Tag: Mike Pilavachi

When the Music Fades: the Soul Survivor Generation

by Dr Lucy Sixsmith, Research Fellow in English at St John’s College, Cambridge and author of When the Music Fades

To understand Soul Survivor, I think you need to know about the shirts. This will sound trivial; I realise that. Soul Survivor, from 1993 until 2019, was an organisation running summer festivals in the charismatic evangelical tradition, for teenagers and young adults. It also became (and still is) a church in Watford. The founder, leader and constant on-stage presence at Soul Survivor festivals was Mike Pilavachi, and you could tell he was Mike Pilavachi by his interesting shirts.

Mike always wore a particular style of multi-coloured shirt at the summer festivals, a West African dashiki rebranded as a trademark shirt for a Greek British youth leader at a substantially white middle-class British summer camp. My youngest brother remembers the shirts being on sale in the Soul Survivor marketplace, not as dashikis, with their own cultural history, but as Mike Pilavachi shirts. There was a Soul Survivor tradition of Mike’s Bad Karaoke; one year he sang ‘I’m too sexy for my shirt’ to ten thousand teenagers. In vulnerable moments, during preaching, he’d sit down on the edge of the stage, like it was just Mike and his youth group, one hand plucking at the patterned central panel that makes a dashiki distinctive.

In 2023, when survivors came forward and the Church of England’s National Safeguarding Team investigated allegations of emotional abuse, inappropriate relationships, wrestling, and massaging, those shirts must have seemed convenient to the people choosing pictures for news articles. For any story about this latest scandal, there was a picture with an eye-catching shirt.

Part of what I mean here is that Mike Pilavachi was a persona. A trademark shirt can be like a costume which sets the wearer apart as someone not quite like everyone else, someone likably independent, a bit of a character. A multi-coloured trademark shirt at a Christian summer youth festival belongs to a world which is not quite real. Brighter, warmer, cartoon-like, more fun, more vibrant: the holiday atmosphere of a Christian summer youth festival offered what we used to call a ‘mountaintop experience’ in charismatic circles. Kids looked forward to Soul Survivor partly as a place to have fun and partly as a place to encounter God, and Mike performed the role of lovable overseer, buffoonishly whole-hearted.

The mythology of Soul Survivor was that everything was done in chaos by faithful amateurs and it only came together because it was God’s idea. Consequently, Mike Pilavachi seemed less like a celebrity and more like everyone’s friend. I didn’t notice that the myth didn’t match the way Soul Survivor had become a model for youth ministry across the country. If it was God, it must be good. So I joined those crowds all through the noughties, from the age of fourteen to twenty-one or so, and always thought of Soul Survivor as a healthy benchmark, a useful compare-and-contrast when other charismatic movements drew out my scepticism.

In 2023, while the National Safeguarding Team investigated Mike Pilavachi’s immediate relationships with colleagues and interns, I found myself wondering about the whole entire thing. Clearly, there were investigations that needed to be made, stories that needed to be heard or held respectfully, in that smaller circle of direct impact; but there were also questions to think through for those of us who were just there, one among ten thousand, thinking it was all fine. What made us so cheerfully overlook the clues to Mike’s behaviour that seemed plain and obvious with hindsight? If it was God on the move at Soul Survivor, as people were still saying it was, how could it have been God in public and not God in private? Could it be that the public aspect was good while the private aspect was cruelly manipulative, that the one was healthy and the other was not? Was it good for all those thousands of kids to have sat at Mike Pilavachi’s feet?

And what was I going to do with all the worship songs that now sounded off-key? There were so many songs that came out of Soul Survivor about humility and brokenness, about kneeling at the foot of the cross, about decreasing and bowing down, and I couldn’t sing them any more, having learnt that the songwriters were not just humbling themselves but being humbled by their own mentor, pastor, and employer. Which led to a rather pressing question, if not the most weighty one I was asking: if I couldn’t face singing any worship songs any more, what on earth was I going to play for my own local congregation in the worship time that coming Sunday morning?

