{"id":598381,"date":"2023-11-20T19:36:38","date_gmt":"2023-11-20T16:36:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/en.buradabiliyorum.com\/the-false-prophet-of-edmonton\/"},"modified":"2023-11-20T19:36:38","modified_gmt":"2023-11-20T16:36:38","slug":"the-false-prophet-of-edmonton","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/the-false-prophet-of-edmonton\/","title":{"rendered":"#The False Prophet of Edmonton"},"content":{"rendered":"
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John de Ruiter. (Photograph via JohndeRuiter.com)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The Oasis Centre is a luxuriant aberration on the industrial edge of northwest Edmonton. Neighboured by window-<\/span>less warehouses and car dealerships, the $7-million complex comprises a palatial banquet hall built of cream-coloured brick, a 200-car parking lot and a thicketed garden with a stone patio and lily-padded pond. When the property opened in 2007, it became a popular venue for conferences and weddings\u2014newlyweds would pose for photos in front of its sleek wood-and-glass facade. But the Centre\u2019s core function was very different: to serve as the headquarters of a mysterious spiritual community called the College of Integrated Philosophy.<\/p>\n

In the 2010s, at the peak of the College\u2019s popularity, as many as 400 members gathered at the Oasis Centre several times a week. They\u2019d file through the marble-floored foyer, past the 1,300-gallon koi aquarium and into the two-floor auditorium. They\u2019d jockey for front-row seats before John de Ruiter, a striking fiftysomething spiritual teacher, would step on stage and settle into a padded chair at the front of the room. On either side of him, massive projector screens would stream a close-cropped feed of his face: a shock of flowing white hair, a sculpted brow furrowed in thought, crystalline blue eyes gazing at the crowd. Then, one by one, his followers would app<\/a>roach a microphone to seek guidance.<\/p>\n

De Ruiter\u2019s faithful brought him their despair and uncertainty. They spoke of failed marriages and stalled careers, crises of identity and bouts of aimlessness. Sometimes their questions were as simple as \u201cShould I stay at my job?\u201d Others rambled for hours, confessing their darkest demons and thoughts of suicide. In response, de Ruiter might simply stare in silence, as if answering their queries on another plane of communication. Occasionally, he let a single tear roll down his cheek. If he offered a verbal reply, he spoke slowly and softly, and his message was usually terse and cryptic. \u201cWhen you encounter what I am, that\u2019s a parched, thirsty heart encountering an ocean,\u201d went a typical reply.<\/p>\n

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De Ruiter claimed to be Christ reincarnated and, like Jesus, he had an entourage of apostles who wept and supplicated and wrote down his every word. He amassed his flock by holding meetings all over the world\u2014the U.S., Israel, India, Australia and across Europe\u2014and encouraging audiences to follow him to Edmonton. Jeanne Parr, a CBS News<\/a> correspondent, made the move in the late 1990s, intending to film a documentary about him; her son Chris Noth, who played Mr. Big on Sex and the City, occasionally accompanied her to meetings. Parr introduced de Ruiter to future followers including Carl Mindell, a New York psychiatrist who told the Edmonton Journal<\/em>, \u201cI think he is the most powerful spiritual teacher I\u2019ve ever seen.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was also slender and handsome, an object of open romantic desire among some followers, who gossiped about his so-called \u201cchosen women\u201d\u2014the attractive acolytes to whom he paid special attention. Against the odds, they seemed to be summoned to the microphone at his meetings over and over, and he was well-known to have sexual relationships with some of them. \u201cI have moved in being with women other than my wife,\u201d reads his website. \u201cThis means being together physically and sexually.\u201d An ex-follower told me a male member once said he wished de Ruiter would choose men too.<\/p>\n

Sex was central to de Ruiter\u2019s teachings. He distinguished between superficial lust and a higher form of sexual energy that he said resided in the heart, and claimed his relationships were inspired by a supernatural calling.<\/p>\n

