“Consider the lion, lying on the plain
Watch his eyes as he surveys the pride and wildebeest remains …
… he owes and he owns nothing
He’s standing still, now breathing
In his eyes, the revolution in the Republic of Eden” — Foy Vance, “The Republic of Eden”

We are propelled—down highways and through the air—by ancient sunlight, captured by life, buried by the earth, and transformed under the pressure of weight and time.

Long before roads, microscopic organisms drew energy from the sun and stored it in their bodies. They died, settled into mud, and disappeared beneath layer after layer of sediment. The weight increased. Heat rose from below. Over millions of years, their remains were broken apart and rearranged into hydrocarbons, which migrated through porous rock until they were trapped beneath stone.

We drill into those deposits, draw the oil out, refine it, and seal it inside tanks. From there, it enters another chamber: the cylinder of an engine, where it is compressed and ignited. Expanding gas drives a piston.

The black substance that once was sunlight returns to pressure.

Life enters earth. Light creates life. Millions of years later, the light that made life becomes motion.

Chambers within chambers within chambers. Body. Mind. Soul. The pressure changes from one room to the next but never disappears.

Down in the smallest spaces, something still moves, even while being crushed.

***

A reader messaged me the other day after reading an essay called Circuitry. He said he enjoyed my writing, but that some of it left him with questions. He knew a few might be too personal. He was, as he put it, “just a stranger on the internet,” but he was curious.

Does my dad have dementia?

Where did I land after arguing with my dad years ago that God must have created evil?

Then he asked where I stood with belief these days.

In my head, the question sounded different.

Are you still a believer?

My dad asked me that exact question a few days earlier.

All three questions—about my dad, evil, and my own faith—seemed distinct. Yet they moved together, like pieces of driftwood carried by the same current: Could I separate what I knew from what I believed, and what I believed from the account I gave myself of my belief?

It feels like trying to climb out of a container I built for myself. I don’t have answers, only responses.

Answers close a subject.

Responses open a conversation.

***

After my dad began experiencing noticeable bouts of short-term memory loss, I went with him to a brain clinic in Atlanta. They declined to diagnose him, but said brain scans revealed the early signs of a certain type of cognitive decline associated with a particular type of dementia. More scans and tests followed.

Other doctors would add to and complicate the picture in ways I don’t really understand. Or haven’t taken the time to understand. By now, I’m not sure understanding would help.

The brain clinic we first went to in Atlanta years ago recommended a series of treatments in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber.

So I found one for him to purchase. The salesman assured me it was the same brand LeBron James uses, which seemed medically relevant in ways I still can’t articulate. I set it up in my dad’s living room. When fully inflated, it looks like a lopsided parade balloon experiencing a private emergency.

But my dad kept forgetting to use it. Or he remembered using it when he hadn’t. Sometimes he climbed inside and forgot to put on the oxygen mask, reducing the treatment to an expensive nap inside a piece of sports equipment.

I tried supervising, but he had a tendency to end the sessions halfway through. He would emerge twenty minutes early, looking refreshed by his decision not to complete the thing intended to improve his ability to complete things.

Eventually, I started using the chamber myself.

As an experiment.

I had read a few studies suggesting that hyperbaric oxygen might increase neuroplasticity, and at the time, I was trying to write an essay about deconstruction, the process of pulling inherited beliefs apart to see what was actually holding them up.

This turned out to be an unfortunate combination.

Every time I completed a draft, I felt compelled to deconstruct it.

Every attempt to say something coherent about incoherent belief collapsed under the weight of its own recursion.

The essay would question its assumptions, then question the assumptions behind those questions, then begin eyeing the concept of an essay with open hostility.

***

All that pressure needed release, so I did something I had never done as a writer.

I stopped trying to have a point.

I wrote several thousand words consisting entirely of dialogue between a Christ figure, an apostate and a Christian nationalist sitting in a bar.

The reimagined Christ had not showered in months.

“A body that refuses to recognize its own filth,” he explained, “doesn’t deserve a bath.”

The more I sketched him, the less certain he became of his own identity. The apostate and the nationalist arrived prepared to despise each other but gradually forgot their ideological animosity as they tried to determine who was sitting between them.

Only later did I understand the question the dialogue had begun asking.

What if Jesus surveyed the machinery of the American church—its celebrity pastors, corporations and endless abuse scandals—and regretted surrendering to the cross?

He could endure the torture. The abandonment. The separation and isolation. But not watching his sacrifice used to torment other people.

Unable to reverse the crucifixion, he gave himself amnesia. Still, the cross kept returning in fragments.

The apostate and the nationalist believed they were helping Jesus reconstruct his identity. In reality, each was offering him the Jesus they already carried in their own minds.

I can’t imagine publishing that piece as fiction.

***

As I breathed pure oxygen, my ears popped and the chamber’s seams pulled tight around me. I kept circling the same thought. Whenever I speak of God, I am speaking, at least partly, about the version of God I carry around in my head.

I did not invent it from nothing. Scripture is in there. Sermons. Family. Fear. Longing. Love. Disappointment. Culture. And a thousand experiences I can’t remember.

Some of that picture may be true. Some of it may be useful. Some of it may be badly damaged.

***

In Journey to the West, a sixteenth-century Chinese novel about a Buddhist pilgrimage, Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, is a supernatural troublemaker who becomes immortal, gains immense power, and undergoes seventy-two transformations.

All unsupervised.

Then he defeats armies, humiliates celestial officials, and declares himself the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.

Eventually, Buddha intervenes.

The Buddha doesn’t fight. Doesn’t argue. He offers a wager: if the Monkey King can leap beyond his palm, he can claim Heaven’s throne.

Insulted, the Monkey King somersaults to the edge of the universe, where he finds five enormous pillars. He writes his name on one and, in some versions, urinates there, proving that even at the boundary of existence the male ego still has something to prove.

Then the Monkey King somersaults back, ready to collect Heaven. But Buddha has not moved.

The Monkey King describes distances crossed, pillars touched, and the evidence left behind. The Buddha listens but appears uniquely uninterested.

The Monkey King doesn’t get it. He fumes. But then the Buddha turns over his palm, his fingers stretch upward, as far as the monkey can see. There, across one of his fingers, is the Monkey King’s name. So is the unmistakable smell of a fire hydrant marker.

The five pillars at the edge of the universe were the Buddha’s fingers. The Monkey King had crossed every distance he could imagine without ever leaving the hand of the being he intended to defeat.

His achievements, beliefs, memories, and identity? They are real. But they exist within conditions he did not choose and cannot fully perceive.

Without that understanding, he cannot understand himself.

***

When theology tries to confine an infinite being within finite human logic, it starts to feel less like an attempt to understand God and more like an attempt to defeat him.

Salvation had always been presented to me as a choice. Reformed theology, or Calvinism, seemed to preserve the choice while deciding in advance who could make it.

Was the offer ever real?

And then there’s evil.

If nothing happens outside God’s sovereign will, evil must happen within it.

Does God permit it?

Or cause it?

I wish I could say evil is the absence of God.

But how would I know that?

***

Pressure changes how oxygen moves through the blood. More of it dissolves directly into the plasma instead of relying entirely on red blood cells to carry it. It drives oxygen into tissue it might not otherwise reach.

I started thinking in fully formed stanzas of poetry, sometimes at odd moments.

Like in the grocery store.

I stalk the aisles in search of mayonnaise;
The mustard smirks; the ketchup blocks my way.

It disturbed me. It made me wonder if I was disturbed, and if I wasn’t, whether I should have been. My therapist told me not to worry about it—or resist it. So, naturally, I went home and worried about it professionally.

I searched for an explanation and learned that the phenomenon had a name that I’ve now forgotten.

The basic idea was that, under certain kinds of psychological pressure, a mind may begin organizing experience through language—rhythm, metaphor, compression—before it can explain what it is doing in ordinary sentences.

***

Augustine said, “If you understand God, what you have understood is not God.”

As I write this, I’m on a plane from New York City back to Tennessee, where I live. The person in front of me has leaned their seat back so far that it’s pressing my laptop screen closed.

I strain to read my own words; I hear the drone of rushing wind; and I feel the vibration of the jet engines and the fuselage moving through the air pass through me. I know that I am suspended in the sky, hurtling toward home at several hundred miles an hour.

The experience is real. I can describe it. I know it.

But I do not understand it.

If I studied it long enough, maybe, in a couple of years, I could explain the mechanics of flight with the precision of an aerospace engineer.

But I can’t imagine the explanation altering the memory of what I first felt as a child, when the roar of the tires vanished, air replaced the land beneath me, and the patch of earth I called home dissolved into a landscape without end.

***

If I can’t answer the question of my own belief cleanly—if it comes coupled with doubt, laden with contradiction, or voiced in a stutter—does it still qualify?

The recipe, as best I can remember it, goes something like this: I repent, trust in Jesus’ death and resurrection for the forgiveness of sins, and receive a new life I could not earn for myself. Jesus takes me to heaven when I die or the world ends. In the meantime, I tell other people they need him.

Why? Because of how he’s changed me, of course. Or not changed me. Kept the good parts. Swept out the bad.

Regardless, I’m now evidence of Jesus’ awesome power.

And if I don’t look awesome, neither does Jesus.

What do you call that arrangement?

Salvation by reputation management?

Talk about pressure.

I don’t want to be Jesus’ bad publicity.

***

Maybe it’s more important that God believes in me than for me to believe in him.

If I can’t trust my image of God, or my knowledge of myself, then perhaps I’ve been asking the question backward.

In the New Testament, at the end of the age, Jesus tells a group of people that they fed him, welcomed him, clothed him, and visited him. They are confused.

When?

Where?

That was you?

They were known without knowing it.

***

At moments, Jesus appears to adopt the Buddha’s posture—the stillness in the face of chaos, the ability to flip a script with a word, the unflinching focus.

But where the Buddha’s revelations are grand, Christ’s often unfold from a seed. The meaning begins in the words and lands somewhere beyond them. He says enough, then stops, and the implication hangs in the air.

The restraint leaves room for recognition and for refusal.

During the Feast of Dedication in John 10, a group of Jewish leaders surrounds Jesus and presses him to declare who he is.

“How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.”

Jesus answers, in effect, that he has already told them. They do not believe because they are not his sheep. His sheep hear his voice and follow him, he says, and no one can snatch them from his hand or his Father’s.

Then he delivers the line that sets everything off:

“I and the Father are one.”

The leaders pick up stones to kill him.

Jesus responds almost as if issuing a challenge: “I have shown you many good works from the Father. For which of these do you stone me?”

They reply: “We are not stoning you for any good work, but for blasphemy, because you, a mere man, claim to be God.”

Then he inverts the power dynamic by partially quoting Psalm 82.

“Is it not written in your law, ‘I said, you are gods’?” he asks.

With that question, the authorities interrogating Jesus find themselves on trial.

I used to admire the passage merely for the badass, Zen-like rhetoric. Then I read the rest of the psalm Jesus referenced. It portrays God standing in the assembly and rebuking its rulers:

“How long will you defend the unjust and show partiality to the wicked? Defend the weak and the fatherless.”

Then, the line about them being gods, followed immediately by the sting:

“But you will die like mere mortals; you will fall like every other ruler.”

Jesus never says that last part. He doesn’t have to. The crowd understands. Enraged, they try to seize him, but he slips away.

The more I thought about the exchange, the harder it became to see Jesus as simply triumphant. If you believe the story, God is speaking to rulers who had been addressed as gods and implying their fate: they would die like ordinary men.

Beneath the judgment, I found sadness.

The same God who foretells the rulers’ downfall will also die like a mere man.

***

Later, soldiers arrest Jesus. Religious authorities question him. Witnesses contradict one another. By morning, he stands before the Roman governor, Pilate, who asks him directly:

“What is truth?”

John records no reply. Truth just stands there. Elsewhere, the Gospel accounts repeatedly draw attention to Jesus’ silence before the people judging him.

Over the next two thousand years, scholars, theologians and prophets will attempt to fill the space Jesus’ silence created. They will supply language in place of his presence, as if truth had an obligation to explain itself to power.

On the surface, Rome and the religious authorities have constructed and control the chamber. Its walls press inward through soldiers, law, empire, and spectacle. Pilate, the governor of Judea, believes the man before him exists inside his authority.

Later, Pilate tries from a different angle.

“Where do you come from?”

Jesus again gives him no answer.

Pilate takes the silence as a failure to recognize who is really in charge.

“Do you refuse to speak to me? Don’t you realize I have power either to free you or to crucify you?”

Jesus corrects him as the plan is executed.

“You would have no power over me if it were not given to you from above.”

The chamber has limits. It, too, is held, even as it holds.

The Buddha needed only one palm to contain the Monkey King. Jesus will soon be made to hold up both. Soldiers will stretch his arms across a beam and drive iron through flesh and bone.

Men will lower his hands before sealing him in a tomb.

But for now, before Pilate, truth won’t reduce itself to an answer.

Jesus stands there.

Breathing.

Saying nothing.

“I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.” — 1 Timothy 2:12

I must have been fourteen, maybe fifteen, when I first saw the movie Little Man Tate.

I understood that the boy at the center of the story was supposed to be extraordinary, and that the two women around him both wanted to protect him. I also understood that both were failing him in different ways.

Fred Tate was seven. He solved math problems in his head, played piano at competition level, wrote poetry, painted in oils.

The adults in the film kept saying some version of the same thing: it wasn't what he knew, it was what he understood. His gifts made him remarkable. They also made him lonely.

The movie seemed, at first, to offer a choice.

His mother understood that a child could be brilliant and still need a birthday party. He could think at a level far beyond his years and still need someone to notice when he was sad, hungry, lonely, embarrassed, or overwhelmed. But she could not steward his intellect.

The other woman, an expert, understood the trajectory of his gifts and the responsibility that came with them. She recognized the danger of leaving that kind of mind underfed. She knew he needed more than affection. He needed challenge, language, structure, peers, a world large enough for the thing happening inside him.

Feeling or thought.

The child who needs to be held or the mind that needs to be set loose.

At that age, I identified with whatever made my teenage insecurities feel less humiliating.

The mind offered power.

I already had too many needs.

***

Midway through the movie, Tate meets a cautionary figure — a potential mirror of giftedness turning a boy into an exception, the exception becoming isolated, and isolation curdling into superiority that reeks of self-loathing.

His name was Damon.

He was older than Fred and already fluent in contempt. Fred approached him with the naked sincerity of a child who had not yet learned to hide the need for connection.

Damon rejected him. It wasn’t personal. Damon admitted he was an asshole. Assholes did not have friends.

But, the implication went, they got things done.

As proof, Damon invoked George Bernard Shaw, the Irish playwright who could make arrogance sound like a philosophy of progress.

“The reasonable man adapts himself to the world. The unreasonable man expects the world to adapt itself to him. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.”

I had to turn the sentence over in my head a few times before I understood why it struck me.

***

At first it sounded backwards. Reasonable meant mature. Sensible. Adjusted to reality. The acceptance of the world as it was and the cultivation of humility to live inside it.

But Shaw maintained that progress came from the person who refused the terms reality offered him.

The reasonable man looked at birds and understood the obvious: people did not have wings. Flight belonged to another species. Better to accept the limitation and get on with the business of walking.

The unreasonable man looked at the same bird and wanted the sky anyway.

As soon as I understood, Shaw’s quote became a fork in the road.

Thirty years later, Shaw’s words had worked their way so deeply into my life that I quoted them to a lawyer. He had asked me to explain the realistic goal of a lawsuit. I told him I appreciated the word realistic, but that when my goals were not realistic, my instinct was often to create the conditions that made them realistic.

Then I wrote the part that probably said more than I understood at the time:

“When people tell me something can’t be accomplished because other people failed, or that a course of action is futile because it requires challenging long accepted practices … alarm bells go off. I start to get excited.”

A few nights later, my then-10-year-old daughter, Rachel, dismantled the sentence I had built part of my life around with five words.

***

We were living in a rental house then, waiting for our home to be rebuilt after the fire. Her old bed was gone. So was most of the room that had held her life before. She had a new Pottery Barn bunk bed, too large and too clean in the soft light, like adults trying to replace a childhood with furniture.

Her hair was still wet from the shower. I had been in her room doing whatever fathers do at bedtime — reading, talking, hovering, trying to turn the day into something that could safely end.

At some point, almost casually, I told her the Shaw quote.

I thought she would like it. I saw some of that same fire in her already: the refusal to accept a bad answer just because someone older had delivered it with confidence.

Then I left the room.

A few minutes later, she called me back into her room.

“Hey Dad,” she said. “I think I made a better quote for you.”

I expected something sweet. Maybe funny.

But she gave Shaw back to me almost whole.

“The reasonable man adapts himself to the world. The unreasonable man expects the world to adapt itself to him.”

Then she changed the ending.

“The intelligent woman does both.”

I don’t remember my response, just the sensation — the strange parental vertigo of realizing your child has seen past you.

She didn’t make the quote softer.

She made it smarter.

She was just trying to impress me. I was proud of her in the ordinary way fathers are proud of brilliant children. Then something colder moved underneath it. I was a little scared. Not of her. For her.

“All progress depends on the unreasonable man.”

It divided the world cleanly. Reasonable and unreasonable. Men who adapted and men who refused.

Pick a side.

A man can lean on a sentence like that. He can use it as a brace, a weapon, or a permission slip. It makes defiance feel elegant and simple. It lets him mistake stubbornness for courage and contempt for clarity.

Rachel’s correction showed me something else.

She introduced discernment.

After I had ignored it for decades.

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***

“The intelligent woman does both.”

Not because she lacks conviction. Because the world demands more from her than conviction.

A woman has to read the room and decide whether to yield, resist, wait, speak, move, soften, harden, disappear, reappear. She has to know when adaptation is wisdom and when it is surrender. She has to know when resistance is courage and when it will be used against her.

At ten, my daughter had already reached for a form of intelligence that did not romanticize refusal. She already intuited that the world required more from her to navigate it.

And it didn’t seem to bother her.

***

I thought about Rachel’s sentence again on a Wednesday morning a few days ago, watching the largest Protestant denomination in the country mistake uniformity for discernment.

In Orlando, the Southern Baptist Convention moved to formally close the office of pastor to women. The measure had a gentle name: the Truth and Unity Amendment.

Its author, Albert Mohler, president of the denomination’s flagship seminary, called it an opportunity to speak “in truth, in unity, in conviction.”

There was a great line, he said, that divides liberal and biblical evangelicalism, and you could see it on this very issue.

He spoke with the ease of a man who had never once wondered whether he was allowed to.

Mohler had a microphone, a motion, a constitution, and six thousand votes. He used all of it to make the world smaller, to drown out an intelligence that has been learning for centuries how to adapt without surrendering and resist without becoming blind.

My daughter, at ten, with no microphone and no office to protect, had already done the harder thing than many in that room seemed willing to do.

She held both truths, recognizing that a sentence from a famous man had no place for her in it, so she made one — the way she might have shown me a cartwheel.

***

So I recognized the argument beneath Mohler’s argument.

One woman preaches and suddenly the word preacher loses its meaning.

The exception becomes the beginning of the end.

Hold the line or lose everything.

But truth doesn’t need her silence. Something else does.

Three men. Three false choices.

Asshole or ineffective.

Reasonable or unreasonable.

Liberal or biblical.

Pick a side.

My daughter sensed the trap waiting for her.

She refused it.

“The intelligent woman does both.”

“There is a power in letting go … guess I didn’t want to let you know.” — Brandon Flowers, Between Me and You

The baggage carousel sat still. Empty. Its metal plates fitted together so tightly you couldn’t see how they would ever move. I remembered, when I was small, trying to climb onto one — the plates expanding around the curve, contracting on the straightaway. No matter how I positioned my hand, the gap never caught my skin.

The absence of injury made me wonder: Had some small mercy been built into the machine?

I was picking up my dad from his first trip in months. He had spent his adult life in Christian ministry, moving through crowds to deliver messages to strangers in faraway places.

He had started missing connections, forgetting to check the notifications on the terminal monitor and on his phone, sitting at an empty gate, the plane boarding elsewhere and leaving without him.

His performance on this trip — about a two-hour flight east — had been painful. Or so I’d been told. He could still tell old stories vivid enough to hold a room. But he repeated them. The intervals between repetitions were getting shorter.

I hadn’t checked his flight before I left. His plane was late. Another sign that I was in fog, too.

Mediation. Splitting up assets. A parenting plan that needed drafting.

I collapsed into a faux black leather chair beside the carousel and pulled out my phone.

⁂

An article appeared in my Google feed. It was about grip strength. Researchers had found that people in the early years of psychosis often showed weaker grip strength and lower well-being.

The interesting part wasn’t the hand but the circuitry behind it — the motor system, the cingulate, the cerebellum, the brain’s network of self and memory.

The systems governing the hand were tied to the ones that kept a person oriented.

Train one, and you might train the other.

Grip strength wasn’t a symptom. It was a window. The hand mapped onto the mind.

I read the article twice.

I looked down at my hands.

⁂

How was grip strength measured? What counted as strong? I didn’t know. Only that it could be tested. Given a number. Placed against a range.

