I was raised in evangelical Christianity. My grandfather was an evangelist in the 1950s. My mom was the church pianist. I grew up in Sunday school and youth group, the kind designed to keep kids like me out of trouble. I went to a Christian college. I married a good Christian guy. When we had two children, continuing in the culture I had always known felt natural.
Then we found our way into nondenominational churches. My husband and I had a name for them: A-frame churches.
Shelley Branine
In the communities where we lived, you would see an A-frame sign appear outside an elementary school, library, shopping center or park on Sunday morning. It promised a welcoming church for people tired of church. Inside, there was contemporary music, coffee, jeans, a young pastor with a young family, and the reassuring message that you did not have to dress up or have your life together to belong.
For a young family, it could feel ideal.
Many of the churches we encountered were in growing, affluent areas full of young professionals and young parents looking for community. A few times a year, they would hold “church in the park” events to make their presence visible.
In the city where we lived, I began to notice where these churches were and where they were not. I do not remember seeing the same kind of outreach in neighborhoods with less money, fewer new developments and fewer people who could become donors, volunteers and future leaders.
At the time, we did not think much about that. We were looking for a place to belong.
We attended more than one of these churches. At first, each seemed to make sense. In the long run, none of them did.
“The more we learned about the leadership, structure and unspoken rules, the more disillusioned we became.”
The more we learned about the leadership, structure and unspoken rules, the more disillusioned we became. The same pattern kept appearing: A charismatic pastor at the center, a large volunteer network doing the work, a church culture built around protecting the vision, and little evidence that anyone had the authority or willingness to question the person leading it.
The pastors loved being up front. They loved the microphone, the influence, the admiration and the stories of lives changed because of their leadership. Some openly celebrated expensive dinners, gifts and vacations given to them by church members. Meanwhile, the congregation kept the operation running. Volunteers set up chairs, ran children’s programs, managed technology, greeted newcomers, led small groups, organized events, cleaned up afterward and kept the whole thing moving.
The work was described as serving God. Sometimes it was. But it also kept a church centered on one pastor running very efficiently.
One pastor said the church could not afford to pay an assistant pastor. That assistant was working a full-time job, working full time for the church, supporting a wife and four children and relying on government assistance to feed his family.
That was not a difficult budget problem. That was a values problem.
The more we watched, the more it seemed some of these ministries had been designed to give one person the visibility and benefits of leadership without the ordinary demands of shared labor or accountability.
“I know healthy nondenominational churches may exist. I just never found one.”
I know healthy nondenominational churches may exist. I just never found one.
In every church we attended, the closer we got to the leadership, the more the same problems emerged: Weak transparency, questionable priorities, overworked staff and volunteers, and power concentrated in the hands of the pastor.
That combination creates the perfect environment for a charismatic person to gain enormous power with very little real oversight.
There may be a board, but who selected it? Is the pastor on it? Are its members close friends, loyal donors, employees or people whose standing in the church depends on staying in the pastor’s good graces? Can staff members safely report concerns? Can a congregant ask about money, leadership behavior or pastoral boundaries without being labeled divisive, bitter or rebellious?
In many churches, “accountability” is a word people use more often than they practice.
If no one can challenge a pastor, remove him, investigate concerns or protect people harmed by his decisions, that is not accountability. It is a fan club with a statement of faith.
And leaving is not as easy as outsiders assume. This is not simply a question of finding a different place to spend Sunday morning. Your friends are there. Your children have friends there. Your small group knows your marriage, your money problems, your grief and your secrets. You may have given years of unpaid work to the church. You may have built your whole identity around being part of it.
Leaving can feel like losing your entire life. That’s why the Mica Miller story stayed with me. Netflix’s new three-part documentary, Death of the Pastor’s Wife, has brought it back into the public conversation. In 2024, Miller, the estranged wife of a charismatic South Carolina pastor, died. Her death was officially ruled a suicide.
I do not know what happened inside her marriage, inside her church or in the final days of her life beyond what has been publicly reported. But the questions surrounding the environment she lived in did not surprise me.
I never saw a situation end in a tragedy like Mica’s, and I do not know that any pastor we knew abused his wife. But I recognized the conditions that let troubling behavior remain hidden or excused: leaders treated as uniquely gifted, congregations trained to protect the church’s image, weak oversight and people who leave hurt while those who remain are told not to listen.
“I learned that a church can look healthy from the stage while something very different is happening behind it.”
I learned that a church can look healthy from the stage while something very different is happening behind it. The danger is not that every pastor is secretly awful. The danger is that too many church systems make it easy for an awful pastor to stay in power.
A full sanctuary is not accountability. A polished sermon is not accountability. A growing budget is not accountability. A pastor who makes people feel inspired, welcomed or spiritually seen is not automatically safe.
Charisma can be a gift. It also can be cover.
Churches should not require people to become detectives to know whether their pastor answers to anyone. They should not wait for a public scandal before asking who controls the money, who protects staff, who investigates concerns and whether a person can say no to the leader without losing their entire community.
If a pastor cannot be questioned, the church has not created spiritual safety. It has created protection for the person at the top.
Shelley Branine was raised evangelical and later attended nondenominational churches, experiences that shaped her perspective on church leadership and accountability. She is a bestselling author and former public school educator. Her book, Finish College in High School: The Family Guide to a Debt-Free Degree with Dual Enrollment, helps families explore practical ways to make college more affordable. Learn more about her work at ShelleyBranine.com.