all followers of Jesus, and like miracles should be routine for every believer.

I didn’t realize Bethel Church had a school of ministry until one day at church a pastor speaking, Ron, announced that his daughter Steffany was moving to Redding to attend. It seemed like a big deal. I began to wonder what was going on out there.

My interest piqued, I decided to visit Bethel Church in the fall of 2008. I didn’t really see anything out of the ordinary while I was there. People seemed passionate and hungry for God. But the worship style, led by Kim Walker, was new to me — I had never heard spontaneous song before.

I returned home wanting to further understand what was happening at Bethel Church and why so many people in my community were being drawn to it, including me. The thought crossed my mind, “What if I move there for a few months to see what it’s like?” Financially, I didn’t see a way to do it. I was living paycheck-to-paycheck as a college student.

Despite this, in January 2009, I put in an application for Bethel’s School of Supernatural Ministry. I interviewed with Sheri Downs in February, and I received an acceptance letter not long after.

That summer, before I left, a group of friends from church threw me a farewell party. I still couldn’t really afford to go, but many folks who attended the party generously gave me cards with cash. It was enough to get me to Redding. I packed my suitcase and was off.

When I arrived, I started looking for somewhere to live and a job that could accommodate my class schedule. Together with three other women, I rented a townhouse at the bottom of the hill near Bethel, on College View Drive.

The first day of class, I was introduced to my revival group pastor, Laura. I was placed in a group of around eighty students. Laura was to be our overseer for the duration of the school year.

One day, I arrived at class a few minutes late, coming from a job interview. As I slipped into the row against the folded-up bleachers near the back wall, I noticed an individual down the row — in front of me and to my left — had pornography on the screen of their laptop. Surprised and concerned, I approached Laura after class and asked how this sort of thing was addressed at Bethel. I was shocked when, instead of addressing the pornography, Laura informed me that I had a “religious spirit.” At a follow up meeting with Laura, in her office, she told me that it was judgmental and critical of me to point out another person’s sin, and that it meant I had issues. She told me I needed to go upstairs for a “SOZO” — an inner healing and deliverance session. I immediately lost trust with Laura. I no longer felt safe expressing genuine concerns I had with her.

The morning of my SOZO appointment, in October 2009, I walked into the Transformation Center office and was given a release form to sign. I was told I would owe $30 or $35 for the session — a “discounted” rate for students. I didn’t have that to give. And, I had no idea or warning that there would be a personal cost for the session. I only had ten dollars to my name, but the receptionist reached out her hand to take all of it. As I sat in the waiting room, I heard a disgruntled voice through the window in the adjacent room, complaining about only having received ten dollars.

Despite the inadequate payment, I was escorted down the hall to a small room by two women. I don’t recall their names, but I can still picture them clearly. The session leader started asking intrusive questions of me, searching for issues I might have had with my parents, siblings, or friends. When nothing came of her “prayers” at me, she became visibly frustrated and her tone of voice became increasingly aggressive. She demanded to know what my “open doors” were until, apparently frustrated, she ended the session. I did not feel safe for the duration of the session. The door was blocked by the session assistant sitting in her chair. I lost additional trust with Laura, questioning why she had sent me to a SOZO.

Back in my room at the townhouse, I hid for a couple of days. I didn’t speak with anyone about what I experienced. I remember my roommate asking me what was wrong during that time. While I struggled to speak and felt very shut down, I did eventually tell her some of what happened.

Later in the month, that same roommate came home visibly upset. When I asked her what was going on, she told me that her revival group pastor, Ben Armstrong, had stepped down because of an “inappropriate relationship” with his female intern.

“He’s married and has kids!” she told me.

The next day at school, Kris Vallotton brought Ben Armstrong up on the front stage and announced his restoration process to the entire first year class. Kris stated that Ben was a highly valued prophetic voice, and that we would be keeping this “in house.” We weren’t supposed to talk about the “inappropriate relationship” with anyone outside of Bethel.

I remember thinking: “What? Where is the intern? What about her restoration process? By restoring him, do you mean to Christ or to a leadership role? Isn’t he disqualified from leadership now?”

During Thanksgiving break, my roommate and I drove back to Ohio together, trying to process what we were experiencing at Bethel.