That question—the question of what am I going to do now about all those surrender songs—was the starting point for writing a book called When the Music Fades: Power, Surrender and the Soul Survivor Generation. It is a book about and for all of us who have been confused—for anyone who has been fighting through a process of questioning charismatic evangelical spirituality. If I have needed to find space to think things through, there must be lots of other people out there, similarly perplexed. When the Music Fades is an attempt to provide space, for people who are still in church, people who are now out of church, and people who are somewhere in between.

Soul Survivor is central to the book, but the book is not just about Soul Survivor. I had questions about charismatic practice, before 2023: about power dynamics, and coercion, and the temptation of putting on a show, and the difference between evangelism and bullying, and false promises, and relentless positivity, and how tiring it all is. The book is about all these things, and especially about navigating these things in teenagerhood, when you have barely learnt how to be a person yet, but you’re all the more eager to take on the duty of sharing Jesus with the world. The news about Soul Survivor, after all, was especially confronting because Soul Survivor was for teenagers. Soul Survivor had seemed so normal, so grounded, a well-balanced alternative to megachurch-style hype. Some charismatic leaders, I started to realise, I’d never trusted in the first place. I just had the habit of looking up to them, wanting their approval. I trusted Soul Survivor.

For former Soul Survivor kids, I hope, When the Music Fades will be an opportunity to feel heard, even though it’s me doing the talking. Since it’s a book about being in the crowd, it claims that whoever was in the crowd matters. When we are talking about big churches and big movements, somehow the whole is less than the sum of its parts: the story of Soul Survivor, and whether or not Soul Survivor was a ‘God thing’, is not actually as interesting to me as the individual stories of every single person who ever attended Soul Survivor, with all the good things and bad things, the hard times, ordinary day-to-day and moments of hope. We went to Soul Survivor and believed we were supposed to be history makers and a revival generation and all that, and then, probably, we felt bad about not managing it, and then we had to figure out how to do basic adulthood, which is challenging enough.

My biggest dream for the book is that those former history makers might feel recognised and valued. But I also hope, maybe, that a few church leaders might read it and realise that we took them seriously. We didn’t realise it was just a summer holiday, colourful shirts, a mountaintop. We took them at their word.

And that had consequences, and it might be worth thinking about, and it might be worth doing things differently next time.

When the Music Fades: Power, Surrender and the Soul Survivor Generation by Lucy Sixsmith (Canterbury Press, £16.99) is available from the Canterbury Press website and all good bookshops.

March 12, 2026
A Heavy Yoke: Selina Stone on Power

I wanted to review Selina Stone’s new book, published today, on Via Media News, because this is such an important and accessible reflection on themes which are currently being discussed widely in our churches, particularly as we continue to reel from awareness of sexual and other forms of abuse: the themes of power, leadership, trust and success. While her approach is a theological one, Stone rightly points out that theology is expressed in practice and can be shaped and distorted by our personality and prejudices. And that was where I found her book was especially valuable, because she challenges each of us to face our own power in order to understand just where it is held, and how it can be abused.

Stone writes from the Pentecostal tradition, but everything she discusses applies equally to other denominations. Leaders’ use of the church for their own ends is only made possible by the cultures in which they function and the Christian theology they can call on; certain theologies encourage particular power dynamics which increase the chances of spiritual abuse. In a comment which reminded me of the objections some individuals make when required to do safeguarding training, she notes that “Christians … imagine that there is no need to be trained to understand sexual harassment, toxic behaviour and racist abuse, since these are ‘worldly concerns’; instead, apparently, we simply need more Bible studies” (5). And, for those of us who are at least able to recognise abuse outside the Church, she argues that we need to do far more to understand what happens inside. Using Matthew 5’s “You’ve heard it said… but I say”, she invites churches “to critically engage with the traditions they have inherited” (11).