Faith was harder to isolate. It passed through memory, language, family, fear, longing, and love before I ever knew to call it belief.

I thought I was mostly finished with the religious world of miracles and prophecy I had known as a child. But the past was being pulled into the light. Clergy sexual abuse. Coverups. Labor exploitation. Financial misconduct. Failed accountability. Old stories that refused to stay buried.

Men once believed holy were exposed. Desperate. Finished.

Their followers had believed their words for decades. The words had gone into them — into who they married, how they raised their kids, what they did on Sunday mornings. Now the words were not true.

What had been real?

What had been fabricated?

How could they know?

Several of the ministers involved had been close friends and ministry associates of my father. He promoted their ministries from the stage and in his books.

They turned the Good News into a siren song.

⁂

Last week, I listened to an interview with Sue, a woman who said Bob Jones had sexually violated her during prayer.

Jones was not marginal in the charismatic world. He was treated as a prophet of unusual authority, one of the men around whom whole communities learned to hear God.

Sue described an atmosphere of sympathy around Jones and indifference toward her. People wanted him restored. She became the burden.

Her story, told more than thirty years later, undermined the official account: that Jones’s misconduct had been a single “bad slip,” confined to one incident involving a woman and her minor daughter.

I stopped listening for a second.

What?

I thought everyone knew Bob had additional victims.

I did.

How did I know that?

Then, a memory.

⁂

Christmas break, 1996. Mike Bickle’s living room in Kansas City. Four or five years after Jones’s clergy sexual abuse had been found out.

My father, Bickle, and Paul Cain were talking about whether MorningStar, an East Coast charismatic hub, was returning Jones to ministry too soon.

Cain and Bickle were treated as men of unusual spiritual authority. Both would later admit to secret sexual misconduct that, by their own accounts, was already underway at the time.

My father occupied a different role. He was helping bring prophecy into the evangelical mainstream, lending theological credibility to a world many Christians would otherwise have dismissed.

Bickle casually mentioned what I understood to be a confrontation with Jones about the two known victims.

He said Jones had admitted there had been “more.”

How many others fit inside that word: more?

No one asked.

The conversation moved on.

⁂

Later, scenes like that made it impossible to separate the faith that formed me from the men who had made it plausible, or from the beliefs that gave them authority.

Belief was a force. To reduce it to conscious choice seemed absurd. Much of therapy, after all, was built around uncovering beliefs people didn’t know they had — beliefs that shaped how they saw everything.

They weren’t chosen.

They were just there.

⁂

A man who believes he’s not worth much doesn’t decide that one day.

Maybe he was battered. Maybe neglected. Maybe he learned to feel valuable only when he performed. Maybe worthlessness was simply the most coherent message childhood gave him.

No one had to say it. Children are always reading the room. They learn what keeps them safe, what costs them love, what earns attention, what makes the air change. Over time, the messages become a story. The story becomes an identity.

The man doesn’t think of it as belief because he never chose it. He just moves through the world that way — second-guessing himself, assuming the worst, reading everything through it.

It feels true. He calls it reality. It shapes his life.

If belief takes hold through parents, environment, repetition, the language you were given before you knew what any of it meant, how much of it was really yours?

If you didn’t choose the belief, can you really call it faith?

⁂

At baggage claim, I kept watching the escalator beneath the “DO NOT ENTER” sign where passengers descended from upstairs.

Fluorescent light bounced off the pale terrazzo floor while daylight poured through the side windows, turning the room into glare and reflection.

People came down one after another, briefly visible between shoulders and rolling bags before disappearing into the waiting crowd. I kept searching for him anyway.

The grief came at an angle. Not only because he was fading. Because the part of him I had spent my life pressing against was fading too.

As a child, I watched him field the most difficult theological questions without fear, sometimes before crowds. Pastors who seemed certain in the pulpit became students in private. I learned early that words, given enough weight, could change the faces of grown men. I didn’t know how it worked.

It just seemed like he knew that he knew.

⁂

Once, on a road trip, I declared that I had followed Reformed theology to a troubling conclusion:

God created evil.

If God exercised sovereignty over everything, it only made sense that evil led back to him.

If Adam and Eve hadn’t put the serpent in the garden, who did?

And if the serpent was Satan, who knit Lucifer together in his celestial womb?

“You don’t want to be a hyper-Calvinist,” he said.

A warning. Not an answer. I kept pressing.

Eventually he offered something more complex about the inability of any one theological system to contain God.

That was how we bonded: through high-stakes metaphysical ambushes I improvised from the passenger seat.

I doubt he received the same benefits from the sparring that I did.

Those days had ended.

I looked back toward the security opening.

Still, no him.

⁂

The study on grip strength gave me something concrete to latch onto.

I found an online calculator. Entered my weight, my age. Pull-ups. Dead hang time. Rounded up. Made sure the mistakes were in my favor. Rough conversions appeared. Probably off. Close enough.

The ranges put me somewhere near the upper end. But who cared? A much larger world was waiting to be explored.

The study was a data point. A node in a larger network. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of other connections had to exist between muscle and mind.

⁂

I had been walking for hours at night to burn off worry. Head down. Eyes slightly to the right. Arms tucked into my sides, shielding my chest.

A therapist had told me that the foundation behind EMDR had been discovered that way.

On a walk.

A psychologist noticed her thoughts shifting as her eyes moved back and forth across a path. Later it became a treatment: bilateral stimulation, guiding the eyes from side to side while recalling difficult experiences, as if the movement itself helped the mind process what it couldn’t otherwise resolve.

I had taken that and run with it.

The more I read, the more my walking looked like the problem. The walk was the rumination.

So at 49, I re-trained myself to walk.

I picked a point in the distance and held it. Shoulders back. Arms loose at my sides.

I set a timer. One minute. One minute of doing it right. Eyes up. Relax everything that didn’t need to be working. Let the arms swing. Breathe. If I clenched up during the minute, I’d scan for any tension in my body, let it go, return my gaze to the horizon and keep moving.

A minute turned into two, then three, then five.

⁂

Boxing drills kept appearing in the research. Footwork. Balance. Distance. Breath. The position of the hands. The movement of the head. Heel, hip, shoulder, fist. Drift too much, the movement falls apart.

I was staying in a condo in downtown Memphis while the details of separation were being worked out. The building had a gym on the first floor — dry sauna, pool, weight room, punching bag.

I pulled up a YouTube video on the right cross. Feet set. Guard up. Right heel lifting. Hip turning first. Shoulder following. The fist arriving last.

I tried it slowly.

Then harder.

The bag bounced back.

Pain shot through my wrist. I pulled my hand back and flexed it.

My youngest daughter, then eleven, was trying to figure out how the treadmill worked and it was making me nervous. I called her over and showed her the video. Told her to watch the hip. Told her to mind the wrist.

She watched once. Then again. Then she tried it.

Heel up. Hip turned. Arm loose until the last moment.

Had it down cold.

That night, in the living room of the condo, we were getting ready to watch a movie. The Mississippi moved outside the windows, dark and wide below us. I thought about the punch again. I got curious.

I offered her my shoulder.

Her fist landed so hard I couldn’t swallow the curse before it came out.

The bruise lasted for days.

⁂

I had been told the official division of a household was imminent. This week. Next month. Any day now.

The end of liminality was only that matter of ink on a soon-to-be-produced signature page.

The dates moved. The pressure didn’t. A mediation failed, partly, I suspect, because two lawyers needed to leave early that day.

My practical strain remained: delayed medical procedures, parenting schedules, money I could not reach, decisions about a house we had just purchased still hanging over everything.

So I walked.

Often during the day, along the downtown riverfront, following a route I had worn into myself. I took the dog down toward the water and let her run. Then I put in music and matched my steps to it.

Past basketball courts. Past parks where children sat in strollers. Past gardens arranged against the city’s concrete edges.

Always beside the Mississippi, its chocolate-colored water churned with an indifference that was oddly comforting.

But a few days after the bungled mediation, I went to bed late and woke up at 4 a.m., panicked. I couldn’t see a good way out. Only suffering without end.

⁂

Fear leaves no room for anything but itself.

⁂

The idea of shifting my mindset felt exhausting. That muscle was worn out. But the body had become less metaphor than lever. So I went to the floor.

I didn’t have to move much. Enough to roll out of bed. Enough to get face down, staring at magnified dirt and dog hair on the hardwood.

Eyes up. Shoulders back. Breath steady.

Thirty seconds, I told myself. I stared at a spot a few feet in front of me, keeping my spine straight as I pressed into a full plank.

Two and a half minutes passed. I hadn’t expected that. The plank didn’t solve anything. The house was still unresolved. The money was still unreachable. The mediation was still a mess. I still questioned how anyone could earn a law degree without knowing how to use a calculator.

But when I came down, my attention had moved.

Not away from the problem.

Toward the girls.

They didn’t want to move.

I reached out to their mother, so we could find a way to soften the blow.

⁂

Airports are places to kill time, not experience it. But certain moments, if left unattended, sneak up on you.

People gathered around the baggage carousel. Reunions began in fragments. Couples hugged, briefly mistaking each other for arrival, before remembering the bags had not come. Everyone kept waiting: for the orange light, the warning beep, the first metallic squeak of the plates beginning to move.

Suitcase wheels clicked over the seams in the floor. The black rubber flaps at the mouth of the carousel hung still.

I searched the crowd near the escalator. He moved slowly. Back hunched. A degree or two more every few months. He could take a while.

The waiting opened into something else. My prayers had scattered. When I opened the Bible, I let the pages fall where they wanted.

My eyes kept being pulled to a couple of verses in Ecclesiastes — the runt of the wisdom literature, the book that almost didn’t make it into the canon, the book whose legitimacy rabbis debated for centuries because they couldn’t reconcile it with scripture’s other consolations.

“I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” — 3:10-11

⁂

The version of Christianity I knew rewarded black-and-white thought. It couldn’t handle color.

The Baptists had the Book. The Reformed had the System. The Charismatics had the Voice. NAR had the Power.

Different forms. Same promise.

Answers for every existential ache. Order for the chaos of contradiction. Dominion to overpower the helplessness of being human.

The illusion of resolution in exchange for the appearance of righteousness.

Might as well be offering the world.

⁂

The past was never quite what I remembered. The future never turned out like I thought. Only the present was close enough to touch.

I lived inside a story where I felt like the main character. I wasn’t. A story I sometimes mistook for a plot — a plot whose contours appeared in slivers when I wasn’t looking.

It had an ending, and it went on forever.

That was the burden. That was the beauty.

Face it.

Or bury it.

⁂

The orange light finally flashed. The warning beep sounded for ten seconds. Somewhere beneath the belt, metal squealed against metal. Then the rubber flaps opened and the bags began pushing through.

He emerged from the crowd wearing the old stage smile, the one that made him seem younger for a second, still in command of himself and the room.

Then he came closer, his eyes testing the terminal as if it had become unfamiliar.

“Thanks for picking me up,” he said.

“How was the trip?” I asked.

He said he thought it had gone well. The amount of the honorarium would be the true test.

I watched the metal plates for his black Samsonite — scuffed and scraped, its hard shell marked with pale scars from years of being battered in the bellies of jets. Somehow it had survived.

When it came around, I lifted it from the belt. The suitcase was heavier than it looked.

We rolled it past the construction toward the parking garage, through orange light, temporary barriers, and concrete dust. At the exit, I lowered the window and fed the ticket into the machine.

While the gate arm lifted, he thanked me again.

I remembered being seventeen in Texas and pulling up late to the curb at DFW. He stood in the Texas heat after an international flight, shirt damp, face tight with exhaustion, landing in what felt like hell. He gave me a stern lecture about what travel did to a body, then later apologized.

Now he was apologizing for not driving himself.

There had been a few ordeals, he admitted. Forgetting where he had parked.

He thanked me again.

And again.

“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”

I almost got irritated. I thought about correcting him. Thought about it some more.

Why interrupt this cycle?

He wasn’t only forgetting what had he said moments earlier, but also what prompted it — the recognition that someone cared enough to show up, wait for him, and take him home.

He was losing what made gratitude possible.

Then finding it again.

Like something new.

“Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.” — e.e. cummings

About a year ago, I started wondering — for reasons long forgotten — whether overlaying Simulation Theory on Christianity might help resolve some of the cognitive dissonance inherent in orthodox belief, or whatever passes for it these days.

I quickly discovered I hadn’t explored Simulation Theory enough to have an informed opinion about it.

During that process I began playing around with the phrase Speculation Theory and eventually gave it a working definition.

Speculation Theory begins with the possibility that many things can be true at once. That mind, body, and soul are not separate arenas but parts of one system, and that thought and feeling often illuminate one another more than they compete.

It also recognizes something else: the pursuit of awe often runs against the comfort of certainty.

Certainty stabilizes a system. Awe destabilizes it.

Speculation Theory leaves room for both, but gives awe a little more breathing space.

In other words, this is a place for ideas that wander a bit — ideas not immediately constrained by the banality of doctrine.

Occasionally that may look like a stream of consciousness. Other times it may resemble notes or fragments. Either way, it offers a place where ideas can develop before they harden into arguments.

When I began mapping out the next stretch of essays for this publication, I had about fifteen ideas sketched out — themes, historical threads, questions I wanted to explore.

The plan was simple enough: work through them one by one.

The first essay in that sequence was Mirrors Dimly.

What I didn’t expect was that the next essay would grow out of the comments section.

Two Questions, Several Ideas

A reader named Cindy — who writes under the handle @cknrgwn — left a thoughtful reflection that ended with two questions I couldn’t shake.

She wrote:

“It’s not like Mike Bickle started out good and was seduced by power, status and all that. He was rotten from the beginning. And all that we are watching right now seems to be the same — not just ‘fallen leaders’ but rotten from the get go.”

Which led her to ask two larger questions:

Were some of these leaders actually rotten from the beginning, rather than good leaders who later fell?

If so, what might the deeper metamessage be behind the pattern we keep seeing in these movements?

If I’ve misread Cindy’s questions, I trust she’ll correct me in the comments.

The questions resonated because they were so difficult to answer.

Was the problem really the personalities involved?

Or was something deeper at work?

They shifted my attention away from individual leaders and toward the larger power dynamics I kept noticing — patterns that seem to appear across many systems that eventually become harmful.

Around the same time I remembered something the philosopher Peter Rollins once observed: every Sunday millions of people gather in orderly rows to worship the most radical nonconformist in religious history.

It’s a strange arrangement when you stop to think about it.

And somewhere in that process of thinking, Kings, Priests, and Carnival Barkers surfaced.

After finishing that piece, I returned to Cindy’s questions. They seemed to point toward culpability. I had already begun sketching an analogy for how responsibility might be distributed.

This felt like a good place to test it.

The System Becomes the Message

There is a concept in common law called constructive fraud.

In ordinary fraud, the elements are familiar: someone knowingly makes a false representation in order to induce another person to rely on it. The victim relies on the representation and suffers harm as a result.

In constructive fraud, the law recognizes that harm can occur even when not everyone involved intends to deceive. The structure of the relationship itself creates the conditions for exploitation. Authority, trust, and asymmetry of knowledge combine in ways that make the outcome predictable even when the participants understand their roles very differently.

The fraud — if that is the right word — may simply be the message itself. Not necessarily a deliberate lie, but a structure that produces the same result.

The claim that certain people possess privileged access to God’s will for the lives of others becomes central.

Inside the system that claim functions as currency, traded, validated, and circulated until it becomes indistinguishable from truth.

Prophetic claims from the privileged organize relationships, direct life decisions, and reallocate time, money, and loyalty. In doing so, they grant extraordinary influence over the lives of others.

In constructive fraud, participants do not all occupy the same role, and whether they believe the claims matters less than how they help sustain the larger deception.

At the top are the architects — a small number of leaders who construct and maintain the system.

Some of them may know exactly what they are doing.

Others may simply recognize that the structure works and continue reinforcing it.

Beneath them are the true believers in leadership, the pastors, prophets, and teachers who sincerely accept the framework and repeat its claims with complete conviction.

They often believe every word they say. But sincerity does not prevent the system from functioning.

It lubricates it.

Share

Then there are the ordinary participants — the congregants, volunteers, and young believers who internalize the message and begin repeating it themselves.

At that point the system becomes self-propagating: a prophetic word is shared; a testimony confirms it; the story is repeated; a life decision follows; the outcome is then cited as evidence that the prophetic word was from God.

These categories aren’t rigid. They’re simply a framework for thinking about how responsibility and influence move through a system, not just in religious movements, but in almost any structure built around authority and belief.

In practice, the lines blur constantly.

A person might begin as an ordinary participant, become a sincere leader, and eventually help sustain the very structure they once simply trusted.

Someone near the top of the system might believe the entire structure with complete sincerity.

Conviction has a way of reinforcing its own architecture.

Which brings Cindy’s question back into focus.

Were some of these leaders rotten from the beginning?

Possibly.

But the more troubling possibility is that it may not even matter.

Harm emerges regardless of intent.

The Bright Side of Trajectory

I don’t want to end the first installment of my new brand on a downer.

So here’s an uplifting question: Have I already sown the seeds of my own moral decay?

Only a few more steps are required to complete a fairly predictable formula.

I stumble onto some old practice. (brainstorming)

I confuse discovering something with inventing it. (Speculation Theory™)

I give it a clever name. (see above)

I brand it.

I repeat it often enough that the brand starts to feel like my identity.

At that point criticism of the idea begins to feel like criticism of me.

Which means I’ll become instinctively defensive and filter all new information through the lens of my brand.

And before long I’ll be doing the very thing I once set out to critique.

In fiction they call this foreshadowing.

In real life it’s more like trajectory.

And it sounds boring.

“Let the heavens falter
Let the earth proclaim
Come healing of the altar
Come healing of the name” — Leonard Cohen, Come Healing

In college, I took a course in medieval literature. Or philosophy. Or some hybrid the department assembled when two disciplines couldn’t quite decide where they belonged.

It met early in the morning. Eight, maybe nine.

The professor was normally very boring. Careful. Thorough. The kind of lecturer who rarely strayed from the outline. But she was kind about accepting papers past the deadline, which made her tolerable.

She had short white hair and may have been a former nun. She complimented my work, but also gave me a fifteen-minute talking-to for using the term “dualism” out of context.

One morning she paused in the middle of a lecture and said something that seemed to surprise even her.

“There was a period,” she said after a pause, “when the Vatican was turned into a…”

She used the impolite word for a business where sex is exchanged for money.

The imagery broke my focus on replenishing my blood with caffeine. The word hung in the room a moment longer than anyone expected. She looked faintly embarrassed, as if the sentence had slipped out before her academic instincts could catch it.

Then the lecture continued and the class moved on.

At the time it sounded like academic exaggeration — the sort of phrase a professor might use to wake up a room full of half-asleep students.

I didn’t think about it much afterward.

But over the past few months, as scandals in parts of the modern charismatic world have continued to surface, that sentence has returned to me more than once.

Memory has a way of resurfacing when it senses a pattern.

And history rarely repeats itself cleanly; it mutates, disguises itself, and returns in altered forms. Not every institution follows the same script. But when the same structure appears often enough, curiosity becomes difficult to ignore.

Eventually curiosity got the better of me. I looked it up.

By the tenth century the papal office had become entangled with Roman aristocracy. Powerful families treated the throne as an extension of their bloodline. Spiritual authority and dynastic ambition collapsed into one another. The Bishop of Rome was no longer merely a pastor — he was a political asset.

In the early 900s the Lateran Palace — seat of the Bishop of Rome — functioned less like a monastery and more like a court of appetite.

Popes were installed through aristocratic alliances, removed through intrigue, imprisoned, mutilated, poisoned. Teenage pontiffs ascended the throne. One was accused by his enemies of invoking pagan gods during drunken gambling sessions. Another allegedly turned the papal residence into a place of open sexual indulgence.

One Bishop of Rome died, according to hostile chroniclers, in the bed of another man’s wife.

Historians eventually gave the period a name.

Pornocracy.

Rule by sexual power and dynastic manipulation.

The word feels almost too precise.

The term itself was later coined by Protestant historians in the nineteenth century, who blamed the corruption of the papacy on a handful of powerful Roman women associated with the court. The framing carried its own assumptions. Politically influential women were often cast less as power brokers than as seductresses responsible for the moral collapse of men.

Sound familiar?

In some modern church circles, assertive women are still branded with a similar label — Jezebel — as though corruption arises from dangerous women rather than from the systems that give powerful men room to act without consequence.

The Pornocracy — a historical high point of papal excess — unfolded less than a thousand years after Jesus told his followers that the greatest among them must become the servant of all.

The rot gave rise to Cluny and, later, to the Gregorian reforms — ending simony, enforcing clerical celibacy, severing imperial control of bishops, and centralizing papal authority in the name of purification. Whether they purified the office or merely disciplined it is harder to say.

Two centuries later the papacy relocated to Avignon, where administrative sophistication, financial extraction, and royal entanglement replaced aristocratic decadence.

Once you see the pattern in history, it becomes difficult not to notice it elsewhere.