Now, more than 25 years after de Ruiter began amassing his following, some of his \u201cchosen women\u201d are telling a different story. Over the past year, eight of them have approached Edmonton police, alleging that de Ruiter used his position of clerical power to make them believe that having sex with him was an avenue to enlightenment. According to them, de Ruiter was not a godlike sage expanding the bounds of love and sex\u2014though he may have believed he was\u2014but a serial predator.<\/p>\n

In January of this year, police arrested de Ruiter and his wife, Leigh Ann. He now faces eight counts of sexual assault against eight separate women; she faces six, for allegedly facilitating encounters between her husband and his accusers. They\u2019ve both pleaded not guilty and are out on bail, tending to a shrunken flock of diehard followers in the wilderness of northern Alberta while awaiting their trial. They declined interview requests through a spokesperson. But earlier this year, speaking to media<\/a> after de Ruiter\u2019s first court appearance, his lawyer, Dino Bottos, outlined his theory of the case. The women consented to sex with de Ruiter, he said, but \u201chave now claimed, years afterward, that their consent was really nullified and not valid, because they were somehow placed under his spell, or that he was somehow deceiving them into believing that they should sleep with him in order to find a higher state of consciousness.\u201d<\/p>\n

There\u2019s nothing original about de Ruiter\u2019s alleged crimes. Throughout history, gurus and spiritual guides have leveraged power to exercise sexual control, and their misdeeds often go unpunished. The Indian mystic Osho, Children of God founder David Berg, the influential Zen master Joshu Sasaki\u2014all were accused, over decades, of perverting religious tenets to legitimize abuse, telling followers that sexual submission was a way to advance their spiritual training. None were ever criminally charged.<\/p>\n

Until recently, police, prosecutors and even victims themselves often did not characterize these experiences as sexual assault. There was a sense that, by having the bad sense to join groups like these of their own volition, victims were at least somewhat complicit in their misfortune. Carol Merchasin, a lawyer with the British firm McAllister Olivarius who specializes in cases of sexual misconduct in spiritual communities, says that many of her clients initially don\u2019t realize they\u2019ve been abused. \u201cWhen people are psychologically manipulated, when they are in these situations where they trust someone else, it is not that easy to recognize,\u201d she says. \u201cI\u2019ve had people take years and years to actually understand that what happened to them was rape.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Our collective understanding of consent has evolved quickly since the birth of the #MeToo movement. Today, there is a greater recognition that the power imbalance between spiritual leaders and their followers makes these relationships ripe for abuse. Survivors are more willing to report their stories, and people are more likely to believe them.<\/p>\n

Lately, we\u2019ve begun to get a sense of how courts will treat such charges. In 2020, Keith Raniere, the leader of the the celebrity-studded sex cult NXIVM, was sentenced to 120 years in prison for starving his female followers, depriving them of sleep, blackmailing them, branding them as slaves and telling them that yogic sex with him was the only way to atone for wrongs they\u2019d committed in past lives. Though de Ruiter\u2019s alleged crimes are less extreme than Raniere\u2019s, the central question in his case is similar: did he, through deceit and manipulation, establish such a firm grip on his followers\u2019 psyches that their free will was nullified?<\/p>\n

\u201cAs lawyers, we can\u2019t bring frivolous claims, but we can push the envelope,\u201d says Merchasin. \u201cWhen charges like these are successful, they set a precedent that other cases and other judges, even in other jurisdictions, can use. All of that moves the needle.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wherever the law lands, the decision is likely to shed new light on questions of consent: what it is, when it can and cannot be granted, and how and when it can be revoked.<\/p>\n

***<\/strong><\/p>\n

John de Ruiter always had messianic delusions. The second of four children born to Dutch immigrants, he grew up attending a Pentecostal church in Edmonton. Once, at a Christian youth rally, a self-styled prophet picked him out of the crowd and said, \u201cYou will be a mighty man of God.\u201d As a teenager, de Ruiter says, he had a spiritual awakening. \u201cI was unexpectedly gifted with a knowing and an experience of oneness with the source,\u201d he wrote in a self-published book, Unveiling Reality<\/em>. \u201cMy awareness of reality expanded in ways that I could have never imagined.\u201d<\/p>\n

