There is a reason we say backwards thinking....

A Jan. 6 pastor divides his Tennessee community with increasingly extremist views

Annie Gowen

The pastor promised his followers that this church service would be like no other, and the event on a cold Sunday in March did not disappoint.

"Devil, your foot soldiers are coming out tonight, they're coming all the way out. We will expel them," Pastor Greg Locke howled from the stage in a crowded white tent. "You gotta leave, Devil," he shouted, "you gotta get out!"

Wielding a microphone as he paced the stage, his wife Tai at his side, Locke called out "spirits" of anger, rage, bitterness, lust and envy.

"Spirit of molestation, spirit of abuse, get out right now!" Locke commanded.

"Every spirit of homosexuality, lesbianism, come out, come out," his wife ordered. "Transgenderism, gender dysphoria, come out."

"We rebuke it, we rebuke it!" Locke yelled.

The tent slowly took on a spirit of its own. Worshipers began writhing as if in pain, others waved their hands in the air in benediction. "Amens" began to mix with the guttural sound of growling, moaning and praying in tongues.

"If you've had the covid-19 shot, I'm telling you you've got poison in your veins," Locke thundered. "We call out the covid-19 vaccine out right now. Keep that demonic spirit out of you right now in the name of Jesus!"

Some fell to the ground, pawing at cedar chips, or wretched into silver vomit buckets that had been set at the end of each row of white folding chairs.

To those unfamiliar with charismatic worship style, the scene might be easily dismissed or mocked. Yet Locke, 45, head of the Global Vision Bible Church, boasts millions of followers, many of them online, gaining national attention during the coronavirus crisis when he kept his church open and defied the mask mandates of the "fake pandemic."

But to his critics, he is spreading a dangerous message of hate that is taking root in some conservative churches. His rising prominence also comes as many mainstream faith leaders and experts on extremism grow increasingly concerned about the spread of Christian nationalism, the belief that patriotism and love of America are explicitly intertwined with White evangelical Christianity.

Locke is an "ambassador" of a movement where he and other pastors around the country appear at rallies and tent revivals preaching Donald Trump's fraudulent claims that the election was stolen as a new holy war, according to Amanda Tyler, executive director of the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty, an organization dedicated to religious freedom.

"If someone is convinced that God has preordained an election result for a messiah-like candidate and is told over and over that the election was stolen, that erodes trust in elections and democracy," Tyler said.

Locke, in an interview, was defiant that he is not a Christian nationalist, but he makes no apologies for bringing politics into the pulpit. He was on the steps of the U.S. Capitol during the Jan. 6 insurrection and has continued to preach the falsehood that the 2020 presidential election was stolen.

Locke and his ministry have divided this quiet town on the outskirts of Nashville with many residents distressed at the thousands who flock here to hear him and the attention he attracts, most recently with a book burning where he and followers threw copies of the "Harry Potter" and "Twilight" series and Disney villain merchandise into a giant bonfire. He has declared he now wants to "deliver" people from demonic influences and witchcraft.

Nashville resident Leyna Davis, along with other members of a loosely organized group of citizens that have been closely watching Locke and trying to combat misinformation he spreads, began seriously following him after her uncle, a member of his church, refused to get the coronavirus vaccine and died of covid-19 last year.

While Locke was casting out demons, the mother of four was at home using the gaming console of her kids to play recordings of his Sunday sermon, rewinding to watch it and texting others as she went through it.

During the sermon, Locke made no apologies for speaking about demons and witchcraft. "I love you enough to make sure I'm hated for telling the truth," he told his congregation. Davis sighed and pressed pause.

"We kind of understand why people got into him. He goes so far off the deep end," Davis said. "But how do they still listen to this? This is a whole new level of crazy."

Locke is well known throughout Mount Juliet, a mostly White and affluent community of 39,000,with an exurban mix of churches, farmettes and subdivisions long home to stars from the Nashville country music scene, including the late Charlie Daniels.

Neighbors have complained to authorities about noise, growing crowds, unauthorized construction and public safety threats that accompany events run by Locke, including two for which members of the neo-fascist Proud Boys provided "security." Locke blessed the members from the pulpit and later posed for pictures with them as the Proud Boys flashed white supremacist symbols.

The Wilson County sheriff's office did not respond to repeated requests for comment about Locke and his activities. The House committee investigating the Jan. 6 attack listed Locke on a request for documents to the National Archives.

A spokesman for the House committee declined to comment. Spokespeople for the U.S. attorney's office for the Middle District of Tennessee and the FBI said they do not confirm or deny the existence of investigations as a matter of policy.

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When Brian Larson took over as the administrator of one of the town's unofficial Facebook pages in February, he went through and deleted all posts either by or about the pastor. He set new terms and conditions that forbade any mention of the church or Locke: "Any promotion of Global Vision Bible Church will result in suspension or ban," citing "hate speech toward mental disabilities, culture/beliefs and sexual orientation."

