It was only a matter of time before Bethel Church, the grand cathedral of charismatic charlatanry, decided to throw one of its own to the wolves. And who better than Shawn Bolz—a man whose entire career has been built on the kind of “prophecy” that conveniently aligns with whatever the audience wants to hear?

Like a magician caught palming cards at his own rigged table, Bolz has now found himself excommunicated not by a council of discerning elders at a legitimate church, but by the very carnival that made him a headlining act.

Bethel, the very organization that has spent decades baptizing gullible souls in a river of mystical nonsense, has suddenly decided that Bolz’s so-called prophetic gift might not be on the up-and-up. Now they’re hyperventilating over the idea that he may have been mining the social media accounts of his audience members for his eerily specific “words of knowledge,” as if the entire modern prophetic movement isn’t just a Pentecostal version of a cold reading scam.

But don’t be fooled—this isn’t about protecting the flock. It’s not like we haven’t been warning for over a decade that Bolz is nothing more than a cold-reading scam artist. Bethel Church didn’t wake up one morning and suddenly develop a conscience. This is about public relations, damage control, about distancing themselves from a scandal that might tarnish their already dubious reputation.

And so, they dragged out their long-winded, hand-wringing statement, full of empty platitudes and spiritual doublespeak, to assure everyone that they tried to hold Bolz accountable.

They just weren’t sure.

Let’s talk about what they were sure about.

For years, Bethel had no problem platforming Bolz. They had no issue with his psychic-style readings, his “divinely inspired” phone numbers, his laughably specific prophecies that just so happened to include pet names and anniversaries.

They nodded along as he rattled off information that any tech-savvy teenager with a search bar could uncover. They booked him. They praised him. They endorsed him. But now that the magic trick has been spoiled, now that the whispers are growing louder, they want to play the role of the reluctant arbiter of truth.

Yet, Bethel’s entire foundation is built on the same flimsy scaffolding as Bolz’s sideshow. They are the mother church of modern-day apostolic buffoonery, the proud sponsors of everything from faith healings that never quite heal to glory clouds that always seem to conveniently disappear when a real camera shows up.

They were happy to have Bolz in their corner when he was one of their own. But when the outside world started asking uncomfortable questions—when even the most devoted charismatic had to pause and wonder if Bolz’s “revelations” were being assisted by a Wi-Fi connection—Bethel needed a scapegoat.

And so, with the same level of conviction as a soggy paper towel, they “stepped back” from their connection with him. Not because they suddenly rediscovered biblical orthodoxy. Not because they had an epiphany about the dangers of false prophecy. But because they knew if they didn’t cut him loose, the stink of his unraveling fraud would stick to them.

And make no mistake—it is a fraud.

Then there’s the other little tidbit buried in their statement: allegations of sexual harassment and a hostile work environment. Oh, but don’t worry, Bethel’s leaders “recommended” that the victims take it to the legal system. That’s all. No strong condemnation. No decisive action.

And let’s not forget their feigned confusion over what to do next. They state—almost as an afterthought—that while some of their leadership found the evidence against Bolz conclusive, others just weren’t quite sure. So they did what all great leaders do in moments of crisis. Absolutely nothing. It’s the ecclesiastical equivalent of watching a house burn down while debating whether or not fire is actually real.

But the greatest joke in all of this is that Bethel is pretending they have some kind of credibility left to protect. That ship sailed long ago, and then it sank. They are the same “church” that encourages their followers to “soak up anointing” from the graves of dead preachers, the same church that declared a week-long resurrection fast when a toddler tragically died, refusing to acknowledge reality while the world looked on in horror.

They are the birthplace of “Jesus as a man in right relationship with God,” the heretical teaching that Jesus performed miracles not because He was God, but because He just had the right level of faith—a cunning false doctrine that strips Christ of His divinity and replaces it with an infomercial for supernatural wish fulfillment.

So now, here we are. Bethel Church, the great empire of counterfeit spirituality, is casting out one of its own for being… too much of a fraud? For taking things too far? For doing the exact same thing they all do, but with a little less finesse? It’s like watching a con man get banned from a casino—not for cheating, but for being too obvious about it.

But don’t let them fool you. This isn’t a reckoning. This isn’t accountability. This is a business move. This is Bethel tying a weight around Bolz’s ankles and tossing him overboard to keep the ship afloat just a little longer. And as he sinks, gasping for relevance, Bethel will continue peddling the same snake oil, now with a slightly different label.

Because at the end of the day, the game hasn’t changed. The players just rotate out. Bolz is out. Someone else will take his place. And Bethel will keep selling the same lie, over and over, to anyone willing to buy it.