In the Bible Belt, there’s basically a church on every corner—especially here in Nashville. It feels like there should be so many options to choose from if you want to join a faith community. But the church doors are often closed to people on the sex offender registry, including myself.
Sex offender registries are designed so that society treats you like a leper; as if you should be sent away somewhere, so that “decent” people don’t have to worry about you. I’ve felt that shame deeply in the five years since I was released from prison. But not being able to go to church feels like shame on top of shame. Like I’m not even worthy of faith anymore.
During the 10 years I spent in prison, it was the church community that sustained me. And still sustains me today, through correspondence. While incarcerated, a lot of people attend church not necessarily because of faith, but because they’re seeking a safe haven, or food. And in my experience, there was no judgment of those people—food, safety and comfort are things everyone needs, no matter where we are.
“Two life-changing components for those incarcerated are church and community,” Terrance Heard, currently incarcerated at South Central Correctional Facility where I served most of my sentence, told Filter. “The benefits reach far beyond what state-facilitated programs offer … the only alternative for empowering one another with accountability—and protecting each other from a prison culture filled with bad actors—is community. This is especially true for sex offenders, who not only bear the judgment of the state through the courts but must also find the grace to survive the court of public opinion.”
Heard worked as the chaplain’s clerk for many years, and is the de facto spiritual leader for the facility’s religious services. He was there for me multiple times during my sentence when my faith was being tested. But the compassion and acceptance I found in the prison church services have been much harder to find in the free world.
The pastor had never been in this position before either, so neither of us really knew what we were supposed to do.
When I was released in 2020, one of the first questions I asked my parole officer was whether I could join a church. There was one within walking distance of my home, and my PO said I could go there—if I got permission from the pastor to attend.
I reached out to the pastor, who agreed to meet with me to discuss my situation. I updated my PO. Like many people on the registry, in the early days of my parole I was wearing an ankle GPS monitor.
You’d think that a PO would be the person to ask about how these things work, and that they’d want to encourage healthy community reintegration efforts like seeking to join a church. But in my experience and that of other people I know on the registry, they don’t really provide any helpful information. I was told that if the pastor agreed to let me attend, then he’d have to contact my PO directly to confirm that I was approved, but I didn’t know what else was or wasn’t supposed to happen at the meeting.
The pastor had never been in this position before either, so neither of us really knew what …
Its actually pretty comical. They allow murderers and others to attend, but not someone who had a sexual offense. Literally someone like Dylan Roof, a person who went into a church and murdered a bunch of people, would be allowed entry, over someone with a sexual offense from decades ago…..
Churches that receive tax-exempt status under the premise of serving the public good must not engage in categorical exclusion of individuals based solely on registry status. When worship becomes conditional and sanctuary is denied, the institution risks violating the principles of equal protection, religious liberty, and the spirit of nonprofit exemption. Written policies that preemptively bar attendance, coordinate with law enforcement, or impose surveillance on worshipers transform sacred space into a site of discrimination. The Supreme Court’s decision in Bob Jones University v. United States established that tax exemption can be revoked when a religious institution engages in status-based discrimination—in that case, racial exclusion. A similar challenge could be mounted against churches that codify and enforce registry-based exclusion, especially when such policies are justified by insurance risk rather than theological doctrine. Redemption cannot coexist with exclusion, and any institution that denies entry based on status—not conduct—should be scrutinized for its alignment with constitutional values and public benefit.
Disclaimer: This statement is a constitutional critique and does not constitute legal advice. Churches must consult qualified counsel to assess compliance with local laws and federal tax regulations.
Those in positions of trust within the church community who have not been caught don’t want the competition from PFRs though they’d welcome the distraction to continue their nefarious ways with the alleged vulnerable. I know, bad taste, but IDGAF when it comes to those who feel they are allegedly worried about those who are convicted of a sex crime with the alleged vulnerable versus the rest of the staff who give churches a bad name when they are caught with the alleged vulnerable.
Seems like almost no one truly follows their religious teachings. There is no feet washing in these houses.
Barring registrants from churches, be it the state’s or the church’s policy, never made any sense to me. I have never heard or read about a sex crime at a church, church function, or otherwise connected to a church in any way where the assailant was a parishioner with priors. When it happens, it’s always someone from the clergy.
