‘Glad he’s dead’: Man’s escape from cult-like church he says controlled every aspect of his life
After being born into one of Australia’s most notorious cult-like churches, Ryan Carey escaped its controlling clutches and is now speaking out.
Ryan Carey had no idea that his seemingly normal upbringing in a sleepy suburb about an hour from Melbourne was anything but typical.
His parents were members of a notorious and secretive Pentecostal cult-like church that preached doomsday prophecies and controlled every aspect of its followers’ lives.
His father was its founder Noel Hollins’ right-hand man.
As a kid, Mr Carey was largely isolated from society, which he was taught was plagued by evil and controlled by the devil.
Instead of sports and video games, his free time was spent dutifully preparing for the looming end of the world.
He knew no different, having been born into the Geelong Revival Centre.
Six years ago, Mr Carey, now 46, fled a lifetime of brainwashing and coercion and was shunned by his former church “brothers and sisters” as a result.
He has recently begun sharing his experiences inside the “damaging and dangerous” sect, and shining a light on its “evil” leader.
The pastor who ruled with fear
Hollins ran the Geelong Revival Centre for 65 years, preaching about an imminent Armageddon and brainwashing his followers into believing he was one of God’s apostles and that his was the “one true church”.
He loomed large – literally, standing at two metres tall and possessing a booming baritone voice, and spiritually, ruling with an unwavering iron fist.
But rather than merely sharing fringe interpretations of Christianity, those who escaped his clutches over the years say Hollins was a power-hungry monster who destroyed their lives.
As a kid, Mr Carey spent a minimum of eight hours a week worshipping inside the nondescript headquarters of the cult-like church.
“Every six weeks, we’d spend 11 hours straight praying and listening to [sermons], no eating. There was a two-and-a-half week camp at the end of the year.”
Followers were forbidden from celebrating Christmas and birthdays were a modest affair, if marked at all, so there wasn’t a lot of joy to be found.
“He preached a lot of hate and fear,” Mr Carey said. “He hated any other church, any other religion, hated modern society and preached fear about it.”
Unlike modern evangelical churches that focus on love and kindness, Hollins spoke of those virtues “maybe five per cent of the time”.
“He preached stuff that was racist and homophobic. He was a terrible person ... they (church members) called him ‘the apostle’ and he was their God on earth.”
Followers of Hollins became ‘saints’ when they were baptised, giving them the power to speak in tongues – verbal gibberish he claimed allowed direct communication with God.
They were promised eternal life while the rest of the world would burn in hell in the wake of a nuclear apocalypse orchestrated by Russia.
But to be saved, Hollins’ followers had to submit to him entirely. He would have total and unflinching control over every aspect of their life.
In the investigative podcast series Secrets We Keep: Pray Harder on LiSTNR, from acclaimed journalist Richard Baker, secretly recorded audio of some of Hollins’ sermons was aired.
In them, he spoke of a holy war playing out in the “dangerous” outside world and how his brand of Christianity was contrary to evil.
“And I hope we see ourselves as soldiers,” he told his followers. “You can’t be neutral in warfare. If you run away from the enemy, the enemy will chase you.”
Hollins approved – or rejected – marriages and even arranged some couplings himself, as well as overseeing plans to have children.
Among his ultraconservative teachings were the importance of traditional gender roles where women were to be submissive and obey their husbands completely.
Hollins devised a hierarchy that put him at the top, overseeing men, who oversaw women, who were told to punish their children for any perceived ill acts.
“They control every aspect of your life and rip your family apart,” Mr Carey said.
He controlled followers’ financial affairs and funnelled huge amounts of money into church coffers.
Where that money went is unclear. Hollins lived a modest and meagre life, encouraging members to do so too.
‘He was the law’
If a crime was committed, including child sexual abuse, Hollins was to be consulted – not police. He was the ultimate law and not the state.
“I wish the government had stepped in and pulled the chain on this guy,” Mr Carey said. “In this (church), it was a state within a state and he was the law.”
In 2022, Shine Lawyers abuse specialist Amy Ovler told The Geelong Advertiser that the firm had fielded many inquiries from former church members.
“Their accounts of what they’ve been through are staggering,” Ms Ovler said.
“There’s evidence of physical and emotional abuse, and allegations of sexual abuse have also been raised.
“In instances where people are born into groups like this, the abuse often starts from a very young age, and becomes what they consider to be a normal way of life. In reality, it’s about as far from normal as you can get.“
In January, prominent church member Todd Hubers van Assenraad was sentenced to 22 years in prison for the repeated sexual abuse of nine boys aged between six and 12.
During sentencing, County Court judge Gerard Mullaly revealed one of the victims told his father about the abuse.