The sacred sensation vanished inexplicably when he was 18, throwing him into a crisis of faith. Determined to rekindle it, he started sampling a bizarre assortment of spiritual practices: listening to audio tapes of the Bible at high speed, and dumpster-diving and sleeping in churchyards to emulate the life of an ascetic.<\/p>\n

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A suburban oasis: Followers from around the world convened at the Oasis Centre in Edmonton, the home of de Ruiter’s College of Integrated Philosophy. (Photograph by Jason Franson via The Globe and Mail) <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

In 1981, de Ruiter, then 22, became a regular at a local Christian bookstore, buying out-of-print books by obscure theologians. His piercing blue eyes and ecclesiastical aptitude attracted the attention of the shop\u2019s 18-year-old clerk, Joyce. When he told her he wanted to become a pastor, she took it as fate\u2014she\u2019d always wanted to be a preacher\u2019s wife. They married the following summer and eventually had three children: Naomi, Nicolas and Nathaniel.<\/p>\n

De Ruiter supported his young family by making orthopedic shoes, a craft he\u2019d learned from his cobbler father, and working as a pastor\u2019s assistant at a Lutheran church. He quickly developed a reputation as the parish eccentric. During one sermon, he repeated \u201cGod wants to set you free\u201d ad nauseam. During another he stated, \u201cGod has no word for you,\u201d and stood at the lectern in silence for several minutes. Invited to give his testimony\u2014a common practice in which evangelicals tell the story of how they came to Christ\u2014de Ruiter spoke for nine hours.<\/p>\n

Church leadership dismissed de Ruiter in 1987; his style proved too bizarre for the congregation. When he left, several couples followed him\u2014a grassroots community that formed the nucleus of what he would eventually build. They met in private homes, bookstores and acupuncture clinics to analyze the Book of Revelation and discuss their dreams. Among these early followers was de Ruiter\u2019s first true devotee: Joyce\u2019s brother-in-law, Bob Emmarzael. The two men discussed theology late into the evening several times a week, nurturing one another\u2019s most outlandish beliefs. Emmerzael suggested that de Ruiter might be the messiah prophesied in the Book of Isaiah; de Ruiter claimed Jesus had appeared to him thousands of times and \u201ctransferred who he is over to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Throughout the mid-1990s, de Ruiter picked up techniques that would help him convince others that the Son of God had, in fact, returned to life in the form of an Edmonton shoemaker. For two years, he met almost daily with a New Ager named Boots Beaudry, who taught him what was to become one of his most effective tools: prolonged, hypnotic staring. After several minutes of unbroken eye contact, Beaudry explained, people start to see lights, colours and visions.<\/p>\n

Scientific research backs this up. A 2015 study published in the peer-reviewed journal Psychiatry Research<\/em> found that 90 per cent of subjects began hallucinating after staring at another person\u2019s face for 10 minutes in a dimly lit room.<\/p>\n

De Ruiter introduced the practice to his meetings, replacing Bible study with hours of silent staring. Word spread about the gazing guru, and inquisitive newcomers started showing up. Catherine Auman, an L.A.-based licensed psychotherapist who attended a series<\/a> of his sessions in 2000, told me that the first time she looked into de Ruiter\u2019s eyes, she started gasping involuntarily. \u201cThere was just this energy,\u201d she says. \u201cHe looked at me and I started hallucinating. I saw this halo around his head, and then I saw a lion. My internal dialogue was, am I going crazy<\/em>?\u201d And at exactly that moment, she says, de Ruiter held her gaze and said, \u201cNow you\u2019re really seeing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Soon de Ruiter was holding four meetings a week. Charging two dollars for admission, he made enough money to quit shoemaking and devote himself to building a spiritual empire. In 1998, he embarked on his first world tour, holding low-budget lectures where he sold pamphlets, books, CDs, cassette tapes and flattering pictures of himself. Then came multi-day seminars and retreats, earning him hundreds of dollars a head. His operation would later include social media, a YouTube channel and a paid streaming service called John de Ruiter TV.<\/p>\n

