The Black Collar Crime Series relies on public news stories and publicly available information for its content. If any incorrect information is found, please contact Bruce Gerencser. Nothing in this post should be construed as an accusation of guilt. Those accused of crimes are innocent until proven guilty.
Rafael Cuevas, pastor of Casa De Oracion Y Adoracion, Inc. in Jacksonville, Florida was arrested in 2021 and charged with two counts of sexual battery and six counts of lewd and lascivious molestation against a victim under 12 years old.
A Jacksonville pastor has been arrested on multiple counts of sexual misconduct.
Rafael Cuevas, 53, was arrested Wednesday and charged with two counts of sexual battery and six counts of lewd and lascivious molestation against a victim under 12 years old.
According to the arrest report, authorities received reports that Cuevas had been molesting a child for four years with the last incident being in June 2020 and the first being in 2017.
Investigators found that the victim was under 12-years-old during the four years of the alleged abuse. The child told detectives that Cuevas would molest her four to five times a week, the arrest report says.
The child also told authorities that the molestation occurred in multiple locations including the church where Cuevas was a pastor and inside of his truck, the arrest report says.
During the investigation, a second child spoke with detectives and reported that Cuevas also molested her on multiple occasions.
Investigators attempted to speak with Cuevas but he declined to be interviewed.
Cuevas is currently being held in jail with no bond.
Yesterday, Cuevas pleaded guilty and was sentenced to twenty years in prison.
Rafael Cuevas will serve 20 years in Florida state prison and have to serve 10 years of probation after his release.
This was part of a negotiated plea deal, meaning the other charges against him will be dropped. He will also be designated as a sexual predator by the state.
According to the arrest report, authorities received reports that Cuevas had been molesting a child for four years with the last incident being in June 2020 and the first being in 2017.
Investigators found that the victim was under 12-years-old during the four years of the alleged abuse. The child told detectives that Cuevas would molest her four to five times a week, the arrest report says.
The child also told authorities that the molestation occurred in multiple locations including the church where Cuevas was a pastor and inside of his truck, the arrest report says.
During the investigation, a second child spoke with detectives and reported that Cuevas also molested her on multiple occasions.
For some unknown reason, none of the reporting news agencies named the church Cuevas pastored. An Internet sleuth by the name of Marshall Yancey tracked down the church’s name:
Shame on news agencies and law enforcement for not making the church’s name known. The public, along with past/present church members, deserves to know that they have a predator in their midst. Based on the church’s state filing, it looks like the church was likely a small church or house church. Just remember, ANYONE can start a church.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
The Black Collar Crime Series relies on public news stories and publicly available information for its content. If any incorrect information is found, please contact Bruce Gerencser. Nothing in this post should be construed as an accusation of guilt. Those accused of crimes are innocent until proven guilty.
Randy Boston, a former teacher at West Chester Christian School in West Chester, Pennsylvania, was recently sentenced to twenty to forty years in prison for sexually molesting a first-grader in 2007-2008. West Chester Christian is a ministry of Bible Baptist Church — an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) congregation pastored by Dan Brabson. According to Boston’s LinkedIn page, he was a youth director at Bible Baptist and a junior high teacher at Immanuel Christian School in Hazelton, Pennsylvania for years. I was unable to independently verify these claims.
A former teacher at West Chester Christian School was sentenced by Chester County Judge Patrick Carmody to 20 to 40 years in state prison for sexually assaulting a first-grader in 2007 to 2008.
Randy Boston, 65, of Shickshinny, was convicted by a jury in August of involuntary deviate sexual intercourse with a child, unlawful contact with a minor, corruption of minors, and related charges by a jury in August 2022.
West Chester Christian School is a small, private K-12 religious school.
“Randy Boston used his position of power and trust to abuse this child for his own depraved sexual gratification,” District Attorney Deb Ryan said. “He preyed upon an innocent and defenseless child, and as a result, deprived this victim of a normal childhood.”
….
Boston’s lawyer, Evan Kelly of West Chester, argued during the trial that the victim’s testimony was inconsistent.
According to statements made in open court, in June 2021, West Goshen Township Police received information that a 21-year-old victim was sexually abused by the defendant when the victim was in the 1st grade at West Chester Christian School on Paoli Pike. The defendant was a teacher at the school from 1979 to 2008.
Investigators learned that the defendant ordered the victim to follow him to the basement before school one morning after witnessing the victim stick his tongue out at another student. The defendant took the victim to a room, where he shut the door and told him to remove his belt and pull his pants down. The defendant performed oral sex on the victim before telling the victim to perform oral sex on him.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
I have always been a sensitive girl, and life hurts. Life hurts me at every twist and turn. Not because of the screaming, people throwing things, overturning chairs, slamming doors—not because of the violence and heartbreak and tragedy I grew up with, even though I saw one small tragedy after another for so many painful growing-up years. No, it’s not because life sucks that I hurt. It’s not even because of the things people tell me about myself. Well, maybe that’s part of it. But what hurts me most of all is realizing that the world I trusted to keep me safe and secure from evil doesn’t even know me, and I have no protectors. Nobody understands. I am truly alone in the universe, just like everyone else is. For me, the hurt of wrecked illusions is a pain that pierces the core of me, the place where thought and feeling and emotion struggle for a voice, and this pain goes deeper and deeper until I want to die. I can only curl up with my head in my knees, feeling slow tears slip through my hair, wishing to God that I wasn’t so sensitive. Sensitive. What does the word even mean? Can I stop being sensitive and grow a backbone and not care about my feelings anymore? How can I stop hurting and letting life stomp all over me? Since when did life have to kick me in the face, anyhow? Who am I?
In my early years, I gave in to every emotion and cried all the time, about nothing, about everything. My rebellious, defiant, tantrum-throwing stub of preschool self was thrown behind locked wooden doors, pounding and shrieking, out of my mind, losing control. Thrown back behind the doors to cry it out alone. Whipped up and down with a belt buckle. Sometimes, I didn’t understand why I went crazy and shrieked and screamed and threw myself on the floor. It just happened and there didn’t seem to be any way to stop. I felt very crazy and ashamed of myself as a tiny girl with huge emotions. There were these three stages to the end of any bad day: the crying, the screaming, and then the punishment.
