The Dangers of Success: My Time at a Megachurch

At the beginning of May, the editorial team of Metanoia shared an open letter to journalist David Farrier whose work over the last month has exposed widespread abuse and narcissism within one of Aoteaora’s largest megachurches, ARISE. It comes at a moment in culture where many global neo-pentecostal, megachurch movements face new scrutiny for their contribution to burnout, abuse, and unaccountable leadership. This piece continues our series in which we seek to hear from different perspectives on the various issues raised by these recent events.

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For 15 years I attended, interned with, and was a staff member of, one of Aotearoa's largest megachurches.

I loved that church, and in many ways, I still do. It was there I first felt called into ministry. It was there that my leadership potential was first identified. And it was there that I experienced some of the years I remember most fondly.

Yet, that church’s culture almost worked me into a physical breakdown. It was a pastor within it that accused me of having ‘the spirit of intellectualism’ when I challenged his reading of Revelation (he was encouraging staff to invest in gold in anticipation of an imminent global economic crash from which a one-world government would arise). And it was one of this church’s senior pastors who exercised power over me in a way that was spiritually abusive, resulting in a season of depression that included suicidal ideation.

So, with all the news surrounding megachurches, I thought I’d offer a reflection on my time on the inside of one. While there are many threads in the tapestry of a megachurch that I could reflect on, here I want to reflect on just one. In offering this reflection, my goal isn’t to beat up on the church—that’s why I’ve chosen not to name them—but rather, to help us do better, by learning from their mistakes.

“Half of New Zealand’s pastors shouldn’t be pastors.”

As a pastor, this is one of those lines that has haunted me my entire ministry. It was said by the senior pastor of this church and was justified through the belief that since most churches weren’t growing, their pastors can’t have been genuinely called by God. For those on the outside of this church, such a statement may read as remarkably obtuse. But for those on the inside, it made complete sense given the prevalence of the church’s cultural belief in self-exceptionalism.

From its beginning, this church grew quickly, and it did so in an environment where many others were shrinking. When viewed through a prism tainted by prosperity doctrine and the church growth movement, this growth resulted in a belief held by church leaders that they were uniquely called by God and specially blessed; they were the exceptional ones. 

In the early days, a certain kind of humility held this self-exceptionalism in check. However, this quickly disappeared when they purchased their building because they now had a concrete sign of growth and the edifice to prove it. What subsequently emerged was an unrestrained culture of self-exceptionalism resulting in that quote that has haunted me for years: “Half of New Zealand’s pastors shouldn’t be pastors.”

This culture of self-exceptionalism is not unusual for megachurches. It surfaces when their visible signs of success are interpreted through the prism of prosperity doctrine, resulting in a belief that they, and their style of church, is uniquely favored by God. When this assumption becomes embedded within a church culture, its effects are widespread, as it shapes everything from the nature of inter-church relationships, the treatment of staff and volunteers in the pursuit of excellence, and how they respond to external voices and internal critique. 

Exceptionalism has the same problem as perfection; any change can only be a change to move away from the exceptional. As this belief began to sink deeper into the church’s psyche, the church increasingly limited both the influence of outside voices and the power of those on the inside who offered critique. I saw this first hand in both their approach to external bible colleges. In its early days, the church reluctantly accepted the need to use outside bible colleges to train pastoral leaders. However, around the time the church property was purchased, this reluctant acceptance was replaced with fear-based misinformation about them. The number of times I heard people being actively dissuaded from studying at an established theological college through claims their faith would go ‘dry’, or that they would lose their faith entirely, is simply too many to count.

Stories like this, and there are plenty, point to issues of power imbalance within the church’s leadership. But the thing behind those issues was a culture of self-exceptionalism; a culture that required them to resist outside voices or internal critique all so they could remain ‘on course’ and in God’s blessing, both for the sake of the church and the nation.

During this time, there were rumours of upset people, of those who were once on the inside but now on the outside and claiming to have been hurt by the church. But those voices were never allowed in, and the rumours that made it through were dismissed as coming from “disgruntled former employees” whose criticisms were therefore invalid. In the absence of actual complaints, while being in the presence of a pastoral incarnation of the exceptional church, few, if any, questioned the narrative.

The problem was that this mass self-deception, along with its attendant culture and use of power, was causing mass harm. As the infamous Mark Driscoll saying goes, there was a growing pile of bodies behind the bus; bodies I was soon about to meet.

I was called into a senior pastor’s office where I was questioned by her and two others about my commitment to ‘the vision’. I didn’t realise it at the time, but this was coded language. It didn’t refer to the vision statement as I thought, but rather, to the unquestioning support of church leadership. Because as it turned out, the reason why I was being questioned was that I had been raising questions.

One such question was regarding the decision to cancel an outreach ministry because its $100k cost was too great, all while $130k of capital expenditure was added to the same budget for improved projection equipment. I first queried this with my lead pastor who suggested I raise it with the head of finance, which I did. The head of finance’s response was to say, “This is just how we do things here,” and then report my question to his up-line. This question was added to my file and subsequently used against me in this meeting 3-years later. Because, while this meeting was ostensibly about me being ‘on board with the vision’, it was in reality, an attempt to shuffle me out. My question challenged what had been determined as exceptional, and asked for change in an environment where there was no appetite for change. This hidden motive later became clear as, after concluding that meeting with a shared commitment to check in three months later, I was made redundant in two.

It took me years of professional help to process the various forms of spiritual abuse I experienced during my final years at that church. And now on the outside, I have met many others who also have similar stories to tell; stories in which professional help was needed to bring healing to the wounds inflicted by church leadership, and stories of time away from ministry to ‘detox’ from their time there.

The irony is that this underbelly is the result of the church getting exactly what it strived for and prayed for: growth. But growth in the absence of humility enabled the creation of a walled garden, a garden in which self-deception could flourish and snag many with its brambles. This irony is a frightening one, for we are all prone to allowing pride to overtake our humility when success comes our way, and we are all prone to self-deception. This means that the story of this church and its leaders could easily be ours, unless we intentionally position guardrails to protect us from the deceit of self-exceptionalism. Guardrails that include: critical self-reflection on the assumptions that we may have unknowingly internalised; embedding structures of honesty and accountability into our organisations before things go bad; and acting to ensure that there is always space for internal critique and outside voices.

I now work as a pastor at a church within a wider denomination. In this setting, there is clear pastoral accountability to the congregation and congregationally elected elders. And through the wider national and regional associations, I have others who I can welcome into my life and church, trusting them to speak freely. These structures have been a gift that’s sustained my being in pastoral ministry long term.

It’s right to grieve the stories of pain that are arising from various parts of the church, I certainly do. But as broken as the church may be she’s still beautiful. So please, don’t give up on her. Instead, join me in learning from the mistakes of others, so that we might be better, and serve Christ through bringing healing to his bride.

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Cameron Jones is Lead Pastor at Village Baptist Church, Havelock North.