The Ellen White Cult: Chapter 1

 The Ellen White Cult 

 

It is said that there is to be a perfect people, ready for the last days. If we can keep the commandments of God, then we will be ready. Until then, Jesus will not return. So then, let’s get ready! 
 

“Christ is waiting with longing desire for the manifestation of Himself in His church. When the character of Christ shall be perfectly reproduced in His people, then He will come and claim them as His own.” - Christs Object Lessons

 

“Perfect is the enemy of good.” - Voltaire (adapted)

“Those who are living upon the earth when the intercession of Christ shall cease in the sanctuary above are to stand in the sight of a holy God without a mediator. Their robes must be spotless, their characters must be purified from sin by the blood of sprinkling. Through the grace of God and their own diligent effort they must be conquerors in the battle with evil. While the investigative judgement is going forward in heaven, while the sins of penitent believers are being removed from the sanctuary, there is to be a special work of purification, of putting away of sin, among God’s people on earth.” (Great Controversy p. 425)

 

Introduction

 

This book is a personal account of my time in a church that looked normal and is probably not so different from many others around the world. I did not write this book to be hurtful or spiteful, although some may argue that. The truth is, my main motivation for writing this book is to tell my story and to give people the tools to decide for themselves. I have learned to see books as very spiritual, and I believe that books are often presented to us at the right time. As people, our stories are priceless and we can learn so much from each other. I know that I have learned so much on my own journey and it would be a crime for me to not share this journey with you!

I was especially motivated to write this book because of the absurdity of my story and how members of the church pushed so hard against having me tell it. To be honest, it is all kind of embarrassing for me, because I always thought I was “smarter than this.” I never expected to go down the rabbit home of extremism. The things I used to believe make me cringe. 

Secondly, I believe that the church has absolutely failed in its duty to warn against the extremism that surrounds it. Like it or not, the Seventh-day Adventist church is a high-control denomination that attracts fringe groups like a beacon. After my experience, and talking with others who were raised in extremist backgrounds, I realized that this book needed to be written. From the Branch Davidians, Shepherds Rod, and newer sects such as “The Prophecy Group” of Papua New Guinea there are no shortage of ultra-extremist branches of the SDA church in the world. This book is not just for Seventh-day Adventists or ex Adventists. It is for anyone who is involved with or has loved ones in a high-control religious group or offshoot and desires to understand the process that takes place within. There are many who are/were members of other demonizations such as Mormonism or the Jehovah’s Witness church that could relate to this book. Healing begins with understanding, and religious trauma takes a long time to heal. 

Looking back, I strongly believe that part of the problem is the insistence on a “perfect generation” that will rise, the belief that Seventh-day Adventists (or any other specific group) are the remnant people specially chosen by God or that they have a monopoly on prophecy. Extreme rigidity and endless rules for perfection combined with the fact the denomination’s or prophet’s standards are impossible for anyone to attain add fuel to this dumpster fire. When one sees that even the prophets themselves do not attain their ridiculously lofty commands, one must begin to ask the hard questions about their beliefs and these prophets that they lift up. This is something that many churches need to come to terms with, and it can no longer be ignored. As Jesus said, you will know them by their fruits.

During my time in the church, I was silently observing, staying quiet, and not doing anything to “rock the boat” during my time at Countryside Sabbath Fellowship. I was taught that it was better to keep your head down and not ask questions. That’s what I did. In the end, it wasn’t better at all for me. It actually severely damaged my walk with the Lord in ways that may never be repaired. It also crippled the relationships I have with many involved. In the eyes of some, I am “an agent of Satan.” 

I have spent the last couple of years researching, asking questions, and trying to formulate answers as to why I had entered into such a religion. I thought I was wise enough to see it. Yet, as you will see, wisdom was not always my friend. Ironically, I was told that discernment was my “spiritual gift” at some point. Sometimes we are enchanted by this idea of friendship, camaraderie, being holy and acceptable—or saved, and part of a unique group of people—a remnant. Yet, as I would eventually learn, everything that purports to call itself unique, special, or “better than others” has a very dark side to it. This is my story of a time of deep spiritual darkness unlike anything I ever imagined I would be a part of. With that said, this is my story. 

 

Part I :: “The Little Church”

As I stepped inside Countryside Sabbath Fellowship, I never imagined how this place would change my outlook on faith, the Seventh-day Adventist church, and even God. It didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary. It is your typical old red church with a big white steeple rising high towards heaven. A symbol of the enduring power of the love of Christ immortal. Or something like that.