By the time we rolled into town — just in time for Sunday morning church service — I was overwhelmed. I sat in the back corner. I didn’t want to openly advertise I was there. I was supposed to be dripping with glory, not grieving over sin and feeling misled. I broke down crying. I didn’t know who to turn to for help. I felt silenced by Bethel leadership over the Ben Armstrong situation. I didn’t know who I could trust to share my feelings about Bethel. I felt unable to share that I couldn’t be myself, couldn’t express my concerns, and couldn’t openly have a difference of opinion without being mischaracterized.

A lady in the women’s ministry at the church seemed concerned about me and invited me to tell her what was going on. Initially I shook my head “no,” because we weren’t supposed to talk about it. She pressed me, saying, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

I finally expressed that there was sexual immorality going on at Bethel. She wanted to know with whom. Exhausted from holding everything in, I finally revealed that a revival group pastor was involved. She pressed me further. “Which one?”

I replied, “Ben Armstrong.”

Weary, I returned to Redding after Thanksgiving break, uncertain about whether I would stay.

Walking down the hallway of Bethel Church, I was stopped by a second-year student who confronted me, angry that I had spoken with her mother about Ben Armstrong. Her mother had been the compassionate lady in the women’s ministry back at home. The second-year student admonished me, insisting that we were a “family here at Bethel” and that what happened at Bethel stayed there, “in the family.”

A couple weeks later, I returned to Ohio for Christmas break with my family. At that point, I was ready to pack up and leave Redding and Bethel altogether. I still had not found a job yet, and more importantly, Bethel didn’t seem like the place for someone like me — someone who was willing to question things.

The first week of January, I still wasn’t ready to go back to Redding. I received a phone call from Laura asking where I was, and I told her: Still in Ohio. Ultimately, it was the rental lease, and my sense of responsibility to fulfill my part of the agreement with my roommates, which pulled me back to Redding.

*****

In May 2010, I walked the civic auditorium stage to receive my first-year certificate of completion from Bethel Church leadership. Relieved that first year was over, I immersed myself in scripture and began comparing what Bill, Kris, and others taught in first year to what the Bible says. I notated various discrepancies and worked through the summer to evaluate and test the teachings against scripture.

Frankly, it came as a surprise when I was invited to apply for BSSM second year. Laura had recommended me. I decided to interview and was ultimately accepted. I wrestled with the decision to actually attend, however. I was unsure and apprehensive about Bethel. I didn’t know if it would be safer for me to express any of my concerns or engage critically in the curriculum as a second-year student.

One day during an advanced ministry training course, something was taught that puzzled me. During Q&A, I raised my hand to ask for clarity. The teacher, Chris, told me that anything I wanted to know about the topic could be found in Benni Johnson’s book, Happy Intercessor. I had read Happy Intercessor back in my first year, so I went to my room and pulled it off the shelf. I began to look for what I had just been told in class, but I couldn’t find the relevant information.

So, the following week, I raised my hand again. I was genuinely seeking clarity on the previous week’s teaching. I explained that I had read the recommended book, but I hadn’t found the answer to my questions there.

“Could you show me where it is?” I asked.

Chris couldn’t. So, he pointed me to an additional book: Needless Casualties of War, by John Paul Jackson. I recall him insisting that the answer must be there. I went to the Bethel bookstore and got the book to read.

The following week, I asked Chris if we could meet after class. He said that he was short on time but proceeded to tell me that I would need to speak with Dawna De Silva. I didn’t understand why he was referring me to the SOZO director when I simply wanted to have a discussion with him about his teaching on spiritual warfare.

A week or so later, during worship, my second-year revival group pastor, Kate, approached me from the side and put her hand over my chest. I looked at her and asked her to please take her hand off me. She disregarded the request. As I turned to face her, and make my boundary clear, she motioned at someone behind me. An intern came up and grabbed my left arm. Kate grabbed my right arm, and together they began pulling me from the main room at Twin View Campus, through the doors, and out into the parking lot.

“Where are we going?” I questioned.

Kate replied, “The Transformation Center.”

The two ushered me across the street, never letting their grip of my arms go. Stunned, I started to worry about what might happen next. Were they going to “SOZO” me?

Within the Transformation Center, I was corralled into a private room and directed to sit on a couch. The intern sat right next to me, still holding my arm. Kate sat in a chair across from me in front of the door, blocking it, and pulled out a legal pad. She began asking me questions about where I came from, my family, my childhood, and more.

