Reconstructing My Faith: Standing Firm While Exposing Evil

How I'm fighting to reclaim my walk with God after the institution failed me

When the Dust Finally Settles

When a faith community like mine collapses under the weight of its own corruption, what’s left behind isn’t just broken trust, as awful as that is.

We’re stuck with broken hearts, broken theology, and a whole lot of people wondering what to do next.

Many have walked away. Some have stayed. And many are still trying to make sense of it all.

So many people devoted years of their life to this. It’s not so easy just to rip it all away in anger.

This final article isn’t a prescription. I’m writing it as an invitation.

A chance to stop outsourcing your faith to an institution that failed you, and begin the slow, honest work of reclaiming it for yourself.

Because the truth is, your walk with God was never meant to be handed over to men in suits with a title.

And it sure wasn’t meant to be filtered through a ministry that protects predators and punishes the wounded.

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This is the final article in this 6-part series on the failure of the 2x2 Church.
If you missed any of the first 5 Articles, you can read them here:

1 - When The Truth Breaks Your Heart

2 - When the Church Protects Power Instead of People

3 - When Form Becomes an Idol: How The 2x2 Institution Became Corrupt

4 - When Leaders Become Wolves: The Reality of Grooming and Ministry Abuse

5 - The Weight of Darkness: How Silence Became a System That Protected Predators

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This Fellowship Was Never Supposed to Become This

For those unfamiliar with its origins, the Two by Two fellowship began as an effort to break free from the legalism and hierarchy of traditional denominations.

It was NOT started by men who were trying to figure out how to create a church as a cover story to abuse children.

It was, in theory, a simple, Christ-centered return to the New Testament church as we read of in Acts.

But over time, that simplicity hardened into form. That freedom curdled into exclusivity. And that humility gave way to a hidden system of power, secrecy, and control.

The very thing that was supposed to liberate believers slowly became the same kind of structure it set out to escape, only without transparency, accountability, or oversight.

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What Do You Do When Your Faith Was Built in a House That Collapsed?

That’s the question I’ve been sitting with for the past two years.

This fellowship shaped much of my spiritual identity. It was where I learned to pray, to speak about my faith, to love Scripture.

It was also where I learned to suppress questions, ignore red flags, and confuse loyalty with righteousness.

Then the scandal hit. And the floodgates opened.

And like many of you, I found myself staring at a pile of spiritual rubble, asking:
Now what?

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Deconstruction Isn’t the Destination—It’s a Doorway

I’m not here to defend the institution. If you’ve read the rest of this series, you know that.

I’ve railed against it as hard as I can with my words and public advocacy, striving to lay bare as best I can the massive failures and the systemic hypocrisy.

But I’m also not here to tell you to abandon your faith entirely.

We live in a moment where “deconstruction” is in vogue but I’m not so sure I love that phrase.

What I’m more interested in is Reconstruction.

Not a return to the shallow certainty of habitual form, but a deeper kind of faith.

A faith that can survive fire because it wasn’t made of straw.

I don’t want a religion handed down by unaccountable men.

I want to walk with God myself.

I want to wrestle with truth, with questions, with doubts. I want to explore the Bible not as a closed system handed to me by corrupted leaders, but as a living invitation to engage the heart of God.

That’s why this final article points forward—toward a new beginning.

Toward Easter. Toward resurrection.

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Yes, I Still Meet on Sunday Morning. Here’s Why

This is the question I’ve been asked the most:

Are you still attending meetings?

Yes. I do meet with my parents in a small Sunday morning fellowship meeting.

But not in any worker-led meetings. As in, I don’t attend gospel meetings, special meetings, or conventions.

I do not and will not sit under the authority of men who have protected abusers and silenced victims.

But I haven’t walked away from fellowship altogether, because for me, there’s still value in the simplicity of gathering together on Sunday mornings in a small home with those I love.

My parents are aging. So are my wife’s. Our parents are facing serious health issues.

And in all honesty, we don’t know how many more Sundays we’ll get together.

