How to bring former Cult Members to Christ
VideoTranscript
This is the video’s transcript, lightly formatted. Tap a time to jump to that moment.
Imagine a man born blind living in ancient Jerusalem. Day after day, he sits by the roadside begging for coins, for food, for any small kindness that might come his way. The darkness that has been his constant companion since birth has also brought him isolation. Many who pass by whisper that his blindness must be punishment for sin, either his own or his parents. Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents? that he was born blind. The disciples asked Jesus that in John chapter nine regarding the blind man.
These whispers had followed him his entire life. The weight of shame pressed down on him. Not just the burden of his disability in a world not designed for the blind, but the crushing spiritual condemnation that came with it. Everyone knew that God was punishing him. Everyone knew that he must have deserved his fate. This was the religious understanding of his day. Suffering was divine punishment.
But then Jesus came walking by. When the disciples asked their question about whose sin caused the blindness, Jesus gave an answer that shattered the religious paradigm of the day. "Neither this man nor his parents sin," Jesus said. "But this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him." With those words, Jesus completely reframed the narrative. This wasn't about punishment at all. This wasn't about shame or divine retribution.
This was about something else entirely. Then Jesus did something unexpected. He spat on the ground, made mud with his saliva, and spread the mud on the man's eyes. Then he told him, "Go wash in the pool of Salom." The man went, washed, and came back, his blindness cured. But the story doesn't end there. When the religious authorities got wind of this healing, they were furious that Jesus healed him on the Sabbath.
They questioned the man, then his parents, then the man again. They could not accept his miracle because it didn't fit into the rigid religious framework. When the healed man defended Jesus, they threw him out of the synagogue, effectively excommunicating him from his religious community, which was a terrible thing for someone living back then to have to deal with. Now Jesus heard they had thrown him out, and when he found the man again, he said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" "Who is he, sir?" the man asked. "Tell me so that I may believe in him."
Jesus responded, "You have now seen him. In fact, he is the one speaking with you. Then the man said,"Lord, I believe." And he worshiped him. This powerful account shows us something profound. The religious leaders were so committed to their rules, their doctrines, their control that they couldn't recognize God's work happening right in front of their eyes. They were more blind than that man had ever been.
They were more concerned with maintaining their authority than they were with rejoicing in the man getting his sight. And when confronted with a miracle that didn't fit their theology, they rejected both the miracle and the man who experienced it. Now, I want you to hold on to that story as we talk about something deeply personal to me and profoundly important for the church to understand today. religious trauma and why so many former members of high control groups cults often abandon faith altogether when they leave. You probably know, maybe know I was raised at Jehovah's Witness. For those who might not be familiar with this group, it's an organization that maintains incredibly tight control over its members lives. From dictating what holidays you can celebrate, none, to who you can associate with, only other witnesses, to what entertainment is acceptable, not much, to how you should think and believe about pretty much everything, the control is pervasive and constant.
Like that blind man in John nine when I began to question some of the organization's teachings when I began to see for the first time. My conscience moved me to leave the religion and I was completely shunned by all my former so-called friends. My wife also left and her entire family shuns her. They haven't spoken in almost 8 years. Overnight, we became dead to everyone we knew. This experience not unique to Jehovah's Witnesses. It happens in a lot of high control groups cults.
The church of Scientology calls it disconnection. The Mormon church sometimes practices what they call withdrawing fellowship. Other groups have different names for it, but the effect is the same, though the amount of severity varies, isolation, rejection, and profound loss. Now, imagine the emotional and spiritual trauma that this creates. Everything you built your identity around gone. The community you trusted that you thought loved you gone. The leaders you were taught to obey without question have labeled you an apostate, something to be feared and avoided.
And most devastating of all, you're told that God himself has rejected you. Now Paul wrote about this kind of spiritual abuse because that's what it is in Colossians chapter 2 when he saido not let anyone who delights in false humility and the worship of angels disqualify you. Such a person also goes into great detail about what they have seen. They are puffed up with idol notions by their unspiritual mind. They have lost connection with the head from the whole from whom the whole body supported and held together by its ligaments and senus grows as God causes it to grow. Paul recognized that there were those who would try to disqualify the believers to tell them they weren't good enough, weren't following the right rules, weren't worthy of God's love. I see these kinds of people in the comments quite often.