My eyes moved up towards the sign above the door that still said The Church in the Wildwood. A small door led to a dining hall. Folding chairs and brown tables were set up around the room. My eyes darted left and right. Almost everyone in attendance was elderly. I tapped my shoes on the rug. The gravel driveway still lingered on the bottom. Outside, cars loaded with the lost souls of the world rushed along 395, the main highway leading from Spokane to Canada.

A group of ragtag aging outcasts and world-renouncers wandered almost aimlessly around the dining hall waiting for the morning service to start. We missed Sabbath school and in between there was a break where the members could unload their bladders and bowels, or grab a piece of church literature from a little table set up in the dining room. It was also a chance for the pack leader to chit-chat with those who came in late.

Here we all were, gathering to learn about “God’s truth for these last days.” It was funny how so few people were interested to learn about the end of the world. Yet, such knowledge, although freely given, is not popular with the masses. That’s what makes it even juicier. It seemed that the aged knew something that the young ones who were spending their Saturday involved in the sins of the world did not. Yet, I was new and did not know what a thrill all of this was. Hell, I had not even met Albert, yet.

When I stepped into Countryside Sabbath Fellowship, I felt like I had walked into some strange place removed from time. I had never been inside a church quite like this. There was something familiar and nostalgic about it. I took a deep breath, and could almost taste the old wood smell that the whole place seemed to be dipped in. I don’t know if it was pine or birch, but the place smelled like a cross between wood paneling and the bedroom at your great-grandmother’s house.

Deer Park, Washington is a town of four thousand “souls.” Given that this church had about twenty or so people attending, that meant that there were still 3,980 that were lost at the time. Yet, the situation was not as hopeless as the reader may think. There was another Seventh-day Adventist church in this small town. That was the thing that really perplexed me. I asked myself: “Why did a second Adventist church open only a couple miles from an SDA church that has been a part of this community for decades?” I had been married in the other church, and when I was baptized I was made well aware that it was also the remnant church written about in Revelation. So, why was I seeing double?

There’s really no way to sugarcoat things. I was not raised a Seventh-dayAdventist. I joined immediately before being married at the young age of nineteen. My wife-to-be was seventeen. I really had no clue that not being an Adventist at the time could have barred me from marriage, and I really wanted to be baptized, so I jumped in, fins first so to speak. But, with that said, I always thought Adventism was kind of strange. I could say the same about any church. I am sure they all have their peculiarities. Yet, there were some things within Adventism that never really sat right with me. The big one was this idea that you have to separate yourself from the big bad world. Bear with me.

I should preface this by saying that not all Seventh-day Adventists are the same. There are various levels of adherence to church doctrine and rules within the church. In some parts of the country, churches are more liberal and progressive with the rules, and in other places, extremism abounds. 

In the Adventist world, it is suggested that kids go to separate schools,

and universities, and then get jobs in the church. I suppose the latter one is optional, but the church is the place where many Adventist parents pray their kids end up. I am sure that’s a noble thing. Being a pastor, doctor, or missionary is the gold standard. You get a kid who agrees to enter into the holy trinity of career paths and you are golden. Sit back, light a Cohiba cigar, and celebrate the fact that they are on the fast track to Heaven.

Actually, let’s go back to the cigar thing. The Adventist church has a pretty strict health message. No smoking, no drinking, no drugs, no cheese. Wait, back up a minute. I understand the no smoking, drinking, and drugs thing—but no cheese? Yeah, you heard me right. I said no cheese. There is also to be no eating hot peppers, vinegar, meat, or ice cream for those who strictly follow the writings of Ellen White. Who is she, you ask? She’s the prophetess who helped establish the church in the mid-1800s.

Now, you may be thinking that’s absurd. It may or may not be. You see, the church is famous for its health message. Cheese is to be shunned and is “not fit for food.” And that was a shame for me because I am kind of in love with cheese. There’s more though. The idea of living far out in the country, away from the cities, and being separate from society is a high ideal. Why, you ask? Well, you had to prepare for the end times, an imminent National Sunday Law, and intense persecution. Some of these issues had me struggling, but I didn’t give them too much thought. I don’t know how many did. I know that it was mentioned during sermons, and some people were obsessive about it, but during day-to-day life, most people just did the same thing as those people who were out and about on that strange Saturday morning.

What Adventism did provide for me was a way to stay close to the Lord. Although I had much to learn, I was happy in my ignorance and felt that my relationship with God was slowly growing. For me, that ignorance was bliss. How little did I know that my ignorance was about to be shattered?

