Chasing Hale-Bopp

Part X :: Outcasts and Rogue Pastors

“The Ellen White that they preach is not our Ellen White.” I had read virtually every book written by Ellen White and I wanted to believe that. Countryside was a brotherhood of believers. They had one thing in common. It was the fact that they did not fit in anywhere else. This place gave them a sense of community that they never had anywhere else. Albert likely knew that. He likely took advantage of that fact. Many of these people were outcasts. Freddy had been disabled at an early age and moved out to the wilds. He hated the city. So did many others. Many had no family, or they had children who walked away from Adventism (do you blame them?). Some stated that they tried to preach at Deer Park and other churches and were turned away. Some tried to hand out Bill Hughes books, but pastors shut them down. Each of these people wanted to be accepted somewhere, but society as a whole, and even the SDA churches

would not let them in. Albert gathered them all and placed them under his wing. He accepted them. Not even God did that. In essence, it appeared that Albert had lifted himself up higher than the good Lord Himself. The subject of God’s love was strictly off limits.

Yet, the place and acceptance that Albert gave each of Countryside’s members spoke for itself—just as long as the members behaved themselves and went along with the rules.

Every other church did something wrong in the eyes of Albert. Deer Park refused to preach "present truth" and was under the umbrella of the corrupt general conference. The nearby offshoot believed in the 2520 prophecy (I still don’t know or care to know what that even is). Other churches were infiltrated by Catholics, used the wrong hymnals, and had pastors who preached from the wrong Bibles. They also didn’t follow the health laws strictly enough. None of them had Bill Hughes. A sign, prominently displayed in the dining room proclaimed what the church and its members believed. Certain ideas were off-limits for anyone to talk about or believe. We believe.. it began. Below was a list of the doctrines that Countryside held true. If you went along with this and didn’t question the leadership, you would fit in just fine.

Although many were poor, paying tithe was still an integral part of membership. To rob by not paying the tithe was to rob God Himself. Adventism loves the tithing system, and it has made the church quite rich. Albert no doubt saw this and proclaimed the same message that tithe was to go to Countryside. How else would Bill Hughes be able to fly out? Many members dropped ten percent or more of their SSI check into the offering plate. Even I returned an offering to Countryside, believing that I would be blessed by giving if my motives were pure.

One of my family members asked me how Albert could make money from his church. But if you have 30 to 50 people paying 10% of their income, and each person makes $1500 a month, then you have $4,500 for 30 members and $7,500 for 50 members. Add to this the offering and the fact that some people return a double tithe. Also, many people make more than $1,500 a month. In addition to other offerings made for church upkeep, and visitors, as well as the possibility of books and literature being sold on the side, an independent “self-supporting” ministry can make a good deal of money.

Let's say there are 5 people in the church who make $5,000 per month. There are 10 people in the church who make $3,000 a month. There are 10 more who make $2000 a month. There are another 10 who make $1,500 a month. That’s $9,000 in tithe alone if each of those 35 members pays a tithe. One high-earner who makes $7,000 can bring in a nice chunk of change. A devotee who pays 3x their tithe covers 3 people. Those who pay a big Christmas offering or believe that they will be further blessed by their giving can help tip the tithe plate. Then you have the offerings. The idea that offerings should be given adds an incentive to throw in an extra $20 bill each week. Some will write a nice-sized check to pad the plate.

When these souls without a family to call their own pass on to the next world, many will leave their inheritance to the church. After all, it was the church that was the vehicle to get them into the gates of Heaven. One’s fear response is highest near death and the only thing that a devotee who has been taught works-based fear knows is atoning for sins in any way possible. Money and land can easily be relinquished at this time. Others, who have families, are likely to leave at least 10% of their estate, and sometimes much more, to the church. As you can see, there’s a lot of money to be made. Many of these rogue pastors know exactly what they are doing. One hundred thousand dollar donation every few years when an old parishioner passes on can really make the work worth it. Remember, Countryside and these such churches are full of older people who are inching towards the grim reaper. It should also be noted that I tithed the money that I received from my student loan living expenses, out of the belief

that God would bless my future career. While I no longer believe this, nor would I do this

again, it is something that I am likely not alone with. People will do strange things in order to fit in or be right in the eyes of God.

Yet, the worldly success of the Countryside folk was not as high as those at the Deer Park church. When comparing both groups, there was a socio-economic component that was obvious. The wealthier Deer Park church was full of younger individuals who had careers, families, and had more or less made it in the world. Some were doctors, others owned their own small businesses. Many lived in town. Many had local connections with city and county government figures. To the Countryside folk, it looked like they had one foot in the world and one foot out. The difference in lifestyle was stark. The haves and the have-nots. The younger people lived in a different world, many with intact families that went to church together. Success in business, family, and overall good health only worked to make many of the Countryside folks outliers. I wondered, were the people at Countryside used to abuse? Did they hail from broken families or broken homes? I looked at some who had battled intense poverty. There had been grave abuse in my father-in-law’s past, and as a result, he had struggled with abuse himself. As a result, I discerned that it was hard for him to accept

Christ’s free forgiveness, but instead, he saw that he was more comfortable in a works-obsessed* environment, which Countryside provided. Yet, when I learned more about Freddy’s past, I began to realize that there was no way that the message of doom and conspiracy that Albert peddled could ever meet his deep need for Jesus’ healing power. Yet, I would later learn the Countryside message was something that Freddy craved on a deeper level. Maybe that was also the case with Stephen. Generational abuse at its finest.

*Note: I always found it interesting that abused people search for what is familiar — namely the same kind of abuse that they are used to. This can be from a similar relationship or something familiar. For Freddy, an abusive and controlling church fulfilled the void that was left behind when his father passed away. Freddy’s father had taught his son that he was not worth loving. The message he got at Countryside was one and the same.

Any good cult has three things going for it. The first is a form of secret

knowledge that is not shared by the rest of the world. This was once known as

Gnosticism. While the Seventh-day Adventist church had Ellen White, who provided a level of so-called “insider knowledge”, the Countryside Offshoot had combined her books with the knowledge of various conspiracies that the rest of the world was not aware of. Moreover, it was asserted that the Seventh-day Adventist prophetess, Ellen White, had been corrupted and was not the true Ellen that they had. Corrupted Bibles, insistence on using only the King James version, and being a small group that knew about the Jesuit order's mission to infiltrate the church and take over the world added to the secret knowledge of this gnostic club.

The second thing is a brotherhood of believers. As stated above, Countryside had a tight-knit group of people. They referred to each other as brother and sister when speaking. I once was known as brother J. The love and fraternity they provided for each other during shared meals, as well as during holiday events, helped them feel like a family. Albert acted the part of a loving father for those who followed the rules. For those who deviated, he was a stern father who didn’t mind shunning the bad kids. The third thing required for a cult is for the group to think with one mind. If people think too differently, the cult may fall apart. The list of beliefs displayed in the dining room right before one entered the sanctuary was the perfect example of this. It is one thing to state the beliefs of an organization, and most churches are not shy about

sharing their beliefs. However, to proclaim what one does not believe seems to be more in line with the idea of thought control. It also put the power right in pastor Albert’s court. Unlike most churches, the Countryside Offshoot was a stand-alone church that not only got all the tithe and offerings for itself but also did not have any organizational structure or accountability. From the top, self-proclaimed “pastor” Albert had placed himself in the position of lord, or even god, over the church. By establishing what people did and did not believe, he could, in effect, shape the thoughts of all those who came into the building and fellowshipped with him.*

*Note: After I published Disrupting Adventism, Albert had discovered it, and brought attention to it. An example was made of me. Every good cult needs a scapegoat. As a result, I was deemed lost by the church. Moreover, it was said that I was a Jesuit, and the enemy. Another much needed scapegoat to work for the benefit of the power structure of the cult.

At one point, Bill Hughes was a fetish of the Countryside Church. He was a nice diversion set aside for a special occasion, like a Christmas gift. You could not expect him, but when he showed up he was something to be savored. Now Bill Hughes was becoming a mainstay in the church. Every couple of months, Bill Hughes would make the arduous trip from Florida to Washington state. Albert would host him at home, and he would come to speak three sermons at Countryside on the Sabbath. Bill Hughes's mental and literary resources were extremely valuable to the church. He was one outsider who traveled a long distance to grace this small group with his star-like presence. Not even Deer Park could get Hughes. Heck, they couldn’t even get a pastor at this point. At this point, Pastor Harry, who was accused of murder by Countryside, had left for Michigan. That church had sealed its fate by rejecting Bill Hughes’ guiding books. All that was left for them was their corrupted Ellen White books that they passed out in the foyer and a bunch of worthless hymnals with Catholic-inspired songs to Mary. Now, arm and arm, it was time for Albert and Hughes to guide Countryside further down greater avenues of conspiracy and fear.

Now, you may be wondering if Pastor Albert was ordained as a pastor or

if he had any seminary training under his belt. I do believe that there is a place in

society for pastors who have not been educated in the seminary (and it may be better than some are not indoctrinated into a denominational way of thinking). Also, some who do not go to seminary can think more creatively than those who have been institutionally educated. The subject of Ellen White, for instance, becomes law once you step foot into the halls of the Adventist pastor factory. For Albert, there was no talk of seminary training. There was a vague mention that he had many family members who were pastors around the world, but proof was not supplied.

In California, Albert had a ministry called “Truth and Nature Ministries." Yet, little is known about this ministry other than it's a vehicle for publishing DVDs and pamphlets. Given his distaste for and anger towards the General Conference, which was shared by Bill Hughes, becoming an Adventist pastor in the traditional route would probably not be a possibility. Yet, Albert had found some kind of place in the role of a pastor. While I do not know if he believes what he preaches (for example, not all Seventh-day Adventist pastors believe that Ellen White is an inspired messenger of God, yet they preach it because it’s their job to do so), the fact is, if he is doing it for money or power, he does a good job of hiding it.

“You will be hated by everyone because of me, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved…Brother will rise against brother. Your family will turn on you. Some will turn you in to the authorities. Some will have you locked up. Killed even.” I looked around. Many of the members of this church no longer spoke to people in their families. Many had sons or daughters who had not understood the faith and had departed from it.

“This is the price of following Jesus,” Pastor Albert said.

“It is a solemn statement that I make to the church, that not one in twenty whose names are registered upon the church books are prepared to close their earthly history, and would be verily without God and without hope in the world as the common sinner,” was one of Albert’s favorite Ellen White quotes, and he made sure to use it often as a point to keep his church in line.

I thought to myself, this man has incredible, unchecked power. There is no

overseeing organization that watches over these offshoots. This person has power over families. I looked at my in-laws. Surely, they would believe that I spoke out against this group, they would see me as departing from the faith, a sheep who had left the fold, or worse yet, a Jesuit.

It was brought to our attention that the members of the Countryside cult would be going to hand out materials next week, and we were invited to join them. I had no desire to hand out Bill Hughes books, so politely declined. Kathleen brought me a pamphlet for an orphanage in Kenya and showed us who the church was helping as a mission. “We have already sent them many books.” It made me think of Bill Hughes sending loads of books to Africa. I took a look at the orphanage, with the rows of schoolchildren lined up. Many were smiling. “This is our mission,” Albert said. He stood tall and grinned widely. I looked around the room slowly. I saw many people now talking amongst each other, or going back for more food at the vegan potluck. Some walked very slowly. One

man was hunched over. The poor guy could barely get his own food. His son rushed over to help him. Another slowly made his way to the restroom. I saw a group of people far too old to do much mission work in the field. The only way for this church to support missionaries was to give money to some other organization. Not much was said about what was given. Just books? I didn’t know. It was better that I didn’t. All I knew was that there was no way that these people were going to go to Africa. And to be 100% honest, I knew that there was so much fear of the world that to get them on a plane and into a foreign land would have been too much for them. Africa was seen as an easy target. Full of people that were ready to accept whatever some rich white pastor threw at them. As long as he said he had a connection with God and was from America, some would eat it up. At least that was the thought process. Sadly, many seemed to do just that.

People were hungry for Hughes. Africans loved that man and Hughes was not shy about telling it to the world.

Could these Bill Hughes books really change the world? What present truth is there in the idea that Jesuits sunk the Titanic? How does that help poor Africans learn about Jesus? What good does it do for an African school child to believe that the September 11th terrorist attacks were orchestrated by Jesuits? How does that give one any hope in Jesus? The end of the world may be coming, but what hope does that give a person trying to learn and grow today? How does any of this give hope to a young African schoolchild building a life for his or her future?“We have this hope that burns within our hearts…”

The hope of what? Of Jesuits coming and destroying the church, and proving you right?*

Part IX :: Return to the United States

Sometimes there are things I look back on, and I can’t help but feel like an idiot when I put it all into perspective. I write about one of those occasions here. Upon our return to the United States, we did not hesitate to return to the Countryside Church. Of course, we had our “reasons” or “excuses.” My reasoning for going back to see family was that everyone was getting older and that we would regret not taking every chance to be with them. While there may be some truth in that, mixing family with a religion that is based on being perfect and fearing the end of the world is not something that brings any sort of lasting happiness or good memories to one’s life.

If there was ever a time to realize the damage that the messages preached by

Countryside were causing, now was when I saw it. One thing I knew and believed

strongly in was that “you can discern something by its fruits.” All I had to do was look at

the people and their lives as they continued to step foot into this church.

The two individuals that I looked at the most were Stephen and Freddy. The

reason for this was simple. I lived with Freddy, and I saw Stephen almost every day.

Living with Freddy during this period was a type of hell. No need to sugarcoat it. I would never wish it on my worst enemy. Freddy never liked me much due to my place as his son-in-law, but now there was something far more sinister eating at him. His religion was taking him back to a place of hatred and darkness. There was once a time when Freddy got some kind of enjoyment out of life, but that time had passed. Now he walked through the house like an angry drill sergeant, seeking out anything wrong in his eyes. He carried with him a deep anger at the fact that he was getting older. The hope of a paradise beyond the grave was crushed by a church that preached that we had to reach perfection before we died, or we would not win Heaven.

During the remainder of Freddy’s life, he would have to be content with idea that the Jesuits were trying to kill him. Population control measures were everywhere now. Everything the government did was looked at with scrutiny. Freddy’s inbox was full of letters from various pastors and end-times peddlers with information about the coming Sunday law and how the government was ushering it in quickly. Ellen White’s statements about the need to be perfect and how it was not worth praying for those who disregarded her rules were always on the tip of the pastor’s tongue. “Is it possible to be perfect?” one sermon asked. The answer was “yes!” Not only was it possible, but it was required. The effects of Christ’s death were for nothing, it seemed. Yet the words were not of Christ but of White. How God would not forgive certain transgressions. How it was futile to ask people to pray for those who ate unhealthy foods. “But how can the Lord work in their behalf when they are unwilling to do His will, when they refuse to

heed His instruction on health reform?” (CD 400.4). During a phone call to the in-laws, Albert laughed, letting Freddy and Darla in on the fact that he had a potato chip addiction and put potato chips on everything he ate. Of course, this was not mentioned in the hallowed halls of Countryside Fellowship.

