Redefining Cult: From Control to Cultivation

Hey Everyone,

I hope this blog finds you well.

I’ve officially lived in Florida for a month, though it still feels more like a vacation than a new reality. But this is also the time of year I start preparing my planner for the next year.

(Long story short as to why I don’t wait until January: In Scripture, God seems to mark time differently than we do. We’re even told that the enemy “changes times and laws.” That stuck with me. Why change something unless it matters? So I shifted my planning rhythm to align with the Hebrew calendar—specifically the final month before Rosh Hashanah, the start of the Jewish new year.)

So here I am again—stepping into the quiet rhythm of reflection, looking back on the past year. And one thing keeps coming to mind. At the time, I laughed it off. But now? I think God might be trying to get my attention.

I was called a cult leader.

Yeah. You read that right.

Not by one person. Not in the same exact words. But over the course of this year, in multiple conversations, from multiple sources, I kept hearing echoes of the same accusation. (For the record most were said in joking and not in any kind of malicious way.)

And honestly? I didn’t get it. I’m not the “leader” type. I’m generally shy, afraid of group situations, and "Awkward Nerd" probably best describes my personality :). Not exactly Leadership qualities... LOL. Despite my social shortcomings, I’m definitely not a follower either—not by any stretch of the word - because I don’t like to be led—at least, not in the way most people mean.

Let me explain.

Since school, I’ve had a deep aversion to being told what to think. I’ve always believed education should teach people how to think—not hand them conclusions.

That’s probably why I approach Scripture the way I do. I don’t want someone else’s commentary or interpretation. I want to know how to learn the Bible for myself. Because if we’re really called to personal relationship with the Lord… shouldn’t we be reading His words personally?

So when I say I don’t like being led, I mean I don’t like being mentally micromanaged.

Now—to be fair—some people who know me might say I do tell others how to think. And I’ll be honest… they’re not wrong.

When I first turned to the Lord in 2011, I thought my job was to evangelize. And by evangelize, I mean explain. I watched a million sermons, did tons of research, and started reading the Bible out loud—convinced that if I could just “do the work,” I could make it easier for others to understand. I’d become the expert. And then share my expertise.

I’ve done the same thing with Disney vacations. No joke—I’ve mapped out strategies for the “best way” to do the parks. I love testing variables, finding patterns, and helping others avoid mistakes. So yeah, maybe I have some… shall we say… cult leader tendencies? 😂

But here’s the thing:

In the past decade—especially this year—my thinking has changed dramatically. I no longer believe in evangelism (I know you'll find that shocking considering I'm writing a blog... but honestly I do this blog for me because I enjoy writing and learning.... #NerdAlert). What I’ve come to realize is that people only grow when they’re willing to invest. And investment doesn’t happen through persuasion. It happens through pursuit.

Thus my approach to people—and to life in general—has softened drastically.

Which is why the “cult leader” comments surprised me.

They came at a time when I’m loosening my grip, not tightening it. Letting go of control, not clinging to it.

And because this is my month of reflection, I did what I always do :I put on my Nerd Hat… and I started researching.

ROOTED ASSUMPTION

When someone uses the phrase cult leader, it usually brings up a very specific mental image. And let’s be honest—it’s not a flattering one.

Most people picture someone charismatic and manipulative. Someone who draws others in, slowly isolates them, and starts controlling how they think, feel, and live. Maybe the teachings start out sounding biblical or spiritual, but over time the group becomes less about God and more about the person at the center.

That’s the stereotype. And for good reason—it’s happened. A lot. From Jonestown to Waco to lesser-known stories inside churches and ministries that slowly morphed into obedience machines.

So the word cult has basically become shorthand for “this is dangerous.” And cult leader? That’s often just a quick way of saying, “you’re trying to control people.”

According to most modern dictionaries, a cult is usually defined as:

• “A religious group considered unorthodox or false,”

• or “A small group with extreme devotion to a person, idea, or movement—often under the control of a charismatic leader.”

And while “cult leader” isn’t always listed as a separate term, it’s widely understood to mean:

• Someone who holds strong psychological or spiritual control over their followers—typically by claiming special revelation, discouraging dissent, and demanding loyalty.

So with definitions like that, it’s not hard to see why the word cult makes people uncomfortable—especially when it’s used to describe something spiritual.

