Joby Martin Might Be the Real Deal — And That’s Saying Something in This Town

Let me start with something you don't often hear on this blog: I'm impressed.

No, not the usual “megachurch-pastor-said-something-slick” kind of impressed. I mean genuinely, cautiously, “this-guy-might-actually-be-legit” impressed. And I’m talking about none other than Jacksonville’s own redneck revivalist—Pastor Joby Martin of Church of Eleven22.

Jacksonville has seen its share of frauds in megachurch pulpits. I've chronicled at least 10 of them on this blog. Money grubbers, sexual deviants, those who covered for and protected sexual deviants, and just plain off-your-rocker nutjobs - even one that used the church resources to build a hotel right next to the church that is family could run. It's time Jacksonville has a megachurch pastor that is legit. 

Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve got another post in the works—almost finished—that dives into what Joby has accomplished in building one of the most explosive church movements this city has seen since the glory days of Homer Lindsay. That post will analyze the numbers, the reach, the culture, the empire. But before we even get to the empire, I need to pause and say this: the guy can preach.

And I don’t mean he can tell a good story and yank a few tears. I mean the guy can actually preach the Bible—without sounding like he’s been rehearsing in front of a mirror for six hours while sipping a caramel macchiato. He’s raw. He’s real. And oddly enough, he’s refreshingly redneck in all the best ways. You can tell he’s not trying to impress the seminary elites. He just genuinely wants to help people understand the Bible and apply it to their lives.

But what seals it for me—what separates Joby from the rest of the stage-act pulpiteers—is what he does after the sermon. You’ve got to watch the church's YouTube podcast called Deepen with Pastor Joby. Every week—usually posted the Monday after the weekend services—Joby sits down for a solid hour with one of his associate pastors (forgive me, I still don’t know the guy’s name, but he does a great job moderating), and often one or two other team members or guests. They talk through the sermon. Not just the three points and a poem, but the Scripture. It is conversational but not forced, and they're not jokesters trying to be hip and funny and cool.  But neither are they super theological spiritual in the clouds. They try to apply Christianity to real life. All of it—with an open Bible and no notes.

It’s not fluff. It’s not show. It’s not a branding exercise. It’s the kind of pastoral unpacking and reflection that shows a man who understands what he preached, who knows how to expand on it without contradicting himself, and who’s genuinely interested in making sure the people at his church don’t just hear the Word—they get it. And I challenge you to find me any megachurch pulpiteer who can preach a 45-minute sermon and then sit down and talk about what he just preached as clearly and plainly as Joby. If you know of one, let me know.

I’ve watched a lot of megachurch pastors in my time. I’ve seen the ones who can strut across a stage, tell history lessons, impress with their dress, and hoot and holler and perform. I’ve seen the ones who turn every sermon into a TED Talk with a Bible verse stapled to the back end. But this is different. Joby isn’t up there trying to impress you—he’s trying to help you yet isn't afraid to offend you. And for that, he’s earned my respect.

Stay tuned—I’ve got a full breakdown coming soon on what he’s built at Church of Eleven22, why it matters, and why I think he just might be the closest thing Jacksonville’s seen to a modern-day Homer Lindsay, Jr. But for now, let’s give credit where it’s due.

Joby Martin can preach—and he does it for the right reasons.

When Fundamentalism Fails: Why a Matriarch Must Let Go to Hold the Family Together

Let’s talk about something I should have included in my last post about the modern Christian matriarch—something I’ve seen firsthand, something that’s hurting families. It’s this: A true matriarch knows when it’s time to let go of religious fundamentalism.

Now I know, cue the gasps from the doctrinally pure Southern Baptists. I’ve heard the pushback before: “You’re not supposed to change your religious views just to accommodate your kids.” But let me tell you—when reality kicks you hard enough, when your theology collides with your family's experiences or your get a glimpse of some of the awful things religious fundamentalism brings about in churches—you begin to see how brittle fundamentalism really is. It’s not just unbending, it’s unlivable.

Here’s the truth. If your view of Christianity only works when everyone in the family turns out like you expected—then it was never grace, it was control.

I’ve seen this play out over and over again. In our extended family, as I mentioned the adult children have taken very different spiritual paths. Some have clung to the conservative traditions they grew up with. Others have swung in the opposite direction, embracing progressive theology—or perhaps no theology at all. And if a matriarch wants a seat at the table with all of them, she better be someone who leads with love, not litmus tests.

The smart matriarch doesn’t measure her children by what she hoped they’d become spiritually. She’s not sitting there evaluating their church attendance, their doctrinal purity, or whether they’re raising their kids with the same rules she raised them with. She’s simply glad they’re still around. Because if  your adult kids feel judged, if they sense your continual disapproval—guess what? They won’t be around. Not emotionally. Not spiritually. And eventually, not physically either.

