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The church likes to talk about wolves. What they never tell you is most of them wear choir robes. It’s spiritual child abuse. Not the kind with bruises, worse. The kind that kills faith before it grows its legs. These people weaponize Scripture the way John Wayne Gacy used balloons, the way Epstein used a jet, luring the innocent with smiles before poisoning them. They call it “discipleship.” They call it “accountability.” What it really is? Grooming. Control. Soul‑murder. They take young believers burning with hunger for God and lock them in religious chokeholds. They shame their questions, choke their emotion, beat the wonder out of them until all that’s left is obedience without love. The victims grow older but never grow up. Spiritually stunted. Emotionally scarred. Bitter men in fine suits. Women who confuse submission with silence. Churches treat this rot like mildew, scrape a bit, paint over it, pretend the smell is incense. Meanwhile, another generation of kids gets told to “respect authority” by men who use that authority to grind the image of God out of them. And the pews clap for it. Because it’s safer to protect the abuser’s reputation than face the ugly truth: The predators aren’t all out there. Some preach your sermons. Some sing your hymns. Some baptized your children. If that hits too hard, good. It should. Maybe we’d stop producing bitter Christians if we stopped treating their wounds like character flaws. Stop excusing rot because it wears a collar. Stop worshipping authority at the expense of truth. God’s not impressed with your seating chart. He’s looking for honesty—and He’ll burn down every pulpit that gets in His way to find it. TBM