I guess that’s what happens when the general public stops thinking for themselves and just eats whatever our sensationalist media and pandering politicians feed them without question.
Prior to going to court for my offense, I wanted to attend a small chapel downtown of a large city that is mostly attended by adults only and has no functions whatsoever outside of service. No school, no daycare, no youth activities, and even no activities for adults. Just service only. I told the priest I would like to attend and told him of my attempted offense where there was no person.
The priest told me I would not be allowed to attend and gave no reason. But then the judge did not allow me to attend church, violating my rights. After a few years I was able to convince my new treatment provider and the judge to support me going to church with no chaperone. When I started attending, I learned the priest who had refused me attending was sent back to his home country because he was caught stealing $200,000 from the church. Karma…
Nashville Wealth Disclosure If churches receive billions in tax-deductible donations and land write-offs under the premise of serving the public, then they must not dictate who is allowed to worship. A registry model that bars individuals from sacred space—based not on conduct but on status—violates the very principles that justify tax exemption. We, as a people, won’t let them tell us how to worship. When sanctuary becomes conditional, it’s no longer sanctuary. The Supreme Court’s decision in Bob Jones University v. United States affirmed that tax-exempt institutions cannot engage in status-based discrimination. That ruling applied to race—but the principle extends to caste, ethnicity, religion, and group identity. Registry-based exclusion should trigger the same scrutiny. In Nashville, there’s a church on nearly every corner. But for registrants, those doors are often closed. Pastors are asked to approve attendance. Law enforcement coordinates with clergy. GPS monitors ping outside sanctuaries. Worship becomes conditional, and faith becomes filtered through surveillance. That’s not redemption—it’s spiritual profiling. Churches that coordinate with law enforcement to preemptively bar registrants, impose surveillance, or require pastoral permission for attendance transform worship into a site of state control. That’s not faith—it’s compliance theater. If billionaires can write off donations to institutions that exclude us, then the public benefit test has failed. If churches expand into tax-free land while denying entry to those seeking redemption, then the exemption is a lie. Take Tennessee: under state law, churches must file for exemption with the State Board of Equalization for each parcel of land they own. In Davidson County alone, religious institutions hold millions in tax-exempt property. A church with a school on 25 acres in suburban Nashville—valued at $6 million—would owe roughly $120,000 annually in property tax if exemption were revoked. If that same church receives $3 million in donations, it could face $600,000–$900,000 in federal tax liability if 501(c)(3) status were stripped. Combined, revoking exemption could cost this church $720,000–$1 million per year—a figure that exposes the scale of public subsidy behind exclusionary practices. We are not asking for special treatment. We are demanding equal access to faith, sanctuary, and community. The registry cannot dictate our spiritual lives. And any institution that claims to serve the public while excluding the public must be held accountable. Facts of Worship Worship is protected under the First Amendment, which guarantees freedom of religion and prohibits government interference in religious practice. Worship is not a privilege—it is a constitutional right. Denying access based on registry status transforms faith into a state-sanctioned exclusion. Churches claim tax exemption by asserting they serve the public good. Worship is central to that claim. If worship is denied to any segment of the public—by caste, race, ethnicity, religion, or group status—the exemption fails its legal and moral foundation. Worship is communal, restorative, and often the only space where registrants and survivors seek healing. To exclude them is to weaponize faith against the very people it claims to uplift. The IRS requires that tax-exempt religious institutions operate for the benefit of the public. Exclusion based on status violates that mandate and invites legal challenge. Final Addendum – Worship Is Not a Screen They tell us we can just watch it online. That the livestream is enough. That faith can be flattened into pixels and broadcast from a pulpit we’re barred from entering. But worship is not a screen. The internet cannot replicate the human and humane affections that religious experience demands. It cannot offer the shared breath of prayer, the warmth of community, the sacred silence between hymns. To tell someone they can “just watch” is to offer fantasy television in place of spiritual belonging. For registrants and survivors, this digital substitution is not inclusion—it’s exile. It says: you may observe, but not participate. You may stream, but not belong. Worship is not entertainment. It is not passive. It is not a privilege to