This is where the old guard - guys like Homer Lindsay and Jerry Vines - really did us no favors. Their favorite line was, “You either believe all of the Bible or none of it.” That kind of theological chest-thumping doctrinal purity might light up the gigglers and amen’ers at FBC Jax, but let’s be honest - it burns bridges faster than it builds faith. If that’s the framework you hand your kids, don’t act shocked when they eventually walk away from, well, all of it or most of it.

I’ve said this for years, and every time I do, the faithful hyperventilate and accuse me of “going liberal.” But this isn’t about my beliefs about the inerrancy of scripture - it’s about the box you hand your kids. When you tell them it’s all or nothing, most of them, in the quiet of their own hearts, just choose nothing. Not because they hate God. But because the version of faith they were offered left no room to question or doubt. All-or-nothing sounds noble in a sermon. But in real life, it’s just a great way to lose your kids.

A healthy matriarch, the kind who draws the family in, who becomes a spiritual anchor instead of a spiritual threat, understands that. She knows the difference between real faith and religious performance. She has the courage to evolve. Not to water things down, but to root her faith in something bigger than behavioral conformity. She makes space at the table. She listens. She doesn’t flinch when someone questions doctrine or has more liberal views. And she doesn’t lose sleep when her grown kids don’t parrot the religious party line of the SBC.

Because here’s the beautiful irony: once your children know that you love and respect them exactly where they are, they’re more likely to stick around and let you be part of their journey and maybe even let you influence it. As your adult kids have their own children, they will very likely return to more of their traditional religious views and norms if you've set an example of love for them and haven't pushed them away with your strict religious views.

But stay rigid? Stay judgmental? Stay anxious over religious views of your kids?

They may be gone.

So yes, let go. Relax your grip on your past fundamentalism. Not because your theology was never sincere. But because your children - and your relationships - matter more than your doctrinal checklist.

That’s what real spiritual maturity looks like.

That’s what a matriarch knows.

The Long Road, the Right Path: Honoring Yvette Rich

Today, I want to share something deeply personal and meaningful—a tribute to someone who has quietly and faithfully made a difference for the past 17 years: my wife, Yvette Rich.

Yvette just retired from her role at Christian Family Chapel here in Jacksonville, Florida, where she served as a preschool assistant and as an interpreter for Spanish-speaking families navigating the preschool and ministry programs. She was a bridge for families, a calming presence for anxious kids, and a dependable face of love and consistency for nearly two decades. The parents knew it, the children felt it, and the ministry was better because of her time there. Yvette has a bachelor's degree in medical technology from the University of Florida, and before our family started she did work in that field, but in the last 17 years she chose to work with children at CFC.

The significance of her 17-year run at CFC isn’t lost on us—because it started in 2008. That was the same year First Baptist Jacksonville showed us both the door. If you’ve followed this blog, you know the story: I was the squeaky wheel blogging about problems - anonymously at first - that I thought were wrecking the church. And in doing so, I became persona non grata after my authorship of the blog was verified by underhanded means involving the city of Jacksonville and certain church leaders. Yvette, by simple proximity to me, for "associating" with me, paid the price too. We were both served trespass papers served personally by John Blount and Kevin King, and Yvette was prevented from stepping foot on the very church where she herself served in the youth and preschool ministry for over a decade and where we were members for over 20 years. One of her friends at church even insinuated that she should leave me because of my blog and my audacity of criticizing the church and outright mocking of the pastor. But Yvette didn’t. She stood strong and stayed by my side through what became a difficult three-year-long legal battle. She remained faithful—to God, to her family, and to the truth. We were and are still so grateful for her friends who DID stand by her side and supported her - they know who they are.

And now, nearly two decades later, we can both look back and say: we not only survived—we thrived.

Yvette spent 17 years building serving quietly and faithfully Christian Family Chapel after getting the right boot of disfellowship at her church. She now moves into a new season—helping care for our grandchildren, all of whom live right here in Jacksonville and are doing exceptionally well, age 0 to 8. She will be even more present in their lives, just as she has been in the lives of so many little ones through her work. This is a new ministry now—one of legacy, of impact, and of presence.

We have no bitterness toward FBC Jax. In fact, Yvette and I have visited the church several times this past year and reconnected with some old friends. I’ve met with and had a long conversation with Heath Lambert, the current pastor. We swapped stories of what happened when we were kicked out, and his journey in becoming the senior pastor and that awful process he endured, some of which he has chronicled on YouTube.  We discussed what he saw at FBC Jax when he arrived around 2016 or so, and some of what I blogged consistently about back between 2007 and 2012. Heath offered a heartfelt apology on behalf of the church for how both of us were treated. He even extended the offer to apologize to Yvette personally. That meant something. Over the years, other pastors and deacons have reached out with similar sentiments—some even admitting that while they didn’t always agree with my approach, they did come to realize I was right about what was happening to the church.

