As these outfits splinter into hundreds upon hundreds of micro-cults—each screeching louder than the last that they're the most authentic—the weirdness has ascended to dazzling new heights of complete and utter stupidity.
Take Gerald Flurry, for starters. He kicked off his little Philadelphia Church of God empire by, ahem, "borrowing" heavily from Jules Dervaes' Letter to Laodicea. Then he swiftly pivoted to treasure-hunting the Ark of the Covenant under Ireland's Hill of Tara (because why not?), snapped up a mansion in England to cosplay the old Bricket Wood campus, and somehow "discovered" that King David actually danced the Irish jig. Naturally, his gospel morphed into a traveling Celtic dance roadshow starring his own grandchildren. But wait, there's more! He dispatched minions to Oregon to excavate Herbert Armstrong's supposed prayer rock, hauled it back to Oklahoma like sacred luggage, draped it in royal purple velvet for pilgrims to bow before... until, of course, a dream revealed it was the new Stone of Destiny destined to replace the Stone of Scone. Cue the custom throne, more roadshow antics, and the solemn promise that Jesus would return to perch atop this holy lawn ornament to be crowned King of Kings—flanked, naturally, by Gerald on His right and little Stevie on His left—before unleashing divine wrath on the sinful Laodicean world. Classic.
Then there's Dave Pack, who stormed off to Wadsworth, Ohio, after a messy divorce from the Global Church of God (sparked by questioning Raymond McNair and Rod Meredith). Dave heroically "restored all truth" to the Laodiceans, tried (and failed) to build his own college, botched his TV studio broadcasts, and—surprise!—ran into money troubles. Solution? The satanic "Common" doctrine: Sell your house! Sell your business! Cash out your retirement! Hand it all over to Dave. Not long after, he declared Jesus would return to his campus before Dave's third "retirement" to rain holy hellfire on the world and those pesky Laodiceans. Priorities, people.
Around the same era, Ron Weinland launched his prophetic warning tour, gracing TED-like stages with tales of impending doom. Turns out he and his charming wife were deceiving the government on taxes; he landed a biblical 3½ years in prison. He is now joins the ranks with other ordained Church of God felons (the others arrested and in prison for pedophilia). Now he's a footnote on the COG radar, and even Jesus seems uninterested in swinging by for a chat before torching everything.
And don't forget bitter Bob Thiel, who threw a royal hissy fit in 2012 when Rod Meredith wouldn't rewrite doctrine to match Bob's revelations. Rejected in the U.S. and Europe (ministers in UCG and LCG literally laughed him out), he found a receptive audience among church-hopping Sabbatarians in Africa—folks who bounce between Adventists and COG groups chasing whichever one doles out more cash and goodies.
The insanity just rolls on, day after day, week after week, year after interminable year. Nothing surprises us anymore...at least we thought...until some nobody with limited income in Iowa declares he's buying the Ambassador Auditorium in Pasadena to restore it as The House of God, breathlessly awaiting a $45+ million windfall to make it happen. (Never mind the tens of millions more needed to actually run and maintain the place.) Yet here we are, sternly warned that if we don't cough up the cash, we're blocking the "wife" from marrying Christ.
Can Armstrongism possibly get any stupider?
Oh wait... there's always tomorrow.
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