Inside The Rod Of Iron Ministries

By Lisa Mildred

Lisa Mildred is our boots on the ground cult reporter. In this installment in her series of first person accounts of visiting active cults, Lisa enters the realm of a sect of the Moonies that’s crazy about assault rifles.

In June of 2020, I went to visit the crown-wearing, gun-toting sect of the Moonies that I’d seen so sensationalized in the media. I wanted to see if the hype was true. When I pulled into the parking lot at Sanctuary Church, I saw grown men wearing full suits with crowns on their heads, making their way into the church. They were wearing their Sunday best… but with crowns that looked like they came out of that Pretty Pretty Princess board game I’d been so into back in Kindergarten. My inner child knew immediately that she wanted a Moonie crown. Badly.

Hanging over the entrance to the church was a sign that said, “This Kingdom is Protected by the Rod of Iron.”

“Rod of Iron” is their nice, flowery, way of saying Assault Rifle, in case you weren’t clear on that. I’d heard that this church had a habit of fetishizing guns. I’d seen a YouTube video where the youth group was selling thermoses shaped like bullets. It had been a long drive, so my first stop inside Sanctuary Church was to find the bathroom. On the wall of the ladies’ room there was art made by someone from the congregation, confirming the stereotype:

The church service wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes, so I sat myself down at a table in the lobby. This was in the shut down days of Covid and I noticed nobody else was wearing a mask. I had fresh antibodies, so I didn’t feel too much guilt at removing mine for the sake of assimilating. Shortly after my mask came off, an older woman came and sat with me.

If I didn’t hear her accent, I would have assumed she was your typical white church lady. But she explained to me that she was originally from Brazil. Her husband came and joined us. I wish I could say I remembered their names, but I can’t. You know why? Because she kept addressing him as “Daddy.” And he kept addressing her as “Mommy.”

I must have audibly gasped when I heard them say it, because Mommy explained that they’d raised several children, and even though they’re all out of the house now, they were still in the habit of addressing each other as Mommy and Daddy. It reminded me of a certain vice president we all used to know. The one who damn near got hanged last January.

Mommy and Daddy didn’t have crowns. Not everyone feels the need to wear them all the time. But they did explain to me that the congregants wear crowns because they’re all royalty. I expressed interest in buying a crown.

“You need to be married in the church.” Mommy told me. Figures.

Speaking of married in the church, Mommy and Daddy were one of the many couples that had been selected at random to marry each other by Reverend Moon back in the day. Mommy told me how she’d come all the way from Brazil, where she’d been matched with Daddy, who was American. They met about a year before they were married at a mass wedding in Madison Square Garden.

Mass Moonie Wedding at MSG

Daddy didn’t have much to say, but Mommy went out of her way to make me feel welcome. She introduced me to several other older couples, all of whom had found their spouses through Reverend Moon, as well. They came from all over the world, had settled in the US after getting married, and eventually moved to Bumblefuck, PA when Reverend Moon’s son Pastor Sean decided this would be where he had his church.

Mommy insisted I sit with them during the service. On the stage in the sanctuary, there were two empty thrones. Mommy explained those chairs were empty, for True Mother and True Father.

Sanctuary Church believes that Reverend Moon is True Father, just like the Moonies in Tarrytown. But they believe that a deceased woman who was previously married to Reverend Moon is True Mother. Pastor Sean’s mother, the woman most Moonies would consider to be True Mother, is still the leader of the church in Tarrytown and she resides at the headquarters in South Korea.

Sunday’s Best attire in The Rod of Iron.

Pastor Sean and his mom seem to have had a falling out, because he declared her no longer to be true mother when she opposed him becoming the leader of the church. Pretty convenient. Every family has their petty drama. Would love to see the moons on an episode of Maury. “You are NOT the True Mother!”

Just above the thrones was a massive American flag, with the words of the Second Amendment displayed across its stars and stripes. One of Sean’s brothers had gotten into the ammunition and gun manufacturing business and had a warehouse nearby, so having a congregation of people who fetishize the second amendment as if it were straight from the mouth of Jesus is definitely a good way to keep a family business thriving.

Pastor Sean was seated in front of us, looking like he’d done a cosplay of GI Joe. His cargo pants had some sort of knife on not one, but both sides. He was dressed in hunter green, and wearing his signature crown of bullets. Total fashion icon. The only people I saw wearing masks on this day in late June of 2020 were a family that I was later told were members of the press. I looked around at all the couple wearing their pretty crowns, and was filled with resentment. I wanted one so badly.

Second amendment represented.

At the start of the service, there were announcements. We were reminded of the upcoming 4th of July event, “Barbecue and Bullets” at the Tommy Gun Warehouse.

“Bring guns and ammunition, but not alcohol!” Pastor Sean said. “Bad combination, am I right?” he chuckled. “The bible tells us to be sober of mind. We should only be drunk on the holy ghost!”