The house of cards many refused to acknowledge eventually fell. But I take no pleasure in that. I do, however, appreciate Heath Lambert for doing the hard and costly work of fixing what needed to be fixed - he too had to endure some mighty dirty tricks and slander to fix what needed to be fixed. He inherited a mess and did the right thing for the church and it seems FBC Jax is on the right track.

Looking back, we clearly see God’s hand through it all. What felt like a painful exile in 2008 turned out to be the opening of a new path in so many ways. Our faith today is deeper—not the rigid, fundamentalist version we once held, but something real, tested, and enduring. That shift wasn’t easy, especially for Yvette. While I had already begun to question aspects of our old mindset as the events at our church unfolded, it was a longer, more painful process for her. Letting go of that religious framework takes courage and time—but she did it, and she did it with grace and our entire family is better for the journey.

So today, I offer praise and a tip of the hat to Yvette. She stayed faithful when some perhaps would have walked away during a very painful, public shaming process. She took the pain of rejection and turned it into a mission of service. She walked the long road with grace and strength—and now she gets to enjoy the fruits of a life well lived.

Still married to the Watchdog. Still standing. Still thriving. Four grandkids. Faith intact. And a story that turned out far better than the script they tried to write for us.

Congratulations, Yvette. You finished one race—and now, the best part begins.

Staying Relevant in Your Adult Kid's Lives: A Mother's Day Tribute!

One thing I’ve learned as I head into my 60s is this: if you’re in your older years, nearing retirement perhaps, and you want to stay relevant in your kids’ and grandkids' lives—you’re going to have to work for it. Being relevant in your own family doesn’t just happen. You don’t get grandfathered in. It takes intention. It takes showing up. And it takes a certain humility to keep adapting as your role in the family changes.

That’s something I’ve always admired about my mother. Now in her 80s, she’s still an incredibly relevant person in my life day to day. And that’s not an accident—it’s the result of her commitment to staying connected to all of us. After my dad passed earlier this year, that connection feels more important than ever.

She didn’t just sit back and hope she’d stay in our orbit. She lived it. She stayed nearby. Gainesville, then St. Augustine for almost 20 years, and now—finally—15 minutes down the road in Jacksonville. Closer than ever. We see her weekly, not out of obligation, but because we want to. She’s still part of the fabric of our lives. And she made sure of that.

It’s easy to imagine these kinds of long-term relationships “just happening”—but they don’t. They require a level of personal investment that few people are willing to make. Life has a way of drifting people apart. But not my mom. She planted herself close, literally and emotionally. She built relationships with my kids. Now she has real, meaningful connections with her great-grandkids. That’s what I want for myself in my older years—to stay relevant, stay connected, and still matter in the lives of my family.

Of course we all know, the role of a parent doesn’t end—it just changes. And if you don’t learn to grow with it, you risk becoming background noise in your own family. You can’t parent 30-year-olds the way you parented 13-year-olds. But you can still guide. You can still encourage. You can still influence—if you’re willing to let go of control and lean into connection. The most impactful parents I know in their older years are the ones who’ve learned to become wise friends, not constant critics. They don’t smother, but they don’t disappear either. They listen more. They support and encourage more. They adapt to technology to stay connected. And when they speak truth, it lands—because it comes from love, not control.

And let’s not sanitize this story with flowers and inspirational quotes. My mom was tough. She was a disciplinarian, and we knew not to cross her. There was just the right amount of fear in our house. Say “God darn it”? Get your mouth washed out with Coast soap. Test the boundaries too far? The belt was an option - actually the belt was dad, maybe for my mom it was the hair brush as I recall. But I never questioned her love for us. Her discipline shaped me—and honestly, it’s something too many families have lost.

I also learned from her how to evolve. How to go from being a parent to being a friend. All three of my kids are now in their 30s, and we have that kind of relationship now—where we can joke, laugh, and just enjoy each other’s company. We enjoy traveling together. I learned that from watching my mom. She never stopped being present. Never stopped cheering us on. Never lost that balance between telling you the truth and still being in your corner.

She’s a Midwesterner—raised in Coldwater, Michigan—and you can tell. Down-to-earth. No-nonsense. Full of common sense and not afraid to speak her mind. That came from her parents, and she passed it down to us. That’s the kind of grit and honesty I value most in people. She always managed to speak the truth, but with love. She walked that tightrope between encourager and truth-teller, and she did it masterfully—with us, with our spouses, and with the grandkids.

My mom has always made herself the kind of person people want to be around. And now, in her later years, she’s reaping the benefits of that. She’s surrounded by family, by people who love and respect her, who enjoy her company—not because they have to, but because she’s still relevant. She still matters.