Larson said he is concerned that Locke could encourage his followers to attack those he has deemed evil. "He rode on the Trump train and attracted followers with Donald Trump's strategy of shock and awe," Larson said. "If you look back at the Salem witch trials you know what I mean. You've got a guy telling people there are witches and demons out there and to go and get them. If he claims somebody is dangerous and needs to be taken care of, something bad could happen."

Locke called Larson's concerns "utter nonsense" and said the town's Facebook group, with posts on healthy brunch options and trivia nights, is run by "a bunch of witches."

"I could care less what they think about me to be honest with you," Locke said in an interview in his remodeled office, which includes artwork of the prophet Elijah before flames and a tattered American flag. "Jesus said, 'Beware when all men speak well of you.' I'm not trying to make friends in this town. I'm trying to preach the truth," he said.

"We're definitely the most polarizing church in town," Locke added. "Either you love us or you hate us. There's no middle ground."

Locke has a social media following of 4 million across multiple platforms, and attendance at Sunday services has grown from 200 before the pandemic to more than 1,000, spilling out of the church building and into an enormous climate-controlled tent, which Locke calls a "canvas cathedral."

To accommodate the growth, the church went on a buying spree last fall, spending nearly $2 million on four adjoining and nearby properties, land records show. One of those parcels has already been resold, the church said.

Locke said the church raised more than $4 million last year and gave much of it away, handing out $100 grocery cards to the needy and hosting a "reverse offering" at Christmas where they gave away $66,000 away in five minutes.

Those who attend the church say they were drawn to his style of preaching, "verse by verse" straight from the Bible, as well as his outspokenness.

"You'll never find a better man who speaks the word of God than Greg Locke," said Thomas Nightingale, who drives 80 miles from his home in Scottsville, Ky., to attend services. Of Locke's controversial statements, he said, "We've seen it all. That's every church in the world but we seem to top 'em sometimes. Never a dull moment."

Davis and the group of watchers, both local and around the country, monitor Locke closely, reporting misinformation he posts on social media, calling out churches that host him and alerting authorities to potentially dangerous activities. Davis said she believes their repeated reporting of Locke to Twitter contributed to the company banning him in September for his tweets spreading misinformation about covid-19.

Locke's church had already divided the Davis family into camps of those who attended services and those, like Leyna and her father Chip, who oppose it, before her uncle, Coburn Kennedy, died at age 79 last year.

Kennedy was a former gospel and country music singer who had given up his career to raise a family but always encouraged his nephews to follow their musical dreams. Chip Davis credits his uncle's encouragement as the reason he and his brother Billy are still in the music business, Chip as a vocalist for the country group Alabama, Billy as a music producer.

The Davises watched in dismay as their relative repeated Locke's vaccine misinformation and refused to get the shot. There is "stuff in this vaccine" such as "aborted fetuses," Coburn Kennedy wrote in a family group chat that Chip saved, saying he'd put his trust in God rather than get the shot.

Two months later, their beloved "Unc" was dead from covid-19. "It says volumes about the state of our country" that Locke "has a big-ass circus tent and it's filling up with 3,000 people a week coming from all over the United States," Chip Davis said. "When I look at it, I'm afraid for our country."

Samuel Perry, an associate professor of sociology at the University of Oklahoma and an author of the forthcoming book "The Flag and the Cross: White Christian Nationalism and the Threat to American Democracy," said he was not surprised to see Locke veer into the supernatural, since evangelical pastors are increasingly portraying what's happening in America in apocalyptic terms as a grand battle between the forces of good and evil.

"Greg Locke has tapped into what is currently selling within that group at the moment, angry White evangelicals responding to talk of persecution, talk of political chaos and the need to rise up, get organized and be militant," Perry said. "That's what's working, so he's going to give that message."

Locke rejects the label of Christian nationalist saying, "I don't want a theocracy. I love America, but I also love Jesus. I don't think that makes me a Christian nationalist." But, he said, he does believe politics has a place in church.

"I think we're in the mess we are in because cowardly pastors won't talk" about politics, which is "100% got a place in the church. Jesus was very political, John the Baptist, every preacher in the Bible was extraordinarily political," he said.

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Locke grew up the area. He was a troubled teen who was arrested five times for theft, reckless endangerment, and breaking and entering, before finding Jesus while in a local home for troubled boys. He completed his bachelor's degree from Ambassador Baptist College in North Carolina and claims a master's degree from a theological school that has a Facebook page but no website. He founded what is now Global Vision Bible Church in 2006. The church moved to its location on Old Lebanon Dirt Road in 2008.