be granted or revoked. It is a constitutional right, a communal ritual, and a human need. When exclusion follows us from the sanctuary to the screen, it’s not just unconstitutional—it’s spiritual abandonment. Registry Surveillance Addendum – Broadcast Complicity The registry doesn’t just label—it targets. It places us on a hit list, not for what we’ve done, but for what they want the public to fear. And they know exactly what that causes: a rupture within families, congregations, neighborhoods, and sanctuaries. The government broadcasting company—whether through public alerts, media framing, or algorithmic amplification—is complicit. It doesn’t just inform; it incites. It turns exclusion into spectacle. It tells the public who to fear, then watches the fallout unfold. This isn’t public safety. It’s public shaming. And when the state uses its media arm to reinforce exclusion from worship, housing, and community, it violates the very constitutional protections it claims to uphold. We are not asking for silence. We are demanding truth. The registry is not a tool of reform—it is a weapon of exile. And every broadcast that reinforces that exile must be named, archived, and dismantled. Conclusive Strategy – Exemption on Trial The church will defend itself. It believes it is untouchable—shielded by doctrine, tradition, and tax code. It will claim spiritual authority, moral purity, and public benefit. But if it wants to keep its tax-exempt status, it must face the full ledger of what that status protects—and what it excludes. To defend exemption, the church must account for the registry. It must explain why it bars registrants from worship while claiming to serve the public. It must justify surveillance, pastoral permission slips, and sanctuary denial. And in doing so, it will expose itself. Because exemption is not automatic. It is conditional. It requires compliance with constitutional principles, including equal access, non-discrimination, and public benefit. If the church wants to fight for its exemption, it must bring the registry into the courtroom. And once it does, the exclusions will be documented, the harm will be archived, and the hypocrisy will be undeniable. This is not just a legal strategy. It is a reckoning. The church cannot claim divine immunity while operating as a gatekeeper for state surveillance. It cannot claim to uplift while excluding by caste, race, religion, group, or registry status. Let them fight. Let them defend. Because in doing so, they will reveal the architecture of exclusion—and we will be ready with the receipts.
Disclaimer This document is a constitutional critique and public policy analysis intended for educational, advocacy, and archival purposes. It does not constitute legal advice. Individuals and institutions referenced herein are encouraged to consult qualified legal counsel to assess compliance with federal tax regulations, First Amendment protections, and public benefit obligations under 501(c)(3) status.
All financial estimates are illustrative and based on publicly available data. All references to religious institutions, government agencies, and broadcasting entities are made in the context of systemic critique and do not imply individual wrongdoing unless documented.
This statement is protected under the First Amendment and reflects a survivor-centered framework. Redistribution for coalition use is permitted with formatting integrity and citation preserved. Posting, archiving, and adaptation must include this disclaimer.
Redemption cannot coexist with exclusion. Sanctuary must not be conditional. Surveillance is not ministry.
All Churches should receive us, but because of the so-called ‘frightening and high’ recidivism myth there are many who are afraid and also, there are some people who call themselves Christians (who might be by name only) that are unforgiving, at least so far.
There are Holy Spirit filled people and Churches that do receive us and with open arms and that is where you want to be.
I would suggest calling and asking questions while not revealing your past that lead up to ‘what do you think about people with sex offenses’ and see what the response is.
If it is anything less than acceptance and compassion then move along.
Matthew, who wrote the Gospel of Matthew was hated and despised by his own people because he collected taxes from them for the Roman government and was considered a traitor, yet Jesus called him and well…. you know the rest.
1 Corinthians 1:28 reads ‘ He chose the lowly and despised things of the world, and the things that are not, to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast in His presence.
The sad truth is PFR really aren’t aloud to participate in any type of community activity not just the church. I’ll never forget the time I was homeless freezing my ass off in the rain when the pastor at Long Beach rescue Mission turned me away.
I remember feeling like a monster the worst off the worst.
I have been more accepted by atheists than so called Christians so not long after I was allowed to attend church, I quit going.
Tired of churches cherry picking scripture that serves their hateful agenda. You can hate the sin, yet still love the sinner and aren’t we supposed to lift people up during their darkest times.