“After hearing what his son had outlined, the victim’s father did not call the police but rather rang and spoke to the then-head or pastor of the church, Noel Hollins, and informed him what the victim had said,” Mr Mullaly said.
“Mr Hollins also did not contact the police that night or the next day. Rather, Mr Hollins called you and … asked you to come and see him.”
When police were eventually contacted by another boy’s mother, they raided Hubers van Assenraad’s home and discovered 1600 child abuse images and videos.
A childhood stolen
Like all of the other children born into the sect, Mr Carey didn’t know any better. Their way of life seemed normal.
“All your friends are in there... you were pretty well isolated from the outside world. We didn’t have any friends outside the cult group. It was our whole world.”
While Mr Carey went to a normal school, he was ostracised and excluded by his peers, which only served to reinforce Hollins’ teachings that outsiders were evil.
“Normal school wasn’t fun for a cult kid – myself included,” he said.
Mr Carey had a secret desire to join the army when he grew up, but such a pursuit was forbidden. He was allowed to learn a trade.
Hollins had to approve the vocation, just as he did all life milestones, from where someone lived to who they married and when they started a family.
“The brainwashing was pretty intense. We honestly believed we were the one true church and the world was going to end. The outside world was bad and the devil was out there to get you.”
His upbringing was strict, given Hollins repeatedly preached the virtues of not “sparing the rod” when it came to disciplining children.
“Because dad was in a leadership role, there was a lot of pressure on us kids to look and act a certain way,” Mr Carey recalled.
“I’m not saying my parents were terrible, but they were strict. They didn’t have good upbringings themselves, so they took on the advice... about how to raise children.”
His mother and father were already married and had a child when they fell into the church’s clutches in the 1970s.
While Mr Carey was born into the sect as a result, plenty of adults – like his folks – joined willingly, lured in by fear and the promise of salvation.
Some were simply looking for a place to belong, having failed to find one in the real world.
“You’re not going to pick it until it’s too late, until they’ve got you.”
Making his escape
In his late 30s, Mr Carey began to question the sect’s teachings and his place in the church, but the treatment of followers with mental health issues proved to be a tipping point.
“There was a woman who needed to take psychiatric medication because she was manic. The pastor put her out of fellowship unless she stopped taking it. That was happening a lot.
“That did it for me. I just couldn’t stand by and watch the damage that was being done to people, to families, repeated again and again.”
It wasn’t just mental healthcare that was dissuaded.
Reports have emerged in recent years of followers with serious health issues, including cancer, being discouraged from seeking medical treatment.
Instead, they were urged to “pray harder” and be healed by their faith.
“That was common,” Mr Carey said. “Medical care wasn’t banned specifically, but it was seen as a shameful thing, that you’d given up on God’s healing.
“People were being gaslit that they were responsible for their illnesses. If you were sick, your faith wasn’t strong enough. If you went to a doctor, you were weak. It was a nightmare.”
The minute Mr Carey walked away, all of his relationships inside the church were severed.
“My relationship with my family ended. I lost all of my friends and my support network. I went from all of these people being like family. We lived in each other’s pockets in this insulated world. We called each other ‘brother’ and ‘sister’. Now, they’ll pass to the other side of the street to avoid me.
“To them, I’m dead.”
But he didn’t want his two daughters to have the same kind of childhoods that he did.
Hollins died in April 2024. The Geelong Revival Centre continues to operate.
Hollins never admitted any wrong and refused all media requests for interviews prior to his death. Mr Carey described him as a “classic narcissist”.
“I’m glad he’s dead, to be honest with you. And that’s an uncomfortable thing to feel. As a human, you shouldn’t wish somebody dead, but this guy was so bad.”
Mr Carey now posts regular videos to TikTok about his experiences inside the church while campaigning for an end to “religious coercion” in Australia.
The Geelong Revival Centre, with two dozen outposts across Australia and internationally, was run from a “normal brick building”, Mr Carey said.
“You wouldn’t know walking past that it’s a (sect),” he said.
Someone who wandered in from outside might witness worshippers singing loudly and clapping their hands along to hymns.
The Geelong Revival Centre isn’t the only cult-like church “hiding in plain sight”, Mr Carey believes.
“You’ll pass one of these buildings in every major city and every large country town. They look boring.
“A lot of these places practice coercion, practice shunning, some practice an extreme faith in healing, normally there’s a higher rate of domestic violence, child sexual assault isn’t reported …”
Since leaving the sect with his wife and two children, Mr Carey has turned his focus to raising awareness of religious coercive control.
“I don’t want to stop people from following religion. Everyone has the right to believe in what they believe in. There should be freedom of religion, but religions shouldn’t have the freedom to abuse its members.”