WHY I’M EX-PCG
Another Song I Made For This Letter
By Dan Moffett
My wife never wanted to be part of the Philadelphia Church of God. She attended because I did. During those years, we had painful experiences with the man who later became the regional director in our area.
Then my wife died suddenly from a brain aneurysm.
Her death devastated me. At first, I hardly cared whether I lived or died. I did not even want to go home. What brought me home was knowing that my two sons, who still lived there, needed their father.
At a time when I desperately needed compassion, I felt very little from the church leadership. The regional director did not want to conduct her funeral. During the announcements at Sabbath services, the local minister said only a few words about her death. He told me the director had forbidden him from saying more because it was the Sabbath and would be inappropriate.
I was too overwhelmed with grief to argue. I brought photographs of my wife and placed them on a table. She had been my companion for decades, and I wanted her life to be remembered.
A few weeks later, our first grandchild was born.
That day was both beautiful and heartbreaking. My wife had looked forward so much to becoming a grandmother, but she was not there to hold that baby.
When I held my grandchild, something changed inside me. I knew I wanted to live. I wanted to see this child grow up, and I knew I needed to improve my health to give myself that chance.
Over the next two years, I lost 160 pounds. Eventually, I began to believe that I was not too old to find companionship again.
There were no single women in my congregation, so I traveled to meet people. My minister cautioned me against traveling too much and reminded me that my local congregation was where I belonged.
A friend who was a minister told me about a single woman in his area. She was a schoolteacher, close to my age, and someone he thought I should meet.
I went to visit, and we connected. We began spending time together, traveling back and forth to see each other. Sometimes I stayed in her area for a week so we could visit every day.
We grew close and believed we were in love. We began talking about marriage.
During that relationship, we became sexually intimate. We understood that this went against the beliefs we professed, and we agreed that it would not happen again before marriage. I take responsibility for my part in that decision.
One day, my minister called while she was visiting me. He asked whether we were in love and wanted to marry. I answered yes to both questions.
After he spoke with the regional director, I was told that we should stop spending time together until the ministers had met her.
She came to meet the local minister, but afterward she was so frightened that we stopped seeing each other for a time. When several difficult things happened in her life, she came to believe they were punishment for what we had done. The guilt weighed heavily on both of us, and we ended the relationship.
That was another painful loss, but I tried to move forward.
Later, I went on a few dates with another woman. There was no sexual involvement. We had not even kissed. I was determined not to repeat my earlier mistake.
That year, I arrived a few days early for the Feast of Tabernacles. While walking through the hotel, I encountered the woman from my first relationship.
We went to dinner. She began crying and told me she still loved me and wanted to marry me. I told her I felt the same way.
The second woman was also attending the Feast. When she learned that the first woman was there, she went to the regional director. I was then instructed not to see either woman until he spoke with me.
He arranged meetings with all three of us, speaking with the women first. When I saw the first woman come out crying, I feared what was ahead.
During my meeting, he questioned me about our relationship. I explained that we had dated, wanted to continue seeing each other, and hoped to receive counseling for marriage.
He pressed for more details. I admitted that we had been intimate. When he asked directly whether we had had sex, I answered honestly.
He called me a “sexual predator.”
I was stunned. I told him that, in 38 years, I had been sexually involved with only one woman besides my deceased wife. I asked whether that made me a sexual predator.
He said yes.
Then he asked whether I had had sex with the second woman. I told him no and explained that we had not even held hands or kissed.
He insisted that I had. He said “NO YOU HAD SEX WITH HER”
I denied it again, but he repeated the accusation. It was deeply disturbing to tell the truth and have a minister insist that I was lying.
He then questioned me about pornography and masturbation. I felt humiliated by the direction the meeting had taken.
The local minister sat quietly with a distressed expression. I cannot know what he was thinking, but I felt very alone.
The first woman and I were suspended immediately, and I was ordered to leave the Feast.
I left early the next morning. As I passed her hotel room, I noticed a bill beneath her door and thought she might also be leaving.
About an hour into my drive, I stopped at a Walmart and called her. She had traveled to the Feast with another family, and I was concerned that she might not have money or transportation to get home.
She did not answer, so I left a message offering to send money if she needed help.
After she reported that call to the minister, he called me and said I would be “marked” for contacting her.
When the regional director called, I asked whether I could receive counseling. He told me I was out, no longer a member.
After more than 33 years of involvement in the church community, I asked, “That’s it? No counseling? No second chance?”
He told me not to call again.
He also said he was having to put out many people in the region. To me, he spoke as though the burden was his, while the people losing their relationships and community were given little consideration.
I had devoted decades of my life to that religious community and raised four children within it. Two had attended Armstrong College.
Now I felt discarded.
The emotional consequences were severe. I went through a period of profound despair and did not know how I would recover.
Then the separation reached into my family.
My daughter who lived with me was required to leave home. My other daughter and my granddaughter were forbidden from seeing me. My son at Armstrong College was not allowed to have contact with me.
Losing church membership was painful. Losing contact with my children and grandchild was far worse.
Thankfully, one of my daughters and her husband decided to leave the PCG. They saw what had happened and would not participate in keeping their daughter from her grandfather.
My youngest son also remained with me. What he witnessed damaged his confidence in religion and caused him to question whether God existed. That was another heartbreaking consequence.
I wrote to Gerald Flurry, whom the church called “That Prophet,” explaining what had happened.
I never received an answer.
I later learned through my son-in-law that the regional director knew about the letter and had accused me of lying to Flurry. That director was Cal Culpepper.
I have described these events as I experienced and remember them. I acknowledge my own mistakes. What I cannot accept is the humiliation, the accusations I denied, the refusal to offer further counseling, and the separation of my family.
In time, I began rebuilding my life.
I made friends among people we had been taught to avoid. I discovered kindness, generosity, and genuine concern outside the church community. Those friendships helped me recover.
At the time I first wrote this account, my daughter, son-in-law, two granddaughters, and youngest son were part of my life. Their love helped me move forward. We continued to grieve the separation from my other two children who remained in the PCG.
My hope was—and remains—that our family could be reunited.
I share this account because decisions made by religious leaders can have lasting consequences. Behind every suspension, expulsion, and no-contact instruction are real people: parents, children, grandparents, and grandchildren.
This is why I’m ex-PCG.
An update, fourteen years later
Since I first wrote this letter fourteen years ago, my youngest son has died by suicide.
I believe he never fully recovered from the loss of contact with his only brother and his sister. They were still alive, but the separation meant they were no longer part of his life. I cannot know everything that contributed to his death, but I believe that unresolved grief weighed heavily on him.
When I wrote this account, I still hoped our family would be reunited. Now I carry the sorrow of knowing that, for my youngest son, that reunion can no longer happen in this life.
I continue to hope for contact with my other children. I also hold to the hope of the resurrection, when I believe I will see my youngest son again.
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If all this has happened to me, just one person.
Imagine how many other people have had their lives ruined by this evil controlling cult church.
This site has been warning of this group for over 33 years. You will find hundreds of damaged lives, broken marriages, destroyed families and even member and ex member suicides. Exit And Support Network
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