“You pulled me out of class like that to ask me personal questions?” I asked.

“We want to get to know you,” Kate replied.

“During class?” I questioned.

“I think this is more important.” Kate said, in a way that felt entirely dismissive of my concern.

I was confused. I didn’t understand why I had been removed from class like that, with force. I hadn’t even had time to grab my purse. Finally, I pushed back.

“I have some questions for you too.”

Why wasn’t Bethel teaching about discernment? Why wasn’t there an apparent accountability standard for the teachings at Bethel? It appeared to me there was a lack of desire for the truth of God’s Word to be upheld. Where was the deliverance ministry at Bethel, if Bill Johnson insisted on teaching that the full gospel included healing the sick, raising the dead, and casting out demons?

I affirmed Kate’s understanding of my concerns: I did not feel that truth was being preached at all times. Kate insisted that the people who stood up to teach at Bethel were anointed and — literally — could not lie. When I did not acquiesce, she noted that she thought it would be best for me to talk with Dawna De Silva, and that she would email about setting up a meeting.

I could not fathom why both Chris and Kate wanted me to meet with the director of SOZO.

As soon as I was able, I left the Transformation Center, quickly crossing the street back to the Twin View Campus. I grabbed my purse, got in my car, and fled. I was deeply unsettled.

How could my revival group pastor have an intern help her grab me and force me across the street like that? Why hadn’t either of them simply approached me or just asked to speak with me? Why had Kate disregarded my physical boundaries when I asked her to take her hand off my chest?

Classes continued. In November, I received an email from Dawna De Silva, directing me to meet with her over Thanksgiving break at the Déjà vu Café. That morning, I came prepared. I had a notepad and pen as I slid into the booth across from Dawna. She was drinking coffee.

“Kate emailed saying you had some questions I was better qualified to answer,” I recall Dawna opening.

So, I asked Dawna the same questions I had raised to Kate that day as I sat captive in the Transformation Center.

Dawna only smirked and said, “You’re arrogant.”

When I expressed concern about what I was witnessing at Bethel, Dawna indicated that deliverance was, in fact, not the focus at Bethel. Apparently, according to Dawna, it wasn’t the “direction” Bill wanted to go. As I took notes, Dawna acknowledged that there was a lack of discernment at Bethel, but said that it wasn’t her job to teach it. When I asked whose job it was, she paused. Then told me that I could make a great asset on her team if I could discern things. She told me that I could travel with her and be honored by association. I could even receive compensation. All I had to do was submit to authority — that was what my second-year leaders were looking for me to do.

I pushed back, asking if submission would be required even if it went against my conscience. Even if it went against scripture. To both questions, Dawna answered: Yes.

All I could do was shake my head. I told Dawna, “Scripture is the ultimate authority in the life of every believer.”

She responded that I would “either submit to authority or leave.”

There was a tense pause. Then Dawna asked who my friends were, and who I’d been talking to. I informed her I had friends at Bethel and friends from before I had come to Bethel. I crossed paths with different people all the time. I was not the only one who had questions about what was being taught at Bethel. I’d been pointing some people to scripture.

Dawna erupted, claiming that I was “a false prophet and a messenger of Satan.” She asked whether I knew what happened to people like me.

“No,” I said. “Tell me.”

Dawna began elaborating on having recently had a person who tried to do what I was doing and who was removed from their ministry role at Bethel because they wouldn’t submit after being given multiple chances.

But I wasn’t looking for a ministry role, so I wasn’t sure how this other situation applied to me. Was I going to be removed as a student? I began to ponder quietly, “What is Bethel leadership going to do to me?”

Having been served an ultimatum, I paused to think. Dawna got up to leave. In parting, she said, “I’ll be praying you make the right decision.”

*****

After Thanksgiving break, classes resumed. The intern who had helped forcibly remove me from worship — approached me and requested to meet. She said that her boyfriend believed that he could help answer my questions. I agreed and met them at a café. But there, he raised his voice at me and demanded to know why I thought God would show me things he hadn’t shown to the house prophet Kris Vallotton. He insisted that he was also a prophet and demanded to know whether I believed the scripture in Amos 3:7, where God says he does nothing before revealing it to his servants the prophets? Why was I the only one seeing a problem at Bethel?

