On October 2, 2025, the founder of one of the nation’s largest megachurches, Robert Preston Morris, pleaded guilty in an Oklahoma courtroom to five counts of lewd and indecent acts with a child—a case that has reverberated through religious and political communities across Texas and beyond. Morris, 64, who established Gateway Church in Southlake, Texas, in 2000, admitted to sexually abusing Cindy Clemishire, then 12 years old, while he was a traveling evangelist staying with her family in Hominy, Oklahoma, beginning in December 1982. The abuse continued for four years, shattering the trust placed in him by both the victim and his congregation.
The courtroom in Osage County was somber as Morris, dressed in a suit and handcuffed, stood before District Special Judge Cindy Pickerill. His family—wife, adult children, and their spouses—were present, as were Clemishire and her supporters, bearing witness to a moment decades in the making. According to the BBC, Morris was detained immediately after the hearing, escorted out by two sheriff’s deputies, a visible symbol of justice finally catching up with a once-revered church leader.
The plea agreement, detailed by the Oklahoma Attorney General’s office, sentenced Morris to 10 years, with only the first six months to be served in the Osage County Jail and the remainder suspended. He must register as a sex offender and will be supervised by Texas authorities through an interstate compact. Financial restitution was also ordered, with Morris required to pay his incarceration costs, medical expenses, and sums ranging from $250,000 to $270,000 to the victim, depending on the source. As CNN noted, these penalties underscore the seriousness with which the state has treated the case, even if some feel the jail time is insufficient given the gravity of the acts.
For Clemishire, now 55, the day was a long-awaited reckoning. In her statement to the court, she declared, “Today justice has finally been served, and the man who manipulated, groomed and abused me as a 12-year-old innocent girl is finally going to be behind bars.” She continued, “My hope is that many victims hear my story, and it can help lift their shame and allow them to speak up. I hope that laws continue to change and new ones are written so children and victims’ rights are better protected. I hope that people understand the only way to stop child sexual abuse is to speak up when it happens or is suspected.” Clemishire’s words, reported by The Associated Press, resonated far beyond the walls of the courthouse, echoing the hopes of countless survivors who have waited years—sometimes lifetimes—for justice.
In her emotional address, Clemishire also rejected any suggestion that her experience was a consensual relationship, saying in court, “There was no such thing as consent from a 12-year-old child. We were never in an ‘inappropriate relationship.’ I was not a ‘young lady’ but a child.” According to NBC News, she revealed that she had first told her parents and church leaders about the abuse in 1987, but no one contacted the police. This admission spotlights the broader issue of institutional failures within religious organizations to protect children and respond appropriately to allegations of abuse.
The revelations first came to public attention in 2024, when Clemishire publicly accused Morris, prompting Gateway Church to announce his resignation as senior pastor. Morris, in a statement to The Christian Post, admitted to “inappropriate sexual behavior with a young lady in a home where I was staying,” describing the acts as “kissing and petting, not intercourse, but it was wrong.” This minimization was firmly rejected by Clemishire and advocates, who pointed out the clear imbalance of power and the vulnerability of children in such situations.
Attorney General Gentner Drummond minced no words in his condemnation: “There can be no tolerance for those who sexually prey on children,” he said. “This case is all the more despicable because the perpetrator was a pastor who exploited his position of trust and authority. The victim in this case has waited far too many years for this day.” Drummond’s statement, cited by multiple outlets including AP and CNN, captured the outrage felt by many in the community and across the nation.
Outside Gateway Church in Southlake, the repercussions were visible and vocal. On the day of Morris’s plea, protesters gathered with signs reading “Matthew 18:6 Millstones not cover ups,” “Protect kids from pastors,” and “Believe survivors,” as reported by Axios. Their presence was a stark reminder of the broader reckoning facing religious institutions accused of shielding abusers and silencing victims. The protestors’ demands for accountability and transparency were amplified by Clemishire’s courage in coming forward and naming her abuser publicly—a step that many survivors never feel safe enough to take.
Gateway Church, which Morris founded in 2000, grew to become a religious powerhouse, with as many as 100,000 active attendees and nine locations at its peak, according to BBC. The church has been a hub of evangelical activity and political engagement, notably hosting former President Donald Trump in 2020 for a discussion on race relations and the economy. Morris himself served on Trump’s evangelical advisory board during the president’s first term, cementing his influence in both religious and political spheres.
Despite this prominence, Gateway Church declined to comment on the case following Morris’s guilty plea. The silence from church leadership has drawn criticism from some quarters, with advocates arguing that transparency and acknowledgment are crucial steps toward healing and reform. Others have defended the church’s decision to refrain from public comment during ongoing legal proceedings, citing legal advice and the need to protect the privacy of those involved.
Morris’s attorney, Bill Mateja, told The New York Times and other outlets that Morris “sincerely apologizes” to Clemishire and her family. “While he believes that he long since accepted responsibility in the eyes of God—and that Gateway Church was a manifestation of that acceptance—he readily accepted responsibility in the eyes of the law by virtue of his guilty plea,” Mateja said. The attorney emphasized that Morris wanted to bring the legal matter to a close for the sake of all families involved, asking for forgiveness and expressing regret for his actions.
The case has prompted renewed calls for legislative reform and institutional change. Clemishire’s hope that “laws continue to change and new ones are written so children and victims’ rights are better protected” reflects a growing movement among survivors and advocates to strengthen legal safeguards, improve reporting mechanisms, and hold institutions accountable for failures to protect children. The story has also reignited debates within faith communities about the responsibilities of religious leaders and the need for robust child protection policies.
As the dust settles, the Morris case stands as a stark reminder that even the most powerful and revered leaders are not above the law. For Cindy Clemishire and countless others, the journey from victim to survivor continues, buoyed by the hope that speaking out can prevent future abuse and inspire overdue change in communities everywhere.