The service included prayers and music in both English and Korean, which I’d expected. It included praying fervently for President Trump, and for his inevitable victory in the upcoming election. A hearty “Yes, Jesus!” came out of Mommy at that point in the prayer. They prayed against communism and Marxism.

Other lovely tidbits I heard from Pastor Sean’s mouth included the fact that all lives matter, that white people are a minority on a global scale, and that we can empower the Black community by training them armed and trained. I don’t know that I could honestly say that Pastor Sean said anything blatantly false. But he… definitely seemed to miss some vital points. We should certainly pray for our president to do a good job. But maybe not pray for the one who’s being a shit head to stay in power, you know? White people are a minority, if you zoom out far enough. But there’s that whole white supremacy thing. And sure, the second amendment should apply to Black people as much as the next guy… if only they weren’t being killed by law enforcement for selling loose cigarettes.

Pastor Sean did an impression of a snowflake who shops at Whole Foods and is looking for organic cucumbers and vidalia onions. And I must admit, it was hilarious.

At the end of the service, we were told that a wedding would be taking place in the Sanctuary shortly, but to first go enjoy lunch in the lobby. During the break, Mommy and Daddy insisted on paying for my lunch. I was pleased to see that there were also Thai Iced Teas for sale. I love those. I also noticed that Pastor Sean’s wife was carrying a small pistol, which she kept in a very tasteful, floral-print holster. Because who says weaponry can’t be feminine?

I was able to buy a bullet-shaped thermos from the gift shop, but it was at the little coffeeshop run by the youth group, who was raising money for an upcoming trip, that I found my favorite souvenir from Sanctuary Church, and, quite possibly, from literally anywhere.

A box of chocolates shaped like different types of guns. “Cindy’s Gun Sweets,” they were called. I read the description on the back of the box. Apparently Cindy, a young member of their congregation, had started this little business venture to combine her love of chocolate with her love of the second amendment.

A real product.

There’s truly something out there for everyone in this world. I told them to please take my money! I was very excited to take my own box of Cindy’s Gun Sweets home to family. I’m sure the chocolate was rich in iron. Pun!

After I paid for my chocolate weaponry, I started looking for pamphlets, or any sort of information I could find about where to order a crown. But Mommy motioned me back to her and Daddy’s table. There, I was introduced to the mother of the bride. They’d come all the way from somewhere in some flyover state to have the wedding here, with Pastor Sean presiding. The groom was from the area, so I asked MOB how the two love birds had met.

She explained to me that like the Tarrytown Moonies, they have an online database to help find spouses for their children. When she’d found her soon-to-be son-in-law, she thought he might be a good fit because they both had similar upbringings. They were both from military families who’d moved around a lot, and both one of many siblings. Both sets of parents thought their children seemed like a good match, so they were introduced. This had only been four months ago. And the groom had proposed via the internet, without having ever met the bride in person.

And here I am, with my two thousand Facebook friends and successful blog, thirty-two and single!

The MOB was pulling something out of a white box, and revealed a brand-new crown. It was absolutely gorgeous.

“You know, I’m seeing these stunning crowns that everyone here wears, and they’re so lovely,” I said. “Where on earth do you buy them?”

“There’s a member of our congregation who makes them. We have them custom-made.” She told me with a smile, as she put her new crown on, made specially for her daughter’s wedding day.

“I would absolutely love to order one, if I could get the artist’s information—”

But she cut me off: “You need to be married in the church.”

Foiled again.

The wedding started soon after, and I took my single, crownless self back into the sanctuary. There was, sadly, only one couple getting married that day. Sanctuary Church, as a wedding venue, was a far cry from Madison Square Garden. But it’s the only wedding I’ve ever been to where the groom is expected to carry his assault rifle strapped to him while saying his vows.

It was hard not to laugh when “The Hallelujah Chorus” started blasting through the speakers, and Pastor Sean and his wife appeared from backstage, wearing white robes.

“I bought Pastor Sean those shoes.” Mommy leaned over and whispered to me, clearly proud.

During the wedding ceremony, Pastor Sean prayed that the groom would be filled with unconditional love for his new bride, and she would be filled with unconditional respect for her husband. He also prayed that they’d emulate the ideals of being part of a militia for peace. Lovely.

After the Hallelujah chorus played while Pastor Sean and his wife exited, Mommy told me about her children.

“My children all went to Ivy Leagues schools.” She told me.

“And are any of them here today?” I asked.

“No, none of them are members of the church anymore. My children are very educated, but they’re not very faithful.” She said in a disapproving tone. “You know how left-leaning college campuses tend to be!”

It’s almost like education…improves your ability to think critically, respect people from different backgrounds, and cuts down on cognitive dissonance, or something! Crazy!