I particularly appreciated Stone’s dissection of the current tropes of “disagreeing well” (31) and “servant leadership” (26), the second of these identified as virtue signalling, since it can disguise the immense power such a leader may wield over others, feigning service while keeping all the power. Stone uses the example of Jean Vanier’s abuse of nuns and lay women, which also leads her to explore the danger of concepts of spiritual fatherhood and of marriage imagery when talking about spiritual union.

The chapter on the potential of preaching in grooming a congregation to accept abusive behaviour takes as its text a sermon by Mike Pilavachi, where he used the story of Jacob and Laban to argue that God sometimes sends toxic and abusive people into our lives because… He loves us. As a Black lay woman, Stone also knows all about churches “where white married couples occupy the highest rungs of power”, noting that the concerns of the “little people” were only properly heard after Matt and Beth Redman spoke out about Pilavachi.

Another case study is that of SPAC Nation, whose wealthy leaders told young people to give them more money, including from selling their own blood, because this would become the seed of the church and would enable them to become rich too. To encourage this behaviour, SPAC nation drew on scripture about sacrifice and obedience. Here, Stone shows how we are still too quick to assume that dominance and numerical growth are evidence of success; and focusing on God as “Almighty” can stop us seeing how God can also be breath, or possibility.

A further section focuses on John Smyth’s abuse, which was supported by specific readings of the Cross and theologies of atonement focused on God’s wrath. Here, Stone draws on the resources of Black female and womanist theologians, and on their interpretations of the “power in the blood”. After showing the different ways in which oppressed groups have drawn on this theology, she concludes that “God does not delight in the shedding of our blood, any more than he did in the torture and murder of Jesus” (106).

She also explores the meaning of unity, uncovering the ways in which the word can be used to push the less powerful to remain silent so that the dominant group is able to continue as before, with any expression of disagreement being silenced as a threat to unity. But the price for unity should not be paid by those “who are already forced to carry burdens too heavy for them” (86). She asks what it really means to love each other, as opposed to merely tolerating those with whom we disagree.

This is a book which fully grasps the complexity of power. When writing on the power of vulnerability as an element of good leadership, Stone shows how controlling leaders can pretend to be vulnerable as a technique to make others reveal their own stories, and also shows how the term “vulnerable adult” can be used to suggest that the survivor is somehow the cause of the abuse. She is very aware of body theology, particularly when analysing Vanier’s views on touch, which dangerously ignored boundaries and power. She contrasts Vanier with Jesus, who knows his power and what it is for, and always waits for consent.

What is most challenging of all is when Stone turns from the shocking cases which have become familiar to us in the last decade or so and makes us look at ourselves, at “the wolf who might be within us” (13). For this, the most important chapter is the final one, on discernment. Here I remembered what I found most powerful in recent safeguarding leadership training: the Social GGRRAAAACCEESSSS. Taken from a social science context, these emphasise that we are all disadvantaged in some contexts and privileged in others, based on who we are. The long list used in C of E safeguarding training covers: gender, geography, race, religion, ability, accent, age, appearance, class, culture, education, employment, ethnicity, sexuality, sexual orientation, spirituality, and “something else”.

Stone looks at discernment in the sense of a community and an individual working out how best to use their gifts in ministry, but also considers its less obvious aspects, such as knowing when to speak and when to remain silent, and recognising the spiritual influences behind people’s actions. She argues that we can’t ever spot every abuser and we don’t even know what we ourselves may be capable of doing. This is not made easier when we are not taught how to discern. Even within a church community we need to recognise the sense of something being “off”, perhaps from taking seriously our own bodily reactions. A church is which is a healthy space will have a sense of community, of making space for others, of leadership which does not control but develops other people. It will understand the importance of accountability and cultivate a culture of reflection.

This is a clear, confident theological and personal appeal for a better understanding of power; I hope it will find its way on to the recommended reading sections of all diocesan safeguarding training materials.