So thank you, Mom. For raising me right. For not pulling punches. For loving us well, and showing us what it really means to live a life that stays connected—across decades, across generations. You taught us that meaning isn’t found in distance or retirement or checking out. It’s found in living life together.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Happy Mother's Day to the Matriarchs!

I've written several Mother's Day articles over the years as the Watchdog. This one is about what makes a mother into a matriarch of her family. This is a tribute to the Christian matriarchs of their families.

But this is a post about what I consider the real Christian matriarchs, the ones who have lived through the collapse of a fundamentalist fantasy, have the scars to prove it, and still lead their families with grit, grace, and an unsentimental grasp on reality. They’ve held on to their faith, but unlike many still trapped between rigid fundamentalism and real-world logic, they can tell the difference between genuine spirituality and religious nonsense.

Let’s start here: a matriarch isn’t a title a woman gets for enduring menopause or hitting grandma status. They've earned it. And my wife—though she never campaigned for the role—has become the matriarch of our family and our extended family. Not by throwing around Bible verses or acting holier-than-thou or living in a spiritual fantasy world like so many others, but by being a Christian woman grounded in deep faith in God but also grounded in cold hard truth.

See, as I said at the start, real Christian matriarchs live in reality. Not in a fantasy where you raise your kids in church, ship them off to youth camp, make sure they have their “quiet time,” and then magically they grow up into mini-me fundamentalists. That formula doesn't work, as we and almost all of our friends with whom we went to church in Gainesville and Jacksonville have found out. It never really worked. And the women who’ve ascended to true matriarch status are the ones who had the strength to accept this reality—and didn’t lose their minds or their faith when it all went off-script.

My wife has watched kids in our family and extended family grow up and chart different spiritual paths. None turned out exactly like the FBC Jax formula predicted. But she never let that undo her. I’ve seen women paralyzed with guilt and grief and even fear, because their kids didn’t turn out as zealous as the FBC Jax youth pastor might have predicted. For some it wrecked their joy, strained their marriages, and turned them into walking testimonies of religious anxiety. But not my wife. She knows real faith is a relationship with Jesus—not a checklist of doctrinal loyalty and not in measuring her kids by a fundamentalist checklist.  And she’s at peace with where her kids are in their own spiritual journey. That’s what real matriarchs do: they stay steady when the script changes.

Now, here’s something else about a real matriarch: she doesn’t confuse religious mania for spiritual maturity. She’s not dazzled by the seemingly most spiritual person who claims they “feel led” every time they make a terrible life decision. She doesn’t fall for the pious performances of those around her. In fact, she knows when someone is slapping a Bible verse on top of selfishness and calling it righteousness. She knows the difference between a mental health issue and what others like to dress up as “spiritual maturity.” And here’s the kicker—she’s not afraid to say it out loud. Even when friends and family whisper that she’s “less spiritual” for refusing to play along with the latest bout of holy-sounding nonsense, she’s unfazed. She sleeps just fine without the approval of the pious. In fact, she laughs now—at the fundamentalist craziness we used to swallow whole, and at the things the hyper-spiritual crowd still treat as untouchable and sacred.

And let’s be clear: a matriarch does not coddle nonsense in her family. She doesn’t get bullied by her adult kids, and she doesn’t pretend her screw-up son is “just struggling” when he’s actually burning his life and others' lives to the ground. A matriarch sees reality, calls it out, and sets boundaries for herself and her husband. She’s got the backbone to say, “I love you, but I won’t enable you.” She knows the difference between love and enabling, unlike so many Christians we've seen recently who think tolerating bad behavior is somehow Christlike and loving. I know "tough love" is cliche', but it is sorely needed these days, and a matriarch will deliver it when needed.

A true matriarch also knows how to work and is not afraid of work. My wife has worked in a Christian preschool for over 20 years—not full-time, but still serving faithfully every year. Year after year, she’s poured into kids and families, often serving as a Spanish translator for immigrant families desperate for someone to help them navigate a new system. She’s never made a big deal about it, but her quiet, consistent love changed lives. That’s work. That’s ministry. That’s what a matriarch does—she doesn’t sit back waiting for the family to worship her but she puts her hands to something meaningful and gets the job done.

And now, as she steps into what others might call retirement, she’s doing the exact opposite of retiring. She’s doubling down—pouring herself into her grandkids, providing friendship and support to her children, and caring for aging parents and others close to her who need her help. She's not unplugging from life and taking a sabbatical. She's leaning in. She's becoming even more essential to those she loves. That’s what a matriarch does. She multiplies her impact when others would be shrinking it.

So this Mother’s Day, save the frilly tributes. If you know a woman like my wife, tell her thank you. She didn’t become the matriarch by asking for it. She became one by showing up, speaking truth, and never letting religious nonsense rob her of her mind—or her family.

And Lord knows our families and this world need more women like that.