My Testamony

By Bishop Scott Grey, DTh

My Testimony
By Bishop Scott Grey, DTh
January 9, 2025

The last decade of my life has been profoundly challenging, but the past two years have been the hardest of all. I witnessed the tide turning, and I was among the first on radio to prophesy what lay ahead: that Donald Trump and the Republican Party would take us back in time, reminiscent of the Salem witch trials, and even echoing the horrors of 1938 Nazi Germany. Many labeled me as crazy. Friends turned away, pastors and churches distanced themselves, insisting I was inciting mass hysteria. Even within my own family, I faced rejection, accused of losing my sanity. Yet, through it all, God revealed the truth to me.

In response, I delivered a sermon titled "When the Church No Longer Is the Church." I warned that many would turn away from Jesus, opting instead to follow Donald Trump. I prophesied that evangelical, fundamentalist, and even Catholic churches would morph into something akin to a cult. I’m not claiming this applies to every church, but the majority certainly fell into this pattern. And, tragically, my predictions came to fruition, just as the Spirit of God had shown me.

Not long after, I received a call from Bishop Carlton Pearson, who listened to my struggles and offered encouragement. He urged me to persevere, reminding me that I bore a divine mandate from God. He insisted that I must not allow anyone to deter me from my calling. So, I pressed on, despite the difficult path ahead. I witnessed preachers who bowed down and fell like dominoes, bowing to the pressures of Trump, republicans, pastors, and churchgoers abandoning the teachings of Jesus in favor of a new message steeped in fear, hatred, judgement, condemnation and exclusion. I call this their new five fold ministry. So I lost countless friends, family, and financial stability along the way. I shed many tears, yet I continued to forge ahead.

Long before this upheaval, I had already faced losses due to my commitment to an inclusive gospel, advocating for the LGBTQ community, and standing up for the African-American community, women, and other marginalized groups. The last two years, however, felt like I was trapped in a massive hurricane that went on and on and on and would not end—everything came crashing down around me. And when I say everything, I truly mean everything.

I received death threats, faced guns pointed at me, and my church endured bomb threats. One man drove all the way from Kentucky, driven by hatred for my message. He was a racist, homophobic, and misogynistic individual who threw a brick through my church window, and then came back later to throw a rock that injuring me in the process. Despite all of this chaos, I remind myself daily that I’m still here, and I won’t go anywhere until God’s work in me is complete.

Then my health began to decline. I endured persistent migraine headaches that seemed relentless, forcing myself to eat even when I had no appetite. I was constantly on edge, and within my own family, I faced screams and arguments as they defended Donald Trump. Every time I turned on the television, I was bombarded by the awful things he said and did, leaving me to wonder how so many could fail to see the stark difference between good and evil. Even when presented with evidence, people refused to believe, adding to my stress and exacerbating my health issues.

I had built a large following on social media, where I was vocal about my mandate God had given to me, but this only invited more attacks. Then, one morning, I woke up and struggled to get out of bed. This was eight or nine months ago, and when I finally managed to stand, I could barely make it to the bathroom. After that, I returned to bed and remained there for two days, unable to eat or muster the desire to do so. When I finally got up to wash my face, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and noticed my face had pulled slightly to one side—a sight that filled me with fear.

To give you some context, in October 2023, I received a call from my brother informing me that my stepdad had collapsed. He had picked him up and placed him on the couch, but my stepdad was mumbling incoherently. I couldn’t drive 2.5 hours to see him right away due to my own circumstances, but two days later, I made the trip to Duke Hospital, where they informed me he had suffered a stroke. I spent over a month driving my mother back and forth to the hospital every day. Tragically, five months later, my stepfather passed away.

Throughout this ordeal, I was grappling with my own health issues, amidst arguments and tensions fueled by the political climate. Yet, I found the strength to preach my stepfather's funeral and returned home afterward. In the following months, I made it my mission to educate and advocate for others, warning them about the dangers of Donald Trump and the Republican Party. I posted about these issues on Facebook, but it seemed as though no one noticed what was going on with me except for one person: Bishop Steven L. White. He reached out, concerned for my well-being, I told him I was ok I was just tired of all of this stuff going on, unaware of the depth of my struggles at that time. Nevertheless, I took his words of encouragement to heart.

Shortly after our conversation, my headaches intensified, and I became physically ill—my entire body felt unwell. I pressed on, even as more people turned against me, facing relentless attacks. By September, my health had deteriorated to the point where I could hardly get out of bed. I felt weak, unable to eat or sleep, and was in pain all over. It was then that I discovered my electrolyte levels were dangerously low, and the sight of my face still pulled to one side was a stark reminder of my condition.

I reached out to close friends whom I considered family, expressing my fears that I might not make it. I truly believed I was on the brink of death, having lost so much—money, friends, family—and now faced the possibility of losing my life. But then, in mid-November, I began to see a glimmer of improvement. My health slowly started to rebound, and with that realization came a sobering understanding: stress can be a silent killer.