For the past few decades, certain leaders in the modern charismatic world were spoken of with a kind of quiet awe. Not merely gifted. Not merely influential. Holy. The sort of men whose prayers were said to move heaven, whose lives were offered as evidence that the miraculous still belonged in the ordinary life of the church.

The stories accumulated. Prophecies. Healings. Conferences where thousands gathered to hear a man speak as though he carried a particular gravity of God’s presence.

Then the allegations surfaced.

They did not arrive all at once. They rarely do. First whispers. Then testimonies. Then the slow recognition that what many people had quietly suspected for years was no longer containable.

More recently, another series of scandals has begun unfolding at a church in Northern California — one more rupture in a movement already struggling to explain itself.

As those reports of abuse emerged, a document bearing the names of individuals deeply entrenched in “Apostolic” networks began circulating on Facebook.

A passage from a recent accountability framework circulating among charismatic leadership networks.

“Accountability is not an enemy of grace. It is its ally.”

“Transparency is not a threat to leadership. It is its strength.”

The language carries the tone of recovered wisdom. Yet much of it simply restates moral axioms institutions already profess — as though the failure were one of articulation rather than application.

Reform presumes the structure can be corrected. It asks questions embedded with assumptions: how do we investigate, how do we restore, how do we discipline, how do we protect the church’s witness?

Necessary questions.

But insufficient.

They create the illusion that the problem is episodic — as though what keeps happening were an interruption.

But history suggests something deeper:

A movement forms.

It organizes.

Organization concentrates power.

Power protects itself.

Protection overrides conscience.

A pattern as ancient as the human condition.

Set on repeat.

The Pattern

The pattern is older than Christianity. Older than Rome. Older than Israel.

Around 2300 BCE, an outsider named Sargon rose in Mesopotamia. He unified rival city-states into what historians consider the first empire. Fragmented territories became centralized administration.

Authority stabilized the region.

And stability felt like salvation.

But stability rarely remains content to remain stability.

Expansion followed. Tribute. Forced labor. Dynastic succession.

What began as consolidation hardened into extraction.

After Sargon’s death, revolts followed.

Bronze head of a king, perhaps Sargon of Akkad, from Nineveh (now in Iraq), Akkadian period, c. 2300 bce; in the Iraq Museum, Baghdad. Source: britannica.com

The pattern surfaces again in ancient Israel. The tribes demand a king. The prophet Samuel warns them:

He will take your sons.

He will take your daughters.

He will take your fields.

He will take your flocks.

He will take.

They insist. God consents.

The monarchy forms.

Power stabilizes.

Power centralizes.

Power protects itself.

Then David enters the narrative. The shepherd who refused Saul’s armor. The boy who felled a giant and lifted its severed head before a stunned army. The fugitive who wrote psalms in caves and refused to kill the king hunting him.

He rises. He unifies tribes. Secures Jerusalem. Establishes a capital. Order had finally come.

And from a rooftop, he takes.

He does not stumble. He simply commands.

Bathsheba.

Uriah.

The machinery of the state.

The Scriptures say he was forgiven. But forgiveness does not erase everything. The sword enters his house. Sons turn on fathers. Brothers murder brothers. The palace fills with intrigue. The kingdom fractures.

The sword that severed Goliath becomes the symbol of a kingdom coming apart.

The Mediator, the Advocate, and the Intervention

David’s line is often celebrated in churches because Jesus descends from it — from David and Bathsheba.

I remember preachers at Christmas marveling at the elegance of God using the birth of his own son to redeem David’s transgressions.

God brings beauty out of adultery, they said. If He can do that with David’s sin, what can He do with yours?

Hmm.

What could he do with my sin?

Interesting.

I wonder what Uriah would say.

What if the genealogy tells a story that’s harder to swallow? What if Christ emerges from David’s line not to glorify it, but to interrupt it? Not to secure the throne, but to end the need for one.

The monarchy that promised security had already split the nation in two. Violence had entered the house.

The sword had done its work.

And into that inheritance, Christ is born.

He speaks of a kingdom without borders. A reign without swords. A fatherhood without dynastic succession. He refuses crowns. Evades coronations.

He walks toward execution.

Rome and the temple did not often agree. But they agreed on him. The state needed quiet.

The priests needed control.

So church and state — rivals in power — became partners in execution. The machinery of empire and the machinery of religion aligned to silence a man who refused to serve either.

Death became a spectacle.

But death did not hold him. And the risen Christ does not gather an army, draft a constitution, or appoint a successor. He breathes peace and prepares to leave again. He does not remain to consolidate what he has begun.

What he offers in his absence is not what history would later build in his name.

John 14:15-23

Not doctrine. Not councils. Not cathedrals. Not priests. No architecture sturdy enough to contain him.

The mediator between God and humanity does not promise another mediator.

He promises an Advocate.

A Spirit who cannot be seized, inherited, or preserved — only received.

The Fracture

Centuries passed. Councils gathered. Councils divided. Emperors crowned popes and popes crowned emperors. Crusades marched. Monasteries multiplied. Corruption receded, returned, receded again.

Reforms became seedbeds for new excess. Purifications hardened into the thing once opposed.

Then came the Reformation. A fracture. A victory. A release. The Scriptures in the hands of ordinary people. The priesthood of all believers spoken aloud. A gospel no longer mediated by empire or hierarchy now existed in common speech.

But the moment the pulpit loosened from Rome, it splintered again. Luther from the bishops. Zwingli from Luther. Calvin apart from both. After them, denominations multiplied like tributaries in a river delta — proof that even when truth is held to be singular, interpretation is not.

The pattern continued and found new forms.

Once the authority of Rome fractured, the pieces did not remain few. They reproduced. Diverged. Hardened into structures of their own.

Even in fracture, authority reassembled.

With proliferation came smaller kingdoms. New thrones. New loyalties.

Vision gathered followers.

Followers required structure.

Structure required leadership.

Leadership required protection.

And protection, once again, overrode conscience.

Autonomy brought freedom, yes — but freedom without accountability became its own scaffolding of harm.

No single hierarchy to appeal to. No shared authority to restrain excess. No unified structure capable of naming or correcting abuse.

Luther condemned the Jews. Calvin watched heretics burn.

Saints by reputation. Sinners by record.

Each convinced their truth was the truth.

The Joke

Even in fracture, the old struggle remained.

The king required assent.

Desire required doctrine.

Doctrine required a church.

In the early 1530s, Henry VIII wanted an annulment from Catherine of Aragon. Their marriage had produced no surviving son, and the Tudor dynasty was young. Henry had already turned his attention to Anne Boleyn. Rome refused to dissolve the marriage.

So Henry dissolved Rome.

In 1534 the Act of Supremacy declared Henry VIII the Supreme Head of the Church of England. A new ecclesial structure emerged — not from revelation, but from necessity. The crown required a church that could sanctify its own decisions.

The bishops adjusted. Parliament complied. The altar shifted.

Thomas More did not.

More was no revolutionary. A humanist scholar, a devout Catholic, and Lord Chancellor of England, he had spent his career defending the authority of the Church. He opposed Luther. He believed heresy endangered souls. Few men in England had done more to protect the institution Henry was now dismantling.

But he would not bless its refashioning.

He would defend an imperfect church. He would not sanctify a convenient one.

For that refusal, Henry condemned him.

The king required assent.

The bishops complied.

The conscience refused.

The machinery aligned again — crown and clergy, law and liturgy. A spectacle prepared.

Execution of Sir Thomas More, c.1575–1585. Painting by Antoine Caron. Musée de Blois, France.

Right before he was beheaded in 1535, More asked the executioner for help climbing the scaffold. Then, almost gently, almost amused, he said, “Prithee, see me safe up; and for my coming down, let me shift for myself.”

And as he laid his head upon the block, he moved his beard aside and remarked that it “had not offended the King.”

The scaffold was meant to display the supremacy of the crown over the soul.

Instead, it revealed something smaller.

Pride can endure opposition. It can reframe dissent as rebellion. It can spiritualize appetite and legislate obedience.

But it cannot survive ridicule.

Four centuries later, an Anglican preserved the joke. In the epigraph to The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis quotes More not to canonize defiance, but to expose a weakness in every inflated authority — spiritual or political.

“The devil… the proud spirit… cannot endure to be mocked..” — Thomas More

The axe falls. The head rolls. Conscience remains.

The Return

The pattern resurfaced at the dawn of the twentieth century in an unlikely place: a small storefront building on Azusa Street in Los Angeles. Historians often point to the moment as the beginning of what is still unfolding today.

Source: Apostolic Faith archives / various Pentecostal historical collections
Date: c. 1906–1907

At the time, it must have felt less like the beginning of a movement and more like something happening in the room.

People spoke languages they had never learned. Others shook, wept, collapsed. Some said miracles were happening. Others simply said the air felt different—heavier somehow, and lighter at the same time.

Within a year the sounds of Azusa were appearing in storefront churches across the country. Chicago. Houston. Cleveland. People carried the experience with them the way sparks carry fire.

But sparks rarely remain sparks.

By 1914 ministers were being licensed. Doctrines were being clarified. Denominations were forming. Bible schools opened. Missionaries carried the movement across oceans.

Something wild had started.

Source: The Apostolic Faith newspaper (published by the mission)

And like everything that survives contact with time, it began to organize itself.

The pattern returned.

Experience gathers people.

People require structure.

Structure requires authority.

Healing revivals filled tents and auditoriums. Charismatic personalities moved from pulpits to radio microphones and eventually television studios. Crowds gathered around figures who seemed to carry something electric in their presence.

Then, late in the twentieth century, a new current began flowing through evangelicalism.

Some called it the Third Wave.

Prophecy. Healing. Words of knowledge. Power encounters with the demonic. The gifts of the Spirit—long confined to Pentecostal margins—began to reenter the evangelical mainstream.

The language was restoration.

The hope was renewal.

The project was not to abandon the evangelical church but to reawaken it.

Many of the people carrying that current were not fringe revivalists. They were pastors and teachers working inside the evangelical world itself—people convinced something essential about the life of the Spirit had been forgotten.

One of them was my father.

Like many in that moment, he believed prophecy and healing belonged in the ordinary life of the church and became one of the movement’s most convincing apologists. Some of the stranger claims circulating at the edges of the charismatic world were treated as folklore—stories half believed and half laughed about.

He accepted some of the language circulating at the time—Joel’s army, for instance. I doubt he understood that it echoed earlier Manifest Sons of God theology.

Privately, he warned me away from many of the ideas preached on the same platforms he shared. He still says he would not call himself a charismatic—only an evangelical who believes the gifts of the Spirit did not disappear with the first century.

But bridges have a way of outliving the intentions of the people who build them.

Movements formed around networks of revelation. Leaders spoke of restoring the offices of the early church—authority structures meant to guide the faithful through a turbulent age.

History rarely repeats itself in costume—but often in logic.

By the early twenty-first century, some charismatic leaders found themselves praying over presidents, advising campaigns, speaking prophetic words over elections and nations.

And when exposure comes—as it inevitably does—the response is equally familiar.

Committees form. White papers appear. Narrowly focused investigations are commissioned, often excluding financial scrutiny. Councils gather. Accountability frameworks promise transparency and reform.

The instinct is preservation.

Corruption is treated like an infection of the fruit rather than a condition of the tree.

History suggests a different question.

Does the tree still carry life?

If the roots are dry, reform becomes theater.

The spectacle does not remain inside the church.

Sooner or later it spills into the wider world.

A young well-financed political activist sits on a stage at a public gathering, the kind where microphones amplify biases and crowds gather to watch convictions collide.

Before the night is over, he is bleeding on the floor.

Within hours, positions harden.

He was divine. He was demonic.

He was a martyr. He was merely murdered.

He died because he was proclaiming the truth. He died because of the hatred he spread.

In death, he becomes a symbol.

A symbol is simple.

A human being isn’t.

Church and state align.

Death unfolds as spectacle.

Spectacle destroys grief.

In grief, a person remains a person.

The tension grows as the pattern repeats.

Institutions proclaim the name so the image of a crucified carpenter can survive, treating the scarring as the price of preservation. They assume that without roads, councils, institutions—even empires—the world would never have heard the name at all.

It is logical. Convenient. And it sanctifies institutional existence.

Perhaps the story would have dissolved into rumor.

Perhaps the memory of a crucified rabbi from Galilee would have vanished with the generation that first followed him but for the scaffolding his followers built to prop him up.

And yet Samuel warned the people what kings do.

If not a king, then what? More priests? The priesthood was already hereditary. Already a structure. Samuel himself stood inside it.

Yet the decision was made. God spoke privately to Samuel.

Do not worry about the people rejecting you, he said.

They have not rejected you.

They have rejected me.

“Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams.”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

I.

My head rested in her lap as the pickup sped down the Interstate. The metal ridges of the bed pressed into my back. Highway lights erased the stars and stitched white lines across the sky. Tires droned against the asphalt.

I looked up into her eyes and mistook the shades of blue for inevitability.

Speed without danger.

Closeness without risk.

Intimacy without cost.

She leaned down. The wind swept her blonde hair over our faces and sealed us in as our lips met.

Wanting fused with belief.

We were fourteen and fifteen, calling it love — naming a tide we didn’t know how to swim, one I thought would never recede.

A week later she asked me to meet her alone on a balcony at a party.

I slipped through the crowd and opened the sliding glass door. Cool night air rushed against my face.

It wasn’t working out. She didn’t say why. I didn’t ask.

That night I lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying the week as if there were something I could adjust. The next morning, reaching for a soda in the garage, the memory returned with the hiss of aluminum opening.

I recalled something my father said during a sermon. If you prayed long enough — if you bothered God enough — He might give you what you wanted, even if it wasn’t what He wanted.

The idea lodged in me like a skeleton key. I tried to turn it.

Mouth dry. Stomach hollow. I prayed on the hour, watching the numbers on my Casio as if the digits were listening.

The church I grew up in expected God to act. People closed their eyes and waited for direction. Words were spoken in low voices and treated as maps. The last days were talked about as if they were already underway.

Seriousness meant sacrificing food for a meal, a day, a week, or a month. They called it fasting. I thought of it as proof.

The longer I tried to fast, the more I prayed, the clearer the logic became.

I had been taught that God stood outside of time, so I pictured Him as an author, every moment held all at once, like pages of a novel laid open.

If that were true, then the pain of rejection did not fade for Him. It remained — infinite in love, undiminished by time, compounded by every generation and each new face, even mine.

Yet He continued to love, not from lack, but from abundance.

And now I believed I could make Him bend.

He suddenly seemed more relatable when He started sounding like me.

I pitied Him.

II.

She still wanted to be friends. I couldn’t do it.

The large church in California we attended met in a warehouse. The homeless ministry occupied one side of the building. The small workout area in the back — a bench, a cable machine, a few mismatched plates — was tucked behind banquet tables lined with paper bags for the poor. The space felt provisional, everything arranged for service or improvement.

One afternoon she walked in.

I was doing triceps extensions, the cable whining each time I pulled it down. My arms burned. Sweat slid down my back.

“You look good,” she said.

She stood a few feet away. Calm. Not awkward.

A wall I hadn’t seen before was suddenly there. I heard myself say “Thanks.” She was already turning away.

She had offered something simple — conversation, proximity. A version of us that required nothing to change.

I wanted the old script. I wanted her to miss me. To reconsider. To step back into the place she occupied in my imagination.

I kept pulling the cable down, letting it rise, pulling it down again. Metal plates clanged softly.

It seemed easier than accepting her as she was.

Around that time, the air at church felt heavier too. Words like restoration and authority moved through rooms as if they had assignments. Apostles restored. Prophetic streams converged.

People spoke about cities and nations like generals studying a map, preparing to reclaim something already assumed to be theirs.

Years later I would find meeting notes from 1989—clean pages, untouched, outlining plans for twelve “strategic” metropolitan regions. I recognized the names and the apocalyptic register of their voices.

Back then, I inhaled the ideas that filled the air. I saw the individual parts, like shadows on a cave wall, but not what was casting them.

I carry those shadows inside me.

In the gym, sweating under the cable machine, all of it felt connected—the weight in my hands, the silence between us, and reality refusing to yield.

The rules seemed simple.

If resistance appears, increase force.

If force fails, claim authority.

If authority falters, redefine resistance.

And if authority could be restored in cities, why not in the heart of a girl?

The cable slid up.

I pressed the bar down.

III.

I didn’t tell a soul about my secret mission.

When my dad bought my brother and me popcorn at the movies, I accepted it. I pocketed handfuls into the pouch of my hoodie during the show and snuck out to the bathroom to empty it in the trash. I returned to my seat with butter stains on my sweatshirt and a hollow ache in my stomach.

I thought I was bargaining.

The notes from 1989 weren’t relics. They were a clean black and white prototype of what would follow.

In time, names surfaced in headlines. Different churches. Different cities. The details varied — spiritual fathers, private rooms, rewritten stories. Harm folded neatly into the redemption of those who caused it.

Around the six-month mark, I convinced myself God had given me the date she would come back. I don’t remember how I chose it. I remember the certainty.

One weekend, my brother went to Mexico with the youth group. I stayed home and waited.

That night I heard a sound in the yard and climbed out the window just above my bed.

I opened the back gate and stared at the empty space.

Nothing bent but the grass.

My brother came home a day later sunburned and telling stories about waves taller than houses.

I had passed up the ocean for an answer from the sky.

The key I thought I had inherited kept getting jammed.

The logic didn’t collapse all at once. It thinned.

I quietly stopped praying for her return. The hours widened. I never fasted again.

The images of God inside me were at war with one another. I couldn’t tell who was who. I had to sever them to see.

One fills rooms. Fickle as my desire. Propped up with new language: authority, alignment, covering.

He offers words that promise order.

Words that promise return.

Words that promise comfort without clarity.

Words that whisper to what is most primitive in me — and you.

The other God does not mistake fate for fortune. He does not override. He absorbs the blows and keeps moving forward.

Face set like flint; heart full of dread.

His strength revealed in a bargain that left him with nothing but a final breath of abandonment.

Or so the story goes.

Once, I believed the choice was between love and power. It isn’t so simple.

Power exposes the nature of the one who holds it.

When it is used to control, questions are suppressed, wonder stymied, institutions elevated.

When love governs power, it often takes the form of restraint—bearing what could be cast off, holding steady when relief could be summoned.

Love doesn’t violate. It anticipates rejection. It sees clearly when everything is broken.

As a boy, I had asked Love to violate love.

Now I have to ask: Did I just do something similar?

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. A sentence I can’t fully remember.

Did I reduce her to a symbol?

Again?

All that effort.

Not for love.

But for an illusion I created.

“It’s funny how you defined something in me, but wait a minute, I’ve not finished yet.”— Foy Vance, London City

It’s been a while.

Thank you for your patience during the quiet. I needed it.

The direction of this project has shifted — not away from investigation, but deeper into it.

I began my career as a narrative journalist — which is another way of saying a frustrated novelist. I cared about story: vivid detail, clean arcs, sentences that made people feel something true.

Later, I turned to investigative reporting and became intoxicated by it. I learned that placing one precise word after another could shape events. My work helped overturn an election, contributed to police reform, triggered investigations into some of the country’s most prominent law firms, and informed criminal indictments.

Language, used carefully, moves institutions. But as someone raised inside the charismatic movements I now examine, I began to see another layer. Survivors weren’t only describing misconduct. They were describing architecture — how certain belief systems reshaped their perception, how language conditioned their responses, how obedience became indistinguishable from identity.

Coercion has structure. It works best when it feels voluntary.

Out of curiosity, I began experimenting with linguistic analysis tools — uploading lengthy sermon transcripts and interviews to map recurring metaphors, binary frameworks, and rhetorical pressure points.

With enough data, patterns emerge. Certain forms of speech reliably produce urgency, fear, dependency, and compliance. Authority has grammar.

Eventually, I turned the same lens inward. The patterns were there too. (I tend to list my professional accomplishments when I’m insecure.)

The essays ahead will explore the connection between belief systems and the psychological and spiritual needs they fulfill — not only for institutions, but for the people drawn to them.

They will examine how God-images are constructed, how language shapes conscience, how power hides inside piety, and how conformity can feel like safety.

They will also ask harder questions: what needs in us made these systems persuasive? What hunger did they feed? Where does coercion begin — in pulpits, or in the human heart?

I am writing to understand what shaped me, how I allowed certain concepts to define me, and whether I will continue the cycle.

If these reflections resonate, perhaps they can offer additional perspectives — and the recovery of sovereignty in choosing who we become.

The first essay in this project should be posted shortly.

I’m not finished yet.

I don’t know about you, but I can still hear the blood crying out from the ground. Does it ever stop? Would any investigation, any report, ever be enough to silence those cries?

As I sifted through the latest revelations about the abuse at the International House of Prayer in Kansas City(IHOPKC), I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had spent more time analyzing the report than the people involved spent writing it. And don’t even get me started on what I can only call a piece of lawfare—dropped on Friday.

Right now, I need help wrestling with a few questions. I’m searching for the right language, which often means meandering—sometimes stumbling, sometimes falling flat.

I guess we’re all going to find out together.

Anyway, I like having my Sundays free. But occasionally, my wife feels guilty about not belonging to a local church.