Albert’s inability to turn away from potato chips provided another study in

cognitive dissonance. If a person truly believed that they had to be perfect to gain

Heaven, why would one put potato chips on everything they ate? I looked at the barrage of health seminars that took place in Countryside’s dining room and sanctuary hall, yet what was the point? It was similar to Ellen White’s insistence that it was not worth praying for those who ate meat or obeyed her health message. If God had sent an angel to tell her that eating meat was wrong, why did she eat meat for years? If vinegar and spicy foods were forbidden, and if she was told face to face by a higher being that they were not fit for food in the eyes of God, why did she continue to eat them? The cognitive dissonance spoke louder than any sermon ever could.

*Note: I strongly believe that Ellen White will have a lot to answer for when she arrives in front of the Lord on the great Judgment Day. While I am not her eternal judge, the more controversial statements that have been hidden or obscured by the SDA church and her estate make the fruit of her “ministry” speak for themselves. While, at this point, I still was a devout follower of Mrs. White, I was troubled by the things that were being said, and the absolute insistence on perfection for salvation. The idea that God would not hear our prayers or that He would not forgive those who asked was perplexing and troubling. It was more in line with Albert’s idea that God was not a God of love, but a slave driver. Later, I would snap out of my stupor, and come to the final conclusion that she was indeed a false prophet. Yet, let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet.

What we imagined as a time of enjoyable visits and connecting with those who

we had been apart from for almost two years was a time filled with hearsay about the evils of the Jesuits and the mainstream Seventh-day Adventist church. It was now a time when Freddy would perch himself in front of the internet, spellbound by the information he was uncovering. He placed himself as a judge on everyone and everything that was against Albert’s sermons. In years past, he blasted his father for the way he had been judgmental and abusive, but with old age, Freddy had now become a mirror image of his old man!

Now, you may be thinking that I have something out against poor ol’ Freddy. It’s hard to not be bitter about this time in my life. Freddy was a BEAR to live with. There’s no doubt about that. And even as I type these words, much of the past is unresolved. Freddy still, to this day, believes in the message of pastor Albert. Yet, I understand that Freddy would have been far better off without Albert’s prodding, without the fear of the Jesuits, and without the anger brought about by a prophetess that insisted on perfection. In a very literal sense, Freddy had adopted a religion that was the religious equivalent of his own abusive father. Instead of his father constantly barraging him with messages about how he could never hope to live up to the high standard, Freddy now chose a religion that said the exact same thing. I remind myself that Freddy was once a child, abused and alone. A scared child, believing all he was told. The church had replaced his overbearing father. I don’t think Freddy will ever see it, nor will he ever

want to admit it. As Albert  continues to beat Freddy over the head with extreme

ideas and archaic useless rules for life, Freddy continues to internalize the idea that he is doomed to eternal damnation. As Albert  continues to rake in tithes and

offerings, filling his coffers, his members believe that they are a part of something

special. They are a part of a family, a unique club of people who have hope in Jesus coming back for them if they can just reach that level of self-loathing perfection that they are all desperately aiming for!

“There are people, now walking the earth, that are perfect,” Albert would tell them. Perfect people. Perfect in whose eyes? Yours? Ellen White’s? What makes a person perfect? They follow all of Ellen’s health rules. They don’t do anything to waste or taint the Sabbath day. They never, ever think an impure thought. They would never desire to swim on the Sabbath day, nor would they eat a potato chip. They are perfect. Little did Albert realize that the quote from Christ about "be ye therefore perfect" had to do with love and not with how one eats or if one listens to worldly music on the Sabbath.

Yet, for Albert, love was a topic that was completely off-limits at Countryside. In years past, Freddy had been busy, working outdoors and on his collection of

rusty old cars, but as he got older and more involved with the church and its

accompanying conspiracies, various fears of the world engulfed his mind. Pastor

Albert’s sermons had grown much more militant. Like a dog that returns to its vomit, we returned to Countryside Sabbath Fellowship.

I don’t desire to make anyone sound bad or unsavory, nor do I want it to look like I am attacking those who were going to this church, and that’s not the intent of this book. When I began to write my previous book, Disrupting Adventism, the goal was to let other people be aware of what is happening in extremist offshoots. I do strongly believe that when there is abuse present, one must make others aware of that abuse. I have since learned that the way abuse is dealt with is by bringing it into the light. I can honestly say that this church was engaged in abuse. My goal with this book remains the same as when I first began the work. People need to be warned of these so-called independent offshoot ministries as well as some of the ideas that have taken hold within the SDA church, as these ideas and beliefs are deeply damaging.

I also want to say that I am going to stop using the word church here, and start calling Countryside an offshoot or cult. An offshoot is something that begins as a part of something, or near something, and then splits or grows away and apart from it. In this case, Countryside had some of the parts of Adventism, such as the general beliefs and use of Ellen White, but had become so far removed by lashing out against the General Conference. In essence, the CountrysideOffshoot had made itself an offshoot by its own antagonistic message right from the very start. I also use the term cult because, looking at the B.I.T.E. Model of Authoritarian Control, Countryside (and many aspects of Adventism in general) check off almost every box.

The Bite Model and Countryside

Behavior Control:

•Dictates where, how, and with whom the member lives and associates or isolates;

•Control types of clothing and hairstyles;

•Regulate diet – food and drink, hunger and/or fasting;

•Restrict leisure, entertainment, vacation time;

•Major time spent with group indoctrination and rituals and/or self indoctrination

including the Internet;

•Discourage individualism, encourage group-think; Impose rigid rules and regulations. 

Information Control:

a. Deliberately withhold information,

b. Distort information to make it more acceptable

c. Systematically lie to the cult member;

•Minimize or discourage access to non-cult sources of information, including: a. Internet, TV, radio, books, articles, newspapers, magazines, media, b. Critical information, c.

•Former members,

d. Keep members busy so they don’t have time to think and investigate;

•Encourage spying on other members;

•Extensive use of cult-generated information and propaganda, including: a. Newsletters, magazines, journals, audiotapes, videotapes, YouTube, movies and other media, b.

•Misquoting statements or using them out of context from non-cult sources

Thought Control:

•Require members to internalize the group’s doctrine as truth:

a. Adopting the group’s ‘map of reality’ as reality,

b. Instill black and white thinking,

c. Decide between good vs. evil,

d. Organize people into us vs. them (insiders vs. outsiders);

•Use of loaded language and clichés which constrict knowledge, stop critical thoughts and reduce complexities into platitudinous buzz words;

•Encourage only ‘good and proper’ thoughts;

•Rejection of rational analysis, critical thinking, constructive criticism;

•Forbid critical questions about leader, doctrine, or policy allowed;

•Labeling alternative belief systems as illegitimate, evil, or not useful; Instill new “map of

reality”

Emotional Control:

•Manipulate and narrow the range of feelings – some emotions and/or needs are

deemed as evil, wrong or selfish;

•Make the person feel that problems are always their own fault, never the leader’s or the group’s fault;

•Promote feelings of guilt or unworthiness;

•Instill Fear; Extremes of emotional highs and lows – love bombing and praise one moment and then declaring you are horrible sinner;

•Phobia indoctrination: inculcating irrational fears about leaving the group or questioning the leader’s authority

a. No happiness or fulfillment possible outside of the group,

b. Terrible consequences if you leave: hell, demon possession, incurable diseases, accidents, suicide, insanity, 10,000 reincarnations, etc.;

•Shunning of those who leave; fear of being rejected by friends and family;

•Never a legitimate reason to leave; those who leave are weak, undisciplined,

unspiritual, worldly, brainwashed by family or counselor, or seduced by money, sex, or rock and roll.

“Some have called us an offshoot,” Albert proclaimed. “But we are truly the

remnant church. It is the General Conference that is the offshoot!”

I immediately noticed that the sermons had grown far more militant than before

we had gone to Egypt. Stephen now served as a deacon and recorded the sermons. They would be uploaded on YouTube and burned to DVDs that would be passed out to anyone who missed church or otherwise wanted a copy. He wore a scowl as he listened intently to how the Jesuits were busy destroying the world. Stephen that was so happy in the church was no more.

Bill Hughes made his appearance far more often now. A chunk of the money given for offerings was spent on flying Hughes out to Eastern Washington so he could preach about the poison of the Jesuits. The congregants loved it and assembled en masse each time Bill Hughes stepped onto Countryside’s property.

“We have this hope that burns within our hearts. Hope in the coming of the Lord” had always been this organization’s battle cry, and as the pianist pounded it out, we sang in unison. Pastor Albert stood up front, fumbling with his tie, as he prepared another sermon. His hands clenched his Bible as he stood erect, bellowing out “we believe the time is here, when the nations far and near, shall awake and shout and sing, Hallelujah, Christ is King!” The room seemed to shake at the power that the congregation sang this song.

We sat glued to our seats, as the congregation waited in rapt anticipation of the upcoming sermon. Pastor Albert shifting eyes peered out at his congregation. The numbers had slightly grown. It was autumn now, and soon the holiday season would come. The sermon would be about the Investigative Judgment. About how the General Conference refuses to preach the Three Angel’s message. How present truth is not something that the Deer Park church preaches. How FEMA camps and mass graves were found behind an old Wal-Mart in Nevada.

New visitors were always given a little gift for coming out and spending their day amongst the fiery little end-times group. Since we had been gone for so long, we would also get something special. Pastor Albert announced that a gift would be handed out and proceeded to hand something to a couple of his aged deacons. One of the deacons stumbled towards us, working to hold himself up. His legs buckled like he had little business walking. Soon he reached us and smiled. He handed both my wife and me a little yellow book. I could not help but glare at it. I had seen this book in my research of the esteemed Bill Hughes. This was his newest work: “Three Angels Over Africa.” I could not help but mumble, perhaps with a bit of irritation in my voice, “one is fine, we can share.”

“You can both have your own,” Stephen interjected. As if we each needed a separate copy of the little book. Later that day, I would lie on the bed and flip through the book. I was curious enough to know what it was about. Perhaps that’s how Bill Hughes snags so many people. They are curious. They open their mailbox and one of his little demon books is staring at them. They grab it and start flipping through it, thinking that it’s harmless. Before they know it, they are hooked. They are actually believing the words. Or they hate it, but someone else ends up with it. Out of a thousand people, I wonder how many who get his books actually believe the words therein. It must be enough to make sending these books to be worth it. Bill Hughes, after all, is no poor man. He has done well in his life. Like many of the Adventists at the top of the ladder, he commands a considerable empire and lives a comfortable life. It is the kind of life that is far removed from the kind that Ellen White suggests her often impoverished devotees be content with.

As I moved through the book, I could not help but notice a theme quickly

emerged. I was disgusted by how it was story after story of uplifting Bill Hughes’

benevolent work in Africa while tearing apart other churches, the Seventh-day Adventist church, and everyone else who did not agree with his special brand of conspiracy. Like his other books, this book discussed the Jesuit conspiracy and how the Jesuits were behind the ills of the world. My wife said, upon reading it, that it “made her sick.” 

I used to think that missionary stories were supposed to be uplifting and uplift Christ. This particular book was a blatant advertisement for Bill Hughes, with chapter after chapter singing his praises. One day, after the in-laws departed their countryside paradise, I lit a fire out back and threw the thing in it. My eyes lit up with a feeling of enduring happiness as fire wrapped around that small yellow book. It felt good to burn that thing. People in the church have told me that we need to stay away from certain kinds of music or food, but let me tell you,

nothing is as dark in my heart as the hateful madness that spews forth from the lips of those who preach the name of a risen Christ to lift themselves up to glory while using conspiracy and lies to hold their audience captive. Bill Hughes was instrumental in the slow demise of my in-laws. That book needed to die.

The church and the message seemed different now. It was far more serious. Issues such as chemtrails and government death camps were pretty much standard fare for most sermons, especially when Pastor Albert wrapped his hands around the corners of the pulpit. On the screen, we would see images of mass graves, poisoned food, chemtrails, and mass genocide. His own wife commented how she wished he did not spend so much time on YouTube, and from his materials, it was obvious that he was drawing his material from various conspiracy theorists such as Alex Jones.

“Sandy Hook is a hoax. It was the US government that did it.” This phrase was repeated by the in-laws.

“Where did you hear that?” my wife asked, shocked.

It was obvious. On the DVD player stood a stack of DVDs all with titles like “The Great Conspiracy,” “US Deceived,” “Beware of Fake Gospel & Fake Jesus” “The Source of Your Drinking Water,” “Al Qaeda, ISIS, CIA, and Papacy!”* and many more. There were well over a hundred, more than could easily be watched except for a person with an excess of idle time on their hands. Every once in a while, the in-laws would slide one in, to send some kind of message to us, to see if we were on the same page religiously. I acted like I was, but at this point, was very disturbed by what I was seeing. The conspiracy was far worse now, and I could see it reflected on the face of my father-in-law, who seemed tired, angry, and growing more ill. The weight of anger that now was beginning to consume him had changed him from who he had been years before. Granted, he had always been a very difficult and argumentative man to deal with, but now he was totally and completely consumed with conspiracy. His choice of a church, one with Albert at the helm, had brought the conspiracy front and center.

*Note: A search of Pastor Bill Hughes on YouTube will bring up a variety of these titles and many more for you to enjoy. His website and ministry, Truth Triumphant (or as I like to say, Lies Repugnant), is full of work that rivals Alex Jones (and much that is taken straight from Jones). The only difference is that Alex Jones's day of reckoning has

come, whereas the more obscure and less relevant Bill Hughes has flown under the radar for the time being.

Freddy had always been the type to believe in topics of conspiracy. I found that, in this part of the country, conspiracy theories flowed like butter on Thanksgiving day. From the beginning of our marriage, I would hear about things like chemtrails. Yet, it was only in passing and maybe came about once every year or two. Now there was someone constantly calling on the phone to talk about it. It’s no secret that Freddy enjoyed those calls. Rubbing elbows with a pastor put him in a different class. While Freddy lived in a state of deep poverty all his life, relegated as an outcast far out in the country, he now was sought after by a powerful pastor. There is no doubt that things that like can do something to a person’s psyche. When you grow up a poor, destitute person living on disability and then begin to feel that you are needed by someone of wealth and prestige, while at the same time you are becoming less relevant due to old age, the siren call is just too much to ignore. Albert had Freddy firmly in his clutches, and there

was no sign of him letting go.