Stress can cause your organs to shut down, and it can cloud your mind, making it difficult to think clearly. Since my illness, I’ve found myself needing to concentrate harder than before, and my energy levels have plummeted. Yet, each day brings a little more progress. I’ve been praying for guidance, asking the Lord to help me rid my life of stagnant negativity. Through this prayer and by reaching out to those who truly care about me, I’ve learned to limit my intake of news and information that brings me stress. I now focus on surrounding myself with positivity and support.

For anyone facing similar struggles, I urge you to take these steps. Your health and well-being matter. You have the power to reclaim your life, and together we can navigate these turbulent times.

As I began to implement these changes, I noticed a shift within me. I found strength in setting boundaries, in saying no to the negativity that once consumed my thoughts and emotions. The process of healing is not instantaneous; it requires patience and persistence. I learned to cherish the moments of peace, savoring the small victories along the way. Each day that I woke up feeling a little better was a testament to my resilience.

I also reached out to trusted friends and allies who shared my vision of love, inclusion, and justice. They became my support system, reminding me that I am not alone in this journey. Their encouragement bolstered my spirits during the darkest moments, and together we strategized on how to continue advocating for those who feel voiceless in our current climate. We organized discussions, supported community initiatives, and worked to uplift marginalized voices that often go unheard.

With my health gradually improving, I began to reflect deeply on the lessons I had learned through adversity. I realized that my experiences, as painful as they were, had equipped me with the ability to empathize with others in their struggles. I understood that the battle for justice and equity is ongoing, and I felt a renewed sense of purpose in standing up for what is right, regardless of the personal cost.

I resumed my advocacy work with a clearer vision, focusing on educating others about the dangers of fear-based politics and the importance of inclusivity. I shared my story openly, using it as a platform to raise awareness about the mental and physical toll that stress and societal pressures can take on individuals. I wanted people to understand that speaking out requires courage and that we must support one another in our journeys.

As I continued to navigate my path, I encountered moments of depression. There are still those who challenge me for what I preach, who seek to undermine my voice, but I learned to hold steadfast in my convictions. I embraced the notion that while I may face opposition, I also have a community of like-minded individuals who stand with me in solidarity.

Through it all, I found solace in my faith. I leaned into prayer, seeking guidance and strength from God. I reminded myself that my purpose transcends the struggles I face, and that I am called to be a beacon of hope for others. I sought to inspire those who feel marginalized, encouraging them to rise above the challenges and embrace their own journeys of healing.

Looking back, I recognize how far I’ve come. The road has been rocky, filled with obstacles and heartache, but each step has brought me closer to my true self. I’ve learned the importance of self-care, the necessity of community, and the power of faith. I’ve come to understand that while the world may be filled with darkness, we have the ability to shine our light brightly.

I stand here today, not just as a survivor but as a warrior for justice and inclusion. I continue to advocate for those who feel unheard, and I urge each of you to do the same. Let us stand together in love and unity, pushing back against the forces that seek to divide us. Together, we can create a world where everyone feels valued and accepted, a world where the message of Jesus is not lost amid the chaos.

As I move forward, I carry with me the lessons of resilience, compassion, and hope. I am determined to keep climbing, to keep pressing on, and to remind others that they too can overcome their struggles. So, to anyone feeling overwhelmed by the weight of their circumstances, know that healing is possible. Embrace your journey, lean on your community, and never lose sight of the light within you. Together, we will rise.

You must learn to prioritize your well-being. It’s essential to recognize that not everyone will understand your journey, and that’s okay. We live in a world where opinions can clash violently, where differences can lead to division rather than dialogue. I've experienced firsthand the isolating power of speaking truth to a world that often prefers comfort over confrontation. The pain of rejection can feel insurmountable, but it’s crucial to remember that you are not alone in this fight.

As I walked through this valley of shadows, I found solace in my faith and in the unwavering support of those who truly believe in me. I began to surround myself with individuals who uplift rather than tear down, who encourage rather than belittle. It’s a delicate balance, but it’s one that is necessary for healing. We must advocate for ourselves, even if it means stepping away from those who refuse to see the light in our message.

Every tear I shed, every moment of despair, has been a testament to my resilience. I’ve learned to lean into my vulnerability, to allow it to be a source of strength rather than a weakness. The journey towards healing is not linear; it ebbs and flows, much like the tides. Some days are brighter than others, and that’s perfectly acceptable.

I urge you all to do the same. Embrace your truth, speak your heart, and don’t shy away from the discomfort that comes with it. It’s in those uncomfortable moments that growth occurs. It’s in the struggle that we find our purpose. By sharing my story, I hope to inspire others to rise above their pain and to seek the support they need.

Together, we can create a community that fosters love and understanding, that stands firm against hate and division. Remember, it’s not about how many people stand with you; it’s about the quality of those who do. Cherish those relationships, and let them be your anchor in turbulent times.

So, as I stand here today, I declare that I will not be silenced. I will continue to advocate for love, inclusion, and justice. I will continue to preach the gospel of unity and hope, even if the world around me tries to pull me into despair. I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere until my mission is fulfilled. And for those of you walking a similar path, know that you too have the strength to overcome. As my friend Bishop Carlton Pearson said keep on keepin on. Keep pressing forward, keep climbing that mountain, and let your light shine brightly for all to see.