As luck would have it, my research into church abuse turned up an unexpected benefit: a strategy to keep me on the sofa and out of the sanctuary.

I stumbled across it with just two Google searches.

The first: “pastor restoration policy.”

The second: “clergy abuse victim restitution policy.”

I found plenty of the former—maybe one of the latter. And I don’t think it came from an evangelical church.

So now, when my wife starts feeling guilty and asks to go back to church, I just say:

“Fine. Pick one. And before we start attending, tithing, and coming under their pastoral covering, I need to walk into their office unannounced on a Wednesday morning and ask to see their pastoral restoration policy—because, you know, as a pastor’s son, that’s important to me.

“Then I’ll follow up with: ‘Hey, I also have two daughters, so I need to see your clergy abuse victim restitution policy, too. Along with the abuse reporting policy.’”

My wife knows I would sit in that awkward moment for as long as possible—maybe even find ways to stretch it out. She doesn’t share my affinity for conflict, and the thought of me actually doing this usually keeps church attendance off the table for a while.

But if I ever have to visit a church on a Wednesday, I have a feeling their idea of restoration will be all about the pastor—not the victim.

And rather than humiliating some church administrator, it might be better to present them with an opportunity—an actual policy—severe enough to serve as a deterrent should anyone look at my daughters the wrong way.

So, I started crafting my own victim restitution policies. That went sideways real fast.

Sure, they were draconian and all, but the numbers were just overwhelming.

Because how do you put a price on a wound so deep it becomes a part of you?

I wanted nothing to do with that.

Then I started thinking about the difference between restoration and restitution.

Restoration is about making something whole again—healing or reinstating what was lost.

Restitution is about repayment—compensating for the harm done.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized: They’re bound together—two sides of the same burden. And no matter how I turned it over in my hands, it was too heavy to carry.

Because in most—if not all—cases of abuse, true restoration isn’t possible.

At best, there’s only some distant approximation.

I’ve endured some abuse. And for a long time, I thought toughing it out was the same thing as suffering well.

It’s not.

Conflating the two has consequences—not just for me, but for the people I love.

My abuse, however, happened outside the church.

Which brings me to the first thing I need help with:

I could use some ideas for a restitution policy from people who understand a particular kind of abuse—the kind that desecrates the sacred.

Seems like a lot of assumptions are being made on your behalf. But I don’t see many people asking you what you need.

I’m not asking for disclosures about what happened.

I want to know how you should have been treated by the church—in the best of all worlds.

Because these eruptions that are blowing the tops off steeples? They show no signs of slowing down.

Apparently, another scandal just popped up—involving a Christian TV station and some Lambs who, for once, might actually need a nudge into the lions’ den.

The more I ponder this, the heavier the questions get.

Several months ago, I was discussing all these scandals with a friend. As far as I know, she didn’t grow up in church, but she learned way too early how to navigate extremely abusive landscapes.

Something I said must have set her off because suddenly, she was yelling at me—out of love, or whatever:

“You have trauma!”

“You have complex PTSD!”

“What are you thinking?!”

At the time, it felt judgmental. But…

There was that thing.

Then that other thing.

And something else that lasted way too long.

Funny—I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. And it’s been a long time since we last talked.

But I still need to figure out what the highest version of myself looks like—wounds and all.

That’s where I need the most help.

Because if I’ve learned anything from this process, it’s that my focus has to stay on that struggle.

And in my case, that means making sure it isn’t tied to what may or may not happen to someone else.

I can’t control that.

I won’t hand over more power to that person.

I can fight for justice.

I can find meaning and clarity in the struggle.

But if I place my hope in a specific outcome, I always end up closing myself off to the possibility of something better.

It’s not easy. But I think many of you have already found healthy ways forward.

And I could use some wisdom …

How did you begin to heal?

How did you create a vision of yourself—wounds and all—that was worthy of who you really are?

How were you able to focus on that, instead of the person who damaged you?

What helped, even a little?

Again, no need for disclosures—just small insights, moments, anything.

Drop them in the comments.

Dear Friends and Supporters,

It has been almost one month since we announced this joint writing endeavor—a project born out of our personal experiences supporting IHOPKC survivors and fueled by our shared dream of addressing clergy abuse scandals in various spaces. We envisioned this as a platform for collective learning, healing and advocacy, a journey we ourselves are still on.

While we have learned so much over the past year, nothing prepared us for the overwhelming level of burnout revealed in the last few weeks. This, coupled with some unexpected personal matters, has made it clear that now is not the right time for us to move forward with Inquiry Inc.

We deeply regret any disappointment this news may cause, particularly to those already let down by religious systems and leadership. This was never our intention, and for that, we are truly sorry.

Please know that your overnight support of Inquiry Inc has been meaningful to each of us in profound ways. It also affirmed our suspicion that there is a real need for more victims advocacy resources within evangelical circles. We know that the post-IHOPKC community will continue to inspire others to step into such roles, and it is still our dream to run alongside them when the timing is right.

While we will continue individual efforts to support survivors, we also want to highlight the importance of preventing burnout by finding a sustainable pace - for us this will mean prioritizing family, self-care, and continued education.

Effective today, Inquiry Inc. will be returning to Divine Detours under the sole authorship of Stephen Deere. If you signed up for a paid subscription following our initial announcement, please reach out to stephen.c.deere@gmail.com and we would be happy to issue a refund or cancellation.

With heartfelt gratitude and hope,

Alyssa DeGraff, Stephen Deere, and Susan Tuma

Fifteen years after leaving the International House of Prayer In Kansas City (IHOPKC), I still find myself hoping for an apocalypse—not the fantasy used to control us.

That was always a lie.

Deep down, I still want to believe that something’s coming that will finally end the world I’m so tired living in— a world where men like Mike Bickle stand on platforms built on the backs of the vulnerable, worshipped as charismatic gods. I’m tired of the cycle: the exposures, the sabbaticals, the unconditional absolution always dripping from the mouths of all these false prophets who are trotted out to restore, rebrand, and re-crown predators, always granting them more power to inflict more torment on earnest people. I’m so exhausted by it. I want it to end.

I’m tired of prophecies. I’m tired of stadiums. I’m so, so tired of millions taking the cup these men offer and drinking from it, til they’re so drunk on the promise of power, revival, and glory that they can’t see the devastation of victims. And you know what else? I’m tired of leaders who are more marked by their silence than their advocacy, because that’s the price of doing business. It hurts. Victims know what silence from those leaders really is. It’s allegiance.

It’s funny, because I never bought into Revelation. At least, I didn’t think I did. But with every new story, new announcement I can’t help thinking, “will this be the thing that finally ends it?” I feel like I'm waiting for Apocalypse — and I'm realizing, little by little, that the hardest part of it all isn’t the letdown when the world keeps spinning. It’s realizing that somewhere deep down, I’ve started to hope again. It’s terrifying. Where did it come from? Can I trust it? Is it real?

I don’t know.

It's not a new feeling. It's one that’s been building. I think I’ve had this expectation, with every step forward, that the next might be what finally brings relief. On Wednesday, there was another step: the Advocate Group, the former IHOPKC leaders who exposed Bickle’s clergy sexual abuse, announced an investigation in coordination with Tikkun Global, a Messianic Jewish organization that’s highly respected by many in Charismatic circles.

We've all been waiting nearly a year for this. Why do I still feel like I can’t breathe? I know exactly why. It's because nothing ever turns out quite as well as we hope it might. There’s always a letdown to let go of. And it’s hard, because I know what each step forward has cost.

I think of the brave victims coming forward:

One story.
Two stories.
Five.
Ten.

Every story feels so drenched in the precious pain of a survivor, in the weight of unimaginable cost. It feels so very, very wrong that the ones who should have been protected are the ones choosing to bear it. I’ve watched dear friends nearly break under the weight of it. I've stayed up late into the night, worrying, listening—kept them on the phone until I heard their breathing even out, trying to find some kind of steadiness in me to offer, even if it's just my voice. There's no forgetting a weight like that, and I don't want to. I’ve tried to carry remembrance of it with me ever since. It feels so heavy. But it also feels sacred.

Everything feels so familiar, like some weird twist of fate has put me right back where I started. After all, I’m shoulder to shoulder next to the very same people I stood next to before, and we’re practically interceding. That’s what advocacy is, isn’t it? A kind of intercession? I mean, look at us. We’ve been crying out day and night for justice. Maybe it’s because it was so drilled into me — I read it, said it, sung it, prayed it— but I think I really have this hope that somewhere, somehow, some kind of bowl is filling up with all these stories, all this pain right up to the point where it tips right onto Mike’s head and pours out some kind of righteous judgement that will end this.

One story.
Two stories.
Fifteen.
Fifty.

Fallen, fallen, is Babylon the great.
She who has made all the nations drink of the wine of
the passion of her immorality….

How many stories will it take til I hear those words?

I think about Mike, and IHOP, and every leader and movement like it out there, inflicting wounds that cause all these precious ones to falter. I think about “the blood of the prophets” — of Ernie Gruen, of the Fearless Five, or any of the others who spoke truth to power and were cast out. I think about millstones the size of boulders, and wish I believed in angels, because I know it takes miraculous strength to lift one high enough to cast into the sea. I know all about the strength it takes to carry out apocalypse—I’ve read it.

A mighty angel picked up a boulder the size of a large millstone and threw it into the sea, and said:

“With such violence
    the great city of Babylon will be thrown down,
    never to be found again.

The music of harpists and musicians, pipers and trumpeters,
    will never be heard in you again.
No worker of any trade
    will ever be found in you again….

….the light of a lamp
will never shine in you again.
The voice of bridegroom and bride
will never be heard in you again.”

I thought I left that kind of belief behind when I walked out of IHOP, but now I’m not sure that I did—as unprepared as I was for that realization, I was even more unprepared for the kind of hope that came with it.  I don’t know about you, but I want so badly for those words to come true. Not because I want wrath, or destruction, or death. I don’t. I want what comes after. I want back all the things I lost when I was cast out. I want a city I can breathe in; a spiritual family. A home. I want it so much that it scares me.

I remember crying once to a friend who knows the cost wrapped up in my own story; how it broke my family, my community, my sense of self.  I told her how much it hurt to believe that maybe there could be some kind of resolution—how it feels like hoping for something good might cost me even more than what it cost to pour out my pain and face the desolation. I think I’ve always assumed that hope would feel like reassurance, but it doesn’t—at least, not always. Hope, it turns out, can also really, really terrifying, I think. There’s so much tied up in it, so much vulnerability, that it almost feels like pain. I think that’s what makes it cost so much to carry. It’s as beautiful as it hurts.

I don’t think I’m alone in that.

I don’t pretend to know what will happen next. I don’t know when or if the bowls will tip; how this story will end. But I think, in this moment, I want to honor that which feels sacred:

The cost of every story poured out.
The weight of all that hope.
Pain that takes our breath away.
Beauty that leaves us breathless too.

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For additional information regarding the Advocate Group and Tikkun Global, visit here:

www.tikkunglobal.org
www.theadvocategroup.org

When I first began investigating the unfolding scandal at the International House of Prayer in Kansas City, I expected to find disillusionment and heartbreak — not the remarkable strength and resilience of those who had emerged from the chaos.

Once fiercely devoted to their faith and the institution, many former IHOPPERS have lost their belief in God and are still figuring out how to heal. Despite this, they remain intensely passionate, highly intelligent, and deeply driven.

Some of them are, frankly, geniuses.

Last October, when news surfaced about IHOPKC Founder Mike Bickle, along with decades of allegations of systemic spiritual and sexual abuse, as well as financial exploitation, many former IHOPPERS—who had formed close relationships as they educated themselves on clergy abuse—returned to the very religious machine they had once escaped. They came back to rescue others as the organization imploded. As scandals continued to erupt across Evangelicalism, these advocates began expanding their networks, connecting with other abuse survivors across the country.

This untapped talent, forged in the crucible of betrayal and spiritual abuse, had retained their skills, passion, sharpness, and, as far as I could tell, sacrificial love.

To better leverage those skills, Divine Detours is rebranding as Inquiry Inc.

At its core, Inquiry Inc. is about breaking free from the artificial boundaries that constrain traditional journalism and reimagining how information serves as both currency and power.

Our work comes from a deep understanding of abusive systems—from the inside out—paired with the investigative expertise to expose them. We don’t just report on the playbook; we stay ahead of the manipulation tactics, financial cover-ups, and psychological control that leaders who thrive on secrecy rely on. We’ve lived through these systems ourselves, and now we’re dismantling them.

We don’t just tell stories; we gather evidence, trace patterns, and leverage every available resource to flip the script on bad actors in the pulpit.

Our real strength lies in our willingness to embrace our own vulnerability.

By operating outside the constraints of legacy media, we’re able to push for deeper accountability, protect whistleblowers, and disrupt the narratives that keep abuses hidden.

Growing up as Jack Deere’s son, I had a front-row seat to religious movements worldwide. I saw faith at its most fervent. But after years in journalism, I found myself more comfortable with sources over drinks than in church pews. My career became a study in moral compromise, watching how lines blur—like when a politician's chief of staff casually reminisces about gifting Cartier cufflinks to her boss in exchange for a lucrative contract.

When I started posting on Divine Detours, I had no grand plan beyond asking questions and writing a few stories that might enlighten.. At the time, I was also talking with a friend about what a hybrid, highly efficient journalistic endeavor might look like.

Then, as I dug deeper into the finances and structures behind these abusive church networks, I met former IHOPPERS Alyssa DeGraff and Susan Tuma, who eventually invited to join a new venture. They wanted to concentrate on exposing the damage inflicted by religious institutions marked by centralized authority, insularity, and control over narratives—institutions particularly vulnerable when credible information breaches their walls.

Susan and I share a unique connection. Her grandfather, John White, a British psychiatrist, played a pivotal role in my family’s history. In 1986, he brought my father, a longtime Dallas Theological Seminary professor into the Charismatic movement.

Both White and my father promoted ideas and practices that Susan and I now recognize as deeply problematic—ideas that, in many cases, fueled the abusive dynamics within these religious environments.

I met Alyssa earlier this year when she reached out with tips through a layered system of encrypted communication.

She was no ordinary tipster.

Soon, we were working together on projects, as Alyssa had quickly developed an arsenal of tools for investigating public records and collecting whistleblower stories.

Then, this past spring, Alyssa invited me to assist her on an investigative project over the course of several weeks, and displayed on uncanny ability to recognize patterns and sift through thousands of documents in a setting.

It turns out that Alyssa was born in Tyler, Texas at legendary Christian musician Keith Green’s Last Day Ministries compound while I was being raised in conservative evangelical circles in the Fort-Worth Dallas area.

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My hesitation about this endeavor stemmed from the significant logistical support that would be needed. High-stakes investigative journalism in a digital-first world requires more than just skilled professionals. It demands secure infrastructure, editorial discipline, legal safeguards, data-broker agreements, specialized programmers, forensic profilers, and advanced skip-tracing tools.

We had the right people, but to be truly effective, we needed to build an apparatus.

It took a couple of months, but we figured it out—mostly.

We are now Inquiry Inc.

Alyssa DeGraff: A Voice for Victims

Alyssa’s work is rooted in a clear cause: protecting and empowering victims of clergy misconduct. She meticulously researches and presents factual accounts of abuse, blending them with empathetic narratives that resonate deeply. By doing so, Alyssa bridges the gap between cold, hard facts and the human experiences behind them, fostering a sense of solidarity and urgency.

Her reporting isn’t detached. It acknowledges her commitment to justice and the well-being of survivors, aligning with the heart of advocacy journalism. Emotionally engaged and passionately driven, Alyssa crafts compelling stories that inform while inspiring readers to support victims and advocate for systemic change. Her narratives emphasize justice, reform, and social transformation, ensuring the plight of victims stays front and center in public consciousness.

Susan Tuma: The Advocate Alchemist

Susan Tuma takes on the transformative role of the Advocate Alchemist, weaving personal narratives into something truly magical. With her extraordinary ability to shape visual content—whether through powerful videos, evocative imagery, or innovative designs—Susan transforms raw information and lived experiences into captivating stories that advocate for truth and justice.

Her work goes beyond creativity; it is an alchemy of emotion, fact, and testimony that speaks directly to the heart of her audience. Susan’s stories aren’t just visually striking; they’re deeply human, evoking empathy and action. She takes complex, often painful realities and turns them into narratives that inspire change, leaving a lasting impact on all who experience her work.

Stephen Deere: The Disrupter

Stephen Deere dives headfirst into the murky waters of truth-seeking. His investigations into clergy misconduct are marked by raw, emotional transparency. He doesn’t simply observe from a distance—he lives through the complexity, making his storytelling as much about the journey as the facts he uncovers.

Stephen’s reporting exposes corruption, but it also invites readers to feel the ethical dilemmas and emotional weight behind each discovery. He ensures that justice is seen from all angles, bringing readers into the darkest corners of each story.

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Author’s note: This article, which includes my analysis of apparent attempts by IHOPKC to form a new church, has been updated to include Tikkun Global’s statement issued on Tuesday, July 2, 2024. Tikkun Global emphatically denies any knowledge of, or involvement with, the new IHOPKC-affiliated organization called Sanctuary Church.

A recent corporate filing has revealed the leaders of the International House of Prayer (IHOPKC) have established a new church, triggering fears that the new organization is already deploying deceptive practices.

Among the concerns is that this new organization may be creating the illusion of supernatural occurrences even before holding its first service to coerce followers, embodying the tactics that led to the Kansas City-based IHOPKC’s downfall.

Sanctuary Church was officially incorporated in Missouri on April 18 by IHOPKC leaders.

A recording surfaced last spring of Bennett and another IHOPKC leader, Matt Candler, announcing that IHOPKC was dissolving to avoid liability stemming from an alleged clergy sexual abuse scandal that implicates founder Mike Bickle and the culture he created within the internationally known organization.

Sanctuary Church’s incorporation documents list Isaac Bennett, IHOPKC’s executive leader, as the registered agent and the location of the new church as the coffee shop at the former IHOP University Campus. Bennett’s wife, Morgan, and Candler are Sanctuary Church’s other incorporators.

But the document that legally created Sanctuary Church appears riddled with red flags.

‘DIDN’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THIS’

Perhaps the most problematic aspect of Sanctuary’s “Articles of Incorporation” appears to be the misleading impression that a prominent international Messianic Jewish organization supports the new iteration of IHOPKC.

A Messianic Jewish congregation is a community of Jewish and Gentile believers who follow Yeshua (Jesus) as the Messiah while maintaining a Jewish identity and lifestyle. These congregations blend elements of Jewish tradition with faith in Jesus as the Messiah, creating a unique worship experience that pays honor to their Jewish heritage.

The incorporation papers list “Tikkun Ministries” as a 50% beneficiary of the nonprofit's assets in the event it dissolves. Tikkun Ministries seems to be the prior name of Tikkun Global.

Naming a nonprofit as a beneficiary to assets normally involves obtaining the organization’s consent to avoid legal disputes and indicates that Tikkun Global has a strong financial interest in the new church.

But a senior Tikkun leader told me that he learned about the arrangement after receiving a list of questions I had emailed them.

“This caught everyone in Tikkun by surprise,” said Ron Cantor, former Tikkun CEO. “They didn’t know anything about this.”

Cantor, who is based in Israel, said because of the time difference he wanted to wait before releasing a more definitive statement.

On Tuesday morning, Tikkun released a follow-up statement signed by its seven most senior leaders, including Tikkun Global President Asher Intrater. In addition to confirming Cantor’s prior assertions, the Tikkun leaders also announced that they had contacted an unidentified signer of the Sanctuary Church document and requested the removal of Tikkun’s name.

IHOPKC leaders did not respond to a list of written questions regarding Sanctuary Church.

Since late October, at least four victims have come forward with allegations of clergy sexual abuse—two of them minors at the time of the alleged abuse.

Those allegations coincided with claims that sexual, psychological, and financial abuses ran rampant throughout the internationally known IHOPKC.

Founded in 1999, the International House of Prayer Kansas City (IHOPKC) aimed to hasten the second coming of Christ and the conversion of Israel to Christianity through continuous, night and day prayer and worship. IHOPKC garnered an international reputation for its claims of supernatural revelation, extreme devotion, and sacrificial living.

But within six months of the October allegations, the organization imploded—soon after former supporters deemed the institution to have cult-like tendencies.

MANIPULATING FROM THE SHADOWS?

Cantor has been a vocal critic of IHOPKC on social media.

The false implication that Tikkun Global, the real name of the ministry, aligns or supports the actions and values of Sanctuary could potentially damage Tikkun’s reputation and trustworthiness, leading to confusion among stakeholders and donors.

The effective date of Sanctuary Church’s incorporation coincides with its filing date, April 18, 2024 — but it was signed weeks earlier.

A month after the paper work was filed, Judy L. Thomas of the Kansas City Star published a story revealing that the date on Paul Cain's mother's death certificate was dated April 19.

April 18 holds significant importance in IHOPKC’s “prophetic history,” a powerful narrative that reinforced IHOPKC's control over its followers.