As I sat there in that dining hall, with the pastor’s eyes locked on me, I thought back to my recent return from Ukraine. I had been a missionary in Kyiv. My job was not of any great importance in the church. I was just a lowly English teacher. I loved Ukraine but decided to come back to the United States with my wife to live a more pastoral life. The idea was that we would consider buying property and living a more pastoral life in accordance with Ellen White’s* prophetic insight. After close to fifteen years of marriage, we had just had a child and that child was now two years old. Seeing that the world was slated for the great and terrible day of the Lord, we thought it best to begin a new phase of life and consider building ourselves a country home.

*Note: Ellen White was hit by a rock when she was a young woman. This was a very traumatic part of her life and it affected her. Like many who call themselves modern-day prophets, a traumatic event is often a springboard to purported visions and dreams.

Young Ellen claimed to have visions in her weakened state and eventually a movement formed. Her power and authority grew. She wrote prolifically (with help from others) and a host of source material (and I’m not talking angels). Much of what she says is controversial, yet a lot of that is not shared in church. Many offshoots and extremists have formed that take her words as true messages from God and elevate her to a position of high spiritual authority, on par with the Bible. Many of these cults are full of spiritual and sexual abuse, and many still arise in the United States and Europe, as well as developing countries around the world. Countryside Sabbath Fellowship is an example of such a church.

 

It was a happy accident that I became a missionary (there is some sarcasm here, of course). Before diving head first into the Lord’s great work, I had finished law school in New York City. Before that I was in San Francisco, working at In-N-Out Burger and attending college at the University of San Francisco—a Jesuit school. Not the kind of places you would expect a baptized Adventist to spend his time. Yet, I was not your everyday Adventist. As I said, I was a first-generation Adventist, and at the time I had no idea that multi-generational Adventists looked at us like we were retarded. Now I know why.

But I didn’t then.

Now the pastor was on a quick march toward me. He wore a sharp-looking grey suit. His skin had an olive complexion to it. We met at the pamphlets on a table all proclaiming the benefits of a vegan diet and how country living could help you escape end times persecution.

“Hi. I’m pastor Albert*,” he said, smiling. His smile showcased two full rows of teeth—something that not all the members of this church could claim ownership of. I shook his hand, stating that I was glad to finally meet him. I had heard a lot about this man as of late, and my in-laws were quite giddy that we were going to meet him on this holy day.

 

*NOTE: Albert is the pastor at Countryside Sabbath Fellowship. Since he is a limited public figure with a vocal public church and YouTube channel, I have used his name in this book. Names of pastors and public figures, such as those with YouTube channels, have not been changed. Names of other people have been altered.

 

I was still in awe. I had traveled to around 30 countries at this point in my life, yet nothing was quite like this place. I had stood in some of the world’s greatest Buddhist temples, The huge mosques in Cairo and Istanbul, and the legendary temples of India and Thailand, and yet there was nowhere quite like this. I had read a lot about Adventism as it existed back in the early days, and this place reminded me a bit of how that must have looked. Observing this church, I realized that it seemed like something out of so-called “early” and “pure” Seventh-day Adventism. Something like one would see back at the very beginning when the rock had just struck Ellen White, and the prophecies were flowing like sweet milk and honey.

My wife’s parents had been singing the praises of his church for the better part of a year now. Yet, I just did not understand it. I thought back to the days when they were active in the Deer Park church. The father-in-law in particular was quite involved there. He would work with the Sabbath school classes, and play the piano during service. Both he and his wife had forged many friendships during the decades. It was the church their children were baptized in and their grandchildren were dedicated to the Lord in. Why did they leave for this new church? What changed? And why didn’t Albert and all these elderly gentlemen and their wives just go there for Sabbath worship? There was plenty of room in the pews. The potluck tables still had room for them. They could make themselves useful in aspects of church outreach. Something seemed strange about it.

As Albert stood there, shaking my hand, I could not deny that he seemed charismatic and kind. There was a level of energy to him that radiated. His big smile was welcoming and warm. As our hands parted, his wife Kathleen rushed over. Kathleen had wispy white hair and a frail physique. Her voice was also warm. Motherly even. “It’s great to meet you.” She spoke slower than her husband but was still bubbly. Her smile matched her husband’s. “We’ve heard a lot about you both,” she said.