I was raised as a fundamentalist Christian and taught about Jesus from the start. The older I grew, the more intense the Christian talk became. Teachers and parents begged me to ask Jesus into my heart. They said it would be a gift to my mother on Mother’s Day, a gift to Jesus on Christmas. By the time I was seven, I had heard those childish altar call requests about a thousand times. By the time I was ten, I couldn’t resist the call of Christ anymore, and I was baptized. Really, I had been privately struggling with the huge and scary doctrines for several years, trying to fit them into my big little-girl mind, and nothing seemed to work. I was a sinful girl, but Jesus died to save me—whatever that meant. So I asked Jesus into my heart. I read the tracts and my Adventures in Odyssey Bible and I thought about Hell and the Rapture all the time. I served myself communion when no one was looking. I prayed when my anxious little stomach twisted in knots of fear. Still, I was getting bigger, and my spiritual responsibility loomed before me, as I reached the point of no return—the Age of Accountability.
“You must believe in Jesus,” the people told me, their faces so serious and stern that I was scared. My parents. My brother. My Sunday School teachers and AWANA leaders, when they were done with the fun and games part of church. They wanted me to get spiritually serious. But I was a silly girl—they called me Her Silliness. I didn’t understand, and it made me upset. I just wanted to laugh and joke and make my friends happy, so they would laugh and joke as well. I wanted to run and be silly and throw sofa cushions, break candy piñatas, throw parties, run through the sprinkler. Why did I have to be serious at the end of it all? I tried to put my jokes into their serious spiritual discussions, but sometimes, they rebuked me for it, and that just ended in hurt and pain.
Why must I be so serious? They said they didn’t know what was going on in my mysterious little mind.
Being Serious was a strange business. Though I loved to laugh, to be silly and giggle and play pretend, as I grew bigger, being serious held a strange and deep fascination for me. So I started being serious when nobody was around. So serious they’d be shocked. I was very private and alone and serious behind my silly façade, and this side of me, also, I felt I must be protected from adults. They couldn’t know who I was inside.
When I listened to Mom’s Christian songs, this part of me that was mystical and strange and serious bubbled up like a fountain from a pool, and I shivered all over. Deep down, I was just thinking about me and how good it felt to be serious, but the music was my only connection with these high-flying feelings. I loved music—Christian music, radio pop songs, silly music, all music. The music made me feel and feel and feel.
Even then, I was looking for the beauty in song, in story, in film, in laughter, to fill me up like a cup and turn on all the lights in my darkening mind. I was a sensitive girl and clutched at any emotion, all emotion, wanting to feel and feel deeply. Needing to feel.
Now, I know the end of the story. That little sensitive girl who just wanted to stare at the sky from the windows of her mother’s car and listen to music and feel—she was never part of the plan for salvation. She would use anything to fill up her sensitive neediness, so she clutched at religion, though she was years from learning what this religion really meant to her. She was manipulated and pressured into accepting religion at a young age, leading to an excruciating teenage faith crisis that stripped her illusions as raw as exposed wire.
So slow is my tomorrow, gone to sorrow. I will forget who I am and breathe out a prayer of dishes. What do you know? The sun may find me running into a thousand other suns and the moon will crack like a magnifying glass and what do you know, not where the sun has been dancing on her stick the wall above my bedside swims with vacant colors. At night there was a storm and I spilled my water when I was too thirsty. Numbly I prayed for salvation, begged not to die and go to hell tonight. Fearful as a child, creeping around in the darkness. Flashes of light and rain fused to air and I was alone and so alone dreaming of drifting from the tropics to Antarctica on a map as flat as a rock. We have loved the slow snow at the windows and fell into piles of swans and leaves. On the dawn you breathe your storms of eyes into the stillness that always pervades your mind and keep it up and keep it up and keep dancing because you will dance your evergreen death in a million light years the ballet of lines on pages serenade your old selves all you can ever hope to find the syncopation of the rhyme you can’t grasp like old puppet shows. Dancing blues. Dancing like the walls and floors dance. Dancing like the apricots in heaven dance from the leaves of the trees. Me and you. Dance in the greyhound station forever and I pray they never stop and I pray you never stop and kiss me before bedtime every night and sleep on my dog bones and serenade my flowers to unopened grandeur and the sugar flower on the map of time will keep it up till the dawn of all that you’ve not been feeling and get rid of the bugs and write your sorrows into the people friendly people persons on the road to the universe of muddy footprints joy in the living night that swallows the embryonic moon from the highway…
The AWANA club is run by a guy named Mr. Zeto who has a long white beard. He has a big red handkerchief that he mops his nose with, and that’s gross. Every week he calls up two kids to hold the flags—the American flag and the AWANA flag. We have to sing a dumb song about AWANA every week and shout, “Youth on the march!” louder and louder, until he’s properly satisfied. He can’t sing at all. Reminds me of a robot. Mr. Zeto really doesn’t like kids, but he wants them to know Jesus and memorize their Bibles. He says if you ask Jesus into your heart you go to Heaven when you die. Mr. Zeto angrily surveys our toes which aren’t lined up correctly on the masking-tape line. I am usually scrunched almost to the point of invisibility within the smashed-up line of sweaty big kids. He screams at us loud and nasty to put our toes on the line but our toes never quite satisfy him. Yelling yelling yelling.
But my mommy and daddy are always waiting outside the door for me. When Mr. Zeto is done yelling at us, we can go home. I like talking to my mommy and daddy on the car ride home. I feel happy and peaceful now that there is no more noise and no more dodge ball for another week. The world is dark and loose and coming apart with stars. There are streaks of light in the rain around every passing street light and I am small, small, small. Small before the timelessness of history and Noah’s Ark and Adam and Eve and Jesus dying on the cross and all the distant dark obscure things of the past I’ve just learned about. Smaller than anything I could imagine. Like I’m always looking at myself through a telescope. I am far away. And moving farther away. They say I am like a big girl trapped in a little girl’s body.
I want many things. I want there to be another short girl at AWANA who will understand me. I want Mr. Zeto to take a train (peanut brain!) I want to spy on everyone. I want paper dolls and lollipops. I want to understand this thing about there being a little Jesus in my heart I can’t see. I guess if He’s in my heart he’s out of sight pretty much and you can just keep him there like a paper doll in a paper dollhouse and you don’t have to worry about Him falling out. Once you sign the back of the tract he’s there to stay. I like to read the tracts they have in a big box on the wall. They say things like Does God Really Care? and there are pictures of ladies with haunted-looking eyes staring at the stars and forgotten gravestones that have the inscription Forgiven. I feel like that haunted lady but I am a very little girl and they say I am too young to make a faith decision. I feel very still and solemn but there’s a part of me that scrunches shorter and shorter on the line where I am properly hidden and within my own mind.