Paul Cain, a so-called prophet and an IHOPKC founding figure, emphasized that April 18 was the date his mother died and linked it to a scripture about the Old Testament Prophet Elijah to bolster his prophetic authority.

Bickle seems to have strategically used the April-18 date, making it synonymous with divine approval and stilling questions for fear of opposing God's will.

It's not the first time IHOPKC has stamped official paperwork with April 18.

In 2021, IHOPKC seemingly donated 45 acres of land to Bickle's dormant nonprofit, House of Prayer Ministries. Created in 2015, House of Prayer Ministries aims to spread Christianity through real estate development.

The donated land, valued at $800,000 on House of Prayer Ministries' tax return, includes a 7-bedroom house. Another organization, Return Ministries, appears to be occupying the property.

Additionally, the filing for the new church lists Hope City as Sanctuary’s other beneficiary.

Bickle’s relatives operate Hope City, presenting an apparent conflict of interest. It might suggest that the decision to put Hope City on the filing was intended to grant Bickle’s close circle significant financial benefits rather than serving Sanctuary Church’s best interests.

The familial ties between Hope City, an IHOPKC inner-city ministry, and Mike Bickle could also imply ongoing influence as IHOPKC shutters ministries and divests itself of a sizable real estate portfolio worth an estimated $30 million.

The recent devastating clergy sexual abuse scandals across the country have shattered countless lives and exposed a bitter struggle between two forces: the entrenched, money-fueled church hierarchy and an increasingly livid laity, whose strength lies in its numbers and collective voice.

Victims and their advocates, striving for transparency, justice, and accountability, face imposing church machines armed with highly compensated lawyers and public relations professionals.

In the past, the primary sources of information about these scandals came from the pulpit or mainstream media. Now, social media is the great leveler—the tool that allows anyone with a bit of skill to rock the boat.

Each post, each tweet, each shared story cuts through the fog of silence and complicity.

The First Amendment was drafted for times such as these, but free speech comes with a responsibility.

Although I am not a lawyer, I can share my reflections from 20 years in journalism on how large, powerful institutions attempt to stifle free speech through defamation claims and the tactics that have helped me avoid defamation. While this article includes factual quotes from individuals, the interpretations and opinions expressed are my own. Please note that this is not legal advice.

Furthermore, this information pertains mainly to those already speaking out — not to sexual abuse victims within a church who have yet to disclose the abuse. Nearly every expert I’ve encountered recommends reporting abuse to someone outside the church, such as a lawyer, law enforcement, or an advocacy organization. Speaking with an attorney ensures the highest degree of confidentiality, as attorney-client privilege is considered a sacrosanct protection under the law.

In recent years, self-governing charismatic churches with dominant leaders and little accountability have become focal points for allegations of clergy sexual abuse. In response, these leaders often claim ignorance of the incidents, portray the accusations as spiritual attacks, or dismiss them as mere gossip and slander.

Advocates have warned that sanctuaries of worship have been transformed into master classes in leveraging partial truths and deploying indirect coercion tactics — from the stage or on social media.

Now established voices within the Christian Charismatic Movement — a segment of evangelical Christianity emphasizing supernatural spiritual gifts and direct experiences of the Holy Spirit — have issued oddly timed admonitions about impending legal action and ambiguous judgment against “mockers” and “critics.”

Chris Reed, President and CEO of MorningStar Ministries, a religious institution in Fort Mill, South Carolina, told a crowd at a MorningStar conference this month: "I knew of a minister a few years ago who told a partial truth but partial lie publicly against another minister, and that minister sued him for defamation of character... that man… pretty much lost everything he had."

Reed then appeared to discount a prohibition on lawsuits in the New Testament by emphasizing that some scriptural principles were higher than others and even seemed to encourage using the courts against critics if they make defamatory statements.

“If there aren't people that will stand up and say 'I'm not going to let this stuff happen,' it will keep happening," Reed said.

Experts have frequently cautioned against this kind of talk because it often deters victims from coming forward. It also stretches credulity to think that a leader addressing thousands every Sunday could remain oblivious to this reality.

The mere threat or prospect of a defamation lawsuit can be enough to discourage victims from coming forward, according to a guide published by the women’s advocacy organization Legal Momentum: “All survivors should be able to reclaim power by speaking about their experience if they so choose and in the forum they choose. But defending oneself against a defamation claim or bringing a defamation claim can be extremely costly, financially and emotionally, and drag on for a long time.”

The intimidating impact of a legal threat from a mega-church minister seems evident in a clergy sexual abuse scandal that erupted last week in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. That scandal features allegations that Pastor Robert Morris, a spiritual advisor to former president Trump when Trump was in office, sexually abused a 12-year-old in the 1980s when he was married.

The woman, Cindy Clemishire, now 54, sought reimbursement for counseling services in 2005 for the enduring effects of childhood trauma that Morris allegedly inflicted, according to emails obtained by NBC News.

In Morris’ last direct exchange with Clemishire, he mentions the possibility of her being criminally prosecuted for an unspecified crime.

"My attorney advises that if I pay you any money under a threat of exposure, you could be criminally prosecuted, and Debbie and I do not want that," wrote Morris, now 62, according to NBC. "If you need more information, have your attorney contact mine."

Clemishire’s allegations failed to gain traction until nearly 20 years later when she spoke “The Wartburg Watch,” a blog that addresses concerns about church leadership, abuse of power, and accountability.

The Wartburg Watch featured Clemishire’s story on July 14, and within days Morris resigned.

Pictures posted on social media of Gateway’s services on Sunday showed a few parishioners in sanctuary that appeared as large as a sports arena.

SILENCING VICTIMS AND ADVOCATES IN THE CHURCH

In my experience, avoiding defamation depends less on what is said and more on how it is said. In highly volatile situations, it's crucial to acknowledge that the right to speak up is deeply ingrained in our government's framework. However, this can make it easy to lose sight of the blurry line between protected and unlawful speech.

“The law of defamation is primarily about protecting reputation, and the First Amendment is primarily about protecting speech,” wrote Alan Dershowitz, a high-profile lawyer known for his work in constitutional law and civil liberties in “Taking the Stand: My Life in the Law.”

“There is an inevitable tension between the two."

Failure to recognize that tension often enables a well-financed lawyer with a suspect legal case to make a person’s life miserable.

A glance at the court records and real estate transactions involving Gateway Church reveals a sprawling empire of power and money. The church has assets totaling $218 million, according to a 2018 tax filing.

Public records suggest that members of Gateway’s legal team have been involved in aggressive legal actions to defend the church’s interests.

In 2004, an attorney who, according to public records, now appears to represent Gateway, sued a blogger for defaming him, another lawyer, and Evangelist Benny Hinn’s ministry. The attorney sought an amount exceeding $10 million, alleging that the blogger claimed the three plaintiffs — the two attorneys and Benny Hinn’s ministry — operated a “protection racket” for a “Ponzi scheme,” among other nefarious activities.

Although the lawyer and his firm eventually dropped the suit, it likely cost the blogger tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees.

LIBEL VS SLANDER

Understanding defamation requires learning a few key concepts: facts, opinions, actual malice, the legal treatment of public figures, and the unique challenges posed by the social media context.

Defamation involves making false statements about someone that damage their reputation and comes in two forms:

Libel: Written defamation, which applies to social media posts.

Slander: Spoken defamation.

To prove defamation, a plaintiff typically must establish that the statement was false.

True statements, no matter how damaging, are not defamatory. The statement must be published or communicated to at least one third party and cause harm to someone’s reputation.

PUBLIC VS PRIVATE FIGURES

The level of fault depends on the plaintiff’s status. Public figures must prove actual malice, meaning the statement was made with knowledge of its falsity or with reckless disregard for the truth. Private individuals generally need to prove negligence, meaning the defendant failed to exercise reasonable care to ascertain the truth.

Public figures include celebrities, politicians, and others whose names are generally known to the public.

"A public figure must show 'actual malice'—that you published with either knowledge of falsity or in reckless disregard for the truth,” wrote William J. Brennan Jr., Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States from 1956 to 1990. “This is a difficult standard for a plaintiff to meet."

Brennan authored the court’s 1964 decision in New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, which established this more stringent standard to protect free speech, especially in matters of public discourse.

Private individuals have a lower burden of proof and only need to show negligence in defamation cases.

Still, even in those cases, the requirement of proving that someone knew a statement was false when they published presents insurmountable challenges.

Rock singer and actress Courtney Love was sued for defamation by her former lawyer, Rhonda Holmes, in 2010 after a tweet implied Holmes had been "bought off." The tweet read: "I was f---ing devastated when Rhonda J Holmes esq of San Diego was bought off. I've been hiring and firing lawyers to help me with this." Holmes claimed her reputation was damaged and took the matter to court in 2014. The jury found in favor of Love, concluding that the tweet was false and potentially damaging, but Holmes did not prove Love knew it was false when she posted it.

FACTS VS OPINIONS

A fact is a statement that can be objectively verified as true or false. For example, saying "John Smith embezzled funds from his company" is a factual statement because it asserts a verifiable claim.

An opinion reflects personal beliefs, thoughts, or feelings and cannot be proven true or false. For instance, "I believe John Smith is not trustworthy" is an opinion because it reflects the speaker’s belief and cannot be objectively proven. Opinions are generally protected speech.

To avoid making statements of fact, I often use qualifiers and phrases that clearly indicate the statement is an opinion. Phrases like “I think,” “in my opinion,” “it seems,” or “from my perspective” help. Instead of saying, “John Smith embezzled funds,” I might say, “It seems to me that John Smith might have mismanaged funds based on the information available.”

These qualifiers signal that the statement is not an assertion of fact but an expression of personal view.

Defenses to Defamation

An absolute defense is a legal defense that, if proven, completely exonerates the defendant, totally barring prosecution or a lawsuit. In defamation cases, these following defenses, should, in theory, prevent a lawsuit entirely if successfully asserted:

• A truthful statement, no matter how damaging, is a complete defense to defamation.

• Certain statements made in specific contexts (e.g., during judicial proceedings or legislative debates) may be privileged and immune from defamation claims.

• If the plaintiff consented to the publication of the statement, they cannot later claim defamation.

Another defense that could conceivably come into play in cases involving disgraced pastors is the “libel-proof” or “defamation-proof” defense — legal doctrine stating that someone's reputation is already so damaged that it can't be further harmed.

PSEUDONYMS AND JURISDICTION

The context in which a statement is made can influence whether it is considered defamatory. Social media, with its informal, rapid communication and hyperbolic language, can amplify defamatory statements, thereby increasing the harm caused and the potential monetary damages a plaintiff can seek.

Social media allows users to post anonymously or under pseudonyms, complicating the identification of defendants. However, subpoenas issued to social media companies can uncover identities if there is a legitimate legal claim. Additionally, internet anonymity often creates jurisdictional issues, further complicating lawsuits.

Defamation laws vary from state to state and nation to nation, and the global reach of social media enables users to disseminate defamatory statements worldwide. Plaintiffs must determine which laws apply in multiple locations to decide where to file a lawsuit, necessitating additional legal steps to uncover the defendants' identities and establish jurisdiction.

Still, it happens.

In 2016, actor James Woods filed a defamation lawsuit against an anonymous Twitter user, 'Abe List,' for calling him a 'cocaine addict.' Woods argued the tweet damaged his reputation and successfully forced Twitter to identify the person behind the account. Although the defendant died while the case was pending, Woods settled the matter with the man’s estate.

Woods’ legal action underscores that if advocates post stories containing potentially defamatory information online, even anonymously, they could be compelled to disclose their sources, including confidential conversations with victims.

EXAMPLE I: CHRIS REED ‘X’ POSTS

Here are a handful of my own X (formerly known as Twitter) posts about Chris Reed’s June sermon. Reed is a leading “prophet” in the Charismatic movement. Critics have accused Reed of using information on social media and passing it off as supernatural revelation.

I launched a separate X account late last year with the handle @altarofinquiry, featuring my name in the profile, to publicly discuss IHOPKC and other clergy sexual abuse crisis. After reviewing Reed’s talk, I delivered a scathing analysis, noting its potential deterrent effect on victims.

Post No. 1: "Chris Reed, CEO of @morningstarmin, is dragging the church into Babylon by equating accountability with defamation. Remember, 'Morning Star' in Isaiah 14:12 refers to Lucifer—prideful, fallen, and disgraced. Odd branding, isn't it? #ModernDayBabylon 1/2"

When crafting this Post, I intended to satirize Reed’s leadership and MorningStar’s branding. By using phrases like "dragging the church into Babylon" and "Odd branding, isn't it?" I aimed to convey a subjective viewpoint rather than a factual assertion.

The biblical reference to "Morning Star" and Lucifer adds a layer of hyperbole and metaphor, reinforcing that this is not a factual statement but a rhetorical critique. Hyperbolic statements cannot be proven true or false, and therefore, they generally fall outside the realm of defamation.

Post No. 2: "Watch around the 1:30 mark as Chris Reed of @MorningStar reveals his sleazy plan: unaccountable Charismatic leaders combating clergy sexual abuse claims by bullying critics with lawsuits. This reeks of impending downfall. #ShieldingAbuse 2/2"

This post makes a specific, direct, and contentious assertion, such as Reed having a "sleazy plan" and using lawsuits to "bully critics."

I had no desire to harm but to highlight what I believe are tone-deaf and toxic comments. This post reflects my subjective interpretation of Reed's remarks, and others shared my perspective, supporting the argument that it’s a reasonable opinion rather than a deliberate falsehood.

Reed also discussed the use of lawsuits in certain contexts, suggesting that some scriptural principles may support taking legal action in defense of the church.

Reed has previously been the target of social media backlash for comments perceived as insensitive and inappropriate. Late last year after the clergy sexual abuse scandal surfaced at Kansas City’s International House of Prayer (IHOPKC), Reed invoked the story of Lot’s wife in Genesis. He seemed to imply that anyone intent on scrutinizing the organization or its leader, Mike Bickle, risked being "calcified" into a pillar of salt.

At the time, allegations against Bickle and IHOPKC involving sexual abuse, manufactured prophecies, and financial exploitation had just begun to materialize. Reed later apologized for his comments.

EXAMPLE II: ‘X’ THREAD ABOUT REED AND SHAWN BOLZ

Shawn Bolz is a Christian TV host, news commentator, media producer, and minister, also alleged to have scraped details from social media for prophecies.

Post No. 1: "Key lesson learned today: 'How to turn a potentially defamatory statement into a protected expression of religious belief. 1/3'"

This post discusses the general concept of framing statements as protected religious expressions to avoid defamation claims and offers an opinion on defamation and religious speech protections. It makes no specific factual statements about any individual.

Post No. 2: "Successfully suing someone in the US for defamation is already challenging, but nearly impossible when using religious language. Legal protections safeguard free speech and religious expression. 2/3"

This post explains the difficulty of winning defamation cases when religious language is involved. It, too, includes an opinion on the challenges of defamation lawsuits and avoids specific accusations of wrongdoing.

Post No. 3: "Example of defamation: 'Chris Reed and Shawn Bolz are crooks who embezzle church funds.' Example of protected speech: 'Reed and Bolz are false prophets operating under a spirit of deceit, bearing false witness and depriving the brethren of their manna!'"

I presented this information as a hypothetical example of a defamatory statement, not as a fact. It implies that the allegation about Reed and Bolz being involved in criminal activity is untrue because, by definition, defamation involves false assertions.

The phrase "false prophets operating under a spirit of deceit" frames the post in religious terms, which are generally protected as opinion and religious expression.

STANDING FIRM WHILE THE GROUND SPINS

Wade Mullen, a scholar, author, and advocate specializing in issues related to church abuse, emphasizes that whistleblowers in the church should expect attempts to discredit their stories.

“I have observed that actual abusers threaten, bully, and make a nightmare for anyone who holds them accountable or asks them to change their abusive behavior,” Mullen wrote in an essay on his Substack page five months ago. “This attack, intended to chill and terrify, typically includes threats of lawsuits, overt and covert attacks on the whistleblower’s credibility, and so on.”

Rather than succumbing to intimidation tactics, Mullen, author of Something's Not Right: Decoding the Hidden Tactics of Abuse - And Freeing Yourself From Its Power, recommends that survivors confronting institutional corruption band together and seek advice from outside nonprofits that provide legal and emotional support.

Survivor networks have begun to form following revelations of clergy sexual abuse at IHOPKC, connecting with advocates addressing other nodes of alleged abuse across the country.

Mullen also suggests becoming familiar with the law and, above all else, urges survivors and advocates to never lose sight of what is most important.

“Truth-tellers can, with the support of others, try to keep their footing while the ground spins so they do not lose sight of the distinguishing factor: truth,” Mullen wrote. “Those on the high road will consistently invite the discovery of truth while those on the low road will consistently repel and confuse it.”

The response to the scandal involving Robert Morris, 62, of Gateway Church in DFW embodies a distressing pattern in how independent Charismatic churches handle clergy sexual abuse claims: victims and whistleblowers are discredited, organizational finances are prioritized over the abused, and decisions are guided more by legal defenses than by the morality preached from the pulpit.

Over the weekend, The Wartburg Watch, a blog dedicated to exposing and discussing abuses of power, theological errors, and ethical concerns within Christian organizations, revealed that when Robert Morris, who is now married with three children and several grandchildren, was a minister in his 20s, he had a sexual relationship with a 12-year-old girl.

The focus has been on Morris’ celebrity status as the leader of a 100,000-member church and his connection to former President Donald Trump, overshadowing the allegations of child molestation. As a member of Trump’s Evangelical advisory group, Morris hosted Trump in 2020 for a discussion on race and policing at his church.

On Monday, the Trump Campaign Spokesperson Steven Cheung told media outlets that Morris had no role in Trump’s presidential run this year.

But Gateway’s size and Morris’ politics are elements of a more important story about faith, the abuse of power, and a pack mentality of unaffiliated but politically aligned independent charismatic Christian leaders.

As scandals arise within their own flocks, these leaders exploit the elapsed time of the abuse, deploy euphemisms that mask crimes, and blatantly lie to cover for one another rather than acting as the “Apostolic Overseers” their titles suggest.

Morris has admitted to a past moral failing and agreed to step down, but the Wartburg story set off a chain reaction of conspicuous maneuvers and guarded responses from Gateway, hinting that more was being concealed. On social media, current and former Gateway attendees claimed that the head of the church’s prison ministry was a registered sex offender, a detail not disclosed to congregants.

Another post hinted at a long history of deception at Gateway. It noted that several years ago, a Gateway pastor named David Smith suddenly disappeared. Church representatives explained his absence by denying that Smith ever worked there, according to the post.

Gateway’s responses suggest deeper malfeasance and overriding interest in safeguarding the church’s assets, which according to a 2018 tax return are $218 million, placing Gateway among the wealthiest megachurches in the U.S.

The Morris scandal is not an isolated incident within the independent Charismatic church community. For the past eight months, there has been a palpable sense of frustration and confusion as to why other charismatic leaders have remained silent on the allegations against Mike Bickle, the founder of the International House of Prayer Kansas City (IHOPKC), and the organization’s apparent dishonesty and silencing of victims.

The reason for this silence may lie in the hierarchical structure inherent in Charismatic church organizations, where leaders claim divine revelation and near-absolute authority over their flocks.

Dr. Matthew D. Taylor, a senior scholar at the Institute for Islamic, Christian, & Jewish Studies and author of the forthcoming book “The Violent Take It by Force,” which details the links between the New Apostolic Reformation movement and the January 6th riots, wrote in a Substack post last year:

“In these apostolic and prophetic circles, people like Mike Bickle are given an almost unfathomable amount of spiritual authority — far beyond most evangelical pastors. They are seen as oracles of God, speaking with the voice of God through prophecy, and leading the church under divine apostolic directives. That is a straightforward recipe for abuse and cover-up.”

This also describes the origins of a mafia mentality disguised as ministry, where leaders, intoxicated by their own power, abuse it, creating simmering scandals and highlighting the necessity of a protective network.

Despite spending millions on sophisticated social media operations, these religious organizations are no match for the ad hoc army of Christian and ex-Christian advocates that has forged on social media and seems to grow with each scandal.

The documents, screenshots, and secret recordings posted online reveal a stark truth: modern Charismatic church leaders often resemble the Canaanite worshipers of the god Moloch, willing to sacrifice anything for favor and power—even if it means throwing the innocent into the fire.

REJECTING HUSH MONEY

In 1981, Cindy Clemishire’s family met Robert Morris, then a 20-year-old traveling evangelist. The families became close friends.

On Christmas night 1982, when Cindy was 12, Morris allegedly began touching her inappropriately in his room. This continued over the next 4.5 years in Texas and Oklahoma. When Cindy was 16, Morris allegedly attempted to have sex with her.

Cindy eventually told a friend who encouraged her to inform her parents, leading to Morris stepping down from ministry for two years.

Cindy, now 53, witnessed Morris’s ministry grow, even as he seemed to obliquely reference publicly having to step away from ministry in the past for “pride” and “youthful indiscretions.”

The Wartburg post describes how Morris lied about or misrepresented the truth of his sexual abuse of Cindy to others on multiple occasions, including the lie that her own father approved of Morris’ return to ministry.