But I’ll be honest—when I read those definitions, they didn’t really line up with who I am or what I do. I don’t isolate people (though people probably look at my life and think I'm isolated since I'm extremely introverted). I don’t want followers. I’m not even particularly good in groups.

If God was trying to tell me something about myself... I wasn't seeing it.

So I started wondering… where did this word actually come from? And how did it go from something neutral—or even sacred—to something so loaded and extreme?

Turns out, the word cult didn’t always mean control or coercion.

Its original meaning was something surprisingly different. And honestly… a lot more beautiful.

RE-EXAMINED EVIDENCE

The word cult didn’t originally mean anything sinister. In fact, it comes from the Latin word cultus, which means:

“care, labor, cultivation, worship.”

It was related to the Latin verb colere, which meant:

“to till the ground, to inhabit, to cherish.”

It was a farming word. A relational word. A word about tending to something sacred.

The original idea was: if something was valuable—whether land, relationship, or spirit—it deserved intentional care. Devotion. Nurture.

Which… honestly… sounds a lot like the posture we’re invited to have toward God. And toward each other.

But over time, the meaning of cult began to shift.

In the 17th century, it still referred mostly to religious worship. Historical writings include phrases like “the cult of the saints” or “cultic rituals”—describing reverence and ceremony, not danger.

By the 19th century, the word started to drift. It was used more to describe excessive enthusiasm or devotion—think “the cult of beauty” or “the cult of personality.”

By the 20th century, especially after the trauma of authoritarian leaders and tragic religious movements, cult evolved into what we know today: a red flag. A sign of manipulation, isolation, and fear.

That’s a massive shift.

The original meaning was about cultivation. The modern meaning is about coercion. And this isn’t the first word that’s seen a definition shift.

It’s actually part of a pattern. Because the same thing has happened to other deeply important spiritual words.

Take the word holy, for example:

Etymologists trace holy back to Old English halig, from Proto‑Germanic hailaz—which meant whole, healthy, intact. Not “without error”—but complete. Unbroken.

And in Hebrew, qodesh comes from the root q‑d‑sh, meaning set apart for a purpose—not necessarily morally flawless.

Yet culturally—especially in many churches—holy became shorthand for moral purity, sin avoidance, and flawless performance.

Another example is the word perfect:

The Greek word used in Matthew 5:48 is teleios—which means complete, whole, mature, or fully developed. Not flawless.

It comes from telos, meaning end, goal, or intended purpose—so “perfect” in context means being brought to full maturity.

In biblical usage, teleios was about growing into wholeness—not living without fault.

Yet again, culturally—especially in many churches—perfect became shorthand for moral flawlessness, mistake-free living, and impossible standards.

But here’s the deeper problem:Changes in language don’t just affect how we define words. They reshape our mission. Our experience. And ultimately… how we view God.

Once holy was redefined as “morally right” instead of “made whole”…People stopped asking what it means to be healed—and started asking what it means to be right.

Once perfect stopped meaning “mature” and started meaning “without fault”…People stopped growing into their individual design—and started contorting themselves to fit a mold.

And once the goal shifted… the method had to shift too.

If the spiritual journey is about becoming whole and set apart—you till the soil. You cultivate. You pursue relationship. You give things time to grow.

But if the journey is about achieving flawlessness and moral correctness—you control. You enforce. You micromanage. You perform. You conform.

And the inevitable end?

You stop seeing God as a relational gardener who tends and nurtures.

And you start viewing Him as a tyrant who cares more about rules and mission than your heart.

That’s not just a different theology.

That’s a different God.

RE-FRAMED BELIEF

If the original meaning of “cult” was to till or to cultivate, then maybe that’s the work we’re really called to do—to become cultivators of the heart. To prepare the ground. Not just in others… but in ourselves.

But what does it mean to “till the heart”? I mean, it’s not like we’ve got a shovel and a rake in our spiritual back pocket.

If you’ve spent any time in church, you’ve probably been given a handful of quick answers: Go to church. Read your Bible. Pray more. Join a small group.

And to be honest—those aren’t bad things. But I’ve noticed something. In a lot of Christian spaces, we end up swinging between two extremes.

Some focus entirely on “truth” and completely dismiss feelings. Others are all about feelings, but have no anchor. It’s like head-only or heart-only spirituality—and neither one, on its own, leads to wholeness.

But what if the path to spiritual health isn’t either/or? What if it’s both?

