What they couldn’t have known at the time was that this small coastal village concealed a disturbing secret: a community steeped in fear, controlled by a man who wielded extraordinary power over its people–Father Camille Léger. For decades, this priest had been more than just a spiritual leader; he was an unchallenged authority figure, deeply feared and disturbingly revered.
I served at Wellspring Community Church from 1995 to 2009. It was my home and my family, and although it took a while, I eventually felt welcomed there. At that time, to me it was the closest representation of family that I had ever experienced in my life. Don't be surprised; just because I have a fuller understanding of who they really are, doesn't mean I can't be sincere about how I once felt about them.
For nine years, I attended and served at Southridge Community Church. I was deeply involved, joining a life group, leading the coffee ministry, helping with setup, and playing on the Sunday worship team. It was my attempt to find healing and community after nearly two decades of turmoil at Wellspring Community Church...
Now I’m not exactly sure what stake Pastor Carson had in Celebrate Recovery, but he did show up from time to time to participate. One day, he approached me at a Celebrate Recovery meeting to ask if I would be interested in filling in for him to lead worship at his church ...
Pastor Bob and Pastor Matt were very excited to have two new families attending Rice Road Community Church. I had been there for approximately two weeks when Pastor Bob called me up and requested a meeting. I suspected that the pastoral staff would be adamant...
What I’ve experienced has made me a willing asset to the prosecution in the case against Christianity, and I’m not hiding that fact. My rationale is straightforward: everyone deserves a full and honest picture. If my story can prevent even one person from enduring the kind of suffering I faced in Case #1, Case #2, and Case #3?
My name is Don, and I am an Acadian Mi’kmaq. I was born in Toronto during the winter of 1961, the middle child in my family. My older brother was my father’s favorite, and my younger sister was his little angel. That left me–the middle child–often overlooked and caught in the middle of a family dynamic that was anything but loving. PTSD has been a part of my life since I was three years old.