Morris allegedly told his wife Debbie that he was merely “counseling” Cindy, when in fact he was sexually abusing her. When Cindy sought a settlement in 2005, Morris’ lawyers implied that the abuse was Cindy’s fault for being “flirtatious,” a blatantly dishonest attempt to shift blame onto a child victim.

Cindy rejected a $25,000 settlement offer from the church in exchange for her silence, according to the story.

Cindy has undergone over a decade of counseling to process and understand the abuse she suffered, according to the blog post, which also notes that many child victims of clergy sexual abuse often don’t speak about it until their late 30s or 50s.

The #ChurchToo and #MeToo movements have created environments where more survivors feel empowered to share their stories.

The social media hashtags galvanized former members of Mike Bickle’s International House of Prayer — aiming to raise awareness about sexual harassment, abuse, and assault, particularly in situations where there is a power imbalance between the perpetrator and the victim.

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PARTIAL TRUTHS

Gateway’s default actions amid crisis mirror those of IHOPKC.

Bickle’s International House of Prayer in Kansas City touched millions worldwide with its call to 24-7 prayer and worship.

However, when allegations surfaced in October that Bickle had used prophecies about his wife’s death to seduce women, he agreed to step away from ministry. IHOPKC’s now-shuttered Forerunner Church hosted two prominent Charismatic speakers, Michael Brown, an author and talk show host, and Chris Reed, President and Executive Director of MorningStar Ministries in Fort Mill, South Carolina.

Brown advised the congregation to avoid discussing the scandal on social media. In Reed’s sermon, he implied that those who look back to examine the past could meet an untimely end, similar to Lot’s wife when she was transformed into a pillar of salt for glancing back at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Both leaders have since apologized for their comments after waves of criticism on social media and elsewhere.

Bickle admitted to inappropriate relationships but denied being a sexual predator.

Earlier this year, two women, Tammy Woods and another individual who requested to be referred to by the initials TH, accused Bickle of abusing them when they were minors.

Another Dallas-Fort Worth area mega-church pastor, Tony Evans, announced he was stepping down from ministry for an unspecified amount of time shortly before the Morris scandal erupted.

Evans, a Charismatic leader who has pastored Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship for 48 years, issued a statement on the church’s website: “A number of years ago, I fell short of that standard. I am, therefore, required to apply the same biblical standard of repentance and restoration to myself that I have applied to others.”

Evans categorically denied that his conduct was criminal.

In 2020, Morris and Bickle were named as new contributors to Jack Hayford’s Spirit-Filled Life Bible. Also, Morris remarked on Instagram about the “great time” he had speaking last year at Evans conference.

This past weekend, Gateway issued a preliminary statement to staff from Morris in which he admitted to a sexual relationship with a “young lady” decades ago.

Morris’ statement did not explain how a 12-year-old could meet the criteria for being a young lady.

The statements issued by all three men emphasized the amount of time that had passed since their misconduct and that they had previously repented for their deeds.

Charisma Magazine, a leading publication focused on the Christian charismatic movement, which emphasizes the spiritual gifts such as healing and prophecy, has characterized the exposure of clergy sexual abuse as a spiritual attack.

But spiritualizing abuse and stressing that it happened a long time ago does little to blunt sharp calls for justice and accountability.

It only serves to amplify the rage of those tired of seeing victims blamed for their own abuse.

“Women are gaslit to hell and back,” said Susan Tuma, a former IHOPPER who advocates for the organization’s victims. “Then you find out it’s to protect all the men who are running the church.”

Here, on Earth, your vision is immersed in the immediate: trees arching overhead, buildings rising against the sky, people weaving through the clamor of daily existence.

Perception is tethered to proximity.

But from the vast expanse of space, the planet’s superficial distinctions disappear. Overarching patterns and interconnections become apparent, while remaining invisible to those chained to the ground.

Since the allegations of systemic sexual and psychological abuse surfaced at the International House of Prayer in Kansas City (IHOPKC), I have been re-examining my own past connections to the cult-like organization.

Time is a powerful tool for gaining distance and new insights. So too, is learning to identify assumptions and rigorously question them. This latter skill, though never fully mastered and often accompanied by pain, invariably offers a liberation that feels like being continuously reborn.

As founder Mike Bickle’s sex scandal has unfolded publicly, and widespread reports of rape and bullying within Bickle's cult-like organization come to light, many have peered into the petri dish where the abuse festered: IHOPKC’s “Prophetic History” — a mythologized historical narrative that propelled IHOPKC and the prayer movement's explosive growth.

The scrutiny has highlighted a particularly virulent strain of deception personified by the late Paul Cain.

Paul, who rose to prominence as one of the Charismatic movement’s premier prophets in the 1990s, and his disciple, Bickle, were adept at leading their audience to conflate their stage personas with God by drawing on histories rich with miracles, signs, and wonders — some, if not all, were completely fabricated.

They frequently retold these stories themselves or manipulated others into doing so, building auras from which they derived enormous power, enabling them to inflict tremendous harm.

Former IHOPKC members have described how questions regarding the Prophetic History were promptly squashed, along with the person raising them.

Moreover, in addition to abusing young men himself, Paul, who died in 2019, helped other abusers within the church.

And after being exposed, Paul attempted to purchase his way back to prominence albeit under the guise of “forgiveness.”

A PAYOFF DECLINED

In 2004, Bickle, Rick Joyner, and my father, Jack Deere, confronted Paul after receiving incontrovertible evidence that he was a serial sexual predator.

My father never spoke to Paul after those confrontations. However, every so often, my father would receive emails from Paul. My sister and I also received several Facebook requests and messages from him. They went unanswered.

“I had to block him,” my sister, Alese, recalled this week. “He sent me a creepy message asking about mom’s health, and referring to himself as ‘Papa Paul.’ I thought, ‘I never called you that, asshole.’ He said he was praying for us every night. I always thought those prayers were curses.”

Meanwhile, significant evidence exists that Bickle provided Paul with a young male assistant even after Paul’s exposure, according to correspondence I have reviewed.

Bickle continued to cite Paul's prophetic ministry as a critical component in the development of his own theology and ministry. Paul’s emphasis on the prophetic and supernatural elements of Christianity influenced Bickle’s vision for IHOPKC, which integrates continuous prayer with worship and prophetic ministry.

In 2015, my dad received a late-night phone call with news that Paul had a heart attack and was near death. Despite his imminent transition to the great beyond, Paul somehow found the strength to email my dad within 24 hours of that phone call.

I remember telling him something along the lines of: “Whatever you say, say it for you, not for him.”

I also faintly recall reading the email, quickly recognizing the typical patterns of attempted coercion mingled with awkward punctuation.

Paul had written the entire message in capital letters. The most plausible explanation for this peculiarity isn’t an aversion to the lowercase; rather, it seems he was simply too indifferent or hasty to press the caps lock key.

What escaped me at the time of the 2015 email, however, was something subtler: an offer of money embedded within the message, an incentive for forgiveness. I’m not sure how to characterize the offer. The proposed arrangement mirrors the “indulgences” Catholic priests sold during the Middle Ages.

“I DO NOT HAVE THE MONEY I USED TO HAVE, BUT I WOULD LOVE SHARING IF YOU COULD FIND FORGIVENESS IN YOUR HEART?” Paul wrote.

“DO YOU USE PAYPAL?”

‘NEVER SAFE FROM THE MAFIA’

My father understood exactly what Paul meant by forgiveness.

Paul was willing to exploit any words as a springboard back to prominence. By then, my dad had stopped responding to Paul’s emails. After their falling out, he once made the error of sending brief replies. But Paul doctored these emails, altering their content to falsely suggest my father had endorsed his return to ministry.

Through fabricated prophecies and words of knowledge, Paul facilitated clergy sexual abuse by directing young people to abusers and discouraging the prosecution of abusers once they were discovered.

My brother, David “Scott” Deere, who, at 22, tragically killed himself on December 27, 2000, was one of these young people.

It was only after my brother's death and when Paul’s misconduct came to light that my parents realized the devastating impact of his self-serving lies masquerading as divine words of knowledge. Because of Paul, they had overlooked warning signs about my brother's relationship with his abuser, a volunteer in a youth group at the former Anaheim Vineyard. Because of Paul, they had chosen not to prosecute the abuser.

My brother would have been about 14 at the time of his abuse.

I don’t know all the particulars, but I do know that Vineyard founder John Wimber called my father personally shortly after my father left the Vineyard in 1992 to inform him about what happened. Their relationship was strained at the time, and such a disclosure undoubtedly created substantial liability.

However, unlike IHOPKC leaders, including Mike Bickle, Wimber refused to cower or coverup. Wimber also didn’t adopt some bullshit tactics of strategic silence and feigned persecution.

Authorities were notified.

'When Scott was abused at the Vineyard and John Wimber called to let Mom and Dad know that there were two other boys who had been abused, Paul convinced them to stay silent,” Alese said. “The police came to Mom and Dad and wanted a statement. Paul said not to dare talk to them because the guy was in the mafia and would pursue our family. We would never be safe from the mafia."

‘HOW DARE HE GO AFTER MY SON’

I spent decades reporting and writing highly complex investigative stories for newspapers across the country. I have dragged entire law firms — including the tenth largest in the country at the time — into state and federal investigations, disrupting their ability to provide criminal defenses to corrupt politicians at a rate of $1,300 per hour to the taxpayers.

As a result of that experience, I know the aliases my brother’s abuser assumed when he relocated to a different state. I know everywhere he’s lived. And I know how to identify the VIN number on his car from thousands of miles away. I’ve learned how to assess a threat, and no evidence exists that my brother’s abuser had connections to organized crime.

This revelation about the concocted mafia connection set the stage for a deeper, more personal betrayal, that unfolded at Scott’s funeral.

“I remember at Scott’s funeral Paul saying Scott had so many chances,” Alese said. “He threw him away, or something to that affect. Paul said he had even given him the chance to be his assistant, but Scott didn’t pursue that … Later on, Dad was infuriated … ‘How dare he go after my son!’ … Even with Scott’s death, there was no peace from Paul or his prophetic bullshit.”

That was the Paul Cain that I knew.

This is the man that Bickle continued to tout as a grand architect of IHOPKC’s precious Prophetic History.

When my father replied to Paul in 2015, he wrote: “I have not responded to your former emails because you never acknowledged the enormity of your violation of our confidence and betrayal of our trust … I lost all trust in you and did not want to give you any more ammunition to use against us. Nothing I have heard through the years from friends we once had in common has been positive.”

“I hope you feel the love of God in your present crisis and that your heart finds the grace to leave nothing undone that the Lord would have you do before you stand before him.”

Paul died four years later. Bickle eulogized him. My father refused.

“Paul never repented of anything,” my father wrote in an email to one of Paul’s victims when Paul died in 2019. “His goal in life was to be worshipped. Paul did more damage to me and my family than anyone I’ve ever known … I will always love you. I am so sorry that we did not have the discernment to rescue you sooner.”

‘AN EXCLUSIVE CULT’

Despite all the harm Paul inflicted for the past quarter century, bits and pieces of the charlatan’s backstory have bolstered IHOPKC’s overarching narrative.

The cult-like organization’s Prophetic History coincidentally—or perhaps not—bears a striking `resemblance to the mind control tactics of totalitarian regimes.

“Any ideology— that is, any set of emotionally charged convictions about man and his relationship to the natural or supernatural world—may be carried by its adherents in a totalistic direction,” wrote Robert J. Lifton, a renowned authority on totalitarian systems and ideologies. “But this is most likely to occur with those ideologies which are most sweeping in their content and most ambitious or messianic in their claim, whether a religious or political organization. And where totalism exists, a religion or a political movement becomes little more than an exclusive cult.”

Paul emerged from obscurity in the late 1980s, claiming miraculous birth and unsubstantiated miracles during the healing revivals of the 1950s and early 1960s, as well as his association with William Branham, who died in 1965.

Branham’s followers continued to uphold his teachings, and some groups regard him as a forerunner to the second coming of Christ.

Paul, however, ingeniously tweaked the narrative. Rather than positioning himself as Christ’s forerunner, he claimed that God had instructed him to withdraw from ministry after Branham’s death due to corruption. Paul said God had promised him that one day he would stand before a “New Breed” of men who would conquer the earth for God in the last days. These men would all be forerunners. For some, like my father, this invitation tapped into their own grandiosity with a promise dependent on their continued association with Paul.

Bickle continued to perfect this art. Many of IHOPKC’s ministries, including its church, bear the name Forerunner.

Rather than simply extending the invitation of being a forerunner to influential ministers, Bickle promised everyone a role in God’s last day army.

IHOPKC’s prophetic history and Bickle’s accounts of direct encounters with God and the Archangel Michael always seemed to place Bickle at the center of a story about hastening Christ’s second coming.

Perhaps this claim is as close as any man can come to declaring himself the Messiah without appearing to cross into madness.

Editor's Note: My father recently shared his insights on the scandal at IHOPKC involving Mike Bickle here. In his account, he referenced an email that he characterized as manipulative from Bickle. The email suggested removing a chapter about Paul Cain from the latest edition of his book, now retitled “Why I’m Still Surprised By the Voice of God.” Despite Bickle’s objections, the chapter remained in the book, albeit with revisions. The revisions were not solely based on Bickle’s objections, but also on others’ input. Due to readers requests’, my dad granted me permission to publish the 2022 original draft that prompted Bickle to raise concerns about his chapter devoted to Paul Cain. The draft chapter was penned at least two years before the latest disclosures about Bickle’s clergy sexual abuse scandal. Given recent events, my dad’s perspective on what transpired more than 20 years ago with Paul is still evolving. From what I understand, Bickle introduced my father to Paul Cain, a connection that led to profound harm to our family. Nevertheless, this draft chapter also acknowledges a prayer my dad learned from Bickle that he believes helped liberate him from Paul's influence. — Stephen Deere

True Prophets, Carnal Prophets, and False Prophets, originally written for: “Why I’m Still Surprised by the Voice of God”

An Unpublished Draft Chapter

There are spiritual prophets who use their prophetic gift wisely to bless the church and to lead unbelievers to the Lord.1 There are carnal prophets, true believers with a true gift of prophecy, who use their gift to exalt themselves and who cause division in the body of Christ.2 And there are false prophets. There are two kinds of false prophets: unbelievers who use the devil’s power and unbelievers who have learned how to traffic in the Lord’s power.

By the end of the first century, John wrote that “many false prophets have gone out into the world” (1 John 4:1). Jesus had warned the apostles that false prophets, false teachers, and false Christs would deceive many people, especially in the in the last days, by performing great signs and miracles (Matthew 24:11, 24). Satan supplies the power for them to do all kinds of counterfeit miracles, signs and wonders (2 Thessalonians 2:9). False prophets and false teachers deny that Jesus is the Christ (2 Peter 2:1). The defining purpose of their mission is to lead people away from Jesus Christ by leading people to themselves.

At the end of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus described the second class of false prophets, those who have learned how to utilize or traffic in the power of the Lord, but do not know him.

Not everyone who says to me ‘Lord, Lord’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?’ Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’ Matthew 7:21-23

These prophets are not using Satan’s power for their miracles. Satan will never supply power to cast out demons (Matthew 12:25-26). Although these prophets do not trust in Jesus, they have learned how to use his power to do miracles and to prophesy. They are like the evangelists who lead people to Lord without ever having for themselves a saving relationship with the Lord. Jesus said that there are many such miracle workers who are so skilled as masquerading as believers that many of them won’t be revealed as unbelievers until the end of the age. Although their miracles will be a blessing to individuals on whom the miracles are performed, the Lord calls them “evildoers” because the overall effect of their ministries will be to draw people away from the Lord and to usurp the Lord’s place in the lives of their followers. When the Lord says, “I never knew you,” he means that he does not recognize them as being in his family, as having a spiritual relationship with him.”3

To summarize: miraculous power enters the world through three avenues.

1. From God through born again prophets and miracle workers who may be mature Christians or carnal Christians.

2. From God through unbelievers who have learned how to traffic in God’s power.

3. From Satan who gives his power to false prophets and false teachers who are unbelievers.

Jesus warned the church not to be deceived by unbelieving miracle workers. After I came to believe in the gifts of the Spirit, I gave the same warning to my hearers. I frequently warned them that the power of a person’s spiritual gift was not an indication of their spirituality. And then I ignored that warning for myself. I had such confidence in my discernment and in my knowledge of Scripture and theology that I did not think I could be deceived.

In 1987, one of my new friends, someone I much admired, told me about a prophet who moved in great power. I lived in Ft. Worth, and at that time this prophet lived in Dallas. His name was Paul Cain, and I first met him in September 1987. I was thirty-nine years old and he was fifty-eight, but he could have passed for seventy. He was frail, had heart problems, and was generally unimpressive. He did not show much knowledge of Scripture or theology. He had been involved in the Pentecostal healing revival of the 1940’s and had some great stories to tell. When I met him, I thought he was at the end of his race. I couldn’t imagine him moving in power like John Wimber and thought his main value was as a historical repository of a decade of miracles back in the 1940’s Pentecostal healing revival.

Then we had our first meeting where we ministered together. After I spoke and gave a teaching, Paul got up and called out people telling them their diseases and the secrets of their hearts and pronouncing some healed. It was amazing. I introduced Paul to my new friends in Ft. Worth who had international ministries and had recently been introduced to the gifts of the Spirit. At one meeting, Paul called out a lady and named five diseases that were afflicting her. It was all true. Then he pronounced her healed. I interviewed her soon after the meeting. She was completely healed. None of us had ever seen a prophet or healer like Paul. But all this power came in the frailest of packages. He was frequently sick and sometimes addled on stage and off stage. He had a full-time assistant who prepared all his meals and gave him his medicines and did a thousand other things for him.

Paul asked me to introduce him to John Wimber. I told John about him and tried to schedule a meeting for them, but it wasn’t working out. Then, in the summer of 1988, we moved to Anaheim with our three children to be on John’s staff. In September that year, I asked Paul when he was coming to Anaheim to meet John. He said, “I don’t know yet. But the Lord shows that there will be an earthquake in Southern California on the day I arrive.”

“An earthquake! The big one?” I asked.

“No. It won’t be the big one. But on the day I leave Southern California, there will be a big one somewhere on the earth. The Lord hasn’t shown me where,” he said.

I told John about Paul’s earthquake prophecy. He smiled, sort of a “been there, done that, heard all this before” smile.

Paul got on a flight to come to Anaheim on December 3, 1988. At 3:38 am on December 3, 1988, my English Pointer, Skipper, hurled himself against the glass patio doors trying to get into the house, and then a 5.0 earthquake, centered under Pasadena, rumbled down the coast to Orange County and shook our house. That morning John and I rode together to pick up Paul, and I reminded John of the earthquake prophecy Paul had shared with me. “What kind of guy is this?” John said. “An earthquake is his calling card!”

Paul’s visit to the Vineyard was so supernatural that he quickly came into John’s inner circle and was invited to minister at all the major conferences. Paul returned to Dallas four days later, on December 7, and the big earthquake that he prophesied came to pass. On that day two earthquakes struck Armenia just minutes apart. The first was 6.9 and the second was 5.8. They killed at least 60,000 people and destroyed almost half a million buildings. I had never heard of God authenticating a prophet like this. I thought to myself, he must be special, the godliest prophet on the earth. And it made sense to me: it would be just like God to put great power in the frailest of packages.

It turned out, however, that the earthquakes were signs of the damage Paul would do to the ministries and to the people who gave themselves to him.

I saw no warning signs of an impure ministry at the beginning, just a sweet old guy with old fashioned religious cliches and corny humor bumbling around on stage and then breaking out into the most supernatural ministry I had ever seen. So when the warning signs emerged, those of us in his inner circle ignored them.

Paul was not just a bad teacher. He was horrible. Sometimes he was impossible to understand. He never rose above those outdated cliches. He crumpled at the slightest criticism. But if we wouldn’t let him teach, he wouldn’t do prophetic and healing ministry at the end of the meeting. So we gave into his manipulation and endured his rambling, pointless talks so we could see the prophetic ministry that was beyond anything we could do.

I would never let a pastor remain on the church staff if he or she did not financially support the ministry. But Paul never gave money to the church or to any ministry. When I asked him about this, he said that he was saving up his money so he could rent stadiums for the “last day ministry.” He believed that we would help usher in the return of the Lord.

I also ignored the evidence of mental illness and megalomania. When his mother died, Paul showed me her Bible. He claimed that she had left it open to Malachi 4 and had underlined verses 5-6, which prophesy the return of Elijah to prepare the people for the return of the Messiah. He implied that he was Elijah.

He spoke ill of all the other prophets. He said they were not godly. He would not tolerate rivals. If a leader outside of the Vineyard criticized Paul’s speaking ability and asked John why he let Paul speak in the conferences instead of only doing prophetic ministry, Paul claimed that he could “see” that his critic was in sexual sin.