Locke first garnered some national attention back in 2016, when a video rant about unisex bathrooms at Target went viral. But his fame rose during the pandemic as he held church services in defiance of shutdown orders, falsely claimed the coronavirus vaccine was made from the tissue of aborted fetuses and posted a sign outside the church that read, "This is a mask free church campus. We celebrate faith over fear."

He said he still "1000%" believes the false claim that the 2020 election was stolen from Trump, and spoke at rally in Washington the day before the insurrection where, according to a published report, he told the crowd, "I declare unto you that President Donald Trump is gonna stay for four more years in the White House," adding, "We're a mighty army. They've gotta listen. They can't ignore us. Our churches have been backed into a corner."

Locke gave "one of the clearest and most violent prayers of the day," noted the report, a joint project released last month by the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty and the Freedom From Religion Foundation that detailed Christian nationalism in the insurrection.

Since then, he has found allies in Trump supporters like former Lt. Gen. Michael Flynn and conspiracy theorists like Mike Lindell, the "My Pillow" guy, and flies around the country giving speeches at political rallies and church events where speakers mix Christian ideology with anti-big government rhetoric and unproven claims about election fraud. Former Trump adviser Roger Stone has twice spoken at the church.

Alarm about Locke within the group coordinated by Davis rose significantly last month, when Locke posted on Facebook that he would be having a "massive burning" after the Feb. 2 evening service, noting "We're not playing games. Witchcraft and accursed things must go." Locke said his inspiration came from the Bible, in Acts Chapter 19, where disciples of Jesus burned books on the "curious arts."

More than 200 people attended, under the watch of local law enforcement, gathering around a bonfire and tossing books, movies and games into the flames, blowing horns and chanting "burn it, burn it."

In another episode, Locke expelled a couple from his church, accusing them of witchcraft. Gina Guy Warren and Brian Warren had been serving as his personal trainer and volunteer security detail. Gina, a speaker and author, and Brian, a mixed martial arts fighter, run a ministry they call "The Word and the Workout," that brings "church and gym together as one."

After Locke accused them publicly in a sermon last month of "full blown witchcraft," the couple claimed they received threats and said in a statement to The Washington Post they do not feel safe. Locke said the expulsion stemmed from a dispute over whether to charge for counseling sessions related to exorcisms, which he opposed.

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Clint Mahoney and his partner Chris Hardin were on their way to visit relatives in the area from their home in Indiana when they heard about the bonfire. They decided to stop by and wage a counterprotest. Mahoney threw a Bible into the flames, waved a copy of Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451,″ the dystopian tale of a society where books are outlawed, and mockingly yelled "Hail Satan." He and his partner then kissed at their car to howls of disgust from church security trying to evict them.

"We're going to send a statement. This is not going to stand without some opposition," Hardin said. "You can't operate with impunity. We are watching you." Mahoney, who said he was expelled from a church and from his family when he came out as gay, agreed. "There are so many people in churches like Locke's flying under the radar and fomenting radicalism all over this country," he said.

Back underneath the big tent, the exorcising of evil spirits continued with a Kentucky teen who had been brought to the service by his grandfather, Nightingale, a church attendee. The boy, Bronson, had been writhing on the ground, beset, when he suddenly got up and sprinted for the door.

Volunteers from the church, in black hoodies, tackled the teen in the back of the room. They held him down, rubbed his back with Bibles, prayed in tongues and exclaimed, "Out, out, out!" One blew a shofar, the ram's horn normally used in Jewish religious ceremonies that has been appropriated by Christian evangelicals.

The two had watched Locke together online, but it was Bronson's first time at a service, Nightingale said. The boy, who had never sworn before, according to his grandmother, was now cussing at the volunteers and growling.

"This is what happens at a deliverance service," Locke said from the pulpit. "Cry it out, shout it out, weep it out, snot it out. We're going to set people free tonight."

Suddenly Bronson's tight body went limp. The volunteers huddled over him. When they helped him to his feet, he was smiling and calm, ready to be baptized. "Amen, I never had to chase nobody before," one of the volunteers told the teen.

"There's a first time for everything," Bronson said. They went up to the front of the room, where a livestock watering tank painted sky blue inside awaited and the Praise band began softly playing the worship song "No Longer Slaves."

"I'm no longer a slave to fear, I am a child of God," they sang. Locke came down of the stage all smiles. Bronson stepped gingerly into the tank.

"Upon your confession of faith in Jesus Christ, the power and glory of the Gospel and this beautiful deliverance we have seen tonight, I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit," Locke said, dunking Bronson into the water as the music swelled.

Bronson came up, water sluicing from his jeans and shirt, smiling radiantly. His grandfather wrapped his arms around his neck from behind and crooned into his ear along with the music, "You are a child of God."

"Hallelujah," everybody said.