What if, to truly cultivate the heart, we need to engage both the emotional and the rational? What if we need to examine both our feelings and our beliefs—to compare them side by side in order to uncover something deeper… something more true?

Because that’s what cultivation actually is.

In the physical world, cultivation is a process. It’s not just one thing. It’s not just throwing seeds on the ground and hoping for the best. It’s a series of intentional steps designed to create the right environment for growth.

And the same thing applies to our spiritual lives. Here's what it looks like:

• 1. Break the Ground In farming, the first step is to break up the hardened soil. Because nothing grows in ground that won’t open. Spiritually, this might look like allowing ourselves to be disrupted. To be questioned. To feel discomfort. To let old assumptions crack. It’s not easy. But it’s necessary.

  
  

• 2. Remove the Rocks and Weeds Once the ground is open, you clear out the stuff that doesn’t belong—the things that block roots or choke the life out of whatever tries to grow. In us? That could be lies we’ve believed. Trauma we’ve buried. Patterns we’ve normalized. Cultivation means doing the inner work to pull those up and create space.

  
  

• 3. Add Nutrients Now that the soil’s clear, it needs to be fed. You enrich it—compost, fertilizer, organic matter. In our lives, this is truth. Not just “head knowledge,” but soul-level, heart-transforming truth. Encouragement. Wisdom. Scripture. The kind that goes down deep and changes the chemistry of how we see God, ourselves, and others.

  
  

• 4. Plant and Tend Finally, you plant—intentionally. You don’t scatter random seeds and hope something sticks. You choose what you want to grow. And then you water it. You tend it. You wait. You don’t force fruit… you nurture roots. That’s where consistency comes in. Habits. Prayer. Listening. Patience. Boundaries. Not as performance—but as practice.

  
  

See, cultivation is not about control. It’s about care. It’s not about molding people into your image—it’s about helping them become who they were created to be.

And if we think back to the original meaning of “cult” as cultivation… maybe we’ve had it backwards all along.

The most dangerous spiritual spaces aren’t the ones that till the heart. They’re the ones that try to control it.

They don’t break ground—they harden it. They don’t clear weeds—they plant fear. They don’t feed the soil—they lay down rules. They don’t help people grow—they force them to conform.

And I think this is how people started to view God.

But I don’t think God is after flawless rule-followers or robotic obedience. He’s not trying to force people into a mold. From the very beginning, He used farming—physical, tangible work—to reveal something about Himself. He’s a Gardener. And He’s shown us that cultivation takes time, effort, and care. It requires attention, not control. Nurture, not pressure. It’s about working the ground so something real can grow.

That’s what I think the spiritual life is supposed to be. Not polishing yourself up to look good or believing all the right things so you can earn approval. But digging in. Doing the work. Letting God meet you in the process—not just to change your behavior, but to actually make you whole.

So now the real question becomes: What do I do with that?

REFLECTIVE INVITATION

So… is God calling me a cult leader?

Not in the modern sense. Not in the “charismatic manipulator with a God complex” kind of way. Not in the isolation, fear, or control way either.

But if we go back to the original meaning—to cultivate, to till, to tend what’s sacred—then honestly? Maybe that’s the assignment. Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing without even realizing it.

Because the truth is, I do believe that hearts need to be cultivated. The ground needs to be softened before anything new can take root. That’s why I write. That’s why I ask hard questions. That’s why I chase etymology and theology and make space for messy conversations.

Before anyone can truly see God differently, they usually need permission to consider that it’s even possible. And that starts with a crack in the soil. A little oxygen. A little light.

In that sense, I guess this blog is about overthrowing stories. Not to tear everything down—but to create space for something truer to grow.

So if God is saying something here, maybe it’s not about being a “leader” in the usual sense. (That part still doesn’t fit. Trust me—just watch me at a party.) But I can see how He might be inviting me to be someone who tills. Who tends. Who cultivates. Who clears the way for others to grow.

And maybe that’s something we’re all invited to do—not to control others, but to care for them. Not to dictate truth, but to make space for it to be discovered on their own and in their and God's own timing.

I hope you all have a Lovely day (I met this wonderful woman from England and she said the word Lovely and I really liked the word... I also really loved her brownies. Get this she puts a little bit of coffee and a little bit of mayo... yes Mayo... and it is DIVINE. Oh my goodness... I blame her for my next ten pounds! LOL)

Jacqueline Marie