When I am first to come at AWANA that is best of all. Then I make up plays with myself and act them out in the darkened church sanctuary. Dark, wide, empty, fathomless. So empty empty empty of short people and tall people and Mr. Zeto and the rest of the folks. There’s only God in there but you can’t see him. You aren’t allowed to climb under the stacks of chairs or play the piano or run on the stage. But nobody stops you from running alone.
I am the dark center of a flower of darkness. Everything is the same. It is like before God made the world and there was nothing but water and dark and no sin at all.
Run, twirl, fall down, sing a song, live and die, listen, spin, spin, spin…
There is no freedom like being alone in the sanctuary.
But there were other church basements. There were other long Sunday and Wednesday nights learning how to be a good evangelical girl. Time may come and time may go, but there will always be church basements. Water damage, spiders, corners, kids, adults. And me.
When I was fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen, I was looking across the parking lot of a church called Fox River Lutheran. When I was sixteen, I was on my own there. My parents had stopped going to the church, but I still went to the youth group on Sunday nights. They played songs to the beat of a middle school girl band thumping and clunking and half-singing and giggling their way through bland top 40 worship hits. I still went to the youth group and I couldn’t tell you why. I didn’t like the church at all. But I wanted to go to that youth group and I came clawing for redemption and God time and time again.
There was a ping-pong table and a pool table and that whatever-you-call-it game you play when you’re bored in the church basement at youth group. But the middle school boys were obnoxious and got on my nerves. One of the kids got up when I decided to eat at his table. I must have smelled bad or something. But I kept going.
Looking across the church parking lot, there were cars flying by in the darkness. And the field behind the church was darkness. All was darkness with faint streaks of light and I was cold. And I didn’t want to play games with the other kids. They beat each other with dodge balls and captured the flag and played four-square endlessly till I couldn’t stand it. I just wanted to sit outside their games. I wanted to watch the sun spilling over the clouds like an over-filled pot of spaghetti and write in my journals and make up a story. I always made up my best stories when I was watching other people and ignoring them from the sidelines.
I was alone and afraid and confused. I was doubting. I felt distorted, warped, stricken, conflicted, tearful, isolated. Contagious. Different. Unsaved. Not understanding. Not yet.
All the church seemed to preach about was Donald Trump and conservative values. But I was years from myself. Flung into a deep, solemn, half-redeemed night of adolescence. The smallness and fragility of my sixteen-year-old soul was lost from church basement eyes. I was short and not popular and I was peculiar. I didn’t know what to think. Stars and grass and alone and my parents and me. And me. I came to test who I was. And I don’t know. I lost track. Weeks turn to months and years. And scribbled poems. And church basements.
Somewhere along the line, I realize that I am not a conservative anymore. I can’t even remember how I used to think. How I used to understand.
Churches we were years from understanding. The stretches of road leading to this church and that church. My childhood, on the road to church. On the road to redemption. Christian radio droning away. Voices of my friends. A sanctuary of peace and light. Hope. Hope. Faith. Let me never end. I want to be everlasting. I don’t want to die. Don’t want to go home. Want something of my own. Want my reflection in these windows. Give me this.
Give me this.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Several weeks ago, Evangelical troll Victor Justice shockingly alleged that I tried to murder my father’s wife. Is Justice right?
In April 1972, my Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) parents divorced after fifteen years of marriage. I was fourteen. Both of them remarried several months later. Mom married her first cousin, a recent parolee from the Texas prison system. Dad married a nineteen-year-old girl with a toddler. Dad had met her at the local dirt track — Millstream Speedway — where she was the trophy girl.
My younger sister and I lived with Dad after the divorce. My younger brother lived with Mom for a time, though a few months later he returned home due to the danger and volatility in Mom’s home. We would, over the next four years, move between Dad’s and Mom’s homes as children of divorced parents often do. From the time of their divorce in 1972 to when I went to college in 1976, I lived with Dad three times for about twenty-six months, and with Mom three times for the balance of the time, save for living my eleventh-grade year with a family in the church we were attending when Mom and Dad divorced. I was living with Mom when I left for Midwestern Baptist College in August 1976.
Dad brought his new wife into our home, thinking that she would become our new mother. While I cannot speak for my siblings, I can say that this was a gross miscalculation on my father’s part. I didn’t need a new mother, I already had one. She was nineteen and I was almost fifteen. In three years, I would be in a serious relationship with a woman her age. (Please see 1975: Anita, My First Love.) There was no chance that she could EVER be my mother. As a result, we never bonded. This led to an adversarial relationship between us. She was thrilled when I moved home to Ohio to live with my mom; but not so thrilled when I moved back.
In March 1972, Dad abruptly informed my siblings and me that we were moving to Tucson, Arizona. We had no say in the matter. Overnight, Dad had our household goods auctioned off, packed up his two cars, and moved us in the night to Tucson. After arriving in Tucson, I learned that the real reason that we moved is that Dad had creditors chasing him — a scenario I experienced most of my young life. Dad was a wheeler dealer and could be, at times, a con man. As a district manager for Combined Insurance Company, Dad embezzled $10,000. Dad was investigated by the ATF for illegal firearm sales, and was even investigated by the FBI as a possible suspect in a bank robbery (which was unfounded). Throw in unpaid rent, utilities, and other debts, and life was definitely “interesting” for the Gerencser children. When people ask me if I moved a lot growing up because of Dad’s job, I reply, no, we moved all the time because Dad didn’t pay the rent.
After settling into our new home in Tucson, I set about carving out a new life in the desert. During the week, I was a tenth-grade student at Rincon High School. This was the first school where I experienced racial diversity. On Sundays and Wednesdays nights, I walked to the Tucson Baptist Temple to attend services. Neither my father, his wife, nor my siblings attended church. I tried to avoid interaction with my dad’s wife, but conflict was inevitable.
Bruce Gerencser, 1975, Sierra Vista, Arizona
One Sunday, I came home from church and walked into our home. Dad was working on Speedway Boulevard selling carpet. His wife and I had words. I don’t remember what the issue was. It didn’t matter. We always had words. All of a sudden, my dad’s wife picked up a leather belt and hit me in the face. I retaliated by picking her up and throwing her into a cement block wall, knocking her out. I left her lying on the floor and walked to where dad worked and told him what happened. He rushed home and took his wife to the hospital. She had a fractured back.