At the same time, de Ruiter\u2019s philosophy continued to evolve, becoming a mix of messianic messaging and New Age psychobabble. It had a peculiar appeal for disaffected churchgoers and aging hippies. He denigrated organized Christianity as \u201cSatan\u2019s masterpiece\u201d and began dabbling in the occult, including hypnosis, bilocation and astral projection\u2014the idea that one\u2019s consciousness can travel<\/a> beyond the physical body. He espoused a Zen-like non-attachment to the material world. He told his faithful to live with \u201ccore-splitting honesty\u201d and surrender to the truth. Followers were not to trust their intuitions, feelings or thoughts. They were to trust John.<\/p>\n

***<\/strong><\/p>\n

From the beginning, there were those who worried about the dangers of vesting so much power in one man. In the late 1990s, Stephen Kent, a sociology professor at the University of Alberta, watched the group grow from a distance. He met with de Ruiter and his inner circle and advised them to be careful. Kent had studied alternative spiritual movements, and he knew that, without checks and balances, they could inflict psychological damage on adherents. They could also lead, in the worst cases, to tragedies like the Jonestown massacre in Guyana in 1978, when more than 900 followers of cult leader Jim Jones poisoned themselves on his orders. \u201cI hope John is able to maintain his delicacy when dealing with his followers,\u201d Kent told the Calgary Herald in 1997.<\/p>\n

Yet de Ruiter\u2019s hold on his followers only kept growing. In 1999, a young woman named Marian Vasquez flew from Montreal to Vancouver to attend one of de Ruiter\u2019s four-day seminars. She was feeling unmoored and depressed\u2014she\u2019d just endured a painful breakup and miscarriage\u2014and she hoped he might be able to help. During her first meeting, she wept and felt a sense of ecstasy. \u201cIt was very moving for me,\u201d she says. \u201cI didn\u2019t know why, but I thought, maybe this is a sign.\u201d By the end of the week, she\u2019d decided to move to Edmonton.<\/p>\n

Within a matter of months, Vasquez developed a deep devotion to de Ruiter. She attended multiple meetings a week, had lunch with him, sent him letters and believed they were destined for a closer relationship. Her friends enviously told her she was lucky to have such a strong connection with him. She wasn\u2019t the only one. Another member, a wealthy woman from the U.S., had purchased and renovated a large house in Edmonton\u2014she told Vasquez that she and de Ruiter would live in it together. \u201cFor three months, she was totally convinced that she was going to marry him,\u201d says Vasquez, who had also begun to hear rumblings that de Ruiter was cheating on Joyce with other followers.<\/p>\n

By then, Joyce had heard rumours that her husband was involved with two women, sisters Katrina and Benita von Sass. They were the daughters of a wealthy Calgary businessman, Peter von Sass, who had invited de Ruiter to run a retreat near Edmonton. When Joyce confronted him, he denied it. But one evening in November of 1999, as she and de Ruiter were chatting and smoking cigarettes in their kitchen, he started talking to her about a concept he called \u201cweaning\u201d: discarding physical, emotional and sexual needs and desires, destroying one\u2019s artificial sense of self and leaving only enough space for truth. De Ruiter pointed out how well Joyce had weaned off old visions of their life together. The staring, the kooky mysticism, the way de Ruiter\u2019s followers fawned over him\u2014it wasn\u2019t the simple Christian existence she\u2019d imagined. Wouldn\u2019t it be the ultimate act of weaning, he suggested, if she were to allow him to take two more wives?<\/p>\n

Joyce pressed him on what he meant, but de Ruiter refused to say anything more. So she confronted him in the one place where he had no choice but to listen. During a meeting that December, she walked up to the questioner\u2019s mic and began reading from a sheet of paper. \u201cMy sweetie, you are not God. You, more than anyone, have been sucked into a powerful deception,\u201d she said. \u201cSex with Benita and Katrina is not truth. Can you just, for a tiny moment, look at what is happening to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