From the phone to the church, the conspiracy dripped like sweet honey from a fat bee’s prize hive. Soon we would be dipping into that honey by preaching a sermon of our own at the front of this strange church. We had been invited to talk about our time in Egypt, and we nodded in agreement like two bimbos in a blonde joke. We figured that we might as well share what we did, so we could get a little of that extra holy spirit juice in our veins. The truth was, it would feel good to talk about it and feel like we did something. After all, most of the returning missionaries were probably preaching sermons about their triumphs in the land of Tut.

I didn’t really know what to say, but we decided to just talk about what had

happened. When it came to missionary work, I never really felt good advertising it, especially if there were no shiny crown stars to gloat over. Yet, we came up with something. It was enough to get us to invite some of the family members to partake in the glorified slide show. As we all gathered at the church and prepared to speak, we could not help but notice that something was playing on the screen up front when people walked in. I was horrified when I realized that it was a silent presentation on chemtrails and how they were poisoning the air in an effort to kill the elderly. I guess that they just had to get some of the classic messages in somewhere since it was unlikely we would preach it on this fine Sabbath day.

Such messages did no favors for Freddy and Darla, who hoped beyond all hope that their children would one day reintegrate within the church. For many who were not neck deep in it, it only worked to scare them further away. It seemed strange for a church to not spend time uplifting Jesus, but rather stoking the flames of fear. 

After the chemtrail introduction, we made our way to the stage to speak about our time in Egypt. Our talk was longer than it needed to be, and far longer than Albert could bear. Towards the middle of it, when we looked down, he was sawing logs.

We were given a $150 check for our time (which we never cashed) and thanked for the sermon. Many of the members seemed to enjoy our talk and told of their missionary dreams. While we mentioned how discouraging it had been at times, we tried to spin it in a positive light. Yet, without the mention of FEMA camps or GMOs, it was largely unrelatable to the sleepy pastor and his pack of board members and elites.

We had also mentioned how we aimed to “show God’s love,” and maybe that was a no-no. Throughout our time at Countryside, Albert was adamant about how preaching the love of God was a complete waste of time. “Sermons by other pastors lull

congregations to sleep with topics about the love of God.”

“People are sleeping because these phony pastors fill heads with messages about God’s love.”

“Some would rather hear about God’s love than present truth.”

“Deer Park preaches the Love of God. They don’t talk about present truth.”

Albert made it clear: You would not hear about God’s love at this church. No wonder Freddy enjoyed it. I never heard about how his father would say “I love you.” At Countryside, the idea of working hard for salvation and staying one step ahead of the Jesuits was a far better message. Pages and pages of Ellen White's strategies for the end of the world displayed during sermons strongly attested to that.

I kept hearing the term, “present truth.” I wondered what present truth was. It seemed like a buzzword for conspiracy theories. Some churches have sermons that uplift Jesus, proclaim the miracles that come from following Jesus or talk about real ways to improve one’s walk with God (without the guilt). To Albert and his ilk, present truth was anything that could be found while watching an Alex Jones YouTube video. “Bill Hughes is present truth,” I was told. Anything that makes you scared and fret for your salvation without any kind of hope for salvation is present truth. “Do not call conspiracy everything this people calls a conspiracy; do not fear what they fear and do not dread it.” Isaiah 8:12.

“We have this hope that burns within our hearts!” The battle song blasted. Pastor Albert, at the front, grinned as he gripped his remote tightly. Looking at his pack of congregants, he likely felt confident in commanding a growing religious empire. It was time for another sermon to fill the minds of his aging congregation. Freddy sat in the back, his Bible next to him, ready to take that slow poison in.

“They are lulling you to sleep with smooth words!” he shouted. “We are to be ready for the time of trouble! These other churches talk about the love of God. Empty sermons! We are approaching the time of trouble like none other!”*

*Note: Ellen White states with fervor that God can’t love disobedient children—and that those who question her should have never been born. Albert  proclaims that the love of God is not a subject fit for church. Yet, I say, and the Bible says that God is love. God loves every one of his creations. I will never follow anyone who says otherwise. If only Freddy or Stephen would have understood that fact. If only the women (except Ellen White, of course) were not instructed to keep silent. If only Darla would have spoken up at the beginning and said, “NO FREDDY!! No more conspiracy! No more getting caught up in this nonsense. THIS ENDS NOW!” If she had just taken the wheel of life and asserted some form of control, this would have likely never went this far. Wives, don’t blindly follow your husband’s religion. TAKE CHARGE! These actions can literally change the course of your entire life!

Out in the foyer, I combed through endless pamphlets that talked about the

various poisons of society, the dangers of false worship, and how vaccines were killing children. Behind me, I could hear all sorts of talk about various conspiracies. “They are spraying the chemtrails again,” a voice at one of the tables said. I shuddered. We often stayed late for the Bible study, as I felt that it was the only redeeming part of the day. At least it was taken straight out of the Bible (but peppered with White) The offshoot spent a lot of time talking about the “health message” or “being vegan,” and I later would come to realize that it was also due to the main idea of being saved by works. In fact, everything seemed to be about avoiding death and being saved by appeasing a works-obsessed god. However, working through the Ministry of Healing* was far more pleasurable than going back and dealing with Freddy’s angry tirades about whatever was bothering him in the world. He had become quite the bear at this point and I never knew when he would explode. At least this allowed us to be away from that madness.

*Note: Ministry of Healing is a book based on the combined work of various health reformers in the time that Ellen White lived. In typical White fashion, she took a lot of the beliefs of her day, some of which are not scientifically sound, and put them in a single book and slapped her name on it. It’s now considered the seminal tome of health within the church. The offshoots and cult-extremists lap it up like a thirsty farm hound.

Confusion was a key theme in this period of life. Many read this, myself included, and wonder how I could have stayed in it for so long. “Why did you keep going back?” some may ask. Little did I know that this was laying the foundation for my current religious beliefs. Yet, there was something I was seeking and hoping to find at this time. And I did not want to stir the pot by appearing to not believe in the commonalities that were shared with what I thought at the time was true. Although I write this now as a very agnostic Christian, I could not deny that many of the people at this organization were kind. They were, like many people in many churches, confused humans. I could see the humanity in their eyes when they spoke to me. I could see the love that was still there. I even questioned Albert, wondering if he truly and fully believed the things that he was

saying, or if he had some kind of dark motive. Even now I can’t say for sure. A part of me strongly believes he does this for wealth and fame. Perhaps the just end is that he is but a mind slave to his manufactured faith and a devout follower of Alex Jones. Maybe Countryside Sabbath Fellowship was just a way to fit the messages of Alex Jones into Adventism.

Confusion was compounded further by the members who seemed highly

intelligent. During the Bible studies, I would sit next to individuals who knew so much about the Bible. Some of them could quote the words and extract the history, connecting it with passages in other books, and weaving it together like a spider weaves its death trap. How could these same people believe in a government conspiracy to kill people or the idea that Jesuits were controlling a secret one-world government? Moreover, how could these saints believe that these topics were somehow a good choice for worshipping God?

I could not get past how there was such love at the potluck but such deep hate in the holy sanctuary. Hate for anything and everything different or even remotely similar boiled over in the words of Albert and many of those he invited to preach. Everyone and everything was a threat. It was Countryside versus the world. It was said to be “true Adventism” against the world. No wonder Freddy had found no joy in daily living. Everything was a mission, a walk towards death, to find out if one was “good enough” in the end. I wondered, did Freddy worry about the stars he had attained in his already long life?

With what little redeeming factor the Bible studies had, they were now taking place less often. Once a month the group would pile into their cars and make their way out into the big mean world to hand out literature. Spreading the message was seen as important, even in the insular church. How ironic that many of the people who were shopping at the Costco where the literature was being handed out would never be welcomed into the church. I wondered how shoppers took to receiving books like “The National Sunday Law” or Bill Hughes’ conspiracy rags. In my mind, I wondered how these books would attract Sabbath shoppers to Albert’s church. Was this just an exercise for the members to feel that they were more distant from the world that they were working to make themselves bigger outcasts in? Or was this a way to see that they were a holy people, with a knowledge that none other would accept? A way to prove that they were the modern-day Noahs, preaching to a wicked world that didn’t give a damn? Or maybe, just maybe, it was an outing to help Albert feel better about being less insular. In the judgment, maybe he could tell God that he did feed the hungry

Part VIII :: Nile Union Academy in Egypt

This was not our first trip to Egypt. I skipped my law school graduation to travel around Egypt back in 2013. Not too many people were traveling to Egypt at that time. During that period, my wife and I got to witness the hordes of Egyptians in Tahrir Square ousting President Morsi. We were staying at a hostel in the center of the action. From the rooftop veranda, we saw military helicopters flying over the city. Little did we know that my wife was pregnant at this time and that my new career in law would soon be exchanged for one in mission work.

This time things were a lot calmer. Egypt was now back on the tourist radar. As our plane landed in Cairo, I felt the same kind of excitement that I felt when we had landed in our home of Ukraine. It was thrilling to call Egypt home. As a child, I had always wanted to visit Egypt. I never, ever dreamed I would actually live there. 

There was a part of me that wanted to believe that God had blessed me since I was working for him. Part of me wanted to believe that God was guiding me to somehow be a worthy missionary. I did not feel worthy at the time. As I read about fruitless missionaries, I strongly felt that these words applied to me. Yet, this would be a chance for me to prove myself and to use the gifts that God had given me to do well. I guess that’s the thing about a works-based religion. Everything is about proving one’s self, doing a good enough job, and earning salvation in any way possible (except through Jesus’s Sacrifice of course). It’s not about the heart, but about how you get others to believe just like you. Oh, how desperately I wanted a star in my crown!

Oh, how I wanted that shiny shimmering star. I think that some people get to the point where they will do anything for that first star. If you can’t get into Heaven without at least one star, and if Heaven is eternal bliss—paradise—then should not one literally do anything to get that first fiery celestial orb? Oh, what a monstrous God we must serve.

As I listened to the principal tell us that we should make it a goal to convert at least one student, I knew that just had to be me. That was my goal for the year. It wasn’t to ride another camel, climb Mt. Sinai, be a better teacher, learn about Egyptian culture, or learn the Arabic language. No, it was to get that first delicious star. As I saw the students arrive to register for the 2018 school year, I knew that I was going to guide one of them (and myself) to the promised land, just like a modern-day Moses. What a task! I taught four English classes at NUA. It was a far cry from what I was doing in the Pacific Northwest. In addition to teaching, I would be finishing my master’s degree in teaching. Looking back on my time in Ukraine, I found that I enjoyed teaching and that I hoped to make some kind of living from it.

Teaching at NUA was not a lucrative endeavor. In fact, it was like every other missionary experience in terms of pay. We didn’t go to get rich. I think that it paid about $25-30 each per month. The big thing for us was having our room and board covered. We had a cute little apartment at the edge of the school with a gate and a small yard. It wasn’t fancy at all, but we both liked it. It got a good amount of light and was private.

Like all of our previous missionary jobs, we did not fundraise or ask for any kind of donation. In fact, one day I felt guilty about getting any kind of financial help and asked the principal to not pay us. He was surprised at this, but I figured that it was probably something that everyone did. I felt that the money could be better used by the school.

While at the Egyptian school, I consumed Ellen White’s books during my free time. I reread a lot of her classics, including Desire of Ages and the Conflict of the Ages series. I felt a bit disconnected from other missionaries. At the time I didn’t know if it was due to my age, having a daughter, or something else. I realized that there were others older than me who were popular and well-received. And others were parents, too. I later realized it was likely because I was a first-generation Adventist. I was awkward in matters of religion. I found religion to be like a club. Some belong, and others don’’t. It’s just like in every other aspect of life and no different or special in that regard.

Looking at myself as a teacher, I believe I failed. I was very lax with discipline and the students steamrolled me. I had written a book about my experience at NUA, but also unpublished that due to how my beliefs had changed (it was another book chock full of Ellen White quotes related to my disastrous year as a teacher). Let’s just say that Egyptian students can be a handful. It’s a whole different culture. There were constant fights in the classroom, students playing cards while I taught, speaking over me, and leaving to spend the class period in the restroom or in the halls. I was at a complete loss when it came to discipline and I felt that nothing worked. I never yelled at them, and I felt that showing Christ’s love would compel them to behave.

I weaved religion into my classes. I wanted my senior class to learn Fanny

Bolton’s classic, Steps to Christ. For my youngest students, I coupled the learning of English with Gracelink cartoons about Jesus and his disciples. I aimed to win hearts and minds to Jesus and Ellen White and gain those beautiful first stars. Like a conquering Pharaoh, I imagined leaving Egypt proud of the fact that I had assured my entrance into the pearly gates of the celestial city of New Jerusalem.

My students seemed to like me quite well. Being that I never sent them to the principal's office or yelled at them, they could do anything and everything they wanted in my class. At the time it perplexed me and I felt woefully inadequate. I believed that I was probably a laughing stock to the other teachers. Another, much younger American teacher ran away with one of her students and later married him (there was a no dating policy for missionaries). Shortly after this, for no apparent reason, the principal and his family left in the night. Our school was without a principal and a head teacher. Chaos began.

The second half of the year tested our marriage. We were completely

overworked. For some reason the school started giving us our stipend and I said

nothing about it. I felt guilty about it but was too tired to care. The school seemed to be falling apart, and in the chaos of it, I was given an extra class. I now taught more than any other missionary—even though I had a child. Being that I was, in my eyes, the worst teacher there, it seemed even harder.

One of the celebrated life-long missionaries and school benefactors flew in from Australia to check on the school, as he did from time to time. He was an ex-vice principal and talked about possibly returning to his role. He gave me a book and told me that I should use it. I told him I would think about it. Protected from the Egyptian sun under the shade of a tree, I casually read through the book. “Would my seniors even understand this book?” I asked myself. It was one of those books that were full of literary language. The class would fight against it, as they had with other educational endeavors. There was no way to sugarcoat it: the level of English in the book was far too advanced for my seniors.