I could have been arrested for assault. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. Neither my dad’s wife nor I talked about the incident afterward. Both of us understood we were wrong to do what we did. Our relationship changed after that. We both stayed away from each other. A couple of months later, I moved back to my mom’s home in Bryan, Ohio. By the time I returned to Arizona in November 1974, Dad and his wife had moved to Sierra Vista. I spent very little time at home, busying myself with my job as a stock clerk for Food Giant, church three times a week and working a bus route on Sundays, and roaming southeast Arizona with my girlfriend. I also worked part-time at my dad’s gun store and manned Dad’s table at various gun shows. My life was busy, which was good, since it meant I spent very little time with Dad’s wife.
In the fall of 1975, I moved back to my mom’s home. Outside of my marriage to Polly in 1978, I would not see or speak to Dad’s wife again. We had a brief email exchange in the early 2000s, but I have no recollection of what we talked about.
Was it wrong for me to throw my dad’s wife into a block wall? Absolutely. I am grateful that I didn’t end up in jail. All of us do dumb things; things that can have catastrophic consequences. On my dad’s wife’s part, hitting me in the face with a belt was child abuse or assault. What happened was the result of a hostile relationship driven by anger. Both of us were lucky to avoid the consequences of our behavior.
Did I intend to murder my dad’s wife? Of course not, and it is absurd to suggest otherwise. Could my actions have caused her death? Absolutely. That’s what happens when anger and rage take over. When passions are enflamed, anything is possible. I visited numerous murderers in local and state prisons. Most of their crimes had a flash point. One boy killed his dad over an argument they had; another killed his friend with a shotgun because they had a disagreement over who should pay for a pizza. We humans can do awful things when sense and rationality go out the window. If I learned one thing it is this: when you find yourself angry or enraged with someone, walk away. Don’t put yourself in a position where something tragic could happen.
An attempted murderer I am not. There was a time when I was a young, temperamental boy who was placed in living situations that were challenging and difficult. The adults in my life were, for the most part, AWOL, leaving me to fend for myself. Even my pastors paid very little attention to what was going on in my life. That’s life, is it not? That’s why it is crucial that children have loving parents who are there for them. Not helicopters, but a guiding presence as they navigate life. My parents were broken from the start, as was their marriage. They did what they could, but their dysfunction had real-world consequences in the lives of their children. I have made peace with my past, and have tried my best to be a good husband, father, and grandfather. Without a doubt, I have failed many times. All I know to do is learn from my past and do better today.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Rarely does a week go by without comments and emails from Evangelicals telling me that my life lacks meaning and purpose. Just today, an eighty-three-year-old Evangelical man named James Verner told me:
I used to be on the outside looking in, so I have a good idea of what you feel like now, much of which includes a terrible feeling of emptiness . . .
He just knows that I have a “terrible feeling of emptiness.” He doesn’t know me. He didn’t read any of my autobiographical material. Yet, he is certain that my life lacks meaning and purpose. In this man’s mind, life can only have meaning and purpose if you have a personal relationship with Jesus. This approach is typical of Evangelicals, who have a binary, black-and-white view of the world. Either you are saved or lost, in or out, headed for Heaven or Hell. This is a perfect example of us vs. them thinking; God’s chosen ones against Satan and the world.
Verner lacks imagination. Unable to see and understand peace, happiness, purpose, and meaning as a possibility outside of Jesus, he sees his life and experiences as a blueprint for others. Get “saved” and you too can have a life just like mine! Little do Evangelicals know that this is not the selling point they think it is. Why would I want to be like Verner? I like my life as it is just fine. My life isn’t “perfect,” whatever the hell perfect means. I have had a lot of pain, suffering, trauma, and adversity in my life, yet I am grateful for still being among the living. I have been married to Polly for almost forty-five years. By all accounts, we have a good marriage. We deeply love one another, and more importantly, we really like each other. We are best friends who enjoy one another’s company. We are blessed to have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren — ten girls and three boys. (I love using words such as grateful and blessed. Drives Evangelicals nuts. Why? In their minds, there can be no gratefulness or blessing without Jesus.)
My life and that of countless atheists, agnostics, pagans, and other non-believers repudiate Evangelical claims that having purpose and meaning in your life requires a salvific experience and relationship with Jesus. We are undeniable proof that it doesn’t.
So to the Verners of the world, I say this: I don’t want nor do I need what you have. If you need God/Jesus/religion to give your life meaning and purpose, that’s fine. I am a live-and-let-live kind of guy. Whatever floats your boat, right? You will search in vain on this site for a post written by me that tells people how they should live their lives. I spent fifty years in Evangelical Christianity. I have had my fill of preachers telling me how I should live my life. I have no interest in telling people how they should live.
I am sure that the Verners who frequent this site are befuddled by my unwillingness to drink their flavor of Kool-Aid. They can’t imagine a life worth living without their peculiar version of Jesus. And make no mistake about it, they love, worship, and adore a Jesus that they have shaped and molded into a being that meets the felt needs of their lives. There is no singular Jesus. That’s why there are countless Christianities with their attendant deities.
Let me conclude this post by talking about why Evangelical Christianity doesn’t appeal to me; why no amount of pleading, argument, prayer, or Jesus himself showing up on my doorstep will facilitate my return to faith. Evangelicals have written thousands and thousands of words and prayed countless prayers hoping that I will see the light. That ain’t going to happen — ever. Why? Christianity doesn’t make sense to me. (Please see The Michael Mock Rule: It Just Doesn’t Make Sense.) I am a rational man. To quote atheist firebrand Matt Dillahunty, I want to believe as many true things as possible. In my mind, Christianity is fundamentally irrational.
Where does a personal relationship with Jesus begin? Not in your “heart” — which doesn’t exist — but in your mind. Evangelicals believe that when a person is born from above (saved), the third part of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit or Holy Ghost comes into their lives and lives inside of them as their teacher and guide. The Holy Spirit literally talks to and moves, prompts, directs, motivates, challenges, and corrects them. How do they know this to be true? The still small voice of the Holy Spirit they hear in their heads (and to a lesser degree what is written in the Protestant Christian Bible).
This voice in their head tells them that their peculiar version of God is the one true God of the Bible; the creator of the universe; the giver and taker of life; the sovereign ruler, king, and potentate. How do they know these things are true? The voice in their head and the words of an ancient religious text written by fallible men, tell them so. This same voice — the witness of the Spirit — tells them that the Bible is inspired (a faith claim), inerrant, and infallible.