De Ruiter didn\u2019t offer an explanation until a subsequent meeting. When he did, he said he was doing what he knew to be true, regardless of the toll it would take on Joyce, their children and the community. \u201cIt didn\u2019t have to do with their looks, their heart, their age,\u201d he said to the crowd, referring to the von Sass sisters. \u201cIt had only to do with what arose from within my innermost.\u201d<\/p>\n

De Ruiter\u2019s followers were stunned. No one had ever challenged him like that. Joyce initiated divorce proceedings, underwent anti-cult counselling and, several years later, moved to the Netherlands with the children. Plenty of others left the group, too, some in solidarity with Joyce, others because they felt de Ruiter had strayed from his Christian roots. Those who remained for subsequent meetings approached the mic with questions like, \u201cIf you say people have to be happy with less and less, why are you taking more and more women?\u201d To which he responded, \u201cIf I explained it to you, you wouldn\u2019t understand.\u201d For the first time, de Ruiter was losing hold of his flock.<\/p>\n

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As he began to split his time between the von Sass sisters\u2014spending one week with Benita and the next with Katrina\u2014he became more standoffish, devoting little attention to followers outside of official meetings. From then on, photos taken inside meetings needed to be approved by group volunteers or the von Sasses, who became de Ruiter\u2019s de facto assistants, tour managers and meeting administrators.<\/p>\n

Vasquez hoped de Ruiter would explain how his new persona and unorthodox love triangle all fit within some greater plan, but she eventually lost hope she\u2019d ever get answers. Whenever someone asked de Ruiter about Joyce or his relationships with the von Sasses, he offered a nonsensical response or stared at them in total silence. \u201cI got tired of the evasion,\u201d says Vasquez. She left in 2002.<\/p>\n

Two years later, one of Stephen Kent\u2019s graduate students, Paul Joosse, started studying the group. He wanted to understand what drew people to de Ruiter\u2014and why, even when some abandoned him, others stuck around. Attending meetings and interviewing members, Joosse arrived at several theories. He believed de Ruiter\u2019s intense staring not only spawned visions but was also a shortcut to a false sense of intimacy. His followers projected profundity onto de Ruiter\u2019s silence. When de Ruiter did speak, his words were so vague that they had the effect of a well-written horoscope: generic to outsiders, powerfully specific to believers. De Ruiter\u2019s most fervent acolytes also provided social cues that underscored his special status: they compared him to Jesus, cried in his presence and swapped stories of his supposed clairvoyance.
Not everyone felt the pull, of course. \u201cThousands of people have gone to de Ruiter\u2019s meetings and decided that it wasn\u2019t for them,\u201d says Joosse. \u201cThose who are staying are those who have chosen to stay.\u201d Once the true believers bought into de Ruiter\u2019s claim that he was truth itself, they were primed to cling to him. In the 2000s, de Ruiter was reportedly earning more than $232,000 per year, plus five-figure donations from his followers. Once the Oasis Centre opened in 2007, it could fetch up to $13,000 per wedding or conference. By 2009, de Ruiter was worth an estimated $9 million, and lived like it, flying first class, riding a Royal Enfield motorcycle and purchasing a massive $75,000 truck.<\/p>\n

In 2009, another debacle cast de Ruiter\u2019s relationship with the von Sass sisters in a new light. That year, de Ruiter took a vacation to Egypt. Benita thought he went with Katrina; Katrina thought he went with Benita. In reality, he was travelling with Leigh Ann Angermann, a German woman who\u2019d recently moved to Edmonton to follow de Ruiter. After their return, de Ruiter separated from the sisters, and marrid Angermann. The sisters later filed lawsuits against de Ruiter, claiming that as common-law spouses and former employees of the Oasis Centre, they were owed money. They also claimed that Benita had been fired without cause, and that Katrina paid part of the down payment on de Ruiter\u2019s $920,000 suburban house.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

In the late 2000s, de Ruiter began a relationship with Leigh Ann Angermann (right), who is also facing sexual assault charges: she\u2019s accused of facilitating encounters between de Ruiter and other women. (Photograph via Facebook)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