“We hope it’s good,” I said, laughing a little. I had been married to my wife for 15 years at this point. When it came to my in-laws, I just “went with the flow” and I knew that they didn’t always think too highly of me (to put it mildly). Freddy, my wife’s father, is known to be a deeply insecure, easily riled, and opinionated man who finds being right to be the pinnacle of importance. To say we have clashed over the years has been an understatement. He never really took a liking to me, but the truth is, he clashed with all of his sons and every man who dated one of his five daughters. My wife happened to be the youngest. My life choices never really seemed to please him, and to say we were opposites also is an understatement. He loved the country, working on cars, hated change of any kind, and was—and I’m just being honest here—easily given to conspiracy theories. I, on the other hand, loved the city and traveling. I thrived under constant change and had no such skill with fixing cars nor had an interest in it. Moreover, I hated conspiracy theories and didn’t even like to talk about them. His wife was a much quieter woman, although not the silent type. She took a back seat to him in most matters, likely wondering what it was that would set him off next. As his top would blow (and it often did), the little wife would tell him to “knock it off.” Those words were music to my ears, as nothing and nobody else could shut him up quite as she could. For all of our sanity, we needed her when he was about to go all Krakatoa.

“We are glad to have you here,” Albert said.

I looked back to when I began my missionary work in Ukraine. I hoped that Albert liked that. Who doesn’t like a good missionary? Yet, I felt like a failure in Ukraine. Nobody was baptized because of me. I didn’t feel fruitful at all. And I felt that Adventism in Ukraine was a bit conservative (yet it was nothing like this). One of our friends was pulled aside for wearing pants and told it was not right for a woman to wear pants to church. Wearing pants is a big deal in Adventism, and a lot of legendary fights have been started over pants. As I write this today, I read yet another account of how one woman was called a slut for wearing dress pants to church.

As I breathed in the scent of aged wood, I thought back to the phone call I overheard in our Kyiv flat. My wife and her mother spoke about a new neighbor who had moved “all the way from Southern California” to eastern Washington. “He’s going to start his own church!” Even as a missionary, I didn’t think people really did that anymore. “He’s an Adventist!” Darla—my wife’s mother—exclaimed. 

“I’m so glad he’s not another crazy neighbor,” she added with relief in her voice. Over the years, many “crazy neighbors” had moved into the area. A couple of child molesters were in the ranks, as was a guy who was borderline insane (in a clinical way). It was not uncommon to hear gunshots being fired “just because.” I don’t mean hunting or target practice, either. There were plenty of stories about people who were attracted to cheap land and who didn’t always take their pills. And that was the land we were thinking of moving to. Go figure! 

“His own church? Why?” I asked her after she hung up.

My wife didn’t really know what to say. It seemed strange to her, too. Yet not completely unfamiliar. This thing had happened before in her life but with someone else. At the time, they called it a “Historic Seventh-day Adventist church.” This church preached the evils of the organized modern Seventh-day Adventist church (I’m tired of typing Seventh-day Adventist and I am now going to type SDA instead for the remainder of this book). This church also preached the evils of the Jesuits (which we will get to soon), and the merits of a certain prophetess known as Ellen Gould White. With the end of the world fast approaching (even back then), it was time to “get ready get ready get ready!” They were armed to the teeth with strategies for country living, healthful eating, and books on “present truth” written by a man named Bill Hughes. Yet, not even all those armaments would help this church when it eventually fell apart.

“Your brother Stephen is such a helpful person to have here,” Kathleen said, looking over at him. He stoically stood with his bible under his arm and stared out towards the sanctuary. It was as if he was counting down every slow second before church would start, like a soldier standing at attention.

Is that so? I thought. He has never seemed very religious to me. Now, here he was, dressed sharper than I had seen him dressed, at least in a long time. He used to be known for his sweatpants and oversized t-shirts. Seeing him truly happy was rare. Yet, on this particular day, I had even seen him smile! Another church member approached him and they began to speak. He took a small stack of DVDs out of his pocket and handed one to the man. He then walked over to the literature table and set the rest there. It seemed he had found a purpose here. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” my wife said.

“it’s been VERY good for him,” Darla said, beaming with a kind of pride that says,

“I think my child is going to make it into Heaven after all.”

At that point, people start to spill into the sanctuary like lemonade from a sun-cracked cup on a hot summer day. We followed them and took a seat near the back. As we stepped through the doors leading to the holy room, I closed my eyes for a moment and let the moment wash over me. To the Countryside congregation, this room was like the Kabaa in Islam. It was a holy room where God was present every Saturday morning at 10:45. You did not run in the sanctuary. You did not speak idly in the sanctuary. You did not speak loudly in the sanctuary. You did not bring your donkey into the sanctuary. You did not jump up and down in the sanctuary. You did not eat cheddar or Swiss cheese in the sanctuary.