Believing that God is really speaking to them, Evangelicals read the Bible, believing that it was written by God himself through holy men of old as they were moved by the Holy Spirit (the voice in their heads). Thus, Evangelicals believe the Bible is literally true, without error. This means that have committed themselves to believing all sorts of nonsense.
Fundamentally, Christianity is a blood cult based on the fantastical claims of an ancient religious text that a voice in their heads tells them is God’s words. I cannot and will not believe such nonsense. This doesn’t mean that I am anti-religion. It does mean, however, I will not embrace a system of belief and practice that I think is irrational. Becoming a Christian would require me to deny and repudiate things I know to be true. I am unwilling to sacrifice my intellect on the altar of faith.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Like Hotel California, once you are in, you can’t get out.
Once you are saved, you can never be lost.
Once God’s hound dog, the Holy Spirit, tracks you down, you belong to God forever.
Or so says Charles Smith:
If you scour the world-wild-web for any amount of time using atheism as your search term, you will undoubtedly find pages and pages of sites laced with the famous proclamation, “I used to be a Christian.” While this may be intriguing to the seeker, desiring a glimpse at the testimony of a formerly professing believer turned cynic in hopes of discovering reasons to remain religiously repulsed by Christendom, or possibly the opposite – looking to see if their retroversion experience is sensible – one thing is certain…there’s no such thing as a former Christian.
Cultural Christianity is quite the phenomenon of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries…
After “leaving the faith,” these misguided, false-converts then find their voices in the blogosphere, social sites, chat rooms, discussion boards and every other form of digital media outlet known to man – exhaustively expatriating as many “cardboard Christians” as they can sink their flaw-full claws into. Ironically, if they would spend as much time truly investigating and begging with a contrite heart, “God, please show yourself to me!” they would discover that He is absolutely faithful to do so – and the door the Lord has once opened, can be closed by no man.
These poor misinformed “ex-Christians” were never truly reborn of the Holy Spirit of God. They followed the crowd in church, were dunked under water, consumed crackers and gulped grape juice, sang songs, talked the talk, looked the part, memorized verses and so many other religious acts, but never came to a saving faith found in a relationship with the only begotten Son of God. Like so many of their contemporaries who weren’t led to the foot of the blood-stained cross of Calvary, they never saw their sins in the mirror of the ten commandments and consequently, never realized the magnitude of their debt – owed to a God who, because of His perfect love and justice, must punish sin – and they never saw the spotless Lamb for who He was and is, the ransom payment – the sacrificial substitute – who carried their sins before the Father and said “I will take their punishment.” Their prideful hearts of stone never crumbled under the weight of such a love and therefore, they simply socialized and enjoyed the music and learned to get along. But, of course, anyone who goes through a “phase” knows, it wore off and they moved on and Jesus wept…
Let the reader understand, just as you can’t become unborn once you have evacuated the womb, you also cannot become un-born-again. It is impossible to un-ring a bell, un-cook an egg or un-kill the living. If you are a spiritual seeker, please know that there is no such thing as an ex-Christian and if you want the truth, please look in a good Bible teaching church for assistance. If after reading this you still claim to be a “former believer,” you just do not understand…
While Smith’s argument certainly might apply to cultural or nominal Christians, it falls flat on its face when it comes to people like me; those who were sincere, committed, devoted, sold-out, on fire, consecrated, dedicated, sanctified followers of Jesus. While it is quite easy to dismiss those who never really took Christianity seriously, what about those of us who did? Did I really spend most of my adult life deceived, never having come to faith in Jesus Christ? Only in the echo chamber of Smith’s mind is such a claim possible. The only way he can square his theology with the life of someone like me is to say I never was a Christian, and since theology always trumps reason, Bruce Gerencser never was a Christian.
Look, I understand. I really do. Christians such as Smith cannot fathom anyone walking away from their Jesus. Why would anyone want to walk away from J-E-S-U-S, the most awesome God-man in the world, the biggest, baddest God in the entire universe? Why would anyone walk away from a golden ticket to God’s Motel 6? No more pain, no more suffering, no more death . . . who in their right mind would turn down such an offer?
But I did, others have, and more will continue to do so. Evidently, God didn’t want us bad enough to keep us.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Polly’s father, who died two years ago, was always a hard worker, often able to work circles around men half his age. He and I got along well because we both had that workaholic drive, the need to constantly be busy and get things done. However, at the age of sixty-five, Dad was in an industrial accident that injured his back and required immediate surgery. He never walked straight again.
Soon, pain became an ever-present reality for him. Dad, having been taught that taking narcotics could lead to addiction, refused to take anything more than Tylenol or aspirin. Later in life, Naproxen was added to the mix, as was Darvocet, a drug that was later removed from the market due to serious side effects. Dad would do his best to only take what he thought he needed, often only taking half a pill or going without taking anything for several days. No matter how often I reminded him that it would be better if he took the drugs regularly and on schedule, he continued to endure the pain rather than take the drugs as the doctor ordered. Dad’s doctor eventually gave him a prescription for Tramadol, and later prescribed Oxycontin. Finally, I thought, Dad will find some relief for his pain and suffering. Sadly, that was not to be.
You see, Dad was afraid of becoming addicted. I tried to explain to him the difference between addiction and dependence, but I don’t think heard me. Having been a narcotic user for seventeen years, I know that I am physically dependent; I’m not an addict. I take the drugs as prescribed. I wish that Dad had seen that being dependent is no big deal, and that regularly taking Oxycontin would have reduced his pain and improved his quality of life. Unfortunately, thinking drug dependence is a sin kept Dad from getting the full benefit of the drug.
This is a perfect example of how Fundamentalist prohibitions cause unneeded suffering and pain. From preaching that says addiction (dependence) is a sin to viewing pain and suffering as some sort of test from God, many Fundamentalists eschew drugs and treatments that would likely improve their quality of life. Better to suffer for Jesus, the thought goes, than to become dependent on narcotics. In just a little while, Jesus is coming again . . .so endure until you see your Savior’s smiling face.
I pastored numerous people over the years who thought taking pain medications was a sign of weakness or lack of dependence on God. I watched one man horrifically suffer from bowel cancer, unwilling to take drugs for the pain. I’ve come to see that this is the Evangelical version of Catholic self-flagellation.