When de Ruiter first admitted to sleeping with the von Sass sisters in 1999, his followers treated the relationships as affairs between consenting adults. In her suit, however, Benita framed them as something more sinister. \u201cThe defendant convinced me to sexually submit to him, reminding me that this was \u2018God\u2019s will,\u2019\u2009\u201d she wrote. \u201cThe defendant stated he was the \u2018Christ on Earth\u2019 and that defying him was to defy truth, goodness and God. Accordingly, I obeyed and submitted.\u201d\u00a0De Ruiter denied the allegations. Benita von Sass settled out of court for an undisclosed sum, and has not had any involvement with de Ruiter or his organization since. The non-disclosure terms of her settlement agreement prevent her from providing commentary to journalists.<\/p>\n

Benita von Sass\u2019s accusations were a clear omen. But unlike the allegations de Ruiter would face in the future, there were no criminal charges. He did lose another chunk of his followers, however. It was only a few years until he\u2019d test the loyalty of those who remained.<\/p>\n

In the mid-2000s, a young woman named Anina\u2014whose surname I\u2019ve withheld at the request of her family\u2014attended one of de Ruiter\u2019s meetings in England. Growing up in South Africa, Anina had always been interested in spirituality, and in de Ruiter she saw a powerful teacher. So, like others before her, she moved to Edmonton. Before long, she was a devoted member, attending multiple meetings a week.<\/p>\n

In March of 2014, when Anina was 32, she suddenly stopped showing up. Three days later, her car was found parked on the shoulder of a rural road. Seven weeks after that, her body was found in the woods near Nordegg, Alberta, not far from a resort where the group held overnight retreats.<\/p>\n

The police ruled it a likely suicide, but Anina\u2019s family suspected there was more to the case. In diary entries leading up to her death, Anina had written extensively about de Ruiter. \u201cJohn taught me how to make love,\u201d she wrote in one passage. \u201cWe moved in sexuality together,\u201d read another. Elsewhere in the diary, Anina tried to grapple with the aftermath of what seemed to be an encounter with de Ruiter. \u201cThe next day I tried to make sense of why he moved that way with me,\u201d Anina wrote. \u201cI was wondering what the consequences would be, whether he is doing this with everyone.\u201d Anina\u2019s relatives pushed police to conduct a criminal investigation, but prosecutors deemed the diary entries too vague to use as evidence against de Ruiter, who denied having a sexual relationship with her. Once again, no criminal charges were laid.<\/p>\n

The pressure continued to build in 2017, when a Danish woman wrote a lengthy Facebook post detailing a troubling encounter she\u2019d had with de Ruiter and Leigh Ann. The previous September, she claimed, they had invited her to their home, an elegant four-bedroom bungalow on a tree-lined lot in the affluent Glenora neighbourhood. Shortly after arriving, she wrote, she sat down with the couple in their living room and chatted casually about a recent trip to Nordegg. Then de Ruiter explained why they\u2019d invited her. \u201cFor some years now, the calling has moved me to be with other women sexually, and now the calling is moving toward you,\u201d de Ruiter reportedly said. Over the next few hours, the woman asked several questions: how many others were there, and who were they? Why hadn\u2019t de Ruiter and Leigh Ann told the community this was happening? De Ruiter allegedly responded, \u201cThe world is not ready for this. People will not understand. I, John, will seem like a clich\u00e9.\u201d<\/p>\n

The woman took a taxi home, spent several days mulling it over and ultimately refused the invitation. (She declined my interview request.) When she shared her experience online, de Ruiter\u2019s crisis-control machine rumbled to life. Over the course of two marathon meetings in March of 2017, de Ruiter dressed up his actions in metaphysical jargon. \u201cTo move sexually with another woman is to move in the same way that we will all move after we have died, not being confined to our relationships, to our marriage,\u201d he told hundreds of followers. College leadership encouraged members to trust that de Ruiter was operating with a pure heart, sending a mass email that said, \u201cWhat comes from John has always been good.\u201d Later that month, de Ruiter\u2019s eldest son, Nicolas, wrote an extensive blog post acknowledging that, like many other followers, he\u2019d struggled to accept his father\u2019s behaviour. But he eventually came to believe that de Ruiter and his teachings were \u201ctrue and beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n

