The Moses model was established to give the pastor
complete control because Chuck Smith did not like
to hear the word ‘no.’ And so followed suit his cult of
imposter pastors who wielded power accountable ‘only
to the Lord.’ Such a strange interpretation falling outside
all models for the Church, but for them, it worked—to
keep the flock in line. Under-shepherds too quick to
identify with Jesus and not the Judas in themselves.
I condemn it. The bath, the water, the baby—all of it.

Strange were the men, never women, who assumed
the role of pastor. Charismatic, arrogant, filled with
all manner of pride, but—they say—holy, and to say
otherwise, was to Divide—division is the greatest sin you
can commit outside of being gay, or a woman who lost
her virginity before marriage; these men were always in
our pants. They were always in our lives pointing our
eyes to distant stars while picking our pockets for their
con—Jesus is coming, they still say, and every earthly
strife is a sign.

We waited. We watched. Jesus never showed up—to
a single Sunday service. Probably because they did
so little serving beyond themselves. Riding the coat
tails of every Evangelical pearl clutch, they stoked the
fears of the flock inside the lines drawn in the sand
between them and everyone else—us versus them.
Them, a euphemism for non-Calvary Chapel believers,
the unsaved, the unclean, the Black, the Brown, the
Other—and especially the misfits who were a misfit
for the cross-shaped coffins they’d stuff us into, like
Lonnie Frisbee who first brought the youth. Lonnie,
who gave Chuck his start. Lonnie, who they threw
away when he couldn’t stop being gay. Lonnie, who
Smith and Laurie claimed repented on his deathbed.
We know they are lying.

Chuck is gone now, I wish Laurie was, too, but his
legacy lives on in the broken bodies beaten down
by illiterate men who use the Bible as a weapon, God
as a scapegoat, and Love as reason to hate. And there
was so much hate.

I condemn it. The bath, the water, the baby—all of it.