Paul frequently used heart pains to justify breaking his word and to make himself the center of attention. Sometimes the Vineyard conferences turned into prayer meetings for his health as though the success of the conferences depended on his health. This was the beginning of John’s break with him. At the time, I thought John was wrong, maybe even jealous of all the attention Paul received. I continued to put up with all Paul’s manipulations, and I chose Paul over my spiritual father John Wimber because of a secret prophecy Paul had given to me.

Just before I moved to Anaheim, Paul told me, “What you are going to do after the Vineyard is so great that it will make the Vineyard seem like nothing. If I told you now, it would take away all your enthusiasm to serve at the Vineyard.” I thought Paul was the most powerful prophet in America, maybe in the world. With that prophecy, he took away my gratitude to John and my enthusiasm to serve at the Vineyard.

Paul could see my desire for power. It was implicit in Paul’s promise of power to me that I would have to leave John and go with Paul to enter the fulness of that power.

In my previous professor life, I thirsted for knowledge. It was the most highly valued commodity in my academic world. I excelled in lexicography and exegesis. I was exalted for being smart. I loved the exaltation. I needed the exaltation. It meant that I was special. Then I came to believe in power. I saw blind eyes open and the deaf healed. Thirst for power replaced my thirst for knowledge.

I was thirty-nine years old when Paul promised me great power. I had just begun to pray that God would grant me a work of the Holy Spirit, to love the Son of God like his Father in heaven loved him. I had learned this prayer from my new friend Mike Bickle. This was years before I knew how to feel the affection of Jesus or that Jesus wanted to be friends with me. So I was only a beginner in knowing and experiencing the love of God. I continued to count on power to do for me what only the love of God could do. The pure and godly part of me pursued power because I wanted to see God exalted and people helped. The impure part of me pursued power to validate myself and show people I was special. And I believed that Paul would lead me into greater power than John Wimber had.

John had loved me. He taught me to hear God’s voice and how to pray for the sick. He paid for me and Leesa to go to conferences all over the country so I could learn the ministry of the Holy Spirit. Airline tickets, car rentals, hotels, food—anything we needed John took care of because he loved us. John gave me a place on his stage. He introduced me to leaders, movements, and churches around the world.

John gave.

Paul took.

I chose Paul.

Later, I would learn that Paul’s promise of great power was typical modus operandi for him. After you were convinced he was the greatest prophet, he would tell you that you had this unbelievably great future ministry. But this great future was always conditioned on being with him. He sought to take the place of God in the lives of his followers. And this became true for me, as I frequently asked Paul’s opinion before I asked God to speak to me.

My deliverance from the worship of power and the control of Paul Cain came through learning how to feel the affection of Jesus. There is no greater motivation for us to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength than to feel that we are loved by God. I tell the story of how I came to experience this love in Chapter Five of this book. My memoir, “Even in Our Darkness,” is the longer version of how God pursued me and led me into a deepening friendship with Jesus.

Eventually, God exposed Paul’s deceptions and sins in late 2003, but by that time he had already set me free from Paul’s control. An ambulance had taken Paul to the emergency room to be revived. When he came home from the ER, he told me that his heart had given out on him. The next day, his assistant called me and told me that Paul had drunk three bottles of wine and passed out. The assistant had thought Paul might be dying and called the ambulance. He also told me that Paul’s drinking had been out of control for years. I learned that Paul had struggled with alcoholism all his adult life. Those morning meetings he had missed because his heart was acting up were actually due to hangovers. The assistant who revealed all these things is the real hero of this story.

There were three of us, all pastors, who were considered Paul’s spiritual sons. In February 2004, we agreed to have an intervention with Paul. We met with his assistant first, who told us a story of consistent abuse, dishonesty, and drunkenness. We learned that Paul taped every phone conversation he had so he could later use the tapes for blackmail if anyone ever tried to accuse him of sin. And we learned that Paul had a secret history of sexual immorality. All of this and more came out over several weeks of confrontation.

One of us called Paul’s cardiologist to ask about Paul’s heart condition. The cardiologist told us, “Paul doesn’t have heart problems. His heart is strong.”

Although Paul could move in genuine prophetic power, he also faked revelations. We learned that he had a genealogical program on his computer. One of the things he was famous for was getting the address of a person and the names of their relatives. He mixed this information in with genuine supernatural revelation about healing, and he admitted this deceit to us.

He threatened the three of us with the ruin of our marriages and ministries if we did not cease our attempts at confronting his sin. Our goal was to restore him, not to expose him. But Paul didn’t want to be restored. He wanted to be left alone. He left our restoration process. We published a statement on the internet, but it was far too mild. Some interpreted it to mean that Paul only had a single sexual failure in a moment of weakness. He told people that we had lied about him because we wanted his money. But the truth was that we were his primary fundraisers. He even accused us of committing adultery and incest.

It became clear to me that Paul was mentally ill. He actually believed his power was so great that he could convince the church that his three spiritual sons were the evil ones, even when multiple witnesses were emerging from the past to accuse him of various abuses and sexual sins. He had perviously told me that the ministers in the healing revival of the 1940’s were sexually impure, and only in ministry for the money and fame. He told me he had left the revival stage because he couldn’t stand the corruption of the leaders, going into seclusion and waiting for God to show him the pure leaders of the “last day” ministry. But it turned out that the revival leaders he spoke of had made him leave the stage because of his own sexual impurity. No church would allow him to speak. All this came out after we made his sin public. I also listened to multiple allegations of sexual assault.

This was the Paul I eventually came to know. He stood on a stage that I helped to build because I elevated prophetic power over character. Most people who knew Paul knew only a sweet old guy bumbling around a stage and then miraculously breaking into power.

I never spoke to Paul after 2004. He had done something so vile to me and my family that I would never risk giving him another shot at knowing us. The Lord commands us to forgive from the heart, but he doesn’t command us to enter back into a relationship with an abuser, especially when the abuser does not repent of their abuse. I never saw any sign of repentance in Paul’s life. I continued to hear reports of him threatening former friends if they did not exonerate him and stop telling stories of his abusive behavior toward them.

The evidence against him became overwhelming. He made full confession to Charisma Magazine in 2005 when he was seventy-five years old. Then, two years later, he denied the confession. He had found someone he could control “to restore” him. He claimed restoration, but he never returned to prominence in the body of Christ. He told his new support group that his spiritual sons had deserted him and lied about him. At the end of his life, Paul told an audience at a conference that he had been a lifelong celibate and that the angel of the Lord was always with him. But it was clear to those of us who knew him that the power of God was no longer with Paul. He died at age 89, on February 12, 2019.

So what was Paul?

Some days I think that he was a carnal prophet. On all days, I hope he was a carnal prophet. I want to see him in heaven. On other days, I think he was an unbeliever who learned how to traffic in the Lord’s power. The Lord said that there would be many of these people.

There is significant evidence against him knowing Jesus. In his long term relationships, he drew people to himself and not to God. I never heard him freely confess a sin, and he always blamed someone else for his sin. It took us days of confrontation to get him to admit the obvious, but he always had an excuse for every failure or shortcoming. He told the grossest lies about anyone who refused to proclaim his innocence. He threatened all of his former ministerial friends—not just the three of us—with ruin when they would not excuse his sin. He battered one person without mercy until the person was on the brink of a breakdown. I confronted him several times about this, and he always said the same thing, “What else could I do? I was like a caged animal. All I could do was scratch and claw.” I never saw him show any sorrow over sin. I never saw him repent of any sin.

The most damning charge against him is that he could never state the gospel, though he always insisted on giving the evangelistic message at the conferences. I even wrote out the gospel for him to read at the conclusion of his “evangelistic” messages: “Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died on the cross for your sins. If you will trust him to forgive you and give you a new life, he will come into your heart and never leave.”

Somehow Paul would manage to misread and garble this simple statement. When theologians from another country heard Paul attempt to preach the gospel, they said to me, “The gospel is simply not native to the soil of his heart.” I could not disagree with them.

For these reasons I am agnostic about where Paul is spending eternity.

But I am sure about two things.

He had the greatest prophetic gift I’ve ever seen.

He was the most abusive person I’ve ever known.

Editors note: For the past several months, my father has grappled with the decision of how to address the IHOPKC scandal publicly. He lacks a significant social media presence and felt a need to clarify his stance in light of a recent statement bearing his name, he sought a platform to express his views transparently. I offered him this space on my Substack page to share his perspective. — Stephen Deere

After receiving feedback on the statement published on Dr. Michael Brown's website last Thursday, I realize the need to underscore and clarify my stance on the Mike Bickle and IHOPKC issue.

As a former Dallas Theological Seminary professor known for my cessationist position, my perspective shifted in the 1980s. I became convinced that the Holy Spirit's gifts, like healing and prophecy, remain active and relevant for today's church. I've written several books on these topics, acknowledging Bickle and the Kansas City Prophets for influencing my acceptance of the prophetic gifts.

With the emergence of the Bickle and IHOPKC scandal, I've contemplated how or whether to express my views, given our past ministry collaboration. The opportunity to share my concerns came with the joint statement last Thursday, which I endorsed. While I generally support the statement's content, including Bickle's permanent disqualification from ministry, it inadvertently created confusion regarding a potential "elders" panel within the Charismatic movement to review findings or judge the situation.

I have not been asked, nor would I consent, to serve on such a panel. In fact, I believe it inappropriate for anyone closely associated with Mike or his ministry to participate in a panel discussing his actions or the culture at IHOPKC.

My own previous attempts to investigate situations involving Mike have failed.

My journey with Mike began in the late 1980s, around the time I started at the Association of Vineyard Churches under John Wimber. Tasked with investigating allegations against Mike's church by Ernie Gruen, my friendship with Mike led me to overlook significant concerns. I still believe Gruen's report contained numerous inaccuracies, misleading information and was motivated by jealously. But my bias towards Mike skewed my focus. I was more concerned about debunking the allegations in a deeply flawed report, than considering important questions about Mike’s character, which I had erroneously deemed impeccable.

During the 2000s, my interactions with Mike became less frequent, yet the bond of friendship persisted. The last notable moment of our collaboration was in October 2004, when we, along with Rick Joyner, addressed Paul Cain's misconduct publicly. For those unfamiliar with the Kansas City Prophets, Paul Cain was the most revered among them.

The episode shows the complexity of our relationship and the challenge of maintaining objectivity. Our long-standing promotion of Paul's ministry meant we had a deep-seated interest in the outcome of any investigation into his actions. In retrospect, I question whether our proximity to Paul compromised our ability to impartially assess the situation and communicate the full extent of the danger Paul posed.

When we confronted Paul, he refused to repent and fled all accountability.

Herein lies a critical point of contention between Mike and me: I advocated for a statement that unequivocally condemned Paul's behavior, highlighting the decades-long pattern of what is now commonly referred to as sexual clergy abuse.

Mike, however, favored a more lenient approach, one that left the door open for Paul's possible restoration to ministry.

Our eventual compromise resulted in a statement that downplayed the reality of Paul's actions, portraying them as temporary moral failings rather than acknowledging the truth of his lifelong predatory behavior.

This decision, I now believe, was a disservice to the victims, allowed for Paul's continued influence and for further abuse. I have always regretted not issuing a more definitive account of Paul’s actions.

The recent joint statement on Dr. Michael Brown's website affirms IHOPKC's "broad outline" as historically credible. However, given that we now know that three of its prominent contributors: Mike Bickle, Paul Cain and Bob Jones, were involved in clergy sexual abuse, IHOPKC’s entire prophetic history is questionable, in my opinion.

Although it has been years since Mike and I ministered together, my last significant correspondence with him also concerned Paul. It was in an email in June 2022, concerning a chapter to a revision of my book, “Why I am Still Surprised by the Voice of God.”

Mike's request to remove content about Paul, whom he defended posthumously, highlighted a manipulative pattern now seen in other communications recently made public.

Mike's assertion in his email that "a dead man is not a predator" overlooks the importance of addressing false prophets and the damage they cause. His accusations of bitterness against me and admonitions that the chapter would mar my entire ministry were greatly exaggerated and illustrate his continued desire to avoid further exposure of Paul.

Moreover, Mike threatened to stop recommending the book if I didn’t remove the chapter. For the record, I still included the chapter in the book, although I toned down some of the language. Sharing these reflections, I aim to caution the younger generations against my errors.

The disclosure of how passages like Matthew 18:15-17 have been twisted to silence abuse victims within the church underscores the need for transparency and justice. Mathew 18 applies to personal disputes and sin within the context of personal offenses, not potential crimes, most notably allegations of clergy sexual abuse, sexual assault, or harassment within the church. Jesus does not require abuse victims to confront their abusers before reporting them either publicly or privately.

I believe that anyone who experienced abuse should report it to authorities or independent parties rather than IHOPKC. I also want to emphasize that the survivors’ welfare dwarfs any concerns about the image of the prayer movement. IHOPKC's commitment to full disclosure and independent investigation is crucial for genuine repentance. Without transparency, claims of remorse are empty, underscoring the biblical mandate for justice and righteousness.

Furthermore, I am intent on not repeating past mistakes.

"Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!" (Amos 5:24)

The serious nature of the allegations and my own past failures to adequately discern potentially criminal patterns of misconduct of those close to me highlight the need for a transparent and independent investigation. Upon further review of the situation, I've come to believe that it would be irresponsible and potentially harmful for anyone to continue funding IHOPKC, participating in, or attending meetings at IHOPKC, unless the organization commits to the following:

A. Full Public Disclosure:

Full public disclosure of the IHOPKC governing structure, including the names of all those serving on the board of trustees, and/or other governing boards, and the minutes of all board meetings and financial statements.

B. Independent Selection of the Investigator:

I urge IHOPKC leadership to swiftly prioritize selecting a mutually agreed upon third party to represent the interests of all victims, as underscored by the response to their previous investigation which has been rightfully met with suspicion. Investigators should be appointed based on consultation with survivors and the recommendations of non-profits familiar with clergy abuse, such as SNAP (Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests), GRACE (Godly Response to Abuse in the Christian Environment), BishopAccountability.org, The Hope of Survivors, Child-Friendly Faith Project, Safe Horizon, and RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network).

C. Providing an Independent Investigator Unfettered Access:

Granting an independent investigator comprehensive access to all financial records is crucial for a thorough examination of the organization's integrity and accountability. This includes not only basic financial documents like bank statements and payroll records but also extends to more complex transactions involving real estate, investments, and any business ventures tied to the organization. Such transparency ensures that all financial activities are scrutinized for any irregularities or misconduct.

The investigation must also encompass a detailed review of employment and personnel files, communication records, and organizational policies and procedures. Access to hiring documents, background checks, performance evaluations, and disciplinary records is essential to understand the workplace culture and any potential misconduct within the staff. Similarly, examining all forms of communication and the organization's policies on financial management, employee conduct, and complaint handling will provide insight into how allegations have been addressed historically and the overall governance of the organization.

Furthermore, the investigator should have unrestricted access to physical and digital assets, including computers, servers, and security footage, as well as the ability to conduct interviews with current and former employees, volunteers, and any other individuals connected to the organization. This level of access, coupled with the ability to consult the organization's legal and financial advisors without the constraints of attorney-client privilege, is paramount for an investigation that aims to uncover the truth, ensure justice, and restore trust within the organization and its community. The investigator should have full autonomy to access any records required or to expand the scope of the investigation based on the findings.

In my view, it is imperative that IHOPKC and its related nonprofits immediately halt any actions that could lead to the disappearance of documents, including all forms of programmed deletion or alteration of Electronically Stored Information (ESI), such as automatic removal, clearing, or obliteration processes. Similarly, if there's any indication that documents might be found on devices belonging to current or former vendors, subcontractors, and employees, IHOPKC should take swift action to secure and preserve this evidence.

Also, I’ve been informed that IHOPKC should be cautious of any actions that have led to or could lead to the deletion of documents or other information, as such actions may lead to negative assumptions by a judge or jury in the case of litigation.

The call for withholding support is not made lightly but arises from a deep concern for justice, the protection of the vulnerable, and the integrity of spiritual communities.

Without significant steps towards transparency, accountability, and a genuine effort to address and rectify past abuses, supporting IHOPKC may inadvertently contribute to the perpetuation of abusive practices.

A Missouri lawyer has established a confidential reporting system for International House of Prayer (IHOPKC) abuse survivors to tackle several pressing questions as accounts accumulate:

What is the extent and nature of the abuse?

Is there an avenue for justice in the courts?

Can government agencies offer other help survivors need?

What additional resources are available to aid in healing and recovery?

And finally, what laws or other legal mechanisms might be enacted to prevent such abuse from reoccurring?

The fledging reporting system, launched earlier this week, reflects a broader struggle to bring external oversight and accountability to religious institutions accustomed to operating in the dark.

Caleb J. Aponte, an attorney with a background in prosecuting sex crimes, launched the system in response to what he describes as an inadequate and potentially harmful internal investigation into allegations of clergy abuse and sexual misconduct directed at IHOPKC founder Mike Bickle.

"IHOPKC's approach mirrors tactics commonly employed by defense lawyers representing large corporations to shield their clients from liability," Aponte wrote in an analysis of a report on IHOPKC’s investigative findings.

Aponte criticized the report as a textbook example of "DARVO," an acronym that stands for "Deny, Attack, and Reverse Victim and Offender," that portrays the perpetrator as the victim, thereby undermining the actual victim's claims.

Aponte said in his analysis that IHOPKC should have focused on identifying and supporting additional survivors.

“While IHOPKC may pay lip service to encouraging victims to come forward, their actions suggest otherwise, perpetuating a culture of silence and impunity,” wrote Aponte, a member of the Missouri Supreme Court's Combatting Human Trafficking and Domestic Violence Commission.

IHOPKC directed inquiries regarding the criticism to its attorney, who did not respond to a request for comment.

Aponte is still partnering with Boz Tchividjian, who represents the first woman to publicly accuse Bickle of abuse, known as the primary Jane Doe, along with other survivors.

Tchividjian, the grandson of the late evangelist Billy Graham, has a law practice that represents survivors of child and adult sexual abuse, assault, and harassment nationwide. He is also the founder of GRACE, (Godly Response to Abuse in the Christian Environment), an organization that educates and trains Christian institutions in preventing child abuse and offers independent internal investigations into abuse.

However, the reporting system Aponte has launched is independent from his partnership with Tchividjian. He intends to identify individuals who may have experienced a wide range of abuse, such as psychological manipulation, financial exploitation or whistleblower retaliation, in addition to sexual abuse.

By collecting and categorizing survivors' stories, Aponte aims to identify potential legal actions, direct survivors to the most suitable resources for their recovery, and gather data to advocate for legislation that safeguards congregants

The allegations against Bickle emerged alongside accounts of widespread abuse within IHOPKC, undermining a devout reputation cultivated throughout IHOPKC’s 25-year history.

Under Bickle’s leadership, IHOPKC has grown into a global prayer and worship movement, with followers deeply engaged in the anticipation of Christ’s second coming. The Kansas City-based organization hosts between 1,000 and 2,000 staff, students, and volunteers who rely on self-raised funds donated to the tax-exempt entity.

Beyond the allegations of clergy abuse tied to Bickle, IHOPKC has faced accusations ranging from sexual assault by staff and coverups to cramped living conditions and demands for prolonged fasting— all within a culture that seemingly stifles questioning and dissent.

Since the early 2000s, during Catholic Church abuse scandals, external organizations have become instrumental in pushing for justice and systemic reforms at religious institutions.

But the complex structure of IHOPKC makes determining the potential damage as difficult as tracing a winding crack through a mosaic of glass, where each shard reveals a different facet of an ever-unfolding story.

MINIMIZATION OF MISCONDUCT

Despite calls for a thorough external review of its entire operation, IHOPKC engaged Lathrop GPM—a law firm noted for its defense of corporations and churches in sexual abuse cases—to conduct what leaders described as an independent investigation only into Bickle. Rosalee M. McNamara, the attorney responsible for the investigation, has not responded to attempts to contact her for comment.

The Lathrop report, released on Jan. 30, was published nearly three months after former senior leaders at IHOPKC accused Bickle of clergy sexual abuse. Bickle’s former associates highlighted his alleged misuse of prophecies about his wife's death to justify sexual relationships, underscoring a pattern that supports the claims.

In the announcement of the new reporting system, Aponte also published an analysis of the Lathrop’s report. He specifically criticized it for downplaying Bickle's misconduct.

McNamara’s report confines Bickle’s misconduct to relationships with two adult women more than 20 years ago.

The report acknowledges that Bickle admitted to sexual contact with a woman known as Jane Doe, or the primary Jane Doe.

In November, The Roys Report published a detailed account of Doe's interactions with Bickle in the late 1990s, highlighting his manipulation using a prophecy about his wife's death. It covered diary entries, secret meetings, apartments funded by Bickle, and a trip to Paris, suggesting that Doe was drugged while overseas. Bickle denied the drugging allegations in a recent statement.

McNamara also described a second relationship but appeared to place most of the blame on the woman involved.

“[Bickle] described the contact as ‘consensual sexual contact that involved her touching me but not me touching her,’” McNamara wrote in her report.

McNamara devoted roughly half of her 7-page report to women who have denied being Bickle’s victims and accused Bickle’s former associates, whom McNamara referred to as the “Advocacy Group,” of circulating their names without permission.