August 28, 2025
Is the Failure to Act on a Safeguarding Disclosure a Disciplinary Offence or Not?

by ‘Graham’

“Nobody can say it is not my fault. It is so absurd,” Archbishop Welby said. “To say, ‘I have heard about a problem but it was someone else’s job to report it’, that is not an acceptable human response, let alone a leadership response.

“If you know a child is being abused, not to report it is simply wrong, for every human being.” IICSA, 20 March 2018.

“These victims are rightly concerned that no one appears to have faced any sanction yet, when it is clear a number of Christians, clergy and lay, were made aware of the abuse in the 1980s and many learned in subsequent years. I have not yet received a list of names. I am told by Survivors that some facilitated Smyth’s move to Africa. I have made it clear that the National Safeguarding Team will investigate every clergy person or others within their scope of whom they have been informed who knew and failed to disclose the abuse.” Justin Welby, 20 May 2021.

I am a victim of John Smyth QC. It is recorded in Bleeding for Jesus, by Andrew Graystone, that multiple people, “Christians, clergy and lay” knew of the abuse by John Smyth in the 1980s. I know the names of some who provided references for him to move to Africa. I have also read the draft Makin Review (under embargo) and read that 10 Bishops and three Archbishops had received the disclosure of his abuse by August 2013, including of course Justin Welby. And those are just the ones that Keith Makin has been able to identify.

I have less of a beef with those who knew in the period after February 1982, when the abuse was uncovered, and this is not the focus of this blog. Smyth was stopped pretty quickly, and multiple efforts were made to find him a new home. My complaint about that period is that he could just set up boys’ camps again in Africa, with no supervision, no oversight, no intervention, despite so many being aware of his earlier abuse. Pretty soon a large number were told of further abuse. But, as I said, that period is not my focus.

My problem concerns 2012 (when I came forward) and 2013, by which time safeguarding rules were codified, a nascent NST existed, and when Smyth should have been stopped and brought to justice. By 2013, the full horror of the abuse was plain to see.

So, what do I make of the 2021 statement by Justin Welby, and what he meant by that: or at least what he thought he meant by that: “I have made it clear that the National Safeguarding Team will investigate every clergy person or others within their scope of whom they have been informed who knew and failed to disclose the abuse”? Was it an echo, a reiteration, of his IICSA comments, or was it just because he could hardly say anything different ?

And my worry is that I suggest he did think everyone who failed in 2012-13 would be “investigated”. The outside world, we victims, General Synod members, would all say “of course they will be investigated, that is obvious”. Yet, I think he so ignorant of practice on the ground by the National Safeguarding Team (NST), or so badly briefed, that what he actually said meant nothing of the sort.

Keith Makin and NST have had the names for years, since 2017 at least. Keith Makin has under his Terms of Reference, “referred upstairs” where he believes people have failed. Yet, there is silence, inaction. We have no visible evidence of CDMs, we have no visible evidence of the removal of PTO from anyone. There has been a comment “wait for Makin” (and this was the answer from Justin Welby, when challenged directly whether he did fund John Smyth in Africa). But why? The Makin Review is an independent review, and the Church of England could do what they did to the Elliot Review: trash it, and say “he is independent, so we do not have to follow his recommendations”

But why wait? The NST and the CofE have all the evidence they need to start their own investigation and disciplinary processes. Keith Makin has no power to start a CDM process. He may have uncovered evidence, and under his Terms of Reference, passed it on to the relevant authorities. But the CofE’s investigation and disciplinary processes can only be undertaken … by the CofE.

So, what did Justin mean? Or think he meant? I think he tried to suggest that proper, detailed investigation of failings would be instigated. Yet there is absolutely no evidence this is the case. What I believe did happen is that NST asked an entirely different question – “is this person a current safeguarding risk?” – and have limited their investigation solely to this question. So, the failings in 1982 and 2012-13 are never investigated at all.

