I'm a couple weeks into a road trip across Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Colorado, and Nevada, and I recently crossed the Arizona Strip-the stretch between Hurricane and Kanab, Utah. The highway drops into Arizona there, passing the communities that polygamous FLDS groups established in Colorado City, originally called Short Creek, and Hildale. After their leader, Warren Jeffs, was imprisoned, the communities unraveled. Many members left for other states or Mexico, while others stayed and now live alongside "gentile" nonbelievers, including former members who returned and have since become a powerful presence. Why bring this up here? One of our illustrious ministers became convinced that God had chosen him to establish a Sabbatarian community near Zion National Park. Of course, God did! So, here we go... Darryl Henson's Arizona Strip Sabbatarian "remnant" community, A Congregation of God (ACOG), also called "A Free Church," followed a familiar Armstrongite pattern. It began with a divine dream and developed under tight hierarchy, with land deals framed as leases rather than ownership. Nearby were other isolated "true believer" groups. Eventually, factional disputes led to rent strikes, lawsuits, and a partial settlement; Henson continued preaching. The community lies in the remote Arizona Strip near Cane Beds and Fredonia, Arizona, close to the FLDS communities of Colorado City and Hildale-a sparsely populated area long attractive to groups seeking distance from outside oversight. Around 2000-2001, Henson, a former Church of God minister who says Herbert W. Armstrong ordained him and thereby gave him "apostolic succession," reported a dream or vision in which God instructed him to prepare a gathering place for Christ's remnant near Zion National Park. He later bought approximately 110 acres in Arizona's Mohave County, in the Cane Beds area; the sale closed on December 7, 2002. The property was divided into roughly 96 one-acre lots. In a January 2003 letter and related materials reported by The Journal: News of the Churches of God, Henson proposed 49-year leases rather than sales, drawing on the Old Testament idea of jubilee. He said the arrangement would keep the land intact for God's purposes, block outside buyers, and prevent subdivision. The upfront cost was roughly $2,500 for undeveloped lots or $4,500 for lots with a residence, followed by $75 monthly. Lots were assigned by lottery, or "casting lots." Volunteers put up a 50×110-foot metal church hall, along with a shop and other buildings. Henson and his wife, Marla, initially held the title and intended to transfer it to the church after the lots had been allocated. The group cast itself as a hierarchical "free church," outside the corporate rules governing 501(c)(3) organizations. Henson alone, they believed, had been commissioned by God to run it. Years later, he said none of them had expected the present age to last the full 49 years.
This resembled classic end-time remnant geography: the faithful were isolated, access to the land was controlled, and the arrangement was presented as divinely ordained-not as an ordinary real-estate deal. Unity within the Armstrongite groups never extended much beyond theory. By the mid-2010s, residents who had signed the leases and lived under them were turning against Henson's leadership. They stopped attending fellowship and paying tithes, yet continued living on the land. Some pressed for ownership or the right to subdivide their lots-demands Henson rejected as inconsistent with both the original documents and their intent. In a public statement widely circulated around 2020, he insisted: Land and the church's purpose belonged together, set apart for God's remnant. A lease did not transfer ownership or promise a sale. Neither biblical Israel nor the New Testament church governed by majority vote; members were expected to obey those responsible for oversight (Hebrews). Trying to take the land or church, he warned, meant "fighting against God," a claim he supported with Jeremiah 11 and the rebellion at Anatoth.
He said "Immanuel the Christ" had personally directed the entire project through dreams, visions, and scripture, while he led it as the founder under Christ.
