On October 16, 2025, a fresh wave of allegations and outrage swept across the United Kingdom as dozens of former Jesus Army members came forward with new claims of sexual and domestic abuse, reigniting scrutiny of the evangelical sect’s troubled legacy and the controversial distribution of its vast fortune. The Jesus Army, founded in 1969 by Baptist pastor Noel Stanton, once boasted thousands of followers, communal homes, and thriving businesses. But behind the façade of spiritual unity, survivors say, lay decades of exploitation, cover-ups, and trauma.
According to The Guardian and the BBC, at least sixty new survivors have recently joined the growing list of claimants, bringing the total number of victims seeking redress into the hundreds. Kathleen Hallisey, a solicitor with Scott-Moncrieff & Associates who has prepared 24 civil claims against the Jesus Fellowship Community Trust (JFCT), told the BBC, “The number of new cases is way beyond what I expected in terms of more people coming forward.” Many of these new claimants, Hallisey revealed, are women who served as ‘domestic sisters’—forced into unpaid labor under threat of destitution, cooking, cleaning, and raising children in communal houses dominated by men.
“If you were a married woman in the Jesus Fellowship you had to work as a domestic sister and were forced to cook, wash and clean every day for a large house full of men, as well bring up your own children,” Hallisey explained. “In a modern slavery context, I believe it amounts to exploitation because if you don’t perform this unpaid job, you have to leave the community destitute with no money or support.” She recounted the harrowing story of one woman who, while heavily pregnant, prepared lunch for 38 people and gave birth that afternoon—an experience emblematic of the suffering endured by many.
The BBC’s in-depth investigation found that the Jesus Fellowship acquired dozens of large houses and successful businesses over its 50-year history, all funded by the sacrificial giving of its 3,500 community members. By 2017, the group’s assets were valued at a staggering £58.6 million. When the trust closed in 2020, roughly £25 million was split among 172 so-called listed beneficiaries—primarily loyal former members—each reportedly receiving lump sums as high as £63,000. Meanwhile, 601 victims who came forward during the redress scheme received an average payout of just £13,000, a figure partly funded by insurers.
Malcolm Johnson, a lawyer from Lime Solicitors representing 150 victims, did not mince words about the situation. “The news [some people accused of abuse] could end up with more remuneration than their victims is appalling. It is a shameful example of how cults like the Jesus Army escape responsibility for their alleged crimes,” Johnson told the BBC. He called for leftover assets to be redirected for charitable use, rather than being distributed to individuals accused of perpetrating or covering up abuse—a prospect survivors have described as “sickening.”
Documents seen by the BBC and statements from the JFCT reveal that about £25 million remains in the trust, set to be divided among the same 172 beneficiaries unless new claims are made. The High Court set a hard deadline of 11:59pm on October 16, 2025, for any unresolved claims; after that, the ability to seek compensation is permanently lost. The Jesus Fellowship Survivors Association has voiced “deep concern” that some of these remaining funds could end up in the hands of alleged perpetrators and has urged anyone with a potential claim to seek immediate legal advice.
The complexity and opacity of the asset distribution process have only added to the controversy. The JFCT, responsible for winding up the group’s affairs since its closure in 2019, has consistently refused to disclose the identities of the beneficiaries, citing the need to protect the privacy of victims who made allegations in confidence. A spokesperson for the trust insisted that the trustees had consulted extensively with Johnson and others, but maintained they had “no powers to redirect the assets.” The spokesperson also noted, “The trustees have recognised the importance of meaningfully engaging with not just the listed beneficiaries, but with others who have an interest in the winding up.”
Yet, the situation remains fraught. A review of damages claims carried out by the JFCT identified 539 alleged abusers within the sect—about one fifth of the total membership—including 162 former leaders. While about ten convicted former members are understood to be excluded from receiving any share of the assets, the possibility remains that others accused of serious wrongdoing may still benefit financially. The trust’s spokesperson argued it was misleading to present the beneficiaries as a clear-cut group of perpetrators, describing the reality as “much more complex.”
The story of the Jesus Army’s demise is as much about financial reckoning as it is about moral accountability. Over five decades, members gave up their earnings and property to a central trust in pursuit of a communal, faith-driven ideal. But as the scale of abuse and cover-up has come to light, many former members and advocates say the trust’s handling of compensation has compounded their pain. According to the BBC, only about 10% of the Jesus Fellowship’s total assets have been spent on victims, though trustees claim the true figure is closer to 20% when insurer contributions are included.
Hallisey, who has taken on about 60 new clients since the BBC aired its documentary Inside the Cult of the Jesus Army, said many survivors she’s spoken to have suffered mental breakdowns or attempted suicide. Sarah, a former member who participated in the documentary, described how telling her story helped her overcome feelings of “guilt” and “indoctrination.” The trust has issued a public apology for the abuse and insists all allegations have been reported to the police, who, they say, are the only party able to take further action.
For many, the battle is not just for financial redress, but for recognition and justice. Johnson underscored the gravity of what his clients endured, calling the abuse “truly harrowing” and expressing frustration at the lack of action against many alleged perpetrators—some of whom were long-standing members of the church. As the deadline for claims passes and the remaining millions are disbursed, survivors and advocates are left grappling with what justice looks like in the wake of such profound institutional failure.
The winding up of the Jesus Army’s affairs is a stark reminder of how difficult it is to reconcile the needs of survivors with the complexities of communal assets and legal constraints. While some hope the public reckoning will lead to broader reforms, for the hundreds who suffered within the movement, the scars—and the questions—are likely to linger for years to come.