But the Church must decide whether failings over safeguarding disclosures are actually a disciplinary offence or not. There are multiple examples where it is alleged that senior figures, including Archbishops, did not do what they might when they learned of abuse: from George Carey in the Peter Ball case, to Bishops in the Devamanikkam case. People knew about Mike (“it’s just Mike”) Pilavachi, and Iain Broomfield, and Jonathan Fletcher, and most recently the many clergy involved at Blackburn. And in each case, they did nothing, or at least not enough to stop the alleged abusers, to instigate the necessary investigations and Church disciplinary procedures.

So, at the moment, as a Smyth victim, I have read of 13 Archbishops and Bishops who failed to act, yet have no evidence of a single sanction against any of them. The Church of England must codify, must publish, must make plain, the consequences of safeguarding failures around disclosure. Or just announce that it does not matter: that failures around disclosure are unfortunate but no more. But surely that is not what is intended?

If failures around disclosure of abuse have no consequence, then the words of Justin at IICSA and in 2021 may just have been hot air.

September 13, 2024
Mike Pilavachi: The Elephant in the Room

by Augustine Tanner-Ihm and Jonny Masters. Augustine is Team Curate at St James & Emmanuel, Didsbury, Manchester and winner of the 2020 Theology Slam: Jonny works to ensure the voices of young people shape decision-making in the charity sector and is married to Alex, his husband.

Jonny Masters begins with a personal reflection:

I imagine Mike Pilavachi would make a self-deprecating joke about the title of this article, and then belittle someone else in an even more severe way, back when he was front and centre at Soul Survivor festivals. I’d probably have laughed.

When I think back and remember laughing at Mike’s insults to other leaders on stage at Soul Survivor my soul curdles a little inside. Was I complicit in long-lasting abusive behaviour?

Lord, have mercy.

The situation regarding Mike Pilavachi has been widely discussed in Christian media and by the evangelical Christian community on Twitter/ X. The impact of Mike’s actions, first reported by The Telegraph last year, has rippled deeply in the hearts of those who had previously felt positive about his ministry. Now, tainted by confirmed allegations of sustained abusive behaviour, many Christians have been questioning their experiences of the Holy Spirit at Soul Survivor Watford, and Soul Survivor festivals. Youthscape have written an excellent article for youth workers to process the situation. It is also full of wisdom for others indirectly impacted by Mike’s actions. Premier Christianity have released a great podcast investigating Mike’s actions. However, in all the discussion and conversation (though at the time of writing not all podcast episodes have yet been released), the condemnation and the concern, there has been a silent elephant in the room.

Sexuality.

Mike’s actions, particularly massages, have a sexual edge to them. We need to acknowledge this as a Church. A well-respected Christian man spent time massaging young men, sometimes on his own bed. This caused immense harm to young Christians who had taken time and space to serve God. Could our overwhelming silence of decades regarding sexuality be bearing rotten fruit? Could the way we treat LGBTQ+ people be causing harm? Could our interpretation of Scripture be harmful? We would suggest yes, yes, and yes. The silence surrounding homosexuality and the wider LGBTQ+ community that has lasted decades in most evangelical churches has echoed profoundly in the conversations surrounding Mike’s actions. Yes, Mike’s controlling behaviour has been roundly condemned, celebrity culture in the church has been critiqued, but we have seen very few people raising their hands (or should that be heads above the parapet?) to ask how silence around sexuality could lead to such actions.

It seems like Mike found a line that he would not cross and went as close to it as he could. Mike’s moral compass, informed by the evangelical charismatic Church, allowed his actions to go as far as they did, but no further. Mike’s understanding of morality in relation to sexuality consisted of clear, boundaried, actions. The boundary was sex. As far as we know, Mike committed no overtly sexual acts with another person. However, the pattern of intimate physical contact with young males raises the question of whether the acts he did commit may have offered some form of sexual gratification.