As an atheist, I am deeply troubled by this kind of thinking. Since I think this life is the only one we have, we should do all we can to eliminate not only our own pain and suffering, but that of others. Since there is no Heaven and no reward in the sweet by and by, why needlessly suffer? Better to become dependent on narcotics and have some sort of pain relief and improved quality of life than to go through life suffering, only to die in the end. While I certainly think having a chronic illness and living with unrelenting pain has made me more compassionate, I don’t wish such a life on anyone, especially those I love.
How about you? Were you taught that taking narcotics and becoming dependent on them was a sin? Please share your story in the comment section.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Evangelical Christians, among others, have private (personal) beliefs that people such as I consider uninteresting, intellectually lacking, or irrational. As long as they do not try to force their beliefs on me, codify their beliefs into law, or demand special treatment, I am quite indifferent toward their beliefs. I have no interest in regulating what people believe about God, Jesus, the Bible, or anything else for that matter.
However, when Evangelicals state/argue/debate their beliefs in the public space — newspapers, TV, books, magazines, Facebook, Twitter, the Internet, public meetings, etc. — then the rules of engagement change. Once these beliefs are uttered publicly they are no longer considered private and are open to criticism, investigation, debate, ridicule, mockery, and attack. People deciding to utter their beliefs in public should know this, and if they don’t, they are in for a rude awakening the first time they “share” their beliefs publicly.
As a writer, hopeful author, essayist of letters to the local newspaper, and the public face of atheism where I live, I am considered a public figure. As such, I open myself up to criticism, investigation, debate, ridicule, mockery, and attack. While I would hope people would treat me fairly and with respect, I have no right to expect such treatment and I have no recourse if someone lies about me, distorts my beliefs, or attacks me personally.
I can’t do anything about what someone may say about me or my writing on their own blog or in an internet forum. I can’t control the sermons Evangelical preachers preach about me. They can take something I have written and twist and distort it, and there is nothing I can do about it. This is the wild, woolly nature of the public space.
I wish Evangelical Christians would understand the difference between private and public. When they drag their beliefs into the public space, they have no right to whine, moan, or complain that I am attacking them and their beliefs. If they don’t want their beliefs assaulted or challenged, then they need to keep them out of the public space. As Tristan Vick said in a comment:
Someone needs to tell this caterwauling Christian that it’s people who have rights, not ideas.
Evangelicals often think that this blog is public; that they have a right to say whatever they want in the comment section. However, this blog is actually private; a site that the public can read and if they follow the rules comment on. As the owner of a private site, I have the absolute right to decide who may comment and what comments are approved. This site is no different from the churches Evangelicals attend.
If Evangelicals want to take me to task, critique my writing, or attack my character, they are free to do so on their own blogs, from the pulpits of their churches, on their podcasts, or any other medium of their choosing. But not on my blog.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
The Black Collar Crime Series relies on public news stories and publicly available information for its content. If any incorrect information is found, please contact Bruce Gerencser. Nothing in this post should be construed as an accusation of guilt. Those accused of crimes are innocent until proven guilty.
In February 2022, Sean Masopust, a youth pastor for Northridge Church in Owatonna, Minnesota, was accused of sexually abusing a church teenager. Astoundingly, the church “investigated” the accusation before reporting it to the police, sending Masopust to Kansas to “take some time off.” According to the victim’s mom, the church never told her about the incidents between Masopust and her child. Way to go, Northridge! Masopust is married to the daughter of the church’s pastor, Mark Perryman. Need I say more?
The “inappropriate relationship” between Masopust, who was the youth pastor at Northridge Church in Owatonna, and the then-17-year-old girl was reported to police on Dec. 23, 2021, the Owatonna Police Department said.
A member of the church’s regional counsel reported the incident to police after the church did its own investigation, which led to the church firing Masopust, the criminal complaint states.
According to the criminal complaint, a member of the church’s regional counsel told police last December that Masopust had a texting and inappropriate relationship with the 17-year-old girl in 2018.
The regional counsel member told police Masopust admitted to sending pictures of him in his underwear to the victim, and he has since been fired, charges state.
The victim was a member of Masopust’s and his wife’s youth group and she worked at the church’s daycare with Masopust’s mother-in-law, the complaint says.
She told police from about June-October 2018, Masopust sent her inappropriate texts and Instagram messages, including nude photos and video of him masturbating. He also kissed her and touched her inappropriately on a few occasions, including at the church and at Masopust’s home after his wife hired her to babysit their children.
Masopust sent a message to the victim in October 2018 stating they couldn’t talk anymore because his wife had found the text messages, noting the church’s pastor had sent him to Kansas to “take some time off,” the charges said. The victim’s mom told police the church never told her about the incidents between Masopust and her child.
Masopust also texted the victim on her 18th birthday, welcoming her to adulthood and apologizing “for everything that happened.” He asked for her forgiveness, adding he almost lost his wife and family and he’s ashamed of what he did.
“I’m always here and you are a big part of my wife and girls lives so I hope we can remain friends,” the text message said, according to the complaint.
The victim told police said she looked up to Masopust for a long time, noting he was her pastor in elementary school, and it felt weird to tell him no, so she just let it happen, the complaint says.
The victim said she was active in the church until her high school graduation and became active again around November 2020 when she moved back to Owatonna. Around that time, Masopust’s wife asked her to be an adult youth leader.
Masopust’s wife called the victim on Oct. 19, 2021, asking her to come to the church. She said she met with two men from the Minnesota Assemblies of God and shared her story.
The Minnesota Assemblies of God (Northridge Church is part of the Assemblies of God) shared its finding of fact with police on Jan. 24, with the documents noting Masopust had sent pictures to the victim and admitted to a “flirtatious” text message thread, as well as having “hand contact” with her with the intent of having sex with her, the complaint states.
Sean Masopust was fired this past fall, former board member Pat McCauley and other former church members say, and he’s no longer listed on the church website.
Calls to Northridge seeking information about Masopust and his employment status were not returned.
Masopust’s wife, youth pastor Felicia Masopust, was also accused of sexual abuse in a letter sent this month by the parents of a youth group member. In the letter, which was obtained by The Roys Report, the parents state their son received a sexually explicit text from Felicia in 2019.
Kayla Mollenhauer and other former youth group members say Felicia Masopust also failed to take concerns seriously when girls told her certain men in the church made them uncomfortable. They also accuse her of manipulating them and creating a cult-like atmosphere in which they were expected to tell her everything about their private lives.
