He walks onto the stage with a flawless smile and a perfectly-timed pause. The lights dim, the audience leans in, and for thirty minutes, the man speaks with the cadence of a TED Talker and the certainty of a Silicon Valley mogul pitching salvation like a subscription service.

This is what passes for preaching. This is is what passes for shepherding. Allow me to introduce you to #61 in our False Teacher of the Day series: Craig Groeschel

Groeschel is the CEO pastor, the apostle of analytics, the guru of self-help spirituality masquerading as gospel proclamation. And in the ostentatious halls of Life.Church, nestled beneath a glittering mountain of metrics, multimedia screens, and corporate lingo, Christ has long since been escorted out the side door to make room for another vision-casting strategy session.

Groeschel’s “church” isn’t a church, though. It’s a marketing campaign with a steeple. It’s a franchise of hollowed-out satellite venues connected not by biblical fidelity but by brand identity. And at the top of this pyramid, basking in accolades from the likes of Forbes and Glassdoor, sits a man who has managed to convince millions that pastoral care is best delivered by pre-recorded monologues, discipleship through data dashboards, and truth via emotionally intelligent storytelling.

But don’t let the charming tone and disarming smile fool you. Craig Groeschel is not a faithful minister of the gospel. He’s a wolf dressed in khakis and charisma, and his influence is as corrosive as it is colossal.

You will not hear him preach about sin. You will not hear him weep over hell. You will not hear him tremble over judgment. Instead, you’ll hear about the “mess-ups” in your life, the “bad vibes” God wants to free you from, and the empowering idea that you’re already enough.

The diagnosis is low self-esteem, and the cure is a mood boost wrapped in a Bible verse. Repentance is nothing more than a therapeutic release of negative energy and sanctification is simply setting goals and drinking protein shakes. Sin is no longer rebellion against a holy God—it’s your inner critic being mean to you. Jesus isn’t Savior and Judge—He’s your personal development coach.

And when Groeschel does finally present the gospel, it’s a carefully-crafted, bite-sized script that runs smoother than a corporate elevator pitch. God loves you. You’ve made some mistakes. Jesus died to help you out. Pick up your slack. Click this button. Raise that hand. Say this prayer. Smile for the camera. Now go be the best version of yourself.

It’s not the gospel, it’s another gospel. It’s a brand promise.

But perhaps even more dangerous than what he says is what he leaves out. You’ll hear about hope, but not holiness. About healing, but not hell. About purpose, but not punishment. In Groeschel’s carefully curated gospel, wrath is just too unpleasant for the production team, and judgment doesn’t test well with focus groups.

So instead of divine justice, we get divine endorsement. Instead of God’s Word, we get Groeschel’s War in Your Mind. Instead of the power of the cross, we get the power of positivity. It’s a gospel with all the sharp edges shaved off—a padded cell for sinners who’ve never been told they’re dying.

And yet, somehow, the megachurch machine keeps humming. Because numbers talk, right? Growth means God is blessing, doesn’t it? Never mind that Groeschel has built this empire on the dead, dry bones of faithful preaching. Never mind that he openly mocks verse-by-verse exposition—literally scoffing at the idea that Jesus Himself preached that way. No, at Life.Church, the message is molded to fit the medium. The Bible is a suggestion box. Doctrine is a design flaw. And theology is for Pharisees.

This isn’t pastoral ministry and he isn’t a pastor. It’s motivational speaking dressed in Sunday drag. And the congregants aren’t disciples—they’re consumers, emotionally invested in the next sermon series promo video and barely aware that they’re being fed theological sawdust.

Raise your hand if you want to be saved. Now lower it quickly—there’s another service coming in ten minutes. Mass production requires speed. Sanctification is inefficient.

And then there are his alliances. When Groeschel isn’t busy diluting doctrine, he’s out there baptizing heretics with his platform. Joel Osteen, Steven Furtick, Mike Todd—Groeschel parades them across his stage like spiritual celebrities at a Christian Met Gala.

Kenneth Copeland’s devotionals find their home on the YouVersion Bible App, a resource birthed from the bowels of Life.Church. Groeschel doesn’t just tolerate wolves—he throws them dinner parties and feeds them his own sheep. And all the while, the sheep smile and nod, oblivious to the teeth hidden behind the flattery.

But it’s not just about who he welcomes, either—it’s about what he’s built. Life.Church is basically a content distribution network pretending to be a church. The multi-site, multi-screen, multi-service model isn’t about shepherding souls—it’s about scaling the brand.

Local pastors are reduced to emcees. The pulpit is reduced to a stage. The church is reduced to a streaming service. And the man at the center of it all? He’s not a shepherd. He’s a systems architect for spiritual simulacra.

Groeschel’s leadership philosophy—shamelessly lifted from the pages of Harvard Business Review and reheated for Sunday consumption—is antithetical to the biblical call of a pastor. He doesn’t preach like Paul. He coaches like Covey. He doesn’t shepherd like Christ. He strategizes like Bezos. His sermons are sanitized, his doctrine diluted, his theology as thin as the paper his self-help books are printed on. This isn’t leading the church. It’s leveraging it.

And now, as the de facto face of the Global Leadership Summit, Groeschel has become the high priest of this unholy alliance between sacred truth and secular technique. From the summit stage, he delivers sermons that sound like TED Talks, peppered with Bible verses like garnishes on a dish already drenched in business jargon. What fellowship does the cross have with the corporate ladder? In Groeschel’s world, they’re one and the same. Excellence, vision, innovation—that’s the gospel now.

But for all his smiles, his branded t-shirts, and his shiny graphics, the truth is unmistakable. Craig Groeschel is not preaching the faith once for all delivered to the saints.

He’s not standing in the long line of blood-stained prophets and apostles. He’s not guarding the flock. He’s not rightly dividing the Word. He’s a salesman selling snake oil in Scripture’s bottle, and business is good.

So the lights will stay on. The campuses will multiply. The numbers will climb. And the sheep will keep grazing on air, never noticing that their souls are starving. Because when your pastor is a brand, your church becomes a billboard. And when your shepherd trades the rod and staff for metrics and strategy, you don’t get revival—you get rot.

Craig Groeschel isn’t feeding the sheep. He’s fleecing them. He isn’t guarding the gate. He’s holding it open. And behind that charming grin is a legacy not of faithfulness, but of a church industrial complex built on sand, sentiment, and spectacle.

And the collapse, when it comes, will be televised.