Mike’s behaviour is considered abusive and has led to disciplinary measures. How can a well-respected, celebrated, man of faith go so far wrong?

Silence. That would be the short answer. Let’s explore what we mean by that.

The evangelical wing of the Church has not wrestled adequately with the question of human sexuality. It has placed it in a box. Mike, trapped in the box, banged loudly on the sides of the box and caused himself and those he loves considerable harm. Perhaps we need to think about human sexuality differently. Excuse the pun, but we need to think outside the box.

When we look at the broader implications of conservative culture and its handling of sexuality, it’s essential to consider the wider context in which figures like Huw Edwards, Phillip Schofield, Mike Bickle, Mark Bailey, and Revd Mike Breen operate or have operated. It’s critical to clarify that the specific “downfall” or scandalous behaviour attributed to these individuals varies greatly, and in some cases, public allegations or confirmations of misconduct might not exist. Therefore, discussing their personal faith, alleged scandals, or impacts without verified evidence could be misleading and potentially harmful. Instead, the discussion will pivot towards the systemic issues within certain evangelical communities that have broader implications.

The conservative purity and evangelical culture, noted for its often-stringent views on sexuality, has had profound effects on individuals within these communities. These views are often implicit and rarely spoken about or open to challenge. This culture, which sometimes harbours dangerous homophobic theology, can create environments where individuals feel compelled to suppress their true selves. This suppression can lead to significant psychological distress, strained relationships, and in some tragic cases, self-harm or suicide.

This culture of silence seems to have spread because the church is not talking about a very important thing; the behaviour of Church leaders whose sexuality is not admitted because it does not conform to the ideal they are promoting. Mike Pilavachi is a man who has attempted to follow Christ and listen to His Spirit for many years. Thousands of young people have come to know Jesus Christ because of his ministry. But sadly, many people were harmed during his ministry too. His controlling and coercive behaviour played a large part in this. However, the reluctance of the wider church to challenge the potentially toxic theology he believed and preached regarding sexuality also needs to be considered. Many of our charismatic evangelical churches, organizations and groups, have ignored the elephant in the room. A wise question to ask would be, “Did we as a community enable Mike to do this to young men because of the potentially toxic theology we have preached or sometimes chose not to engage with?”

The theology often preached within some conservative evangelical circles advocates for a strict adherence to traditional gender roles and sexual abstinence outside of heterosexual marriage. This approach can lead to harmful practices such as conversion therapy, which has been widely discredited and condemned by medical and psychological associations worldwide for causing significant harm to LGBTQ+ individuals. The Church of England has also condemned the practice of conversion therapy.

Conservative evangelical environments can also be fertile ground for abusive behaviours to be masked or excused under the guise of spiritual authority or correction. When leaders or influential figures within these communities fall from grace, it often prompts a period of reflection and questioning among their followers. However, the systemic issues that enabled such falls remain entrenched and difficult to address without a fundamental shift in theology and practice.

Quotes from individuals who have experienced harm from these cultures often speak to the profound sense of betrayal and loss. They may have felt a deep connection to their faith and community, only to find themselves ostracized or harmed when their true selves were revealed or when they questioned the status quo.

The path forward requires a re-evaluation of the teachings and practices that have led to such harm. It calls for a theology that embraces love and acceptance over judgment and exclusion. It is a theology which allows Christians to be open and honest with one another. There is no shame in mistakes – that is the joy of the gospel because of Jesus Christ. This shift is not just about preventing the “downfall” of prominent figures but about creating a faith community that uplifts and supports all its members, regardless of their sexuality or gender identity.

In conclusion, while individual scandals may capture public attention, the deeper issue lies in the theological and cultural practices that contribute to systemic harm. Addressing these issues requires courageous conversations, openness to theological thinking, and a commitment to love and respect as core principles of faith.

It’s time to address the elephant in the room.

March 23, 2024