So yes, I choose to meet with them.

Not because I support the ministry.
But because I love my family.

I remember being 4 years old, my father kneeling beside me at my bed, teaching me how to pray.

I am a Christian today in large part because of my parents’ faithfulness.

And I won’t forsake these final years of fellowship with them out of some binary view of purity. To do so would break their hearts, and harden mine.

We meet in a small, open-eyed group that shares no illusions.

My parents, who have read this whole series (Hi mom!❤️) have said to me over and over again “We stand behind you and support you 100% with what you’re doing here”.

I’m not going to demand that they uproot themselves from the community they have been a part of for nearly their entire life.

No one worships workers. No one clings to exclusivity. And there is zero tolerance for abuse or cover-up.

If I were in a group that turned a blind eye to evil or exalted the ministry, I would walk away.

But this? This is fellowship, not conformity. It’s what the early church was meant to be. Not institutional power, but shared hearts.

And I refuse to let a corrupted ministry steal even that from me.

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Finding Freedom Within Fellowship

One of my laments, perhaps one of the quiet tragedies of this fellowship is how often form replaces heart.

Over time, reverence hardens into routine, and testimonies become stitched together from familiar phrases:

“I’d like to do better in the coming days,”

“This was a warning to me,”

“That’s my desire.”

Sincere people, stunted by a system that taught them to fear vulnerability.

But fellowship was never meant to be a performance. There is freedom in speaking from the heart. There is room for deeper connection when we lay aside the euphemisms and offer something real.

Even now, in the little Sunday morning meeting I still attend, I’ve found that freedom.

I speak plainly. I pray without pretense. And in doing so, I’ve found a fellowship not built on form, but on faith. A place where hearts matter more than phrases—and sincerity matters more than tradition.

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I Don’t Answer to the Ministry. They Don’t Sit Between Me and God

Let me say this clearly: I no longer view myself as under the authority of this corrupted ministry.

They do not sit between me and God. They do not define my salvation.
And they sure don’t get to dictate the terms of my integrity.

I’ve walked with the broken. I’ve cried with the survivors. I’ve shouted until my voice cracked, demanding accountability from leaders who offered nothing but silence. I’ve given everything I have to this fight.

So if some choose to judge me for staying connected to a small pocket of nonconformist fellowship, I can live with that.

But I won’t live with abandoning the people I love for the sake of satisfying someone else’s purity test.

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To Those Who’ve Left, And Those Who’ve Stayed

This may be the most important thing I say:

If you have chosen to leave, I understand.
If you have chosen to stay, I understand.

If you're somewhere in between, wrestling with grief and clarity and conviction, I’m right there with you.

Wherever you land, what matters is this:

Are you standing for righteousness? Are you confronting evil, even when it’s costly? Are you walking with integrity… even if your path looks different than mine?

If so, I would gladly break bread with you.

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Faith After the Fire

The house may have burned down, but God didn’t.

The institution may have collapsed, but truth remains.

The hands that failed us were not the hands that formed us. And we are not bound to keep repeating their silence.

We get to rebuild. And that’s what I’m choosing.

Which is why next week, I begin a new series. A personal walk through the most important week in human history.

Not to return to religion.

But to rediscover what resurrection really means.

Because now that I’m no longer shackled by the institution, I get to open the Bible with fresh eyes. Eyes that have seen the wreckage and still dare to believe there’s something holy worth pursuing.

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What’s Next?

Resurrection After Ruin: An Easter Series

Moving forward, I’m walking through the last week of Jesus’ life in a 7-part series.

This new series is the beginning of my personal reconstruction.

Not a defense of a broken church, but a reclaiming of something far older and deeper: a personal, accountable, authentic walk with God.

Because resurrection doesn’t come before crucifixion.

And maybe, just maybe, the death of the old system is what makes room for something real to rise.

I’m not writing to preach. I’m writing to walk.

And if you're still wrestling with truth, you’re not alone, and I'll gladly walk beside you.