Wash, Rinse, Repeat - Another COG Splinter Group Implosion, Right On Schedule.

Here we go again—another COG splinter group implosion, right on schedule.

Every time a Church of God outfit implodes and splinters into yet another “pure” new group, the fresh leaders solemnly promise a bright new dawn. This time, they swear, they’ll fix the old problems, operate with integrity, and actually follow the Bible instead of Herbert W. Armstrong’s ghost. And yet, in the last 25–30 years, not a single one of these heroic restarts has managed to deliver anything except the same tired, generational hand-me-down dictatorship, financial opacity, and “question me and you’re questioning God” routine. New ideas? Flushed straight down the toilet. Member treatment? Barely improved since the ’90s. 

Wash, rinse, repeat.

Take COGA (Church of God Assembly, or whatever acronym du jour they’re using this week). From day one, “Pastor” Monson has ruled with a heavy hand—perfectly understandable when you’re first herding cats into the same direction, I suppose. But that iron fist never loosens. Accountability evaporates. The ministry becomes untouchable. To criticize the leader is to rebel against God Himself. How original.

In May 2025 the mask slipped even further when Monson reportedly fired the entire board before they could vote against him. Can’t have those pesky checks and balances getting in the way of personal control over the tithe money, can we? Critics have long pointed to the usual Armstrongist greatest hits: mysterious finances, Monson and wife Joette cruising around in luxury Cadillac Escalades, lavish Disney trips that somehow smell like church funds, and Joette sliding into a church position after losing her secular gig—with members conveniently left in the dark. One ex-employee even dared preach about Judas stealing from the moneybag. 

The audacity.

And now the latest predictable circus: Jason Fritts has apparently incurred Monson’s wrath. Exactly what sermon topic set His Highness off remains unclear—maybe Jason foolishly preached about love, grace, or (gasp) mentioned Jesus outside of Passover. Whatever it was, another minister is on the outs. Shocking. Because nothing says “God’s true church” like a pack of self-serving, emotionally stunted man-children who inevitably go for each other’s throats a few years after every new “unity” launch.

It’s honestly hilarious watching the same cycle play out like clockwork. Sheldon started his own outfit because LCG dared follow state COVID rules. How long until Jason launches “Church of God – True Remnant Version 47” with his 50 faithful members? The “flock” will dutifully follow, heads buried so deep in the sand they’re practically mining for diamonds. How many churches has the average Sheldon follower bounced through in the last 40 years? Three? Five? Is the group growing, or quietly shrinking into a handful of aging followers? Does any of this feel blessed by God? Or does it feel exactly like what it is: a slow-motion extinction event for a toxic, pedophile-founded cult whose founder’s legacy keeps splintering because none of these “ambassadors for Christ” can share power, money, or a playground ball without throwing a tantrum?

The conclusion is as brutal as it is blindingly obvious: These COG splinter-group “leaders” are pathologically allergic to the very unity they love to preach about. They strut around like modern-day Apostles, thundering from the pulpit about “one body in Christ” and brotherly love—then throw toddler-level tantrums, storm off in righteous indignation, and immediately crown themselves infallible pope-king of their own pathetic little fiefdom. And then, right on schedule, the knives come out. Backbiting, character assassination, doctrinal purges, and mutual excommunications erupt like clockwork. 

Every. Single. Time. 

It’s not a flaw in the system. It’s the entire business model. Armstrongism doesn’t forge humble men of God with real integrity—it mints arrogant, thin-skinned little tyrants who couldn’t maintain a coherent group chat, let alone a legitimate church. These are not shepherds. They’re wolves in cheap polyester suits, too narcissistic to submit to anyone, including each other, and too dishonest to admit it. Real Christian character would bite them on the ass and they’d still call it persecution.

May the whole rotten, hypocritical tree finally crash down and stay down. The sooner these toxic little cults are extinct, the better. Set the trapped people free already. The rest of the church is exhausted watching this endless, self-inflicted circus of frauds and egomaniacs playing dress-up as “God’s true church.” What a joke. What a disgrace.