I continued to turn the pages, wondering what was so great about this book. “Why was this book suggested to me?” I asked. I thought back to how I had read that Ellen White shunned literature of all kinds. I had been trying to elevate their minds to the level of the Lord, not bring them down to everyday life themes. I had read how Ellen stated that fiction books would destroy a person’s spirituality, fever the imagination, unfit the mind for usefulness and dwarf the intellect, wean the soul from prayer, disqualify the soul for any spiritual exercise, spoil people for anything useful, and unfit women for being good mothers. Surely, this would not be the proper course for my students! Yet, I was confused. On one hand, the church matriarch had a vendetta against all things fiction. I should just continue with Steps to Christ and forget about this whole thing. Yet, on the other hand, this vice principal fellow had previous success with these students, and would likely be the school principal the next year. Here I was, just a stupid

missionary who wasn’t a great teacher and still had a lot to learn about this religion. I was determined to do right. Oh Lord, send me a sign (right?).

Then, I caught something as I was flipping through those pages. Something about the young men engaged in sexual acts. Was the hot Egyptian sun getting to me? Could I be seeing this right? I felt shame at even looking at the book, and I quickly closed it. I didn’t want anything to do with it, and I slid it into my backpack. At that moment I knew that there was no way I would speak to my seniors about such topics.

Yuck! I imagined Ellen White shaking her rod and writing that vice principal a letter if she was still alive. I guess I would be sticking with the Fanny Bolton book.

Later, I approached my wife and told her about the book. I didn’t really know what to say. I just felt dirty about it. It didn’t make sense to me. I felt with all the stigma over sexual abuse that happens with children and kids, those topics were just not the kind you would even bring up in class. The school didn’t even have a sexual education program. I wondered if I was being tested somehow. Perhaps the vice principal was feeling me out somehow? Needless to say, I returned the book to the library.

A couple of weeks later, I was asked if I used the book. I told the VP that it was too advanced for my students. I didn’t dare mention the sex scenes. The VP replied that if I took it slowly and let the students take turns reading, they would get it. No thanks.

Later on, I would read about how many Adventist academies are hotbeds of sexual abuse. A lot of it is hidden. Sadly, some accounts speak of administrators coercing people to remain silent about such abuse because it “makes the church look bad.” While Ellen White states that we should protect the image of the church at all costs, the truth is, if something is truly God’s, He will protect it. All abuse needs to be brought out into the light. There is no excuse to hide the abuse that happens against children (See “I Was A Seventh Day Adventist Episode 4: Church Skeletons” on Spotify). In addition, the book was culturally inappropriate to teach to a mixed-gender middle eastern class.

Even the far reaches of the land of pharaohs and pyramids were not out of reach for news about Bill Hughes and his visits to Countryside. I was glad to not have to be present to try to avoid his sermons. Being far away felt good. Yet, after the exhaustion from teaching and being apart from my wife, we decided that we would throw in the towel after the school year. A good percentage of teachers had left early and when one would leave, the workload for the few of us who remained compounded.

We had thought about where we wanted to live, and we both were keen on

returning to Ukraine. Yet, we wanted to visit family first. There were some things that we, and especially the ladies, missed about the United States. As we were all getting older, it made sense to stop for a while and spend some time. Our daughter wanted to be with family on her birthday and we thought spending Christmas there would also be nice. Therefore, we decided we would spend about four months with the in-laws before we moved back to Ukraine.

I marked off each day on the calendar as the end drew closer. I, along with the interim principal and the skeleton staff worked our asses off to keep that school running like a well-oiled machine. It was falling apart like one of my father-in-law’s old beater cars. Although I loved living in Egypt, I felt that I was not able to visit the interesting parts as much as I would have liked. I was ready for a break. I looked in the mirror and saw a man who had aged far too fast for one year. My wife and I noticed that our hair had started to go grey during this period. The school year had literally sucked the life out of us. In addition to teaching, I was also attending graduate school classes and writing reports, maintaining a 4.0 average, and trying to coordinate a business back in the United States. Add to that raising a daughter and running a household, and you can see why I was so parched.

When the holy Sabbath came around, we were so exhausted that we could

barely even muster the strength or desire to drag our weary bodies to the chapel.

Sometimes I would go alone while my wife spent some much-needed family time with our daughter. I wondered, if the Sabbath is truly a holy day, and the best day of the week, why is it so exhausting? Is this truly a day of rest, or have we lost touch with what rest means?

What is rest? I thought of how the principal would try to let the students swim on the hottest days. Sometimes the heat would be over 110F and the students would want to swim in the outdoor pool. Yet, the powers at the local conference forbade Sabbath swimming. “Parents, above everything take care of your children upon the Sabbath. Do not suffer them to violate God’s holy day by playing in the house or out-of-doors. You may just as well break the Sabbath yourselves as to let your children do it, and when you suffer your children to wander about and suffer them to play upon the Sabbath, God looks upon you as Sabbathbreakers” (Ellen White, Review and Herald, Sept. 19, 1854).

As a result, the students would disperse into the dorms to sleep away the

heat. Swimming on the Sabbath had long been an issue in various churches I had been to, and it was a focal point of many debates over the years. The more traditional and fundamentalist Adventists eschewed the idea of swimming on the Sabbath. Ellen White had rules for virtually every aspect of life, and the idea of swimming on the Sabbath was also something she had something to say about. Writing in the third volume of Selected Messages, Ellen stated that the Sabbath is “no day for pleasure-seeking, swimming, or ball playing.” Teachers would supervise the students after church and make sure that they did not make their way to the basketball area or the football (soccer) field. Many of the students didn’t understand it. I never understood how policing the choices of how a person finds pleasure is a Godly thing. Even now, I think that the Seventh-day Adventist

Part VII :: A New Mission

Could it really be the end? Could have I left that place and erased all that had happened from my mind? Could I reintegrate myself into whatever Adventism was after that? The reader must remember that this was the deepest into Adventism I had ever gotten. Sure, I had been to other churches, such as Deer Park. But Countryside had become a weekly ritual. During this time was when I studied the most. Like Stephen, Countryside touched me in ways that, frankly, should be illegal. Yet, I was also at fault. I dived in. I did it for a multitude of reasons. For my little girl, for my own salvation, and to live according to the life that I felt that I was “supposed to live.” Yet, I knew that this was not the way. Strangely, I did not know what the correct way was.

I was still suckling the words of Ellen White as if she had the truth for me. It

would be years before I would make the connection that she was largely at fault for the extremism. To be honest, at this point, the thought never occurred to me, and I continued to voraciously read her books, sometimes over and over again. I would walk through the Adventist Book Center and wonder why anyone even bothered reading anything else when there were volumes of work by a modern-day prophet to read. I know that I was not alone in this idea. When we moved to the coast we met another family who loved her in the same way. There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of Adventists that saw Ellen White as the pinnacle of knowledge second only, and sometimes tied to the Bible.

When we finally combined all the DVDs that we had gathered over the last few months with the ones Stephen gave us, we must have had well over 100 DVDs. I began to sort them into sections, as I was interested in watching some of them. I had neglected to watch any secular entertainment at this time and instead figured that material with a religious message was automatically superior.

Some of the DVDs were deemed more worthy to watch than others. I had a stack of some from pastors that I was okay with learning about and some that were in the “no thanks pile” The DVDs about the poisoned water, chemtrails, and fluoride were a definite no. That one eventually ended up in a landfill. Actually, they all did. But a small percentage was digested first.

I would say that the vast majority of these DVDs were shut off after the first 20 or so minutes. It was easy to tell where they were going. It seemed that the pastors were more interested in hearing their own voices rather than preaching anything uplifting or of real substance. My curiosity sometimes would get the best of me, and some of the labels were vague enough to entice me.

Freddy and Darla had been Adventists for years. Freddy had been raised an Adventist, but his father was not the best role model (to say the least). As I watched DVDs and thought back to my time at Countryside, I was angry that they did not “know better than this,” I thought back to the seemingly gifted mind of Eric and how he could dive deep into the Bible and tell you endless things that you never could have imagined knowing. How could he not know better? What about the other kind people at Countryside who seemed to long after something better than the world had to offer? Some of these folks had been lifelong Adventists, too. How in the world could they be so deluded by the idea of a Jesuit world government? That shook me. It was something I still can’t wrap my head around. Compared to me, these people were spiritual giants. They should have been people I looked up to. I was learning just how little we all must know.

These individuals had been vocally interested and supportive of our work on the coast. Even though we were working under the umbrella of the Jesuit-controlled General Conference, they wanted to support us. It seemed like there was a cognitive dissonance here, as well. If you really believe something is so evil, how can you support it? I found that, as long as it was familiar and understandable, it can be supported, and is good. But it was the parts that were too complex, too distant, that was evil. It all boiled down to a fear of the world. Us versus them. An all-consuming need for control. Sometimes we would pop a DVD in while we were eating lunch. One day, for some strange reason, my wife and I were both feeling brave. We decided that we would give this Bill Hughes guy a chance. Strangely, I had never seen what he looked like, nor had I watched anything he had put out. I wanted to hear him speak, to understand how charismatic he was. We slid one of the discs into the player and began to watch the sermon.

This must have been Bill’s first Countryside rodeo because it was here that he introduced himself and gave his testimony. He didn’t waste any time jumping into it. He looked nothing like I had imagined. He was a smaller man, with a white mustache. He spoke very slowly, hoping that the audience would take in every word. He was not in a rush to tell his story. Like Albert, he used terms like “friends” and “brothers and sisters.” He tried to appear friendly. In later sermons that I witnessed, I saw that he would sometimes joke with people in the audience or say someone's name that he recognized. He looked frail. Kind of weak. Definitely at the edge of a strange and interesting life, but with enough steam to go on for a while still. I had heard he was being hunted down by the Jesuits, and that there was a bounty for his life. “Bill Hughes is in hiding,” Darla said. Yet, if he was in hiding, why did the Countryside website have all his

upcoming sermon dates listed?

Conspiracy and intrigue surrounded this man. A modern carnival barker of the fringe Adventist faith. Each word, calculated to bring one to a deeper fear of the world. Each word, calculated to instill a feeling of emptiness. Yet, those in the audience didn’t hear it like that. They loved him. Every conspiracy he peddled was a ray of hope to the people whose ears were wide open. Soon the Jesuits would strike, but God had their back. Before the stroke of death fell on these ancient listeners, God’s mighty hand would reach down and pick up these outcasts of society. As the Sunday law backfired on the rest of the world, these fringe folk would be ushered into a room full of white robes and hat racks lined with golden crowns. Jesus would fit each one with a shining hat loaded with stars and take them to a garden of everlasting glory. The rest of the world would perish in consuming fire. A beautiful message of hope. The hope in the coming of the Lord.

You can tell a person is in a bad mood by how they speak. This was true of Mr. Hughes as he began to tell his story of being removed from the Adventist church. Rather than accept a better position in exchange for giving up his Jesuit-obsessive sermons, he opted to become a martyr. He traded his cushy GC position for one of a rogue pastor. Yet, it was as a rogue pastor that he gained fame. That didn’t dispel the hatred he had for the conference, and he was hellbent on letting every church he visited know that he had been unjustly fired.

He was tense as the words spilled forth like hot irons from his jagged lips. His

voice cracked like an old whip as he let the words roll off his tongue. His accent

sounded almost southern. I was told he lived in Florida. Tax records show he is a pretty wealthy man. His ministry, “Truth Triumphant” rakes in enough to make a choir boy blush ten times over.

“They told me to stop. And I said, stop what? And they said you can have this job, but I need you to stop preaching the Three Angel’s messages. And, once they said that, I told them that I could not do that. And that was the end. I said, no. I can’t do that.” He seemed very perturbed, very annoyed, and vexed even. “I can’t stop preaching the Three Angel’s message*…”

*Note: The three angel’s messages, or the third angel’s message, is mentioned during every sermon at Countryside. The idea is that the remnant must warn the world about the Jesuits and how they are the whore of Babylon. “Come out of her my people.” Ellen White (who else?) was a huge proponent of preaching the third angel’s message. Strangely, few within the church can seem to agree what the message actually is. At Countryside Sabbath Fellowship, part of preaching the Third Angel’s Message was spreading every conspiracy possible about the Catholic church. This was also how Bill Hughes framed it in his books. Jesuits are the enemy.

“The Seventh-day Adventist church refuses to preach the third angel's message,

and that is why they are in apostasy” was the message. The third angel’s message, the one that Ellen White says is the creme de la creme of the message we are to take to the world, is one that the extremists and traditionalists love to claim a monopoly over. Yet, after months of going to Countryside and watching various sermons entitled “the third angel’s message,” I had no clue what the message actually was.

“You know why they removed the three angels from the Adventist logo*, don’t you? Do you know why they replaced it with an upside-down cross? The ecumenical symbol shows a burning bible! It's the cross of Satan. It’s Satanic.”

*Note: An older version of the Seventh-day Adventist logo previously pictured three angels with trumpets flying over the earth. This symbol has been replaced with a cross and fire coming out of a Bible. The Three Angels symbol is still heavily used at more traditional “offshoot” churches. The fact that this symbol has been replaced with a more modern symbol is part of the supposed proof that the Adventist church has clasped hands with Rome and is in Babylon along with all the other Christian denominations. It is “us versus them” thinking at its finest.

“Who did such a thing?”

I imagined Stephen hissing, “Jesuits!”

Of course. Those Jesuits in the church! The ones with nothing better to do than sink the Titanic.

The sermon continued with Bill Hughes outlining the wrongs committed against him, and how he found it within his heart to forgive them. From that moment, the sermon switched to a tirade about the General Conference being in deep apostasy. It was time to turn off the television. I had seen enough. What kind of drama was this? What strange world had I walked in on?

Before we left for Ukraine, not even two years ago, there was no sign of this kind of religion. Yet now, everything had quickly changed. Going to church to worship God had been replaced with a strange unrecognizable religion. It was dizzying. It was confusing. It was unreal. How the hell did you not know better? I wanted to grab Freddy and shake him, slap him, and ask “what in the world were you thinking?! Darla, why did you not stop this man?! Why didn’t you put your foot down before it got to this? How have you been so duped? What the hell happened?!?”

Many are reading this book now, and have been wondering why my view on religion drastically changed over the past few years. When I first arrived on the coast I was spiritually on fire. Mentally, I was not so different than these people. I emulated a lot of what I saw in the Countryside church. Looking back, I was an extremist, too. I truly thought that we had to attain perfection. I truly thought that we had to be ready for the end times at every moment, lest it caught us unaware. I believed that the Sunday law was coming soon. I would scour the news for signs. I am deeply embarrassed by the person I was at that time. I never understood how ugly it was making me. I would beat myself up for any failure. After reading Adventist Home and seeing how my life did not live up to the standard, I would beg God for forgiveness. I could never live up to Ellen White. But I needed to figure out how to.