Unfortunately, these spiritual abusers were puffed up with their own importance, creating complex systems of rules and requirements that had nothing to do with the true head of the church himself, Christ Jesus. When someone leaves a cult, they've often been subjected to years or even decades of this kind of spiritual manipulation. They've been taught a version of God that's controlling, punitive, and conditional in his love because that benefits the leadership and their control. They've been trained to see the Bible as a weapon used to keep them in line. They've experienced religion not as freedom, but as bondage. So, is it any surprise that many former members want nothing to do with faith or religion of any kind afterward? The very words and symbols that should bring comfort, Bible, church, prayer, God, they become triggers for anxiety, shame, and trauma.
I have seen this repeatedly. I took a poll on my XJW channel. 33% became atheist, 33% agnostic. Right? That's how many people leave the faith when they leave the religion. Some people just seeing someone carrying a Bible can be a traumatic experience that causes a panic attack in the former member. The idea of praying seems terrifying because what if God was exactly who the witnesses said he was?
What if he really did reject them and was just waiting to destroy them in Armageddon? You could hear the wrong word phrase from the Bible. It can trigger you. The PTSD is real, people. But keep in mind, I'm not a mental health expert and this isn't mental health advice. It's just my experience since leaving the cult of Jehovah's Witnesses. Well, when I started this YouTube channel to share my faith, one now based on grace and unconditional love rather than fear and control, not going to lie, I was surprised with the reaction from many former Jehovah's Witnesses who turned atheists.
The comments that were left on the videos were vicious, mocking, and very personal. They weren't engaging with the ideas I was presenting. They were responding from a place of profound pain. One person wrote, "You escaped one cult just to join another. You're still brainwashed, just with different garbage." Another, "Religion is a disease, and you're spreading the infection." Others were a lot worse, if you can believe it.
These weren't logical arguments against the existence of God. They were emotional responses to trauma. And I understood that. I really did because I had felt that same rage, that same sense of betrayal. I had asked myself, "How could I have been so stupid? How could I have believed all those things? How could I have let them control me?"
And that is just a short step over to religion is the problem. Faith is delusional. I flirted with atheism after leaving the cult briefly, but having been a software developer for 25 years, I'm entirely too good at math to be an atheist. The odds against complex life arising from random chance in a finite universe over a finite period of time is so vastly improbable as to be classified as mathematically impossible. But here's what's important to understand. These angry responses, they're not intellectual, they're emotional, they're trauma responses. You can't make a logical exertion that there is no God.
That's a metaphysical claim that cannot be proven or disproven through empirical means. You can't logically prove that there's no spiritual dimension to existence or that everything is purely material. These are philosophical positions, not scientific facts. The veheance of these responses tells us something important. We're not dealing with calm, rational rejection of theism. We're dealing with wounded people who associate God, the Bible, and faith with manipulation, control, and pain. I get it.
Jesus got it. He understood this kind of spiritual wounding. In Matthew 11, he said, "Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Jaden Jesus knew that religious systems often place unbearable burdens on people. The Pharisees of his day had created such an elaborate system of rules and regulations nobody could keep it.
Jesus offered something radically different. rest, gentleness, and a burden that was light rather than crushing. That's how we need to respond to people who have been deeply wounded by religious trauma to the point that they completely reject faith. First, we need to understand that arguing theology is useless in these situations. Quoting Bible verses to prove that Christianity is the truth won't help someone whose trauma is triggered by those very verses. Logical arguments for the existence of God won't address the emotional wounds that drive them to reject faith. What these individuals need first is to experience a different kind of faith community.
One characterized by the fruits of the spirit that Paul described in Galatians 5. Love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. They need to see Christians who don't need to control others, who can embrace questions and doubts without fear, who practice authentic love rather than conditional acceptance. They need to experience grace embodied, not just preached, not just talked. In 1 Peter chapter 3, we're told, "Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have, but do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander." Notice the emphasis on gentleness and respect. that our good behavior, our lived example, is what might eventually overcome others negative perceptions of faith.
For someone who's experienced religious trauma, words are cheap. They've heard plenty of beautiful religious flowery language before, often from the very people who were controlling and abusing them. What they need to see is a faith that's different in practice, not just in doctrine. They need to see Christians who can say, "I might be wrong about this." Who can admit failures, who don't don't claim to have all the answers nobody does. They need to see faith communities where power is shared rather than concentrated. Where leaders serve rather than dominate, where questions are welcome rather than punished.
