ASHVILLE, OH — A local woman has publicly accused a completely ordinary church of being a “full-blown cult,” citing unsettling evidence such as friendly greeters, a functioning website, and — most damning of all — coordinated volunteer T-shirts.
“I walked in and was immediately ambushed by a man who said good morning to me,” said Tabitha L., 32, visibly shaken in her Facebook Live video titled “Escaping the Grip.” “He smiled like he knew my name. No one just smiles like that unless something dark is going on.”
According to members of First New Hope of Church of Ashville, the greeter in question was Larry, a 72-year-old retired postmaster who has been saying hello at the front door since 2004. “I gave her a bulletin and said, ‘Glad you’re here,’” said Larry. “She took it and said, ‘We’ll see about that.’”
Tabitha says the warning signs only intensified from there. “They had lyrics on a screen. Like, huge words. That’s what cults do. They want you to all say the same thing.”
She also noted that some members of the congregation wore matching navy T-shirts that said “Serve Team” — a term she believes is “code for a spiritual compliance squad.”
Pastor Glen Evans, who has led the church for 12 years and also coaches Little League, says the shirts were printed for a spring cleanup day and to help newcomers know whom to ask for coffee refills.
“We just want people to feel welcomed, not manipulated,” he said. “We’ve literally had the same potluck menu since 1997. It’s hard to control people spiritually when you run out of baked ziti halfway through.”
Tabitha, however, remains unconvinced. “It’s giving very ‘Waco in khakis’ energy,” she said. “I don’t know what they’re doing behind those well-maintained flower beds, but it’s something.” Even the church’s website raised suspicion. “It loaded fast, had upcoming events, and the contact form worked,” Tabitha warned. “If that’s not cult behavior, I don’t know what is.”
Her post received four likes and one comment from a woman who added, “I went there once and no one hugged me.”
As of press time, Tabitha had joined a candlelit sound-healing consortium in Obetz that requires robes, a cleansing fee, and a blood oath to Gerald. “It just feels more authentic,” she said. “No matching T-shirts or anything culty like that.”