Mommy went on to explain that her eldest son had been married in the church, but the marriage hadn’t lasted.

“They divorced because his wife didn’t want to have children!” she told me, in a tone that might suggest not wanting to have children might be morally equivalent to raising your children among wolves. “And having children is so, so important!”

“I don’t want children, either.” I confessed. “Why is it so important?”

“Because if we don’t populate this country, then do you know who will?” She asked me, looking very concerned.

“…wolves?” I guessed.

“Immigrants!” Mommy spit the word out of her mouth. “Immigrants! And they don’t love this country as much as we do!!”

I mentioned that Mommy had moved here from Brazil, right? But there was no time to get into that, because Mommy and Daddy passed me off to another member of the congregation.

“We’re not going to the shooting range today, but you should! Mitch is going, so you can follow him in his car.” Daddy told me as he introduced me to Mitch.

Mitch was wearing a shirt with an American flag on it, as well as a hat with the Blue Lives Matter logo. No crown and no ring, so I guessed he must be single! What better person for me to follow as he drove into the woods with the intention of showing me a bunch of guns, right??

Lisa at the gun range.

Once we arrived, I parked my car next to Mitch’s and he gave me the tour. Before anyone goes to the shooting range, they stop and bow at the memorial Pastor Sean had built for the real True Mother. I watched Mitch kneel and pray, and then he escorted me to the shooting range. As we trudged through the woods, he told me about his fiancé, a woman living in Russia who he’d met online, but has yet to meet in person. He’d be going to visit her as soon as the borders opened up.

“Do you have a crown, Mitch?” I asked, wondering if maybe a man would give me a different answer.

“Not yet! You gotta be married in the church.”

I was given some ear plugs and observed a group of giggly teenage girls waiting their turns to practice shooting. They were mostly of Asian descent, on at least one side of their family. This made me think about the one stereotype that this group does defy. Race. When I think of gun enthusiasts who head to the shooting range after praying for Trump and don’t want immigrants to reproduce faster than them. I picture someone with skin like mine and a VERY red neck. Not soft-spoken Asian teenage girls. Not a woman from Brazil who left everything behind to follow her god. I think of someone who’s never met a Black person before. But there’d been Black people in church. And the Moonies are notorious for being well-traveled, speaking multiple languages, cross-cultural marriages, and interracial children. The KKK would want most member of the Moonies to get the hell out of town.

It’s been more than a year, and I still can’t comprehend the severity of that kind of internalized racism.

The ground was littered with gold bullet shells, much the way a beach might be covered in sea shells. I scooped some up. If I couldn’t have a crown, I could at least collect enough bullet shells to make one of my own.

And then, the beautiful moment came. Pastor Sean asked me if I’d like to shoot his assault rifle. When in Rome, right? I sat down and his wife showed me what to do, while Pastor Sean took a video for me on my phone. I hadn’t shot a gun since I was twelve, when a friend’s dad who was an advocate for gun safety, took us to a rod and gun club. I laughed hysterically with every shot I took at the absurdity of the situation. Everyone was cheering for me. Pastor Sean said I had “great finger discipline.” And to think, the magical moment was captured on video!

I never knew it was a dream of mine for a cult leader to let me borrow his weapon of mass destruction and then compliment my finger discipline. But I’m rather pleased with myself that it happened. I hope to apply that finger discipline to other areas of life.

But even with that accomplishment to add to my culty resume, I knew I’d never truly be happy until I got a crown. I left feeling hopeless, knowing that while I do have a morbid sense of humor and a taste for adventure, I could never really pull off marrying into this community just to get a sparkly head accessory.

I understand that I don’t get to have the shiny diamond, or the pretty white dress unless I get married. But do I really need to be denied a crown, too? Especially when I have such great finger discipline? It just doesn’t seem fair.

I scoured the internet trying to find the website where Sanctuary church was getting their crowns, but with no success. I thought about sending an email through the church website, with some convoluted story about wanting to order a crown for a little girl. Maybe they’d have more understanding for a little girl than they would for me?

I’m pleased to say there was eventually a happy ending. My amazing brother emailed the church on my behalf, asking how to get in touch with the crown guy. I asked him what sort of story he’d spin to achieve success. Would the fake little girl be terminally ill?

“I just told them you really enjoyed your visit and would like to buy a crown.” He said, shrugging it off like it was no big deal, like I hadn’t asked multiple people.

My brother used his male privilege to order me a Moonie crown for Christmas. It comes complete with the symbol of Sanctuary Church, as well as a rendering of Reverend Moon’s signature on the front. It’s so excellent. I like to wear it with my Mormon underwear while I watch cult documentaries. In fact, last week I went to visit the man who makes the crowns to have it adjusted, and he showed me all his works in progress, and his wife served me fresh bread. So there.

Married in the church, my ass.

The author in her Moonie Crown.