On the coast, I had the expectation that those who I was called to serve should become like how I was to become. The native people ate fish and lived disorderly lives. They were not married to the people they had made children with. They didn’t come to church on Sabbath. Their children were rowdy and loud in church. Although they were friendly and I liked them a lot, they were not how God wanted them to be, and if I did not shape them it was going to be on me. Stars for my crown were hanging in the balance. If I could just get one star I would be accepted to enter Heaven. After all, Auntie Ellen said that every crown will at least have one star in it.

Mine still had zero.

“He seems angry,” I said. “…And vengeful. He says he’s not, but it’s there. It’s obvious.”

My wife agreed.

“This whole thing is wrong,” I said.

Yet, against that backdrop, Bill Hughes' fame was growing like wildfire at

Countryside.

“Guess who is coming to church this weekend?” Darla told my wife on the phone

as they talked.

“Who?” she asked.

“Bill Hughes!” Darla said, her voice cracking with excitement.

“Oh,” my wife said, trying to hide her disappointment. “His sermons are always so interesting. We have told him about you.”

I could not help but wonder what could have been said about us to the esteemed Bill Hughes. Why would he even care? He had bigger fish to contend with. We were just a couple of wayward conference missionaries.

Since we lived so close to the family, we made regular visits. The Spokane area was about eight to ten hours from us and it was nice to get away from the everyday. Our place on the coast was in a small town of around 275 people 40 miles from the nearest town. Forks was the closest town of any size, with the same population as Deer Park.

The next largest town was 70 miles to the south and that was Aberdeen and Hoquiam. The “twin harbors” were where we did most of our shopping.

We lived and worked in Queets. This little coastal tribal village features a gas station and a few tribal offices. It is located about a mile from the sea. The people of Queets largely survive off of fishing and many are also hunters. Guiding services are a huge source of income for Queetsters, as they like to call themselves. The little village consists of an upper and lower part The upper area is purely residential, with a senior center and a couple of cul-de-sacs of houses. The lower village is where the tribal center, Queets community center, senior center, and manufacturing plant are located. The church that we worked in is also in the lower village. Next door is a parsonage.

Living in Queets was new for us. As stated before, I had previously lived in

Seattle, New York, Kyiv, San Francisco, and a host of other very large cities. Being so immersed in cultures allowed me to not feel out of place at all in regard to native American culture. However, the biggest culture shock for me was living so removed from society. Therefore, I enjoyed driving east, even if it meant dealing with some of the things that I left behind.

When we arrived on one of our eastern Washington visits, we were made aware that Bill Hughes was in town and would be speaking at Countryside.

“This is the perfect chance for you to meet him!” Darla proclaimed.

My countenance fell.

“The church is always SO busy when he comes,” she added.

So busy, huh? we thought. The wheels in our heads were turning, and it seemed

like the perfect way to avoid a meeting. Even though we had taken our daughter

traveling all over with us, and even though she was incredibly adaptable, we knew she

did not like loud noises. Therefore, we decided that it was an easy way out for us.

“I don’t know if she would really like the noise. And we told her she would get to

see her little friends at Deer Park,” my wife said.

It was the perfect way out.

“That’s true. The church is always so full that people have to watch from the dining room,” Darla said.

It felt good to miss out on Bill Hughes’ lambasting the conference and going off on Jesuits. I pictured the little man in his lamb white hair waving his arms around and crying out the sins of the Jesuits, phlegm flying all about. I could just see his legions of devotees all crying out for more, taking notes, shouting amen, and accosting the pastor for news about when Bill Hughes would return.

I pictured Eric’s father miraculously rising and proclaiming, “If this is where my tithe goes, sign me up for double. No! Triple!”

When we visited the in-laws, we enjoyed cooking. We were rushing about in the kitchen making some kind of enchilada dish when the in-laws arrived. The sun was going down and their two dogs were going crazy underfoot.

“Freddy, take them for a walk so they can use the bathroom,” Darla said (they would not go to the bathroom on their own, which seems almost Adventist in itself). As we layered the sauce and cheese onto the enchiladas, we were told how the sermon was “very interesting.”

“Did you know that the holocaust was actually caused by the Jesuits? Bill

Hughes talked all about it today.”

I rolled my eyes.

“He had so much to say. It was so powerful.”

“We should invite Stephen for dinner,” my wife said, trying to change the subject.

We liked to invite him, as he was family.

I wondered if Stephen would want to eat cheese. I thought back to how Darla

recently told me about how his sister brought up pizza and they got into a fight about Ellen’s rules of eating cheese.

“We are NOT supposed to be eating cheese,” he shouted. Not being the type to back down, she called him a “stumbling block.” He did not take that well. The rest is a family legend.

The daughter in question was raised an Adventist and left it behind when she moved out. She was not the only one. While both sons were Adventists, out of four girls, only my wife was active in the church. One of the girls was agnostic and seemed uninterested in religion for the most part. The oldest girl in the family, Anna, was in and out of the church, but never committed.

I wondered what their childhood religion looked like. I thought back to how my wife told me about the other Bill Hughes church that fell apart. What kind of childhood do children have when they are raised in that kind of nonsense? I wondered. Later, when I would scour the Reddit Ex-Adventist message board, I would read all about broken adults that had been abused by ultra-zealous parents who believed in following Auntie Ellen to the letter and listening to power-crazed pastors like Hughes and his ilk. Imagine being able to draw a crowd like that. How is it that God bestows such a blessing on those who preach conspiracy? How many people has Bill Hughes brought to Christ? How fruitful has my ministry been? Bill Hughes can fill a church almost effortlessly. Back in Queets, getting people to come to church is hard. Some weeks we have no one. Who am I to question God? God has raised up these pastors for His mighty work. Ellen White says so.

Trying to make sense of Bill Hughe’s message and popularity was a form of mental gymnastics. Trying to make sense of it under the umbrella of Ellen White’s writings made it even worse.

“He’s such a kind man,” we were told by one of the Countryside congregants. “He’s even better in person!”

It didn’t make any sense. Here he was preaching straight from Ellen White. He must be chosen by God! Ellen White says we can’t question our pastors and leaders. We must follow and obey. God has hand-picked them for a very special purpose. Everyone but my wife and I seem to see it.

Maybe he isn’t as spiteful and vengeful as he seemed in that sermon we

watched. Maybe we watched it with the wrong spirit? Could we have been too critical? Maybe I should watch some more YouTube videos of him preaching?

I watched some more of his videos but quickly found the same critical person trying to proclaim he had been wronged by a church that was in deep apostasy. The Jesuits were destroying the world behind the scenes and the church was in on it. He seemed angry, and vengeful, and demanded that we all figure out how to become perfect before the fast-approaching time of trouble. They spoke about him as if he was their idol. Ellen White, Bill Hughes, Daniel & Revelation, and then the rest of the Bible. Jesus’ name was mentioned only in passing.

Later on, we were resting in the back bedroom. I was silently reflecting on the changes that life had brought us. At that moment I heard a rustling in the front of the house. The sound was frantic, as the door busted open and both of my wife’s parents rushed into the house. They had been outside talking to someone who had driven up. Darla rushed to the back while Freddy was tearing through papers in the front. He called Darla. His voice was heavy. I could tell he was out of breath and frantic.

“Where are they?” he shouted.

“I am getting them!” Darla said. “They are back here!”

“What?” he said, unable to hear Darla over the sound of his frantic searching.

What could they be looking for, I wondered.

Darla came rushing out of her bedroom, which was right next to the room we were resting in. “I found them!” she said.

I looked out the door and saw her carrying some of Bill Hughes’ books in her hand. She held them up and rushed down the hall towards the front of the house. “I said

I have them!” she said, having noticed that Freddy was still rustling through everything in his way.

“The Bill Hughes ones?” he snapped.

“Yes,” she said. “Give them to her,” she added, pushing them towards Freddy. He grappled at them and made his way out to the driveway. 

It was quiet once again. A frantic search for witnessing materials came to a

hushed close. Later we were filled on the event. A woman who was looking for a nearby house for rent had asked for directions. After a little friendly visit, Darla and Freddy found out that she was interested in learning more about Jesus. The first book to come to enter their mind was “The Enemy Unmasked.” What a way to share the risen Christ!

The woman would make her way to her home, open up this book, and learn all about Jesus through the eyes of a madman going off on the Jesuit infiltration. I silently pondered the idea of witnessing Christ through mindless anti-Jesuit propaganda. Sadly, many Seventh-day Adventists will have no issue with such a book being handed out to spread the gospel message. Although Christ says “Peace is what I leave with you,” the message has been turned into one of fear. “Be afraid. Teach fear.” Another fallacy in the teaching. The message is not to bring one to Christ, it is “get others to think as we do.” It is scary if others think differently. We must have the same fears to feel confident that we

have the truth.

Back on the coast, our supervising pastor wanted to meet with us. We discussed some of what was happening with Countryside. He identified it as an offshoot right away. He let us know that his church had been split by an offshoot very recently and that much damage had been done. I shared how the people at Countryside appeared so kind. The pastor said, “they will be nice to you as long as you think like them. But once they know you don’t agree with you, it will be the end of it all.” At the time he did not tell me that this was the case with religion in general. I would find that out much later. But I was nowhere near that point yet. In my mind, I did not expect them to ever find out that I thought differently. I had been silent this long, and I could keep it up forever if I needed to. There was no reason for me to say that I didn’t think as they did. Rather, my desire was to show them that I loved them and that we had some common ground. Christ was the common ground. That’s at least what I hoped deep in my heart. I was courting both worlds, and I didn’t realize just how dangerous of a game that was.

Perhaps my inaction was a form of deception in itself. Maybe I should have said something and parted ways. Yet, with in-laws being involved and the inner mental dilemmas that I was dealing with, it was hard for me to think about part ways just yet. I had heard about the dangers of extremist offshoot groups more and more from people in the church at this point. For my first decade in Adventism, I had never heard a word about extremism. Now, as a missionary, it was starting to pop up a little. But never in sermons. No, it was never talked about at the potluck table or during a regular sermon. It was almost as if the general population was not privy to it. Only when I was a missionary did I start to hear about these matters.

I had heard a story of Shepherd’s Rod* members telling Native Americans that in order to be saved, they would have to become vegan and give up all meat. This was from a literal belief in Ellen White and worked to push many native people away from Adventism. Strangely archaic and arbitrary dietary restrictions within this group has precedence over the following verse: “As for the one who is weak in faith, welcome him, but not to quarrel over opinions. One person believes he may eat anything, while the weak person eats only vegetables. Let not the one who eats despise the one who abstains, and let not the one who abstains pass judgment on the one who eats, for God has welcomed him. Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand. One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind.” Romans

14:1-23

Note: Shepherd’s Rod is yet a very traditional “hardcore” SDA offshoot (the SDA church attracts them like flies to poop). Like numerous offshoots, they are strict followers of Ellen White. Ellen was a huge proponent of an animal-free vegan diet. Many Adventists do not realize that White struggled with eating meat while telling others that they would need to give up meat. Many Adventists refuse to acknowledge that Ellen White ate herring and oysters throughout her life while saying that it was the duty of Adventists and Christ-followers to not touch meat or anything unclean. Ellen’s vegan message is huge in extremist branches of Adventism, with the health message being pushed and peddled like snake oil during the days of yore.

During this period of my life, I focused on reading Ellen White, the Bible, and working through the Daniel & Revelation study I was given. I preached a couple of sermons at the Forks church. These were on the merits of Ellen White, and I took cues from the way Albert and the people in the DVDs spoke. I referred to Ellen White as Sister White. I was legalistic. The small Forks congregation seemed to thoroughly enjoy my sermons and messages. Nothing negative was said about them, and I was invited to preach again.

During this time of life, I eschewed secular movies and so-called worthless

literature. I believed that the only use of my time that was valuable was in search of Biblical knowledge and deep study of Ellen White’s prophetic writings. I felt that my daughter was in danger of being influenced by other children who were interested in makeup or watching secular cartoons. While my daughter watched a few secular cartoons, we made sure to thoroughly vet them. During Halloween, we fretted that she would be corrupted by the youth of the village and that she would one day want to participate.

After a year and a half of living in Queets, I had decided I wanted to teach, as I felt woefully unprepared and unfit for the work in the village. I felt that as a teacher at an Adventist school, I would have a team I could work with and lean on. I also desired to live in a larger city again. I was now working on a master’s degree in TESOL and I wanted to put that degree to work. Therefore, I applied to work at an Adventist school, “Nile Union Academy” in Cairo, Egypt. I immediately got an email back expressing a strong desire for us to go teach. From that moment on, we made plans to prepare to go to Egypt. It would be a few months still before we would leave.

Part VI :: First Departure

It would take some time for us to get our paperwork approved by the Conference. In the meantime, we would wait at the in-law’s house and bide our time by bouncing from Countryside and the Deer Park church. At this point, you may think we were crazy to keep going to Countryside. I would agree. I should have stopped at this point. Yet, I didn’t for a couple of reasons. I didn’t want to stir up any controversy by appearing to distance myself. Second, I was curious about everything that was taking place. Third, I was confused about how this factored in with religion, and little did I realize I was internalizing all these strange beliefs. Lastly, I believed that my presence could cause some kind of good. Perhaps I could be a silent witness for something besides Jesuit conspiracy.

Yet, now, a new type of conspiracy was taking shape. Albert had decided to move away from the Jesuit infiltration for a while (not completely, but a bit), and move towards another threat that a lot of YouTube pastors were loudly proclaiming. It was also a message that Bill Hughes had also been vocal about. There was also this pervading idea that the General Conference of the Seventh-day Adventist Church had become corrupt. In addition to Jesuits, Freemasons also had control of the SDA church. Prominently displayed on the board were quotes by Ellen White telling about a shaking in the church and vaguely describing how the SDA church was in apostasy. Paradoxically, Ellen White also claims the SDA church is not in apostasy and to assert it is in apostasy is a sin against God. In addition, sermons now came with imagery showing death and destruction from real and imagined world events. 

Albert had been testing the waters, and the waters were just right for this type of thing. The congregation LOVED it! They ate it up a schoolboy devours jello on a hot day. Images featuring mass graves, FEMA camps, holocaust footage, and more graced the screen at the front. In addition to singing “We have this hope that burns within our hearts” we learned how hopeless life had become. Population control via chemtrails and poisons to water became regular topics. The table out front was now loaded with pamphlets about all sorts of population control measures. No matter how many were added, the people wanted more of it. An aging population was eating up death for breakfast on Sabbath morning and could not get enough! “Friends, it is time to get ready for the Sunday law. There is not any time to tarry,” Albert would say.