Some residents stayed put or simply refused to leave, and a rent strike followed. Once again, the hierarchical "one true church" model ran into people who had committed their money, time, and even relocation to the project before deciding its leaders could no longer be trusted. The dissidents-whom the group said included some former fellowship members-went to court seeking recognition of their membership, control of the land and other assets, and possibly the church's dissolution. The dispute ended in an out-of-court settlement: a tenants-in-common agreement gave the rebels an ownership share of the residential property, reportedly about 43 acres secured through the rent strike and related pressure. According to ACCOG's later account, the pastor and the faithful members who remained sued over the acres, alleging theft by extortion under Arizona law. They pointed to rent strikes, intimidation, false accusations, attempted bribery, blackmail, lies, and fraud. The group says the original community stayed peaceful until "human nature reared its ugly head," and still presents the episode as a distraction from preparing for the high calling. The church later became the nonprofit A Congregation of God Corporation, filed in 2016 and still active. Its address is 2280 East 3200 South, Fredonia, AZ 86022, and L. Darryl Henson is listed as president/CEO and statutory agent. ACCOG.net continues to publish sermons into 2026, including material on end-time preparation, 1 John, faith, hope, love, and other Armstrongite themes. The episode follows a familiar Armstrongite pattern. A leader claims a personal commission from God through a dream or vision, then builds a hierarchical remnant apart from "worldly" corporate structures. Biblical ideas-jubilee, casting lots, apostolic succession-help organize a land deal, while the ministry retains final control. Unity breaks down once COG members live together and money and property become contested. Proximity to FLDS communities brought no more harmony than Pasadena or any other COG headquarters. Henson repeatedly insisted that the project was not really about him-he was merely "a human and a sinner"-but about God's purposes for the land. At the same time, he maintained that he had received a unique commission and held special authority. The leases meant to protect the project instead became the focus of accusations that promises had been broken. And the hierarchical structure, which rejected majority rule, drew legal challenges aimed at changing ownership and governance. A partial settlement transferred shares in the residential property; afterward, the remaining group brought additional legal claims alleging extortion. The community never disappeared completely, and Henson still preaches. Yet the original plan for one unified, sacred gathering place for the remnant ended in familiar COG patterns: factions, property disputes, and court action. Another dreamer acquired a stretch of desert and learned that "iron sharpening iron" among Sabbatarian believers can create more sparks than unity, especially when leases, tithes, and land titles are involved. The Arizona Strip experiment adds another example to the long post-HWA history of hierarchical remnant projects breaking apart under their own internal pressures. History has taught us one thing about Armstrongites: put two or more of them on the same piece of land, let them start talking about "unity," and a disfellowshipping, lawsuit, or both usually follows. Cane Beds did not collapse simply because Darryl Henson was unusually inept, although leasing rather than selling the property-and the paperwork claiming "God told me in a dream"-hardly helped. The deeper problem was structural. Like every other attempt to build a pure remnant community since Herbert Armstrong's death, it could not survive once the pressure of a single headquarters disappeared. When the WCG, the mother church, changed direction in the mid-1990s, its followers did not unite behind a shared standard. The great splintering began almost at once: hundreds of groups emerged, with each claiming to preserve the "true" doctrines. Their leaders invoked apostolic succession, a special commission, or some personal revelation to justify their authority. What followed was not a purified church but a cottage industry of rival prophets, calendars, and theories about the identity of the "elect," along with a steady flow of lawsuits over buildings, mailing lists, and the occasional bank account. Unity survived only while one man held power and one set of property titles remained in place. Once that arrangement broke, the knives came out. Henson's Arizona Strip project repeated the old pattern on leased land, only in miniature: a dream, a hierarchical "free church," and a carefully worded agreement that left control with the ordained ministry. The remnant, its leaders insisted, would finally live together in peace. That lasted until tenants stopped paying rent and demanded ownership. Accusations followed; then a settlement divided the residential lots, followed by legal action over "extortion." Iron sharpened iron, but the points turned inward. The forces behind Living Church of God, United Church of God, Philadelphia Church of God, Restored Church of God, Church of God a Worldwide Association, and scores of smaller bodies resurfaced beneath the mesas. This time, the dispute centered on a plat map rather than a mailing list. Armstrongites have not stayed united for long since the original headquarters lost its authority. Sooner or later, the disputes turn inward: who counts as the rightful successor, who understands the Holy Days correctly, who may legally hold title, and who supposedly "fights against God" by challenging the pastor's control of the property. Cane Beds followed that same script. Its trailers, 49-year leases, and a neighbors' sign from the FLDS could almost have carried one message: "Welcome to the club." The remnant is still divided, the lawsuits are still there to be filed, and somewhere another man with a dream and a deed is preparing to learn the same lesson.
No comments:
Post a Comment