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For other adherents, this was one scandal too many. After years of excusing his behaviour, disillusioned members began airing their fears and frustrations on a private Google forum called Birds of Being, a play on the de Ruiter\u2013ism \u201cbonds of being,\u201d a term he used to describe the connections he established with people via his unwavering gaze. And yet, for many followers, leaving was inconceivable. It would mean losing not only their mentor but their community\u2014inside the group, members are discouraged from maintaining contact with defectors. Jasun Horsley, an ex-member who wrote a book about the organization called Dark Oasis, told me that de Ruiter\u2019s followers also feared supernatural retribution. \u201cSome people, even if they\u2019ve left, still haven\u2019t ceased to believe in John\u2019s mystical powers,\u201d he says. \u201cIf you believe he can astral project and all this other stuff, there\u2019s a different level of fear involved.\u201d<\/p>\n

Horsley thinks of de Ruiter\u2019s diehards as lobsters in a pot, tolerating incrementally worsening behaviour. They are not fools, he says, but good-hearted people who have been gaslighted and brainwashed by a master manipulator. \u201cImagine a sort of enmeshment where you\u2019ve let somebody into your psyche. That\u2019s destabilizing to turn away from,\u201d he says. \u201cThey believe John is God and therefore, anything he does, there must be an explanation for it. And they have to stay faithful.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/strong><\/p>\n

De Ruiter\u2019s final downfall began not with another scandal, but a pandemic. In March of 2020, the group paused in-person meetings. It was the first time in years that many followers had spent significant time apart from de Ruiter. Instead of attending several meetings a week, they were stuck at home\u2014no longer staring into his eyes, projecting meaning into his stilted monologues or watching zealots treat him like a god. With their newfound distance, some followers came to an alarming realization: they\u2019d been under the spell of a controlling egomaniac.<\/p>\n

\"\"\/<\/p>\n

This 2001 copy of Saturday Night magazine features the story “The Gospel According to John,” which details the rise of de Ruiter’s spiritual empire and the powerful hold he exerted over his followers. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

COVID-19 caused event bookings to dry up as well, and in 2021, the College sold the Oasis Centre to the Aga Khan Foundation for $6.7 million and met over Zoom instead. According to a former member, it was during private video calls that women started sharing with each other different versions of a familiar story. These women declined or did not respond to my interview requests, and a publication ban prevents Maclean\u2019s from reporting details that could identify them. But, according to statements they later made to police, Leigh Ann would invite the women to meet de Ruiter at a specific time and place, most often in his home or another private location. When the women showed up, de Ruiter would explain that \u201cthe calling\u201d was directing him toward them and that, by having sex with him, they would achieve a higher state of being.<\/p>\n

The allegations date from 2012 to 2020, which means that some of the women waited a decade to make their report. This is not unusual. \u201cThe criminal route remains very difficult,\u201d says Merchasin, the lawyer who focuses on sexual misconduct in spiritual groups. \u201cThe system is so retraumatizing to survivors.\u201d In 2018, she investigated sexual-assault allegations against Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, the leader of Shambhala, a worldwide Buddhist order based in Halifax. The allegations were found credible by an independent law firm, but police filed no charges. The following year, the Tibetan Buddhist teacher Surya Das was accused of telling pupils that meditating naked in his lap would further their spiritual training. No charges were laid against him either. And in the case of a supposed supernaturally powerful spiritual guru, women may have other reasons not to approach law enforcement. As Horsley put it to me, \u201cThey could start to feel like they\u2019re damned if they start to doubt the saviour.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nonetheless, in early 2023, four of these women reported their experiences to Edmonton police. Emboldened by the first round of charges, an additional four women\u2014three in June and one more in September\u2014made allegations of their own.<\/p>\n