This room was a large room with wood panel walls, long old pews, and sturdy authorized King James Bibles. That’s right, they were authorized! By who? King James maybe? I don’t know. The room had that thick pine scent that tickled you like grandpa’s smoking room (without the smoke). Behind you could see the mother’s room through a glass partition. On the walls were shelves of toys that would make Geoffrey the giraffe blush. Old blocks, games, cars, and all sorts of little doo-dads for the kids to play with before they were old enough to take in one of Al’s sermons were neatly lined up from the floor to ceiling. Beyond, another door leads to the foyer. Soft, diffused light shined through obscured windows. This place was truly different than the more modern SDA churches, and even different than that other SDA church in town.

“We only use the King James Bible here,” Albert proudly proclaimed.

“The other bibles have been corrupted by the Catholic Church,” Stephen

informed me as he slipped a pamphlet my way. “Read it.”

I looked it over. I had time to spare before everyone got all comfy and the song service started. Information was methodically presented that showed in detail how certain words had been strategically omitted from the New King James and NIV Bibles.

Strange and ominous imagery graced the pages of the pamphlets. These pictures were of the kind that could give a child nightmares (or lifelong PTSD).

“I’m going to read this later,” I said, sliding it into my own Bible. Thank God it happened to be a King James Bible. Otherwise, I would probably have had some explaining to do.

Then, all of the sudden, without warning, like a bomb going off, we all shot up to our feet. A younger old man was wrestling with the piano like he was possessed by some kind of demon. Up front, Albert stood erect, with his wife next to him, before the entire congregation started bellowing, in unison:

WE HAVE THIS HOPE THAT BURNS WITHIN OUR HEARTS

HOPE IN THE COMING OF THE LORD

WE HAVE THIS FAITH THAT CHRIST ALONE IMPARTS,

FAITH IN THE PROMISE OF HIS WORD

At that point, as the sanctuary was literally shaking, the tone changed. The

voices got deeper. The far more ominous part commenced:

WE BELIEVE THE TIME IS HERE

WHEN THE NATIONS FAR AND NEAR

SHALL AWAKE, AND SHOUT, AND SING

HALLELUJAH! CHRIST IS KING!

WE HAVE THIS HOPE THAT BURNS WITHIN OUR HEARTS,

HOPE IN THE COMING OF THE LORD.

Curiously, this song has a second part that was never sung. The omitted second verse was about love and unity in Christ, and I should have found it telling that these ideas were not something that Countryside members would endeavor to sing about. After the song, we all got down on our knees for prayer. Albert prayed, wrestling with the holy spirit to bring a sermon filled with truth for these last days.

After a short verse about robbing God of his tithes, the tithe and offering plates were passed around. Then special music was sung. Finally, the long-awaited sermon came. It was the traditional Seventh-day Adventist program. In fact, nothing was much different other than the sermon and the fact that we got on our knees for each prayer.

The sermon was packed with information. At many other SDA churches, the pastor did a lot of talking, and few if any materials were displayed. However, this church seemed to display huge chunks of information on the screen up front. While the Bible got some air time, it was really the Spirit of Prophecy* that was front and center. There was no sugarcoating it: Ellen White was the soup du jour at this church, and the congregants lapped it up like heat-scorched desert camels. The book that Albert was most fond of was The Great Controversy, as it shed light on the coming end of the world. Chunks of her writings were displayed, with certain words and phrases being color-coded. Some words, such as apostasy, were underlined, bolded, and colored in red. For a good hour, we listened intently to how Ellen White saw various end times events progressing, and how we were at a very precarious part of earth’s history.

I had never been to a sermon that was so loaded with information. There was a lot to take in. The congregation of predominantly old men seemed to come alive. Unlike some of the other churches I had been in, there was not a single closed eye. Not one was asleep. Backs were erect. Eyes were intently focused on the front of the room. Every once in a while someone would let out a militant “amen.”

Albert did not leave his perch at the podium in the front. He was the kind of

pastor that was like a tree. Settled in place, hands firmly wrapped around the projector remote. As he preached, he would say “friends” a lot when trying to get his point across.

“Friends, do you really want to be asleep at this point in earth’s history?” “Friends, it’s time to wake up, because the rest of the world is asleep.” “Friends, we need to watch, because nobody else is going to watch for you.” “Friends now is the time to pray with trembling. The end is right around the corner.”