There was a form of excitement missing from the lives of the congregations, and Albert was able to give the people what they craved. It was what they were lacking. For the audience, it was exciting and thrilling to hear how one would be able to escape natural death, and instead, be ushered away to receive a special golden crown* for one’s hard work in avoiding the Jesuit Sunday law. This was the very thing that Bill Hughes had used to fill up churches, and now Albert  was able to tap into it as well. This was how Hughes had drawn a crowd. Now Albert was on the way to realizing his own dreams. It was obvious that Albert was trying to capitalize on Hughes’ success by aiming to draw his own crowds with the same type of message.

*Note: Ellen White writes of golden crowns that will be given to those who enter into Heaven. Stars to represent those saved by the individual will be present. This works-based idea is not based on any biblical text, but is instead a remnant of Methodism, which Ellen White was a part of before she became the Adventist prophetess and cofounder.

As we waited for lunch, I found myself tarrying near the pamphlet table. DVDs on a wide variety of subjects graced the table. DVDs about the poisons in air water and food (chemtrails, fluoride, and GMOs) were particularly notable. “You have to watch that one,” Stephen said, handing me them. I never could get myself to do so. Freddy had always been against fluoride. I wondered if he had embraced it, would he still have his teeth? Looking around the room, teeth were a rare commodity. Dentists seemed to be in wide support for fluoride. For pastor Albert, fluoride as a weapon for population control was another Sabbath sermon.

The final month of living up on the in-laws' property was hard. I could tell that there was a lot of tension now about matters pertaining to religion and life. Stephen’s demeanor had begun to change from a happy demeanor to a more militant demeanor. Everything he talked about was about the Pope, Jesuits, or the Authorized King James Bible. Every time that the Great Hope was mentioned, he would go into a tirade about how Ted Williams and his Jesuit cronies should have never corrupted Ellen White’s* work. Freddy was also easily irritated, and he would spend much time talking to Pastor Albert, who had become somewhat of a mentor figure to the in-laws.

*Note: Although the Ellen White estate continues to push Ellen White like a stubborn turd as the true end-times prophet and present-day messenger of the Lord, those in more extremist camps tend to venerate her as on a level close to that of Jesus. It was stated that the Ellen White estate had been corrupted by Jesuit infiltrators who had added and subtracted words from her books.

I can’t express how happy I was to finally leave that place. I was given a

behemoth stack of DVDs to watch on the coast.

“These are better than anything the conference is going to tell you,” I was told. Many were from obscure pastors on YouTube or sermons by Albert that we had missed out on.

“You are going to watch them, right?” Stephen asked.

This stack of DVDs also included nail-biting sermons by the legendary Bill

Hughes and other pastors that were not involved with the Jesuit-controlled General Conference of the Seventh-day Adventist Church. As we left the mountain behind, our U-haul rocking back and forth on the washboard roads, with our Volkswagen towed behind, I felt a deep sense of relief. Why had I come back to that, I wondered.

Part V :: Jesuit Infiltration & Murder

When we returned from the coast, we were renewed and hopeful. Spending all this time away from what I saw as a growing toxic situation felt good. I longed deeply to be selected for this new missionary opportunity and I knew it was all in God’s capable hands.

It was now the height of summer, with the sun’s rays hitting down upon us as we ate lunch outside. As we sat down for a dish of Pad Thai my wife and I had cooked, I heard a vehicle approaching. Albert climbed out and made his way toward us as we wolfed down delicious noodles.

At first, the two men exchanged small talk.

“Are you hungry?” Freddy asked.

“No thanks, looks good though,” Albert replied.

“It’s something from Asia,” Freddy said. “But it’s good.”

Albert was silent for a moment but quickly broke that silence.

“I have some disturbing news,” he said.

“What is it?” Freddy asked. Darla gave a look of apprehension. She especially hated disturbing news.

“Pastor Harry has been using mind control with his hands during his sermons…

He’s been waving them all over the place,” Albert replied.

I continued to wolf down sticky noodly goodness while I intently listened. I

thought about how pastor Harry preached, and how it was natural for people to use hand motions while speaking. I remembered doing the same in my public speaking class.

“I have read a lot about pastors that use their hands to hypnotize their church. It goes all the way back to the Jesuits,” Albert added.

“Yes, I know that he does that,” Freddy said.

“But that’s not the disturbing part,” Albert said.

“What is it?” Freddy said.

“The truth is, well… I think he killed Eddy.”

Freddy was silent for a moment (which is incredibly rare for Freddy). Eddy was a long-time friend of Freddy's who had been going to Deer Park for many years. It had been previously mentioned that getting Eddy over to Countryside would be a good move. Eddy was quite old and had a lot of respect in the Deer Park Church. He had recently passed away from being sick.

“I was thinking the same thing. Eddy knew too much. We were so close to getting Eddy to come over to Countryside, and when the Deer Park pastor was made aware of that, this was bound to happen.”

Albert shook his head. “We are in solemn times. In times like these, the Jesuits will do anything to stay in power.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. Here was this idea that a Jesuit-controlled pastor murdered one of his elders because he wanted to go to another church. I was not the only person to witness this. My wife was next to me, as was Darla. This is perhaps a very embarrassing memory, and one that will be disputed by some, but the truth is that information was exchanged about the death of Eddy at the hands of Pastor Harry. A bold assertion.

“He’s a Jesuit. There’s no doubt about it.”

How I had grown tired of hearing the word Jesuit. I had never imagined that it would become such an obsession. Is this what living far out in the country and not having anything to do does to a person? Was I seeing the fruit of Auntie Ellen’s pastoral life message? It seemed that, in today’s modern life, there was nothing to keep one busy, so all sorts of strange beliefs could come up and there was time to dwell on them. I was not the most religious person previously. Was this religion? Was this what I had missed out on by being “in the world?” It was starting to seem like it. Is this what I really wanted my child to be raised in?

I thought back to my decision to leave Ukraine. I thought about the indecision I had. The intense sadness I felt at the airport when it was too late to go back. I thought about the plane flying over Kyiv, and the city below being obscured with clouds. Would I ever go back? Why did I leave? For this? Is this what I left for?

Watching television was one way to escape religion for a while. The family

enjoyed watching a variety of shows in the evenings, even some shows that Auntie Ellen would probably chafe under. The news was one family favorite, and it was good to “keep updated on the world” to be ready “to run to (or stay in) the hills.”

“The old Ellen White books are not safe either,” Freddy said during a commercial. “Anything printed after the 1950s has been tampered with by Jesuits. The Ellen White books you want are the old hardcovers. At the Deer Park church, they are only giving out the new stuff. And they have that Great Hope book.” Stephen’s ears perked up. All of the sudden, the look of a demon flashed in his eyes. His eyes grew large and his fists started to clench.

“The Great Hoax is a COUNTERFEIT” he snapped. “The Adventist church and Ted Wilson are going to have to answer for that in the judgment.”

“Why is that?” my wife asked.

“They took out all the important parts of the Great Controversy and are using that book to deny the fact that the Pope is the anti-Christ. It’s watered down. They had no business changing Ellen White’s words. But they changed what she said in the same way that the Jesuits have been changing the Bibles.”

He spoke with passion. There was deep anger—hateful rage—in his voice. This topic would now be off-limits.

The Great Hope and the Clear Word Bible* were now in Stephen’s sights and they would be brought up regularly from that point on. Even to this day, when I see a copy of “The Great Hope,” I read it as “The Great Hoax.”

*Note: The Clear Word Bible, later renamed “The Clear Word” (with Bible removed) is a controversial Seventh-day Adventist version/rewrite of the Bible. It is partly controversial as it was written by one single solitary person. Not a good look!

At the time, I wondered if The Great Controversy was a bit too big of a book for many to digest. The Great Controversy is a huge book with hundreds of pages that, frankly, many don’t have the time or inclination to bother reading. Even I had a hard time with it, as I found the subject matter quite dull. Yet, to a traditionalist Adventist, this is the greatest book ever written—NO CONTEST!

Sending copies of the Great Controversy* around the country is expensive

compared to the Great Hoax… I mean hope. The subject matter in the Great Hope is also a little less ominous and is, well, more focused on hope. Well, as focused on hope as any Adventist book can be.

*Note: Ellen White’s opus, the Great Controversy, was, and still is, used far more than the Bible during these sermons. Ellen White boldly claims that she had viewed the future and that the time of trouble such as the world has never known before would be upon the Adventist remnant, who would have to flee from the rest of the world, which would blame them for the final plagues falling. This kind of “us versus them” thinking seemed to lead to extremist churches like Countryside forming and telling people that the end is nigh.

Yet, what bothered me the most at this time was that passing out the Great Hope was looked down on, but passing out Bill Hughes’ The Secret Terrorists or Enemy Unmasked was somehow better? Another book they liked was “National Sunday Law” which had less to do with Jesus and a lot more to do with fear. While the Bill Hughes books are fringe, National Sunday Law can be found in almost every SDA church and is a manual for understanding what’s about to go down, if you know what I mean. Once I explained this, everyone nodded in agreement and we enjoyed American’s Got Talent. No… Once again I was completely silent and just listened. Good Christians just listen and don’t speak up, so that’s what I did. Of course one day I would leave Adventism and write a book about this time, but that comes later. As far as these people were concerned, my silence was a form of agreement, and I imagine they were happy to be molding me in such a way.

Darla looked up from her iPad the men went on about the book. She had been enjoying a game of Subway surfers, but I imagine that the heated discussion factored into her untimely death in the Subways of Cincinnati. A perturbed look was visible on her face. I wondered if she would say something. I hoped she would quiet them down. She used to say “tone it down,” but had been doing that less and less. It’s a shame because it really should have been shut down. It should have been shut down months ago. Yet, here we all were, and things were just starting to take off.

Part IV :: Camp Meeting & Time Away from Countryside

“I have reason to believe that Pastor Harry is a Jesuit,” Albert said on one of his visits.

“Yeah?” Freddy replied.

“I was talking to Ronald, and Ronald said that he caught Harry again with his prayer beads out.”

“He can’t seem to put aside the Catholic in him,” Freddy said.

“There’s no doubt that he’s working for Rome.”

First, it was songs to Mary, and now it was secret prayer beads. I had no reason to believe that the Deer Park pastor used prayer beads. So what if he did? Do prayer beads hold a Catholic power? But, why would he be sneaking it? Caught with his prayer beads out seemed loaded with innuendo. What did all this mean? What was the end game here? Was Albert insecure about the other Deer Park church? There was no doubt that he coveted the Deer Park members. More members brought more tithe money and more power. They also brought more legitimacy. It was no secret that the Deer Park church, Countryside, and the Three Angels church were all vying for the same group of people—other Adventists.

I didn’t dare question Albert. Even such thoughts seemed wrong. Who was I to judge? The Lord knows the heart, not I. As I buried my head in Ellen White, I read how pastors are placed in positions of authority by God. They are handpicked. I was not one of those chosen ones, so I had no right to argue or question God’s wisdom on such matters. Being around the in-laws is rarely an optimal situation. I do believe that is why God commands women to leave the home and cleave to their husbands after marriage. He doesn’t tell the new son-in-law to move in with his wife’s parents. Yet, I had done that, and as I write this book, I can see how it was the wrong path to take.

The opportunity to get out came toward the end of the summer. A camp meeting

was being held in Spangle at Upper Columbia Academy. I had never been to a camp meeting nor had I been to Upper Columbia Academy, but getting out of Freddy’s hair sounded like a divine appointment.

At this point, the idea of living the country life and emulating what I was seeing in the woods of Steven’s county no longer appealed to me. Getting a job out there seemed

nearly impossible, and I had missed the previous joys of life, even if they were not right in the eyes of the ever-watchful auntie Ellen. My wife and I talked things over, and we decided it would be good to get back into missionary work. Although we had left Ukraine almost suddenly, we missed the idea of being the hands and feet of God. Therefore, at the upcoming camp meeting, we would seek out an opportunity to enter mission work once again.

At this point, I wondered if anyone would bother taking us. We didn’t do anything spectacular in Ukraine. Yet, I was hopeful. I needed to get out of that place and have my own space with my wife and child once again. Despite how much Freddy said he loved having us around, the relationship was strained, and this strange new form of religion was mixing with every aspect of life.

I remember breaking down as we packed to go to camp meeting. Freddy has always been a control freak, and he hovered over us as we packed for the weekend away. I was a wreck at this point but didn’t understand why. Looking back, I understand it, but I didn’t then. All those end times sermons about Jesuits and destruction were rubbing off on Freddy, and I could tell he was getting more irate and irritated easily. His insistence on perfection made living with him a chore. Yet, this was what he was picking up at church. Driving off onto that annoying washboard road felt good.

It would be good to not hear something negative about the Deer Park church for a few days. Whether it was at the in-law’s house or Countryside, there was something negative said about the other SDA church in town. The negativity really had a way of making us all feel down and didn’t help to bring a feeling of holiness to life. Strangely, Ellen White had written much about maintaining a happy home and life, as if angels were always watching (and they were). Yet, this didn’t seem to be followed at all. To me, this was a form of cognitive dissonance and it began to seep in. Why do we follow some

of what she says, but not other things?

At this point, we had been given stacks of DVDs and pamphlets that either

Stephen had made or that others had passed along. The NIV and other Bible

perversions were still being pushed. Many sermons featured various YouTube pastors that were not affiliated with the church.

“Those who use these other Bibles will never be able to understand the plan of salvation.” I had never heard these words outside of Countryside, but it seemed that there was an army of unaffiliated pastors proclaiming similar messages. Many were adamant about the end times, reporting on every small controversy they could muster up. Some picked at the smallest news story, showing how it was proof that the Sunday law was not far off now.

“The government is working to bring about the end of the world quickly now,” some would proclaim. Over five years later and the same message is being spread, but with little more proof that their words are correct.

“These are JESUIT Bibles!” Albert would shout at Countryside. “The New International perversion, the New King James. They are ALL worthless!”

“Some of these pastors are good, but you have to be careful with trusting all they say. They may be using a New King James.”

“It’s worthless,” Stephen hissed. He was perhaps even more vocal than Albert about the perverted Bibles. He always had some new argument against them, as if I was hiding such a Bible and reading it in secret.

“WORTHLESS!” Albert would proclaim once again, standing at the pulpit.

“Absolutely worthless.”

I wanted to grow in Christ, to be better. To do better. I was reading all I could. I had given up almost every other form of literature and was either spending my days reading from the Bible or soaking up Ellen White. I devoured her books. Patriarchs and Prophets, Prophets and Kings, Ministry of Healing, Child Guidance, Adventist Home, Mind Character & Personality, and many, many others. I loaded my mind with the compilations about Heaven, Pastoral Ministry, Help in Daily Living. At this point in life, I believed that reading Ellen White was like sitting at the foot of a prophet, soaking in all the knowledge that she had to bestow. Having someone to guide my knowledge of the Bible was, in my mind, truly priceless.

