The New Yorker:

I wanted to understand how a radical evangelical church fused faith and a commitment to social justice. Instead, I watched it unravel.

By Eliza Griswold

Ben White, a burly and bearded six feet four, was a committed pacifist, but on this July morning in 2021, in South Philadelphia, he thrummed with rage. Ben was a pastor, and he and three colleagues were fighting over the fate of the radical church that they co-led, called Circle of Hope. His beloved parents, Rod and Gwen White, had spent the past twenty-five years building the church. Now, it seemed, they were about to be cast out. Ben didn’t understand why. There was no hint of scandal, no rumor of sexual or financial abuse. Yet Circle of Hope was turning against them—“acting as if my parents are a problem to be solved,” Ben fumed.

Until recently, Ben had considered his fellow-pastors to be among his closest friends. Each led one of four congregations that formed Circle of Hope, some six hundred people held together by a shared vision of Jesus’ unconditional love. Not any longer. “So you’re saying it’s either you or them,” Ben said, glowering at Jonny Rashid, who was typing into his phone. Rachel Sensenig, who, at forty-four, was the eldest and a kind of big sister to all, sat between the two men. Before her, on an open laptop, was Julie Hoke, joining the emergency meeting, via Zoom, from her parents’ cabin in the Pennsylvania woods. Concern flickered over her face, which kept glitching as if her terrible rural Internet service mirrored the pastors’ spiritual disconnect.

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