And most of all, they need time. Healing from religious trauma isn't quick or linear. It involves rebuilding a worldview from the ground up, from scratch, learning to trust again, and finding new ways to make meaning. This process can't be rushed, and it certainly can't be forced. I think of the story in Mark chapter 5 of the demon-possessed man who lived among the tombs. This man had been repeatedly bound with chains and shackles, but he would break free, hurt himself, and cry out day and night. When Jesus healed him, the text tells us that people later found him sitting there dressed and in his right mind.
What a beautiful image of restoration. Someone who had been out of control, isolated and suffering, now at peace, clothed and restored to sanity. But notice what happens next. When Jesus was leaving, the man begged to go with him. I who wouldn't you? Wouldn't you? I sure would.
But Jesus said, "Go home to your own people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you and how he has had mercy on you." Jesus knew this man needed to reintegrate into community on his own terms to tell his own story of healing rather than immediately becoming a follower traveling with Jesus. He needed space and time to process his transformation.
In the same way, those recovering from religious trauma need the space to heal at their own pace. They need to know that they won't be pressured, manipulated, or rushed into new religious commitments. And we need to be honest about something here, something uncomfortable. Sometimes our eagerness to bring people back to faith, our zeal, is more about validating our own beliefs than genuinely caring for theirs. If someone's rejection of faith makes us anxious or defensive, we need to examine why. Is it because we truly believe they're missing out on God's love? Or is it because their decision threatens our certainty?
Jesus told a parable in Luke 15 about a shepherd who had a hund sheep. And when one went missing, he left the 99 to search for the lost one. When he found it, he didn't drag it back, berate it for wandering off, or force it to rejoin the flock. Instead, the text says, "And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home." Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, "Rejoice with me. I have found my lost sheep." There's such tenderness in that image.
The sheep being gently carried home, not forced to walk. The shepherd's joy, not his anger. The celebration, not punishment. This is the heart of God toward those who have wandered away, even those who've rejected him entirely. So, what does this mean for us practically? How do we show Christ's love to those who have been wounded by religious abuse in these cults? First, we listen without judgment.
James 1:19 tells us to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry. When someone shares a religious trauma, don't rush to defend Christianity or explain why their experience doesn't represent true faith. Be willing to absorb the hateful speech you're probably going to hear. Listen and validate their pain. I'm so sorry that happened to you. That wasn't right. That wasn't God's heart.
Second, we demonstrate a different way of living out faith. Jesus said in John 13:35, "By this everyone will know that you're my disciples if you love one another." Not by having perfect theology, not by winning arguments, not by controlling behavior, but by love. The kind that serves without expectation, gives without conditions, and remains present without pressure. Third, we create safe spaces where questions and doubts are welcomed. The Psalms are filled with honest honest expressions of doubt, anger, and questioning God. Look at Psalm 22, which begins with the raw cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
Which Jesus also said on the cross. God's word is a model of this kind of authentic wrestling with faith. And we should be communities where this kind of honesty is encouraged, not feared. Fourth, we recognize that healing from religious trauma takes time. Romans 12:12 encourages us to be patient in affliction. This means we don't expect quick conversions or immediate comfort with church and Christian community. We're willing to walk alongside people for the long haul, respecting their boundaries and their pace of healing.
Fifth, we practice humility. Philippians 2 3 and 4 says, "Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests, but each of you to the interests of the others. And this means acknowledging that we don't have all the answers, that our understanding of God is limited, and that we too are on a journey of growth and discovery.
This kind of approach recognizes that for many who've left high control groups, those horrible cults, the path back to faith, if there is one, may look very different from traditional church attendance and religious activity. It might begin with finding just one Christian friend who doesn't try to convert them. It might involve exploring spiritual spirituality through art, nature, or service to others or some other way. It might mean a long season of deconstruction before any reconstruction can begin. And here's a difficult truth we need to sit with. Some people may never return to faith after religious trauma. The damage done in God's name may be so severe that they cannot separate the idea of God from their abusers.
