What the MasterChef Scandal Can Teach Us About Power, Apology, and the Long Road to Making Amends
A Wake-Up Call for the Church
There’s something chillingly familiar about powerful men being held to account decades after their behaviour became entrenched and untouchable. The recent MasterChef scandal, where two of the show’s iconic presenters were dismissed after years of inappropriate behaviour and unchecked misconduct, is more than a media footnote - it’s a warning sign. A cultural wake-up call. But while mainstream broadcasters are finally being forced to reckon with the people they protect, religious institutions, particularly the evangelical church, continue to trail behind, often kicking and screaming.
If the MasterChef situation tells us anything, it’s this: charisma does not cancel out harm. Talent doesn’t negate toxicity. And public platform, no matter how inspirational it may seem, should never be a shield for abusive power. And yet, that shield has been wielded for decades within the charismatic evangelical movement and perhaps nowhere more prominently than in the case of Mike Pilavachi and Soul Survivor.
The myth of the anointed leader
In many charismatic Christian circles, power doesn’t just sit with leaders, it wraps around them like a halo. Leaders are seen as “anointed,” set apart, chosen by God. Questioning them isn’t just seen as a challenge to authority, it’s framed as a challenge to God Himself.
Mike Pilavachi, for years, was the untouchable centre of a thriving youth movement. Thousands gathered under his banner, festivals swelled with worship and wonder, and testimonies flooded in about lives changed. But behind the scenes, stories were quietly circulating: of control, coercion, and deeply inappropriate behaviour disguised as “mentoring.” Young men were groomed under the guise of discipleship. Intimacy blurred boundaries. Complaints disappeared into the black hole of “we’ll pray about it.”
The parallels with entertainment powerhouses like MasterChef lie not in the content of the abuse, but in the culture that allows it. In both cases, institutions benefitted from the fame, brand power, and income generated by these individuals. To remove them would be to destabilise the entire machine. So instead, concerns were ignored, or managed, or minimised. Survivors were left voiceless. And the myth of the beloved leader continued, unchallenged.
Celebrity culture in the Church: A dangerous addiction
In entertainment, celebrity status is fuelled by ratings, revenue, and reach. In the church, it’s built on testimonies, stage presence, and the ability to fill a tent with tears. But the psychology is the same. We don’t just follow these people, we deify them. And when we do that, we remove accountability.
This is how men like Pilavachi survived for decades: surrounded by yes-men, protected by institutional silence, and held up by people who mistook charisma for character.
The church doesn’t need another powerful leader with a podcast and a book deal. It needs humble, accountable, community-rooted shepherds who know when to step aside. The failure to see this is part of what allowed abuse to flourish under Soul Survivor’s roof.
Why apology alone isn’t enough
There’s a pattern we’ve seen time and again: a vague apology, a step back from public life, a spiritual platitude about healing and forgiveness. But what’s missing is often what matters most - accountability, ownership, and restitution.
Gregg Wallace issued an apology that mentioned neurodiversity. Pilavachi issued a one-line request for forgiveness without naming a single act or victim. Both statements have one thing in common: they ask for release without taking responsibility.
In Soul Survivor’s case, the damage isn’t just personal, it’s institutional. It’s not just about Pilavachi, it’s about the culture that enabled him. It’s about trustees who knew and said nothing. It’s about team members who whispered behind closed doors but didn’t feel safe to act. It’s about the systemic failure of a church too enamoured with its own success to see the rot at its core.
Apologies without action are just PR. And survivors don’t want soundbites. They want change.
What real amends would look like
For an organisation like Soul Survivor, or any church embroiled in systemic abuse, redemption isn’t found in reputation management. It’s found in truth, justice, and restoration.
Here’s what that might look like:
A full, unambiguous public apology that names specific harms and failures, not vague statements about “regret” and “hurt caused.”
Financial restitution to survivors, without NDAs or conditions.
Public accountability for leaders who enabled or ignored abuse, including resignations and disqualifications from ministry.
Funding for independent survivor-led initiatives, including counselling, legal support, and safe spaces to process trauma.
Permanent structural change: No one person should ever again wield unchecked spiritual, emotional, and organisational power over others. Leadership must be shared, scrutinised, and held to account.
This is about more than one man
If you’re still talking about Mike Pilavachi as though he acted alone, you’re not paying attention.
This is about the cost of celebrity Christianity. The dangers of untouchable platforms. The failure of safeguarding culture. The betrayal of young people who were told they were in the safest place in the world and discovered, too late, they weren’t.
Soul Survivor was not a fringe movement. It shaped modern worship, training, and theology across the UK evangelical landscape. Its influence lingers - in church culture, in leadership styles, and in a generation trying to make sense of what happened to them in their most formative years.
To those still in positions of leadership: your silence is not neutral. Your failure to engage is not peacekeeping. It’s complicity.
Conclusion: Power isn’t the problem. Unchecked power is.
The MasterChef fallout should remind us that no platform, no matter how beloved, justifies abuse. Whether in broadcasting or the church, leaders who harm must be held to account. And institutions that fail to act must face consequences, too.
Soul Survivor is not beyond redemption. But it cannot be redeemed without first telling the truth, making amends, and committing to deep, systemic change. That journey doesn’t start with a hashtag. It starts with humility.
If MasterChef can clean house after two decades of neglect, why can’t the church?
The answer may lie not in policy, but in courage.
And it’s long overdue.
Written for SoulSurvived.org
If you are a survivor of abuse connected to Soul Survivor, know this: you are not alone. You are believed. And you deserve justice.