After over an hour, tummies were rumbling. After the final prayer and closing music, basic human wants took over. It was time to eat. We all quietly and reverently made our way out of the sanctuary to either the restrooms or the kitchen and dining area. The atmosphere was a little more lively. Some would talk about the sermon while others were discussing the pamphlets and upcoming events. Others were preparing lunch and just talking about the previous week’s events. One thing that was missing was the presence of children. Other than our daughter, who was two years old, there was not a single child present. Nor were there any teenagers or anyone in their twenties. Honestly, I think that we were the youngest adults in the group.

A few of the congregants were related. There were two brothers and their father who were said to be regulars. I recognized one of the brothers as the man who pounded that piano into submission for the “We Have This Hope” song. He was lanky and jovial. He laughed a lot. His brother appeared more sulky and quiet. He almost appeared to be brooding. The father was sitting at the table, hunched over. He didn’t look too well. He was very stoic and almost silent.

The younger man, who we shall call Eric, was preparing a salad and cutting fresh avocado. He took his time doing it, making sure to create a culinary masterpiece that would be worthy of the Sabbath day. I could start to smell the food at this point. All sorts of scents mingled as the food was warmed up in the oven. Things were getting hot now and our stomaches were screaming for sustenance.

Every Adventist potluck is different, but you can tell a lot about a church by the food they eat. The more traditional a church is, the less you will see dairy or meat. I have only seen meat at potluck when traveling internationally. It’s not something you see a lot of in the United States. Cheese is the great equalizer. The more cheese you find at a potluck, the less sway Ellen White has over the congregation. If cheese and other dairy are absent from the potluck spread, you can rest assured that the Spirit of Prophecy is abiding.

Looking over the potluck spread, I saw that some dairy had made a happy

appearance. Little signs proclaimed whether or not a plate was vegan. The more

traditional members ignored the cheese as if it didn’t exist. As for me, I reached for the lasagna. It would possibly be something I would have to answer for in the final judgment—but I was hungry. Real hungry.

Being that we were guests and had a child in tow, we were allowed to go up first. To have the first plate off the buffet table is an honor that brings with it a solemn responsibility. Behind me was a small army of hungry seniors. To fill my plate with one tantalizing dish could mean that a more seasoned soldier of the Lord behind me would lack. I had to muster my self-control and make my way forward. Tongs danced across salads and strange casseroles as I lifted the contents onto my plate. I made my way along the table, seeing a variety of concoctions that would bedazzle an outsider. Many of these dishes looked like something you would find in a cookbook that had gone out of print decades or even a century ago.

It can not be denied that much of the food was good. Some of it was bland, but given that the optimal Adventist diet shuns the use of pepper, spicy condiments, and vinegar, what can you expect? There was salt set aside for those who desired it. I also found that strategically mixing certain foods could give them an added flavor that almost seemed exotic—maybe even sinful. Later on, I would read that much of the spice-abstaining diet ideas that Ellen White saw as optimal were gleaned from a health craze that had taken over during her time. While this craze had become obscure and disappeared from life in our modern era, some Adventist groups still follow this outdated form of healthful eating advice.

Potluck is the perfect time to get a real feel for the individual beliefs of church members. While most churches have a mix of more conservative and liberal members, observing the banter that happens during potluck is a great way to gauge the overall feel of a church. It was during the potluck time that I began to understand that there was more to this church than originally met my eye.

As I slurped up a vegetable broth, my ears were taking in all sorts of discussions that were happening from various areas of the table. I heard something about chemtrails and something about Jesuits. I had heard some discussion of Jesuits in the past but had always kind of ignored it. Being that I went to a Jesuit university, I found it somewhat relevant. I had heard my father-in-law discuss chemtrails in the past, and always thought it was a strange, and even a stupid thing to waste your time thinking about. It never made any sense to me. Yet, strangely, here it was, popping up at potluck. Talk of increased spraying and airplanes flying low over the area filled my ears.

Now was a good time to step outside and get some fresh air. It was a lovely Spring day, and nobody wants to spend their whole day in a musty old church.

Therefore, I gathered my wife and daughter and we made our way outside to play on a small playground area that had been built outside. Even though there were no children at this church, the other church that still owned the building must have had children in the congregation.

As I watched my daughter play on the wooden playground, I looked up at the steeple. I thought back to our time in Ukraine, of this place, and the Deer Park church. I did not understand it. Yet, I didn’t see any reason to not come back and visit again. Everyone was super friendly and welcoming. That is one way they get you in.