Former church members including McCauley and his daughter-in-law, Shelley McCauley, say Felicia Masopust resigned from the church in January. However, the church hasn’t made any announcement regarding Felicia Masopust’s employment, and she remains listed on the church’s website.
The Roys Report reached out to Northridge Church for clarification about Felicia Masopust’s employment, but received no response.
The Roys Report also contacted the Minnesota District of the Assemblies of God to ask about Northridge and Sean and Felicia Masopust. Mark Dean, the district superintendent, said “the accusations have been investigated.”
“We have forwarded our findings to the Owatonna Police, as well as to the General Council of the Assemblies of God in Springfield, Mo.,” Dean wrote in an email. “We have no additional comment to make.”
The McCauleys and Amber Will, a former adult leader in the youth group, allege Perryman failed to notify church board members or to investigate fully when he first learned in 2018 that his son-in-law was accused of flirtatiously texting with the teen.
When Sean Masopust left the church staff, the church was told only that Masopust had committed “conduct unbecoming of a pastor,” said Shelley McCauley, another former youth group volunteer.
“The congregation has no idea why Sean was fired, why Felicia resigned,” she added.
Now the McCauleys, Will, and others, including the young woman who says she was assaulted, say they’ve been ostracized by the church.
In October 2022, Masopust pleaded guilty to fourth-degree criminal sexual conduct with a victim between the ages of 16 and 17 who he had a position of authority over. Astoundingly, Masopust was sentenced to 30 days in jail and 10 years probation. He must have received the preacher’s discount.
The former youth pastor of Northridge Church in Owatonna has been sentenced to minimal jail time and a decade of probation after pleading guilty to grooming and molesting a teenager who had been in his youth group.
Sean Patrick Masopust, 33, was sentenced Thursday morning in Steele County District Court to 30 days jail, with credit for two days already served, and 10 years supervised probation, for a felony conviction of fourth-degree criminal sexual conduct with a victim between the ages of 16 and 17 who he had a position of authority over. Masopust pleaded guilty to the charge on Oct. 6.
….
Terms of Masopust’s probation include attending and completing a sex offender treatment program, no unsupervised contact with persons under the age of 18 (with the exception of his own biological children in cooperation with Child Protective Services), no access to or use of internet without approval, no possession of any device that allows for internet capabilities or access to the internet without internet monitoring software, and he must register as a predatory offender.
….
According to the criminal complaint, on Dec. 23, 2021, a member of the regional counsel of Northridge Church reported to Owatonna police an “inappropriate relationship” that took place between Masopust and a 17-year-old female in 2018. The reporting party allegedly told police the church had first heard the “relationship” was through texting, but after some digging found that “inappropriate things” were occurring. Masopust reportedly admitted to the counsel to some of the conduct and has since been fired from the church. The reporting party said the victim was a part of Masopust’s youth group at the time of the “relationship.”
The victim and her mother met with police on Christmas Eve. The mother told police the church “never told her” about what happened with Masopust and her daughter, according to court documents.
The victim reportedly told police she began working at Sunshine Tree Daycare, located in the church basement, in 2018, while Masopust was the associate youth pastor at the time, and she was a student youth leader under his and his wife’s direction. In June 2018, the victim said the first incident happened when Masopust allegedly sent her a private message and asked what kind of underwear she was wearing.
In August 2018, the victim said Masopust reportedly pulled her from the daycare while she was working and brought her to a back hallway/storage area and began aggressively kissing her and touching her body.
On more than one occasion, the victim said Masopust allegedly sent her photographs and videos of him in his underwear, of his genitals, and of himself masturbating. At one point, Masopust sent her a message complaining about her not sending a nude photo back, and she then complied, according to court records.
The victim said she would be asked to babysit Masopust’s children, and on one occasion, he allegedly brought her to the basement and tried to gain access to her genitals and breasts but stopped when she was clearly uncomfortable.
The victim said the last incident took place in October 2018 at Northridge Church when Masopust tried to grab and hug her in his closed office, according to the report. The victim said everything stopped later that month when Masopust reportedly sent her a message saying his wife “found the messages and got upset.”
The victim said she remained active in the church until she graduated from high school but returned in 2020. According to court records, the victim said she became active in the church again and was eventually asked by Masopust’s wife to become an adult youth leader. The victim said, on Oct. 19, 2021, Masopust’s wife asked her to come to the church, where the victim said two men from the Minnesota Assemblies of God met with her and she provided her story.
According to Owatonna police, the church fired Masopust in October 2021.
On Feb. 3, Tammy Perryman, mother-in-law of Masopust and wife of the church lead pastor, resigned from her position as director of the Sunshine Tree Daycare, which is located in the basement of the church. Lead Pastor Mark Perryman, Masopust’s father-in-law, voluntarily resigned from his position on Feb. 6. Felicia Masopust, the daughter of the Perryman’s and wife of Masopust, also resigned from her position as a youth pastor.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Trolls come and go. Over the past fifteen years, countless vile, hateful, violent lovers of Jesus have gone to great lengths to harass me, not only on this blog, but also on social media and by sending me emails. Using fake names, email addresses, and masking their location, these keyboard warriors try to inflict as much psychological harm as possible. Sometimes they change their usernames, hoping I will think they are new commenters. Sometimes this works for awhile, but one thing about trolls, they will always reveal who they really are.
“My beliefs began to change in the 1990s, first when I stood against the first Iraq War, and later when I publicly rebuked Jerry Falwell and the Moral Majority for abandoning the gospel for the sake of raw political power.”
The Moral Majority was disbanded in 1989. You “rebuked” them years after they ceased to exist as a group?
Honestly, Bruce, I think that you were just going through the motions…being a “pastor”. Reading vociferously through your blog over the years, you talk about many topics. One subject that almost never comes up is the topic of work. You probably would’ve left the church years earlier had you been one with more ambition and motivation. In all likelihood you may never have went into the “ministry” in the first place. I’m pretty sure you just thought being a “pastor” was something you could do without too much effort.
Thank you for pointing out my mistake. I corrected the post.
As for the rest of your comment, it’s evident you have definitely skipped some of my writing. As my wife and children will testify, I was a workaholic for many years, often working 60+ hours a week. Ask my family how little they saw me. You must have missed where I said that I preached 4,000+ sermons, often spending 20 hours a week on sermon preparation. You also missed, evidently, that I planted five churches — not a job for lazy men. And finally, you skipped right over my secular work history outside of the church.