“Rather than prioritizing the identification and support of survivors, the report seeks to discredit those who raise concerns, reflecting IHOPKC's disregard for genuine accountability,” Aponte wrote.

INDISPENSABLE PRESSURE

Within 10 days of the report being published, two additional women accused Bickle of abusing them when they were 14 and 15 years old.

Tammy Woods, a Michigan woman, now 57, shared with The Kansas City Star that she was 14 years old when the abuse occurred while Bickle was pastoring a church in St. Louis during the 1980s. This marked the first allegation against Bickle involving a minor.

Another woman, identified by her initials TH, accused Bickle of predatory behavior in a statement circulated on social media. She said that when Bickle was a minister in the 1980s, he invoked the prophecy about his wife’s imminent death as a pretext for a romantic relationship.

Then, in a story published a few days later in The Roys Report, TH also disclosed that in the 1970s, Bickle sexually abused her when he was a 20-years-old church intern and she was 15.

Wood’s account, along with what TH characterized as woefully misleading statements in McNamara’s report, caused her to go public with her story.

TH’s ex-husband, Bob Hartley, was banned from the IHOPKC premises after allegations against him, including rape, were circulated on Facebook in mid-January.

Yet McNamara apparently interviewed Hartley and presented his statements about his wife not wanting to get involved in the scandal in the report. Hartley’s anonymous assertions appeared in the report as if they came from a credible witness speaking on behalf of his ex-wife. However, by the time McNamara published the report, Hartley had already been banished from IHOPKC grounds.

TH also furnished a copy of a text message exchange with McNamara that contradicted McNamara’s claims that TH was unwilling to share her story. According to the texts, TH only declined to speak with McNamara, but was willing to disclose her account to an investigator whom TH viewed as truly independent.

Following Woods' account in the Star, IHOPKC leaders apologized for their response to the allegations against Bickle.

“We believe that Mike Bickle sexually abused and manipulated Jane Doe and Tammy Woods, who was a minor at the time,” the statement said. “His predatory and abusive actions are sick and violate the Word of God, the marriage covenant, and holiness; we condemn them in their entirety.”

The organization also admitted that two messages that Bickle gave in October were attempts to manipulate perception prior to allegations becoming public.

The apology added: “We deeply regret allowing him on the platform, and we acknowledge and apologize for the pain and confusion this caused.”

IHOPKC only offered its verbal display of contrition after Wood’s testimony was widely publicized, underscoring the need for external systems in ensuring accountability and support for survivors.

The International House of Prayer Kansas City (IHOPKC) handling of clergy abuse claims has turned into a glaring example of how apparent attempts to bury facts can inadvertently fertilize them.

Days after IHOPKC released a investigative report limiting founder Mike Bickle's misconduct to a few credible claims involving adult relationships from twenty years ago, two additional women came forward with their own stories.

A Michigan woman, now 57, shared with the Kansas City Star that she was 14 years old when the abuse occurred while Bickle was pastoring a church in St. Louis during the 1980s. This marked the first allegation against Bickle involving a minor, according to a story published on Wednesday in the Kansas City Star.

Another woman, identified by her initials TH, accused Bickle of predatory behavior in a statement circulated on social media around noon on Thursday. She criticized the IHOPKC investigation for misrepresenting her words.

TH's statement was supported with alleged text message exchange with the Lathrop GPM attorney who conducted the investigation.

In her report, the Lathrop lawyer appears to have allowed the woman’s ex-husband to speak on her behalf. The man was banned from IHOPKC’s premises because of his own sexual assault allegations, only days prior to the findings’ publication.

“To seek out and give credence to [her ex-husband’s] claims was extremely negligent and resulted in an audacious misrepresentation of the truth,” TH wrote.

Both women recounted how Bickle used the prediction of his wife’s death as a pretext for romantic relationships.

Former members of Bickle’s inner circle, who made clergy sexual abuse allegations public in October, stressed Bickle’s predictions regarding his wife’s death as a recurring theme that lent credibility to the accounts.

The allegations against Bickle surfaced at the same time as other reports of widespread sexual and psychological abuse within the IHOPKC organization.

IHOPKC has rebuffed calls for an independent inquiry, agreed upon by its leadership and alleged survivors and their advocates, to examine the entire organization, not just Bickle.

The new accusations surfaced as Eric Volz, IHOPKC’s former crisis manager, prematurely declared the crisis resolved and began erasing IHOPKC-related content from his social media accounts.

For 25 years, Bickle and IHOPKC have led a global worship and prayer movement, captivating millions worldwide with the promise of actively participating in ushering in Christ’s second coming.

Lathrop GPM's investigation recognized only a couple of allegations against Bickle as credible and stated that they involved adult relationships from two decades ago.

The report, authored by Lathrop Partner Rosalee M. McNamara, lacks definitions, seemingly key exhibits, and essential explanations of why some information was deemed credible and other information wasn’t.

In one section, the report differentiates between Bickle’s alleged victims and women who objected to being labeled as Bickle’s victims, referencing them as “Jane Does” and “Not ever Jane Does.”

In later sections, the report indiscriminately refers to any interviewed woman as “Jane Doe.”

The presentation of the report seems designed to obscure the entire investigative process and render the findings meaningless.

McNamara has not responded to requests for clarification regarding her report.

This week, outrage over the document erupted in a spectacular fashion within a 24-hour period.

‘THIS IS MY STORY’

Tammy Woods, a Michigan woman, has ended decades of silence with allegations that she was sexually abused by Mike Bickle in the early 1980s while she was babysitting his young children in St. Louis. This occurred before Bickle relocated to Kansas City to establish the globally recognized prayer ministry, IHOPKC, in 1999, as detailed in the Kansas City Star on Wednesday.

The Star's extensively reported story revealed a pattern of abuse occurring in various locations, including Bickle's car, Woods' home, the church, and his office, involving sexual contact but not intercourse.

Woods recounted to the Star how she had cared for Bickle’s two children and that he thought his wife would die early and said that Woods would then become their mother.

For more than forty years, Woods remained silent about her ordeal. However, spurred by the public allegations made by another woman known as Jane Doe last year, Woods felt compelled to come forward. She expressed to the Star her hope that her disclosure would empower others to reclaim their narratives from Bickle’s influence.

In a statement that has since been widely shared on social media, Woods declared, "This is my story. It really happened. I’m not Jane Doe, I’m Tammy, and you did this."

Bickle has not responded to requests for comment on these allegations. IHOPKC's attorney, Audrey Manito, indicated that the organization had only recently become aware of Woods' claims, stressing the gravity of the allegations, particularly as they involve a minor.

Friends and family supported Woods' account, noting a significant change in her behavior and the inappropriate nature of Bickle's relationship with her, according to the Star.

The Star's article also pointed out criticisms of the investigation conducted by Lathrop for lacking independence and underscored the demand for a genuinely impartial third-party investigation into the allegations against Bickle and the broader IHOPKC organization.

‘INSUFFICIENT AND WOEFULLY MISLEADING’

A statement released on Thursday by another woman detailed how Bickle allegedly used a prophecy about his wife's death to entice her into a romantic relationship.

The woman identified herself by the initials TH to avoid any confusion over her story and the stories of other women referred to as “Jane Does.”

"In 1983, Mike explicitly told me of a prophecy regarding the death of his wife, Diane," the statement read. "He believed Diane's death would occur in an earthquake in Saint Louis, implying that her death would pave the way for us to pursue a romantic relationship together."

The statement does not elaborate on whether a relationship with Bickle ensued.

TH said she disclosed her experience to a group of Bickle's former associates, who brought forth allegations against Bickle in October. This group is now known as the "Advocate Group."

TH criticized the Lathrop report for not accurately reflecting the gravity and nature of Bickle's actions, labeling it "insufficient and woefully misleading."

TH took issue with a statement in the report discounting her readiness to participate in an investigation and an assertion about her unwillingness to appear on a list of women who allegedly experienced Bickle’s predatory behavior.

TH was especially disturbed that McNamara attributed statements to her that were made by her ex-husband.

"The words of my ex-husband, who was recently banned from the IHOPKC premises due to his own sexual misconduct allegations, do not represent my experience," she said.

In January, IHOPKC banned a prominent figure in the organization from its grounds following sexual misconduct allegations.

Michelle Seidler, a former IHOPKC leader, shared evidence on Facebook supporting sexual assault claims against the man, including an allegation of rape.

Seidler also apparently obtained a video that the man made of himself showing off his bedroom in attempt to solicit sex from an unknown woman. In the video, the man offered money to "bless" the woman. He denied being a "sex fiend," but acknowledged his strong desire for intimacy.

TH says McNamara referenced her story in the report when McNamara wrote: "My understanding is that this woman does not wish to be on any list. The only evidence suggests this may have occurred over twenty years ago. Her ex-husband revealed how upset his ex-wife was at being listed, insisting she would have spoken up if there had been any relationship or similar situation."

It is the only instance in the report where McNamara appears to rely on interview of a woman’s ex-husband.

TH also shared a text message exchange along with her statement, allegedly between herself and McNamara, to challenge the claim that she refused to share her story.

McNamara did not respond to email requesting that she verify the authenticity of the exchange.

In the text exchange, a message from TH read: "When IHOPKC and the Advocacy Group agree on a neutral [third party] to conduct the investigation, I will be happy to share my story."

A person identified as "Rosie" responded: "Is it possible to speak briefly for me to explain why I truly am a neutral third party?"

TH declined further discussion: "No thanks — I am not the one who needs to determine that."

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AN APOLOGY MET WITH DOUBT

The disclosure Woods and TH’s stories after Lathrop's findings suggest a potential catalyst effect that will continue to prompt more survivors to come forward.

Woods' decision to break her years of silence, driven by the unfolding events and her desire to support other victims, illustrates the complex emotional and psychological dynamics at play in the IHOPKC crisis.

Similarly, TH's decision to clarify her identity by using her initials in sharing her story reflects a commitment to truth and the pursuit of justice, not only for herself but also for others.

The concerns raised by both women, and echoed by critics of McNamara's report, raise questions about the integrity of the information McNamara relied on and the ability of internal or semi-internal investigations to deliver justice and transparency.

McNamara noted in her report that she was never allowed to interview Bickle directly.

Instead, she submitted questions that Bickle answered in writing. However, this correspondence was not included as an exhibit in the Lathrop report. Instead, a protest statement from the “Never Jane Does” criticizing the Advocate Group was attached.

McNamara has not responded to inquiries about her reasons for withholding the Bickle Q&A — a critical piece of correspondence with the central subject of the investigation.

McNamara has also not responded to a request for a copy of the exchange with Bickle.

In a late Thursday statement, IHOPKC’s leadership apologized for their communication throughout the ordeal.

“Many in our community have been pained by our communications regarding these allegations,” the statement read. “We are sorry we fell short in this area and left you feeling unseen, unheard, and unappreciated … Words are insufficient to communicate the pain and anguish many have borne in this and prior seasons as a result of Mike Bickle’s wrongdoings.”

Social media commenters expressed cautious appreciation for the apology. However, they emphasized the ongoing demand for IHOPKC to engage an unequivocally neutral third party for a comprehensive investigation, extending beyond Bickle to the entire organization.

Until then, they said, the sincerity of the apology remains in doubt.

As a storm of allegations of sexual and psychological abuse at the International House of Prayer (IHOPKC) gathered on the horizon, leaders enlisted Eric Volz to navigate the turbulent waters that threatened to engulf the organization and its founder, Mike Bickle.

Bickle and IHOPKC have been at the heart of a worldwide worship and prayer movement for 25 years, captivating millions globally with the allure of participating directly in a divine plan.

The sensitive and serious nature of the allegations required outside help from a crisis manager, an expert at handling public perception and communications, especially for organizations confronting potential threats to their existence.

Volz, however, violated the cardinal rule of crisis management: never become a central figure in the crisis.

Volz, 44, has publicly sparred with reporters and critics. He prefaced disrespectful monologues with “Respectfully,” and signed off on menacing communications with “Blessings.”

On Twitter/X, Volz earned the nickname “Minister of Truth,” a reference to George Orwell's dystopian novel "1984."

In Orwell’s novel, the “Ministry of Truth” oversees propaganda, the revision of history, and the manipulation of facts.

During my two decades in journalism, I have encountered a couple of rare instances where circumstances warranted stories about public relations professionals, or crisis managers.

The first occurred during the 2014 Ferguson unrest over the fatal police shooting of Michael Brown, an unarmed Black teenager. A colleague and I uncovered information about the city's newly contracted crisis manager having also fatally shot an unarmed man years earlier.

The second transpired while covering Atlanta City government. Text messages revealed a former spokesperson blatantly violated the Georgia Open Records Act. The individual became the first public servant in state history convicted under the Act.

Volz's involvement with IHOPKC marks yet another situation that merits chronicling a crisis manager’s actions, as they appear to mirror the insularity, insensitivity, and self-aggrandizement that created the crisis.

“I think in Eric we see a public portrayal of IHOPKC’s private persona & culture,” Jessica Dedrick, who interned at IHOPKC from 2004 to 2006, posted on Twitter/X late Monday. “He brought further into daylight what exists in darkness & behind closed doors: duplicity, arrogance, bullying & insults, lying for personal gain, gaslighting, reliance on appearances, $$, etc.”

VISIONS OF GRANDEUR

Volz’s past has raised significant questions about his ability to be objective regarding sexual assault allegations.

Volz formed his company, the David House Agency, on the foundation of his wrongful murder conviction in Nicaragua. In 2006, the body of Volz’s ex-girlfriend, Doris Jiménez, 25, was discovered after she had been strangled and raped.

Volz substantiated his alibi with digital evidence of being in Managua, about 55 miles south from Jiménez's clothing boutique in Rivas where her body was found. The digital evidence was supported by witness testimony.

Before being charged with the 2006 murder, Volz had begun publishing a magazine in Nicaragua.

Volz would later blame the charges against him on unproven Central American political conspiracies. But his private conversations at the time suggested he was more focused on building a publishing empire than the grave allegations he faced.

A Central American journalist reviewing Volz’s subsequent book about the ordeal reported: “During a recess in the court proceedings, he turned to me and said he was looking forward to getting back to work making EP a leading magazine in Central America. It seemed like a rather grandiose – not to mention oddly timed – comment from someone who had essentially published only one issue. Volz’s ego and visions of grandeur might lead some readers to then wonder about his conclusion in the book: that he was a political prisoner that Ortega tried to leverage in missile-disarmament negotiations with the U.S. government.”

After Volz was convicted of murder and sentenced to 30 years in prison, an appeals court overturned the decision. However, the Nicaraguan Supreme Court ordered an investigation into the decision after Volz was deported back to the U.S.

In 2008, after Volz returned to his home in Tennessee, he expressed concern about the Nicaraguan Supreme Court's potential actions. He concluded that he would become a fugitive again, whether through the reaffirmation of his guilty verdict or the ordering of a new trial, according to a UPI news agency article.

Volz filed a 700-page petition with the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights of the Organization of American States (OAS), seeking justice and clarity. The OAS, dedicated to fostering solidarity, democracy, human rights, and development in the Americas, has yet to respond to inquiries submitted via email on Tuesday about the petition's outcome.

Volz’ David House Agency went on to assist in several high-profile cases, including those of Matthew and Grace Huang, Jason Puracal, and Amanda Knox.

This background, rich with experience in handling delicate and complex situations, seemed exactly what IHOPKC needed during the crisis.

However, the nature of Volz's past legal troubles, especially the allegations of sexual assault and murder, introduced problematic optics and inevitable questions regarding whether Volz would sympathize more with the accused than the accusers.

From the outset, Volz appeared positioned to potentially sabotage IHOPKC’s crisis management rather than effectively guide it.

Then he spoke, removing all doubt.

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RALLYING CRY FOR CRITICS

After working behind the scenes, Volz, in December, took on the role of spokesperson and lectured congregants at IHOPKC’s Forerunner Church against prematurely judging Bickle amid accusations from several of Bickle’s former associates that Bickle had engaged in decades-long sexual predation.

Volz called social media commentators, many of whom had invested years in IHOPKC, “armchair investigators.”

The misstep was immediately obvious. With a single phrase, Volz rallied, unified and motivated his opposition. Several people incorporated “armchair investigator” into the titles of their Instagram and Twitter/X accounts.

For a crisis manager in the social media age, Volz also seemed especially sensitive to criticism.

Soon after Volz became IHOP’s spokesman, Volz claimed in lengthy diatribe that he had never experienced slander to this extent — despite being accused of murder and imprisoned for more than a year in Central America.

HIDDEN CONFLICTS

Volz did not disclose that he had legally changed his name to Eric V. Lineiro a few years earlier and that “Volz” was actually now a pseudonym.

He also didn’t publicly mention that he had established a music business with one of IHOPKC’s key worship leaders, raising questions about potential conflicts of interest in his financial interactions with IHOPKC.

Transparency is essential in crisis management, and any concealment can significantly harm an organization's reputation. The Public Relations Society of America's Code of Ethics highlights the need for openness, stating, "Open communication fosters informed decision making in a democratic society," and mandates members to "Be honest and accurate in all communications" and to "Disclose financial interest (such as stock ownership) in a client’s organization."

Not disclosing financial interests, particularly those that could affect crisis management, points to ethical concerns. These omissions suggest possible conflicts of interest, compromising ethical standards and integrity, leading to more intense scrutiny of the organization's values and practices.

The PRSA’s Code of Ethics stresses: "Avoiding real, potential, or perceived conflicts of interest builds the trust of clients, employers, and the public."

But Volz apparent conflicts, unknown, at least to the broader IHOPKC community, helped expand the scope of scrutiny from the abuse allegations themselves to the organization's response to them.

“When this is all over, and the truth about @mikebickle and @ihopkc is finally told, there sitting in the ashes of what was once @ihopkc will be an unknown number of precious women who have been twisted and broken by the men who were their leaders,” posted Stephen Magnuson, the former chief of staff for Bickle’s personal ministry, Friends of the Bridegroom, on Twitter/X in December. “Spoiler Alert: the @ihopkc victims are not just women and the abuser is not just @mikebickle. There are numerous young men who have been abused by the men who led them … Are you listening Mr. @EricVolz, Minister of Truth …”

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QUESTIONS UNANSWERED

The need for a transparent, empathetic, and comprehensive approach to crisis management has been evident at IHOPKC throughout the crisis, yet Volz's strategies have undermined claims of its leaders that they intend to hold people accountable.

IHOPKC leaders began banning staff and students of the organization’s unaccredited Bible school from bringing their cell phones to meetings for fear of being recorded.

Volz has defended his messaging and blamed the audience for confusion.

“Isn’t your sole purpose as the spokesperson to communicate things clearly and effectively?” asked Christina Forêt in a Twitter/X post. “It’s kind of weird for you to blame the IHOPKC community for their interpretations of your words when it’s obvious your communication style is the problem. It’s especially wild for you to put the responsibility on the attendees to make an accurate representation of what’s discussed when they are banned from using their own personal phones to take notes in the meetings …”

Christina Forêt hosts the Wake Up and Win podcast with her husband Blaise.

Rather than calmly addressing criticism, Volz resorted to blocking anyone who mocked him. Sometimes he blocked individuals for no apparent reason. Screenshots of Volz blocking people turned into badges of honor, proudly posted by those affected.

Last week, Eric Volz announced the results of IHOPKC's internal investigation, conducted by a law firm known for its defense of clergy accused of sexual misconduct. The investigation narrowly focused on Mike Bickle's actions, overlooking broader allegations of sexual and psychological manipulation within IHOPKC.

The investigative report essentially confirmed Bickle's own admission from a statement in December, acknowledging sexual misconduct two decades prior.

Following the report, Volz declared his work at IHOPKC complete, asserting that the crisis had ended—a conclusion not universally accepted.

Volz expressed the need to decompress upon his departure. But he did so publicly, airing a video of him walking through the woods discussing his prayers for everyone involved with the IHOPKC scandal.

In a YouTube video posted on Sunday, Volz, was interviewed from his Nashville home by a pastor. He faced no critical questions. Volz attributed any ongoing crisis to external pressures, stating, “I don’t think IHOPKC is really in crisis-mode anymore.”

Volz is not without his fans, many of whom appear to have other interests intertwined with IHOPKC. After the YouTube video was posted, an IHOPKC loyalist encouraged Volz to get some rest.

But @EricVolzParody, a Twitter/X account created solely for the purpose of poking fun at Volz, responded: “Thank you. I’ve been the most humble person I have ever met. I am a broken man. It’s hard to hear anyone say anything bad about me. Some say it’s insecurity, but I call it a superpower.”

On Monday, I posted several pointed questions directed to Volz on Twitter/X, focusing on his potential conflicts of interest, use of a pseudonym, adherence to ethical guidelines, transparency about compensation, and accountability measures.

The inquiries remain unanswered.

Volz seemed more preoccupied with scrubbing his social media accounts of IHOPKC-related material.

Despite the apparent purging of evidence of half-truths and combative exchanges on Twitter/X, Volz defended his rapid deletion of the content as one of his standard practices.