We need to respect that reality and trust in God's grace for the wounded. But here's where hope comes in. Because God is bigger than our trauma. God is more patient than our timelines. God's love is more persistent than our resistance. And God's work in a person's life isn't limited to what happens in church buildings or what gets labeled as religious. In Isaiah 42:3, we find this beautiful promise about the coming Messiah.
A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. Jesus deals gently with the wounded. He doesn't demand that bruised reed stand up straight before he'll touch them. He doesn't require smoldering wicks to burst into flame before he'll value them. I think of my own journey after leaving the Jehovah's Witnesses. For a long time, I didn't pray in any meaningful way. I would rarely read the Bible.
I went to a whole bunch of churches, but I was dissatisfied with all of them. And in many cases, it wasn't through any faults of the church itself, but my own trauma and baggage. But slowly, so slowly, I began to encounter God in new ways. The kindness of friends who never pressured, the beauty in art and music and nature, moments of unexpected peace, a voice in my head and in my heart. God was patient with me, meeting me where I was, never pushing or condemning my slow, messy process. Jesus interaction with Thomas after the resurrection speaks volumes about how he treats doubt and trauma. Thomas had declared that he wouldn't believe unless he could touch Jesus wounds himself.
Did Jesus rebuke him, shame him? No. In John 20 27, Jesus said, "Put your finger here. See my hands. reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe." Jesus invited Thomas to touch his wounds, to verify, to question, to make sure.
And only after Thomas had done so did Jesus say, "Because you have seen me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed." This wasn't a rebuke. It was an acknowledgement that faith takes different forms for different people. For those who've been wounded by religious trauma, sometimes their Thomas-like need for tangible evidence of God's goodness before they can trust again. That's not a lack of faith. It's wisdom born from their experience.
They've learned the hard way that blindly trusting religious authorities can lead to exploitation and abuse. Jesus meets them in that caution with patience and evidence of his true nature. When I think about the religious authorities who cast out the healed blind man in John 9, I'm reminded of how many spiritual leaders today respond to those who question or see things differently with rejection, condemnation, and control. Again, I see it in the comments, and they're not even the leaders. But I'm also reminded of what Jesus did in response. He sought out the rejected man and revealed himself to him in a very personal way. That is the model for our ministry to the religiously trunk to us.
In 2 Corinthians chapter 1, Paul writes, "Praise be to the God and father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God." Those of us who have experienced religious trauma and found healing have a unique ability to come alongside others on similar journeys. We understand the pain, the doubts, the fear in a way that nobody else can. And through our own stories of experiencing God's gentle, patient healing, we can offer hope without pressure, comfort without coercion. The church needs to become a place of refuge for the spiritually wounded, not another source of trauma. We need to embody the words of Isaiah 61:1 through3, which Jesus claimed as his mission statement. The spirit of the sovereign Lord is on me because the Lord Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor in the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion, to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. Notice the gentleness in these words. The focus is on healing, comfort, and freedom, not control, conformity, or judgment. This is the heart of true ministry to those wounded by religious abuse. In Matthew 9:36, we're told that when Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were harassed and helpless like sheep without a shepherd. The Greek word used here for compassion literally means to be moved in your internal organs.
It's a gut level empathy. This is how Jesus responds to wounded, confused people, not with theological correctness or religious demands, but with deep, visceral compassion. Can we do the same for those who've been traumatized by religious abuse? Can we feel their pain in our gut? Can we set aside our agendas, our timelines, our desires for their recon conversion and simply love them where they are? I believe we can. I believe we must.
We have to because the Jesus who touched the untouchable, welcome the rejected, and question religious authority is the same Jesus who calls us to follow him today. And if our faith doesn't lead us to greater compassion for the wounded, greater humility in our certainties, and greater patience with those who can't believe as we do, well then maybe we're the ones who need to take another look at who Jesus really is. So let this be our prayer. Aba, Father, forgive us for the times we've been more concerned about being right than being loving. Forgive us for the ways we've represented you poorly to those who are already wounded. Help us to see others through your eyes of compassion, especially those who have been hurt in your name. Give us the patience to walk alongside the traumatized without pushing, the humility to listen without defending, and the courage to embody a different kind of faith than what they've experienced before.
Remind us that you are the God who leaves the 99 to find the one, who binds up the brokenhearted, who welcomes doubters with open hands. Make us instruments of your healing and a world full of religious wounds. In Jesus name, amen. [Music]