Your comment is a first, Jerry. This is the first time someone has ever said I lacked ambition or motivation. Since you made this comment after “vociferously” reading my blog, I assume you are just trying to be an asshole.
I’ve read your list of “jobs” many times. When I said that I’ve read through your blog vociferously, I wasn’t jesting.
Would you like to make an additional hundred or so corrections like you just graciously did? How about adding a section to your bio that shows that you’ve quit or failed at almost everything you’ve ever done throughout your entire life, Bruce?
Let’s have a conversation about some other things besides your failed “ministry”:
How’s your photography “business” coming along?
How about the book you’ve been “writing” for the last decade?
Let’s talk about you pathetic social media channels (all failures). Five years on YouTube, 4 crummy videos, 83 subscribers, and zero comments! Just let me know if you would like me to continue to recount more of your online obsolescence.
Now you’re retired…from what? Is Polly retired too? Don’t even bother answering that. You truly are a pathetic failure.
You’ve even ruined your filthy, blasphemous, blog. Your sick, demented mind needs to control every aspect of everything. Instead of having a robust and diverse conversation around your diseased ideas, you ban anyone that you can’t control. The only talent that you have, and I really mean the only one — you are a decent writer.
Full Stop.
BUT, you’ve even managed to get in the way of this with your hunger for control! So, congratulations, big guy, after years of writing you have a following of about two dozen punks, weirdos, and all of them sycophants.
That’s my apology, and You desperately need to get saved!
Thank you for being a shining example of the depths of vile moral corruption found in Fundamentalist Christianity.
I have no intent of justifying my life and experiences to you or anyone else for that matter.
You might want to rethink my blog traffic numbers, dude. Thousands of people read this blog. Add up all the traffic sources, this site sees 750,000 to a 1,000,000 page views per year — many of whom are Evangelical and IFB Christians.
I may bump your comments up to the front page. Isn’t that what you really want? You want everyone to know you put the atheist Bruce Gerencser in his place? I may grant you your deep, hard, throbbing desire.
I’m far from perfect. I’ve made lots of mistakes. Unlike you, I don’t go around shitting on people’s doorsteps.
Jesus Fucking Christ, Jerry. Get a life.
This is your final comment. I gave you a chance to be a decent human being. You chose, instead, to attack a man you don’t even know.
I should add, if you have vociferously read my writing (and I doubt you have), you have had ample opportunities to engage me and the readers of this blog in thoughtful, robust conversation. Instead, you choose to full-on attack me with your first and last comment. Why is that? You squandered a golden opportunity to advance your beliefs. Instead you decided to be just another example of an asshole for Jesus.
Good job.
Bruce
Dee did not comment again until January 2023. His first response was to Karen, the Rock Whisperer:
Karen,
[derogatory statement deleted]. If you didn’t want your mamas funeral service to be about Christ, why’d you have it at a church?
You could’ve just rented out the local bingo hall and or something. No offense. Just having a hard time wrapping my head around your logic.
Evidently, you can’t read: “my parents made their arrangements long before my mother became ill.” This is the same reason Polly’s mom’s funeral was held at a church. Her decision, and we respected it, even though we knew the service would be a hurtful shit show.
You can run along now. It is evident you have no intentions to play well with others.
Your little statement was offensive, and you know it.
Defending Victor Justice? That’s rich. The guy is a stalker and troll.
You will find I treat people with kindness and respect when they do the same. If not, I am more than happy, praise Jesus, to call them assholes and tell them to fuck off. My house, my rules. Don’t like it? Start your own blog.
Oh brother, this is your worst work yet. Although you’re a nasty bastard to anyone that doesn’t kiss your ample backside, your writing is usually solid. Grow up and be a man, leave this drama for the women and children.
I’m not sure who you think you are talking to, Bruce. Are you honestly calling me a coward? Perceiving weakness for meekness is a stupid thing to do. Just what kind of a neighborhood did you grow up in? You wouldn’t run your fat trap for long where I grew up.
You run a public blog, and I thought that I would honestly comment on what I read here. Your regular posters are saying far more insulting things than anything that I wrote. Are you going to remove it? BTW, almost all of them are using “fake” names.
If you are to fragile to handle feedback on the crap that you write, you shouldn’t solicit comments, punk! One thing I can tell you; not one of the deranged freaks making comments to me on here would EVER say these things to my face! And that goes double for you, you bearded face clown!
I could care less if you publish this or not. Just know that I’m telling you that you sound like a little girl trapped inside of a man’s body. And when you, or that sick, hate filled, bimbo is attending a funeral, just sit there and shut your mouth !
Remember you are just a guest in the church. Neither your mother in-law, or that decadent bimbo’s mother, wanted either of you planning their services. By your own admissions, they left explicit instructions for their arrangements that told you both to but out!
My house, my rules. This is not a public site. It is a private blog that the public can read and comment on IF they play by the rules. Don’t like it? Start your own blog. Of course, you won’t do that. That would take work. It’s far easier for you to be a troll, right?
Lots of Christians comment on this site. They gladly play by the rules. They respect that they are guests in my house. If you played by the rules, you would get to comment too.
You are a pathetic, misogynistic man — a true follower of Jesus. Are you a coward? Sure. You hide who you are, and even go so far as to publically attack a dear woman you do not know.
We respected my mother-in-law’s wishes to the letter. We played no part in the funeral. However, no one is going to tell us how we should feel or respond, especially someone like you.
Please work on your grammar and spelling. They are atrocious.
Is Jerry Dee actually a new troll? Maybe. Some of his comments have a Victor Justice vibe. It could just be Justice trying to find a new avenue to comment. I do know Dee and Justice use the same VPN service. Regardless, much like Justice, Dee is permanently banned. I reserve the right to post their comments from time to time if I think they could be instructive or entertaining. I would love either of them to explain these Bible verses in relation to their conduct on this site:
Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. (2 Corinthians 5:17)
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.And they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit. (Galatians 5:22-24)
Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers. (Ephesians 4:29)
Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. (Matthew 5:43-45)
I won’t hold my breath. One thing is for certain, Jerry Dee, Revival Fires, David Tee, and countless others like them don’t really love Jesus and practice his teachings. They use their faith to cause harm. In their minds, I am, along with the readers of this blog, just enemies to be vanquished.
Bruce Gerencser, 68, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 47 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