I replied, “I’m not the only one. And I won’t go against my conscience because anyone else thinks I should.”

Then I got up and left.

*****

Revival groups met on Thursdays. One particular week, Kate decided a yoga practitioner was going to lay hands on all of us and bless us. I declined because it went against my conscience.

As Kate motioned for everyone to circle up for prayer, I stayed in my chair on the outer edge of the room near the door, watching. Kate came over and grabbed my right arm, attempting to pull me from my chair. When I resisted, she pulled with more force and escorted me to the center of the circle that was forming. I recall her instructing those present to begin praying and motioning with her arm for the rest of our group to gather around. I didn’t want prayer from anyone at Kate’s direction, nor did I want to be in the middle of the circle. Trapped and scared, I dropped to the ground into the fetal position and then crawled through my classmates’ legs to get back to my chair. I grabbed my bag and fled the room, sobbing.

I ran across the parking lot to the alabaster prayer chapel. My arm physically hurt where Kate had pulled me out of my chair. I thought, “Why can’t she keep her hands off me?!”

Someone I knew noticed me and came over to talk with me. It took me a few minutes to calm down and explain what had happened. I never felt safe going back to revival group again. My trust with Kate was completely shattered.

*****

One night, I was at the prayer chapel when security came to inform me that I wasn’t allowed to talk with anyone while I was there. I understood “there” to mean the prayer chapel grounds. I thought this was strange because I had seen others talking in the chapel hall and outside near the building. I hadn’t seen those others being approached by security, so I found the action unusual.

I asked security, “Who’s this coming from?”

“Bill & Benni Johnson,” security replied.

When I asked whether I could appeal to Bill or Benni directly, security shook their head “no” and left. I felt my sincere attempt to seek clarity had been denied.

Before the next weekend’s church service, I was walking down the Bethel Church hallway toward the overflow room to find a seat and said hello to someone I recognized on my way. I didn’t realize security was following right behind me. They made their presence known, which startled me. Again, they reminded me that I was “not supposed to be talking with anyone.”

When I started to ask again if I could appeal to Bill and Benni directly, security abruptly walked away in the middle of my sentence but continued to observe me.

I felt like I was being actively silenced.

During yet another weekend church service, I was sitting in the bleachers near the back. Bill Johnson was speaking from the stage when a young woman stood up and publicly confronted him for lying. Two security guards immediately moved forward, each took her by an arm, and escorted her out the back door of the sanctuary. I went out a different door and watched from a short distance while she was led into a vehicle that proceeded to leave the premises. I was filled with dread and wondered how much longer I could endure at Bethel.

*****

One day, my body physically collapsed while I was at Bethel. I blacked out. When I regained consciousness, I was unable to move from the ground for what must have been close to an hour. Once I regained my ability to move, I felt a profound, overwhelming sense of grief and started crying uncontrollably. My friends were unable to console me. I couldn’t eat. I struggled to sleep. I began vomiting daily from stress. I began having panic attacks and nightmares about Bethel. Physically — literally — I could not continue. So, I formally withdrew from BSSM when classes concluded for Christmas break in December.

*****

Eventually, I left Redding. However, the pain followed me. I experienced fallout immediately upon returning home. In many ways, that was more difficult than what I had experienced at Bethel. I may have walked away from Bethel with my faith intact, but my trust in the church as an institution continued to be chipped away until nothing was left. Instead of support, I was mischaracterized as “unsubmissive,” “rebellious,” “disobedient,” “out from under covering,” and walking in “witchcraft” — all by a system that appeared to prefer coverup to Christ. Trust in my community disintegrated. I later decided to part ways with my hometown to seek refuge elsewhere.

Today, I am no longer part of a church because of how I was treated for listening to my conscience, asking questions, and comparing things to scripture. I don’t feel safe in a system willing to ignore — or worse, mischaracterize — people who have been harmed by it. Since I have left Bethel, I have often wondered: Where is the good shepherd among you?

I am deeply concerned that others may have experienced similar harm while at Bethel. I hope sharing my story can help them feel less alone and supported in seeking help. I also hope to create thought-provoking reflection in the body of Christ about these issues.

Publicizing these events has been difficult, but I share these painful details based on my impressions and sincerely held beliefs. Standing up and speaking out, then and now, has always been motivated by my love for God and His Word. I want to see God represented accurately based on scripture.