The trial, which is expected to take place in late 2024 or early 2025, is among several current cases that may clarify how the concept of consent ought to be applied in the context of spiritual discipleships. In the summer of 2022, the Oakville megachurch pastor Bruxy Cavey was charged with sexual assault in relation to what he originally described as an affair with a parishioner. His accuser alleges he told her that, even though their behaviour was wrong, God would forgive them. A year later, the Native American actor Nathan Chasing Horse, known for his role in Dances With Wolves, was charged with sexual assault in B.C. and Alberta for his role leading a group called the Circle that allegedly preyed on young Indigenous women. He reportedly told at least one of his victims that the spirits of their ancestors were instructing him to have sex with them. (Both Chasing Horse and Cavey deny the allegations and intend to plead not guilty.)<\/p>\n

Each of these cases is likely to revolve around the section of the Criminal Code that deals with consent\u2014and, in particular, the clause that states that consent is legally invalid if \u201cthe accused induces the complainant to engage in the activity by abusing a position of trust, power or authority.\u201d This means that de Ruiter\u2019s convictions\u2014whether or not he actually believed he was the living embodiment of truth or delivering enlightenment through sex\u2014may be beside the point. \u201cIf a person rapes someone in a dark alley by force because \u2018God told him to do it,\u2019 it doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d says Merchasin. \u201cWe don\u2019t need to give any credence to whether he believed it or not. It\u2019s about the conduct, and a civil society can always govern conduct.\u201d<\/p>\n

The prosecution will almost certainly argue that de Ruiter\u2014a spiritual teacher, business owner and self-professed messiah\u2014abused his position of power to obtain sex. The defence will likely try to paint a different picture: that the complainants were exercising their free will when they had sex with de Ruiter, a man desired by many. De Ruiter, of course, will continue to contend that he was only doing what he knew to be true. Ultimately, it will be up to a jury to decide whether or not his truth also constituted a criminal offence.<\/p>\n

READ:\u00a0An Act of Evil<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

As de Ruiter awaits his day in court, he presides over a weary and dwindling flock. Following the charges, dozens of members, including some in his inner circle, left the group. In their absence, others have moved up to fill their spots. Joosse, who is now an associate professor of sociology at the University of Hong Kong, told me that this is standard after a scandal. \u201cThere\u2019s a shelf life to the tenure of these \u2018top people.\u2019 They often end up being disaffected or disavowed or leaving acrimoniously,\u201d says Joosse. \u201cIt\u2019s almost like the story is replaying itself.\u201d Horsley estimates the group has no more than 100 members left: de Ruiter\u2019s sons, former Oasis staffers and long-time members from around the world who still believe he is the messiah he says he is. \u201cI certainly don\u2019t think him being prosecuted would cause them to distrust John because, well, it\u2019s like martyrdom,\u201d says Horsley.<\/p>\n

Over the course of 2023, these followers, and de Ruiter himself, moved to the tiny town of Fort Assiniboine, about an hour and a half\u2019s drive northwest of Edmonton. They\u2019ve bought homes there en masse, putting more than a few of the area\u2019s 200 residents on edge. The College\u2019s new gathering place is another couple of hours north, at an isolated campground called Midnight Sky, which the group purchased for $1 million in 2022.<\/p>\n

De Ruiter and his remaining followers now hold meetings on the 120-acre property, where he has lately taken to warning about the apocalyptic dangers posed by aliens and rogue AI. Recently, his son Nicolas spoke to the group about another risk: the real possibility that his father could go to prison. If he does, there will no doubt be a small group of followers\u2014the ones who have stuck with him for decades, through all the divorces and debacles\u2014who will patiently await his release, eager for the opportunity to approach the mic and ask what new and profound truths he has discovered behind bars.<\/p>\n\n

\"\"This article appears in the December 2023 print issue of\u00a0Maclean\u2019s\u00a0<\/em>magazine. You can purchase the issue here<\/a>, or become a\u00a0<\/em>Maclean\u2019s\u00a0<\/em>subscriber here.\n<\/div>\n