Getting back into missionary work would be a great way to give back to God for all that He had given me. It would also be a way to help ensure that my daughter would be saved from the time of trouble. Although I did not believe that Jesuits had a monopoly on the world’s power, I did believe in the end-times prophecies that the SDA church preached, and I believed that there was much truth to that aspect of Albert’s sermons. That’s one reason I stayed. Allowing my daughter to grow up with some knowledge of the truth was vital. I did not want her to be lost*. I loved her more than anything.

*Note: Later, I would read how many new Adventist parents felt this same way. Many would become ultra-traditional or conservative, raising their children in a very strict household where they would grow up with full knowledge that they were the remnant. I would read of overbearing parents that used abuse and coercion to keep their children in line. The idea of having children that would not be saved was a nightmare scenario for many parents. This idea was taking hold of me, and looking back, I can see it clearly. It is apparent in the way I had returned to the US to live in the country, obsessively read Ellen White, and try to live an absolutely perfect life. Yet, I feel that I was spared as I was never raised this way. In my heart, I have always been a free spirit that believes that a person needs freedom to choose for themselves.

I hungered for things to be revealed to me. I think that all of us do at some point. We desire to know the truth. We all want to believe that we have knowledge that others do not. It makes us feel special. Unique. For the people of Countryside, it seemed that Albert had that knowledge, and so did Bill Hughes. The truth seemed strange and outlandish, but that made it more delicious. With a truth that nobody else could believe in, it made the select few even more chosen. Like how Noah’s seemingly outlandish proclamations resulted in nobody setting foot on the ark, so were Albert’s and Hughes’. This time there would be people climbing aboard the ark, and that ark was known as HALEBOP…I mean Countryside.

Camp meeting was a good experience for me. It helped to be around people that seemed a lot less extreme (at least on the outside)*.

*Note: I had been observing that the SDA church had attracted many people from fringe backgrounds that bought into conspiracy and beliefs having to do with the end of the world. Ellen White’s visions did not help, as much of what she wrote about had to do with the imminent end of the world and a Sunday law that would lead to international persecution. Coupled with her call to flee the cities, the faith drew preppers and those who quickly subscribed to a wide variety of conspiracy theories.

Best of all, at the camp meeting, we got a lead for a missionary opportunity on the Washington coast. It involved working with Native Americans and would be a chance to have our own place once again. I loved the coast and the idea of working there sounded like a dream come true.

Part III :: New Hymnals & Bill Hughes

As stated earlier, Bibles were not the only books that had been corrupted by Jesuits. The new Adventist hymnals were also worthless. Their songs were also corrupted, and therefore, old hymnals needed to be used.

The problem was, it was hard to get one’s hands on old hymnals. The only

hymnals for sale at the Adventist Book Center were the new ones.

While pondering the next course of action towards beginning my own country living dream, the phone rang. It was pastor Albert.

Albert and Freddy spoke on the phone quite often at this point. It was a point of pride for Freddy to be rubbing shoulders with the pastor, and as they were neighbors, it made things even better. Albert relied on Freddy and Freddy reveled in the idea of being helpful. The two gentlemen spoke for a while and the subject of hymnals came up.

“You know I don’t want to use the new hymnals,” Albert said.

“I know,” Freddy answered.

“I was told that the Deer Park church has some old hymnals that are they are not

using.”

“Yeah. I remember from when I was there we used the black-covered hymnals.”

“Those are the ones I want,” Albert said.

“I can go check next week. They would probably let us have them.”

“That would be fantastic!” Albert said.

“There’s no reason why they would not give us them. They are not being used.”

“Great! Are you sure they are the black-covered ones?”

“Yes. The black cover ones. I remember using them years ago before they

changed to the new ones.”

Even more so than Albert, Freddy had a disdain for anything new. Older was always better. The older hymnals had nostalgia that the new hymnals lacked. They were from a better time. A more simple time.

I thought it interesting that a new church that seemed involved in an Adventist turf war would seem so brazen to ask the older and more established SDA church for

books.

I decided to go rest in the bedroom and let my mind rest for a while. I decided it would be good to lay in bed and read a book to pass some time. I had been given two small books written by a man known as Bill Hughes. One was called “The Enemy Unmasked” and the other was “The Secret Terrorists.” The members of Countryside were singing the praises of these books, and I was told Bill Hughes was “an incredible speaker” and someone that we needed to meet. There had been so much feverish talk about these two books amongst the members as of late I realized that I should probably get up to speed on it. Not only that, but Stephen was a die-hard Bill Hughes fan. If Bill Hughes was a band, Stephen would have been his groupie. No joke!

I opened The Enemy Unmasked and started to read it. It did not take long for me to grow uncomfortable with the subject matter. Not because I was afraid, but because it seemed so far out there. I was not sick of the idea of the material being true. I was sick at the idea of people I knew and loved actually believing what had been written on these pages. I was also sick at the idea of those who I considered intelligent about the Bible thinking that the things in this book were somehow the truth.

The subject matter of the book was quite absurd to me. And I came to realize that this was where much of the Jesuit obsession had originated. As I turned page after page, I read how Jesuits had, singlehandedly, staged every major world event since their inception. The rise of Islam was a Jesuit orchestration. World Wars I and II, the Vietnam War, and more recent wars were all Jesuit-fueled battles to assert behind-the-scenes world domination. The Jesuits had, for some reason infiltrated the Titanic, and sunk it. Jesuit power was flexed on 9/11 when Jesuits were behind the destruction of the Twin Towers in New York City. Jesuit fury knew no bounds, and with the power they had amassed over the years, they were now at the center of world domination. Leaders of various countries were said to be Jesuit puppets, with the strings being pulled in the

Vatican.

Yet, it didn’t stop there. There was more. Churches had been infiltrated by Jesuit spies. Even the smallest Adventist churches could have Jesuits in their ranks. Pastors masquerading as Seventh-day Adventists were actually Jesuits reporting back to the Pope. Any organization with any kind of power was a Jesuit-run operation hellbent on mind control, domination, and the eventual destruction of civilization. The Sunday law would come from the hands of the Jesuits, and the day was fast approaching. In some sense, it was already here!

I continued reading, out of curiosity. I found myself skimming, skipping pages, and sighing. How could intelligent and rational people believe this? Yet, I would later find out that Bill Hughes's books had been disseminated across the world, from Oregon to Africa. His adherents were numerous. The number of people he had led to Christ was legion. I felt sadness wash over me. The little church seemed so pure, so good, so reverent. Yet, was this really what Pastor Albert believed? Was this really what the friendly people imagined the world to be like? I thought back to my travels to dozens of countries and I had never seen any sign of anything remotely resembling the things that Bill Hughes wrote about on these pages. In my eyes, the world was far more complex than that. The idea of a single one-world government seemed outrageous. Yet, all the wars, all the fighting, all of the bickering—it was all staged—like a grand television show, from the Vatican. The facade continued, and only Bill Hughes had insider knowledge of what was happening.

“Pastor Harry (of the Deer Park Church) doesn’t like these books,” Albert told Freddy. “He doesn’t let his members pass them around.”

“Why not?” Freddy balked. “They are the truth. People should know the truth.”

The next Sabbath, we made our way to Deer Park. The only reason Freddy was going was to ask about the hymnals. Darla did not feel good, so Freddy wanted to get back home rather than go onward to Countryside for potluck and further study of the end times.

After the morning classes at Deer Park, Freddy took one of the Deer Park elders aside and asked him about the hymnals (it was the same elder that made fun of his wife for being absent).

“I was just asking because you guys are not using them and I know the other church needs them.”

“You know, it’s not my decision to make. But you are right. We are not using them. I will bring it up to the board at the next board meeting.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it. I know Albert is going to appreciate it, too.”

I could tell the elder was suspicious of the other church. He knew more about offshoots* than I did.

*Note: Just like Mormonism, Adventism has its fair share of offshoot churches. I don’t know how many there are, but it is numerous. An offshoot church is a church that splits off from the main denomination and brings its own ideas with it. While an offshoot is not a good or a bad thing, there are some negative attributes to offshoots which have historically included various types of abuse, strange outlandish doctrines, and power that is centralized in one or very few people. Offshoots are typically very traditional, with a strong belief that the main church they broke away from is in a deep state of apostasy.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom and then we will head out,” Freddy told me. I had already gone, so I decided to wait outside near the pastor’s study. Before Freddy entered the restroom he looked to see if anyone was around and pulled something from his pocket. It was a copy of one of Bill Hughe’s infamous books. The words “he doesn’t let his members pass these books around” repeated in my head as Freddy slipped a copy of the book behind some missionary magazines. He then darted into the bathroom.

While Freddy was emptying his bladder for the journey home, I took the book out of the rack and slid it into my backpack. Freddy came out and seemed a little giddy that he had “done the Lord’s work and helped spread the message of truth.” We went out to his jeep and made our way back to the house.

Freddy was not aware that his plans had been foiled. In his mind, he had done a good deed. The truth was, upon entering the house, I added the book back to their collection. Instead of tracts based on the Bible, Bill Hughes's books were now used in witnessing and plenty were placed next to the door to be handed out to visitors. In my mind, a spiritual battle was going on. Was it right for me to take the book back after it had been given? Yet, the pastor did not want it there. It was his church. Common courtesy would dictate that we respect the wishes of a church leader. Yet, on the other side was the idea that giving such a book—even one that I did not agree with—was Freddy's mission and it was his choice. After wrestling with it for a while in my mind, I was convinced I made the right choice.

A few weeks passed, and the green light was given on the hymnals. They would              be given to Countryside! Albert was ecstatic. It would save him a lot of money and time and the congregation would be able to sing a wide variety of songs. Talk about a win-win!

Freddy slithered into the church and gathered the Hymnals. Later, Albert came by the house to pick them up.

“It will be great to have these hymnals,” Albert said.

“Yes,” Freddy said, proud to have been an integral link in the chain to bring music to Countryside.

Freddy had been one of Deer Park’s piano maestros before changing churches, and I knew that it bothered him to see another take his place when we visited Deer Park

the week prior.

“I don’t like the new ones. They had no reason to change them,” Albert added.

Freddy nodded in agreement. Then, as the wheels turned in his head, he added,

“last week they sang songs to Mary out of the new ones.”

My ears perked up. Wait, what? I thought. There were no songs sung to Mary at church. What could he possibly mean?

“Is that right?” Pastor Albert said, with a look of shock on his face. “I’m not

surprised with what the Jesuits are up to,” he added.

He shook his head slowly as he spoke.

“Yes. One of the songs just kept repeating ‘Hail Mary, Hail Mary.’ It was very hypnotic.”

I must have been completely hypnotized because I was there the entire time and heard no such song.

“That’s what I am saying. The Jesuits corrupted the new hymnals, too. That’s why I wanted these older ones. You can’t be too careful!”

I never could figure out where Freddy got the idea that hail Mary was sung at church or why he would make something up. Why did he say this in front of us? In his mind, did he hear something we didn’t? I had never heard the phrase “hail Mary” in an Adventist song before in my life.

Yet, Freddy was beyond stubborn in all things, and would never be dissuaded. Once he “remembered” something, there was no changing his mind. I had seen it time and time again on previous occasions. I was silent, just like a good little Christian should be.

The wheels in my mind were turning rapidly, and I was wondering what to make of all this. The wheels in my mind had many more occasions to rapidly turn as the weeks progressed. As we continued to attend meetings at Countryside, more and more about the Jesuits were brought up. The Jesuits became a main focal point of sermons and discussion. I thought back to when we were new, and how the Jesuits were a byword or not mentioned at all. Now, the entire congregation was alive with Jesuit obsession. I wondered if Albert had tested the waters, to see if the congregation would be receptive to this kind of idea. I wondered if Albert’s goal was to be the next Bill Hughes. It was obvious that he looked up to Bill Hughes in a big way. Bill Hughes commanded a huge audience when he would visit Countryside.

“The parking lot was full. People had to stand in the dining room and watch him on the television. There was no room in the sanctuary. Even the mother’s room was full!” Darla exclaimed. “You really should come when he visits next. They even shut down the Three Angels* church so they could come to hear him.”

Part II :: Deeper into the Beast

“Countryside is not affiliated with the General Seventh-day Adventist conference,”

I was told.

What does that mean? I wondered. Why not?

Perhaps getting conference status was difficult. Maybe Albert had not gone to seminary? Maybe the other church had a monopoly on the area? It could be anything. Without conference affiliation, Albert’s income from the church would rely on tithes and offerings. I had given a crisp $20 bill as the offering plate went around. It wasn’t much, but it did help.

It wasn’t to say that Albert came without plenty of cash. He had recently sold a home in Santa Clarita, Los Angeles County for a tidy sum. His wife and he made their way up to Stevens County in the state of Washington and purchased land and a home for far cheaper. The difference in money paid for the new digs versus the Southern

California property was likely substantial. It was safe to say that Albert had some cash on hand. It was enough to rent a church building and begin work as a minister.

At first, I thought it was a hobby. Maybe he loves the Lord and wants to spread the gospel, I thought. After all, who was I to judge? As I stated previously, I had a lot to learn when it came to Adventism and running a church.

Having returned from missionary work in Ukraine, we were now staying with my in-laws. They had some property located a 45-minute drive from the church. And what a drive it was! After climbing in the back of my in-law’s older jeep SUV, we bounced along a dirt board that was more of a washboard than anything else. Our heads rattled as the car jolted back and forth on that crazy road. Thump thump thump went the vehicle. It was a rough road, and in the summer months, it only got worse.

I had always sworn I would never move to this part of the country, yet here we were, considering living the type of life that Ellen White fervently preached in Ministry of Healing and Adventist Home. As we made our way through the forest, I caught sight of an old refrigerator that was placed at the front of a nearby neighbor’s driveway. In red spray paint, the words spelled “a shot to the head, a thief is dead.” I wondered if the thief was inside the fridge. I don’t think anyone dared to check. Years later, that fridge still stands with its message loud and clear.

We turned down the easement road toward the in-law's property. On the way up we passed another neighbor whose yard was strewn with piles and piles of junk accumulated over decades. Broken down cards and trash lined both sides of the road, with nature vying for supremacy. This is why the land was so cheap out this way. Albert must have got one heck of a bargain.

A couple of minutes later we arrived. This was our home for the time being. It wasn’t Kyiv. It wasn’t Manhattan. It wasn’t Capitol Hill, but it was now where we were staying. Had you asked me, after law school, if I ever would have moved in with my in-laws and stayed in their back bedroom, I would have said, “no, never. Never!” Yet, now I had chosen to live up there and I saw this as the “right thing to do.” To give our daughter a pastoral life and a life with Jesus as the center was the best thing we could hope to give her in this life. So here we were!

We climbed out of the car and gathered our bibles and the leftovers from the potluck. The mountain air was crisp and clean. Above, in that big blue sky, a plane had recently flown overheard. Its contrail was dissipating in the warm atmosphere. Looking around, trees rose from the dusty earth. The part of Spring when the land becomes very dry in this part of the country was now approaching. The warm summer sun was high in the sky, and it was good to be outside.

The in-law's property was similar to the neighbor's. Freddy enjoyed tinkering with old cars, and there were plenty of them around the property. Some were rust buckets and others may have run within the last few years. Old appliances and tires rose from the dust. Old tools, pipes, tv sets, and whatever else you could picture were strewn about. To the average person, these would have just been random pieces of junk. To Freddy, these were priceless antiques. The memory of the things that he lacked in his childhood on the streets of the suburbs south of Seattle.

The home we were in was nothing fancy. Just an old trailer that desperately needed to be updated. It had been built upon over the years, with all sorts of new rooms added to what was once a single-wide mobile home. It wasn’t the fanciest place to live, but having backpacked around the world throughout the years, it wasn’t the worst place

I had stayed. The bedroom we were given worked well for us. The family worked hard to make sure we were taken care of. And there were many good memories in that home. Not all the memories were good, but there was enough love there to make it a special place in our hearts.

To Freddy and Darla, there was no other place in the world like their home. It was a true place of pride for them. They fervently believed that they would see Christ coming in the clouds over the mountain and that they would walk out to meet him on the top of those rolling hills. There were many times that we were told to get out of the city and buy a country place. As the years passed, we were told that, when the end times came, we could come and wait it out at their home. We would be free from the persecution of the last days when the Mark of the Beast was unleashed and Sabbatarians were being hunted down.*

*Note: One of the more interesting views taken by the SDA church is the fact that the Sabbath is the seal of God. I have no desire to dispute this idea, but one core belief in Adventism is that after some troublesome large world event, a National Sunday Law will be passed in which observing the Sabbath will be made illegal. As the final plagues spoken about in Revelation begin to fall, those who obey the Sabbath will be protected. 

Those who keep Sunday holy will become furious at this and start to persecute Sabbath keepers. These Sabbath keepers will have to flee to the mountains until the last of the plagues fall. This will be an emotional time of trouble for Adventists as they fight for physical and spiritual survival. At this point, Christ will stop interceding on behalf of mankind, and all of humanity will have to rely on their goodness to be saved, without Christ as an intercessor. Therefore, it is vital that we work as hard as we can today to train ourselves to be perfect for that period of time when Christ stops interceding for us and comes to gather us. One slip-up during this period will result in eternal destruction with the lost who turned their backs on the Sabbath day.

I had never liked the idea of going back to my in-law’s house to wait out the final days. This was mainly due to the fact that Freddy could be an argumentative bear at times, especially on matters of religion. I didn’t know if I could mentally make it through the end times while dealing with that. Surely, once Jesus stepped foot out of the sanctuary and stopped interceding for us, I would likely have some kind of angry thought that would bar me from Heaven. Not good!

Yet, for Albert, getting out of Southern California was seen as a blessing, and he had no qualms about proclaiming how glad he was to be out in the country. The country living message would be preached over the course of our entire time at Countryside, even though pretty much every single member of the church already lived in the country.

The truth was, I had no idea how we would afford to buy land out here. I had no clue about building a home or doing any of the stuff that was looked on highly out in these hills. My talents were not in the realm of construction or mechanics. Coming from a poor family, I knew absolutely nothing about buying property. And I was unemployed at the time. The only work I had at this moment was a small online business and website I had built that were barely covering our living expenses. The idea of buying land was a fantasy and quite unrealistic. I would need some kind of job first. The problem was, we were a little under an hour away from the nearest city. In the winter, the roads out this way were a pain in the butt to navigate, even with a four-wheel drive. We drove a 1968 Volkswagen Bug. Obviously, we had not thought this plan through to the end. Yet, we were relying on the Lord to guide us. Surely, if we were taking the

steps to do his will, He would help us finish the job. After all, Ellen White said something to that effect. “Those who make the moves to live a country life as the Lord directs will find that He will help them.” I’m not sure if Mrs. White said that or if it was another pastor, but I know I had heard it and I was relying on that at this point!

“It’s so good to see Stephen active at church,” my wife said. “He seems so

happy.”

Yes. He did. It was so different than how I had previously seen him. Not that there was anything wrong with him before, but I could tell that he felt good to have some kind of higher purpose in his life. I think that’s something that we all crave. He seemed full of life and energy. Best of all, he seemed to be in better physical shape than ever before. His diet had changed and he was losing weight. His style of dress had improved and he was taking care of himself. I could not deny that some of the things about this new church seemed a bit strange, but the way it had affected Stephen seemed to be very good. I was happy for him.

The lack of children at the Countryside church was a large reason we continued to attend Deer Park’s morning service on the Sabbath. The Deer Park church had quite a few more families and our daughter enjoyed spending time with other children. After the morning kids program, we would make our way to Countryside. Sometimes we would go after the sermon at Deer Park and arrive at Countryside for the potluck and stay for their afternoon studies.

At this point in time, Countryside was working through a study on Daniel and Revelation*. This involved a lot of end times prophecy, which was a cornerstone of the Countryside teaching. We were given a study book and joined the classes. Although I was pretty familiar with the material already, it was fascinating to hear Eric lead this class. When it came to the Bible, I had met few people with such an extensive understanding of the holy book.

*Note: The subject matter of Daniel and Revelation is a cornerstone of Adventist

theology. Ellen White stated that we should study these two books in great detail. Both are prophetic books of the Bible and unlock many end times mysteries. By

understanding these books and unlocking the knowledge from the passages, one can begin to understand future events. Forgive me if this sounds like Gnosticism. When it comes to traditionalist SDA churches, the combined study of D&R is the best of the Bible, eclipsed only by Ellen White’s book “The Great Controversy” (although many would deny this, the air time that GC gets is greater than the Bible).

As time passed, I started to see that Countryside was far different than Deer Park

in many ways. The most prominent was the insistence on going back to the glory days of early Adventism. The idea that almost everything modern was somehow corrupted was an unmistakable theme of this little church. For example, the Authorized King James version of the Bible was the only Bible that was not corrupted. Modern Ellen White books had been corrupted by Jesuits that had infiltrated the White Estate. Even the newer Adventist hymnals were of no use and should be avoided.

Yet, there was also something to be said about the reverent atmosphere. It was appealing and wholesome. Members of the church were extremely kind. It felt like one was a part of a caring family. This place was different than any other place I had been to. People asked questions and took an interest in each other. The sanctuary felt truly holy—a place where the angels would worship invisibly alongside men and women. It reminded me of a place out of a different time—clean, woodsy, and quiet.

Freddy and Darla commented on how the people at this church were far more welcoming than at the Deer Park church. When Darla was sick and missed a row of Sabbaths at the Deer Park church, one member joked to her about how she should sign the guestbook upon her return. She didn’t like that. At Countryside, there was none of that type of jesting. People seemed to understand.

“Look at this,” Stephen would say, showing us a pamphlet he had made.

I took it. It was a list of verses from the Authorized King James that were lacking in other Bible translations.

“These are key verses that are important to understand salvation. The Jesuits have kept them out.”

“Is that right?” I said. I was so glad that my Bible was a King James bible, as I had no desire to argue.

I mean, I could have argued that the King James Bible was not perfect, and had some errors of its own. Compared to other translations, many things were lacking. Yet, I understood that it was not a battle I wanted to get into, and arguing about religion was never appetizing to me.

I couldn’t blame Stephen for arguing this point every chance he got. It was the main focal point of most Countryside sermons. It was dropped in almost every single sermon, with whole sermons being about the dangers of counterfeit bibles such as the New International “Perversion.”

I had learned long ago that when it came to debating things with the in-laws that the first rule was “don’t.” It was best to stay quiet and nod.

“The Jesuits have corrupted every other Bible translation. They are worthless for

study and will lead to being lost.”

I wondered what the point was with the insistence on relying on only the KJV. The language seemed a bit archaic. Yet, it was pointed out that the language was not archaic if you were used to it, and it wasn’t that hard to get used to reading. I thought about my time as a missionary in Ukraine. I used to use the NIV to teach my students, as they did not understand the King’s English. Was this worthless? What about the idea that God could inspire writers of all Bibles? Would God really allow one to be lost because they studied from the wrong Bible? This didn’t seem right or just! Moreover, Ellen White used the RSV in her writings.

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.

I am free of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church and I must say that I truly love that!

My mind is no longer filled with such negativity and vile thoughts about what the works-obsessed demon god of Adventism will do to me if I don't follow every rule laid out by false prophetess Ellen Gould White!

I love that so much!!

In my last post, I talked about the crucible at Adventist Frontier Missions. I mentioned that the final game we played was one where we had to bring Bibles to some far away country and if we failed, it meant death. I mentioned that death is a prominent theme in Adventism, and today I want to explore why that is. Why is the Seventh-day Adventist religion so obsessed with death?

One of my big realizations when working under Steve Huey, Monte Church, and Native Ministries of the Washington Conference of Seventh-day Adventists was that heaven was used as a carrot on a stick. Pastor Steve Huey made it clear to me that those who questioned pastors and prophets would eventually be lost. Death is the ultimate fear that many of us face, and Adventism brands itself on having the answer and solution for death. So-called prophetess Ellen G White claimed to have went to heaven. Her estate even put together a compilation on her trips to heaven, and unremarkably titled it heaven. How did I ever fall for this? I don't know. The idea that God took such a person to heaven makes me shudder. The idea that I took it seriously and based much of my life around it makes me want to throw up.

For the last couple of years I have reflected much on what was once my beloved church. I look back, having left the Seventh-day Adventist church a year ago, and I still feel much trauma related to leaving. I have battled with the thoughts of staying silent or posting about my thoughts and experiences with the church. Being that I went through so much with the SDA church, I think it is important for me to tell my story, so that maybe someone else will be set free. The truth is, as hard as it was to come to terms with the fact that so much of Adventism was steeped in lies, nothing in my life felt as good as leaving it all behind. I have posted my story, “The Ellen White Cult” in which I discuss my past ten years as a missionary. Yet, there’s so much more to say about Adventism that it’s hard to keep it all in one book.

I served as an Adventist missionary in Ukraine, Egypt, and in the state of Washington. It was in Washington that I really started to see the dark side of Adventism. It was at Adventist Frontier Missions that I began to seriously research my way out of the church. I talk a lot about this in my book, but there is so much more to be said about it.

I have recently been ill, and for some reason I was flooded with thoughts of Adventist Frontier Missions and my time there. I thought about those who I went to class with and how, had they only took the time to look deeper into things, they too would have discovered the truth about the SDA church. It was when I was in training to become a missionary that I started to research those things we were told to never look at, namely, Ellen White and her inspiration. It took me a few months of research before I came to the obvious conclusion that she was a fraud (indoctrination will do this to you). 

It would have came quicker, but you have to realize that I had idolized Ellen White (as most of the SDA church does). We were told she was taken to Heaven, had insider knowledge of the ways of God, and could see how the world would be right before Jesus came back. She claimed to have the answers to every aspect of life, from health to how often one should be intimate. Every small faucet of life, no matter what, Ellen White had an opinion on. And the best Adventists, those who would be good enough for heaven, would follow her counsel. When I learned that she was a fraud, I was devastated, and I think there was a part of me that wanted to know that, just to be free of that prison I was in, but another part that didn’t want to, because it would mean realizing that I had wasted almost 10 years of my life—and my youth— on a religion that was a lie. 

TODAY I WANT TO REFLECT ON THE CRUCIBLE AT ADVENTIST FRONTIER MISSIONS

The crucible. We were told to not say anything about it. Why? Perhaps it was due to insurance reasons. Someone could get hurt. I think back to the last activity, when we all were taken to a little stream of icy cold water and told to move these giant beams through the water without hitting the yarn that was put in place. It was a game to bring Bibles to some distant country under the possibility of death. 

Death figures prominently in Adventism, and it is a religion obsessed with the ideas of persecution, pain, suffering, death, and being perfect. The crucible fits well with it. 

Perhaps we were not supposed to say anything about the Adventist Frontier Missions Crucible because it was a way to keep people in suspense. It’s a bit abusive, and although my experience was said not to be “as bad,” I heard stories of missionaries having to crawl through puddles in pouring rain. It seems a bit sadistic to me. But under the guise of Adventism and hastening the return of Jesus, it is normalized. The abuse we put up with…

The crucible took place over a few days somewhere in Michigan. We were not allowed to have our phones, so it’s hard to say exactly where it was. During this time we built our own shelter and marched to and fro carrying heavy beams on our shoulders as if we were Jesus Christ himself. It is uncomfortable and painful, but we were reminded over and over again how westerners “idolize” comfort. Of course, nothing is said about the comfort that Ellen White lived in, how she had servants and lived in a mansion. But that was the prophetess, and we are not her. Our task is to take Adventism to the world and elevate her posthumously. 

At the end of the crucible, we sat in a circle back in Berrien Springs and discussed it. At the time, I enjoyed it. I like getting out of my comfort zone. I like games. I like strategy. I was asked what the meaning was, and I said, “the real crucible is going back to how things are.” I don’t know if anyone understood what I meant, but what I did mean was that the SDA church is a cruel and heartless organization where you are expected to be damn near perfect at all times. If you stray from this ideal, you will hear about it, and you will probably not be saved. That means no heaven for you. Ellen G White made this known in her many books, letters, and articles. 

At the beginning we were taken by bus to a grocery store and told to buy things with various groups we were placed in. Most of the food was basic, but some things we purchased were donuts and other treats. These were for the leaders, not for us. In fact, one thing that does stick out in my mind was how one of the leaders threw the donuts into the fire rather than letting us have them. I found this to be a waste of food and kind of rude, but some love such psychological games. Adventism itself is a psychological game, calculated to bring out feelings of fear and inadequacy. You are told you are “never good enough” and that heaven is always out of reach. Keep giving to the church and maybe, just maybe, you will have a hope of getting in (Did you know that the SDA church is one of the wealthiest denominations, and that’s not because it’s chosen by God as they would have you think).