Listen to him Telling it in the sermon, Campbell experienced judgment and victory, so his life might be an Old Testament story.

He was only 21 when he traded with God after being ejected 56 feet in a car accident at the age of 21. He said his body hit the stop sign and broke his neck. He lay on the train tracks and remembered to pray, "Give me another chance...I will do whatever you want me to do."

He said that God saved him, and in the years that followed, God gave him the power of the Holy Spirit. He was given a gift of prophecy and faith recovery. He said that once, he had raised a man from the dead.

In 1988, he convinced the people who led the God District Council, as Jackson feared. They shared their conclusions in a letter, which Clover Cohen said he reviewed and allowed Campbell to continue leading Versailles’ first congress.

Seven months after the hearing, he invited a new child into his home.

Phaedra Creed never met her father. Her mother struggled with her addiction and lived in another state. But her pastor wanted to take her in. She remembers that after Campbell told her, she jumped up and down, screaming.

He and his wife went to court to conduct custody officials and in September 1988, a creed room in the priest's basement, a ranch house in a parking lot in the church.

She said the 14-year-old caught Campbell's attention while singing in the church choir. He told her that God had made a special plan for her. "Many people are called, but few choose," he said.

One night, after lying awake and waking the Bible, she saw Campbell throw a demon from a man in the church and shouting, “In the name of Jesus!” It frightened her. That night the pastor came to comfort her and felt safe in her arms.

But within a few weeks, she wondered if the real demon was the one who stuffed her into the night.

It starts with a sleeping kiss on the lips, then escalates quickly, she said. Three months later, Creed sat in an interview room at the Versailles Police Station. Afterwards, the police chief typed his notes:

Joe Campbell enters the victim's bedroom and has sex...

At 15 to 20 different times...

Campbell commented many times that she is his baby...

The doctor's examination confirmed that the creed had been penetrated. Campbell was arrested and released on a margin of $25,000. After the preliminary hearing, the judge found enough evidence to send the case to trial.

While waiting for trial, Creed went to Springfield to testify in the same room where Jackson stood. Facing the outcome of their early decision to allow Campbell to continue preaching, God's assembly of Southern Missouri Parliament forbidden his denomination.

The following months were hell, Cried said. She moved into Missouri with her mother. Some church members accused the letter Creed of seducing Campbell and whispering behind the grocery store. They said Satan used her to remove the church.

Back in Tulsa, Jackson and Williams said they received subpoenas to testify. The girls didn't tell the alleged victim the name, but they were eager to support her.

They never had a chance.

In October 1989, Creed's therapist warned her mother, Rita Aye, weeks before the case was tried, which could damage her daughter, who had moved to a group home for children suffering from severe psychological distress. “She has gone through enough,” Aye said of their decision not to continue the case.

When the charges were dismissed, Campbell's lawyer accused letter Creed of fabricating the story, telling local newspapers that the teenager retaliated after "Mr. Campbell denied her request to marry a 32-year-old man."

For years, Creed would panic when any thunderstorm rolled up. It was raining in Campbell's night, she said. Eventually, she learned to bury her memory and pushed the pain deep.

After being removed Campbell said from God’s assembly that God gave him a new task: to build his own church and to build a children’s camp in 40 acres of remote areas in Ozarks, Missouri.

Marshfield’s Family Worship Center (later renamed Lakeside Family Worship), when it opened in 1990 at an old Methodist church with only a few members but grew to hundreds. Campbell quickly unveiled Camp Bell on a 20-minute wooded area. Volunteers added a swimming pool, shower and dormitory for thousands of visiting children.

"In a week, children are separated from the world and can focus on God, which has changed their lives," Campbell told the newspaper a few years later. "They are never the same."

As he rebuilds his career, women who say they are abused are opening families and quietly struggling to cope with the lingering hurt. Cheryl Almond said Campbell harassed her around 1978, and he thought he had been the only one for decades.

After returning to Eastland to raise his own children, Almond finally built up the courage to tell someone. She confides her spiritual mentor to longtime church members.

The woman gasped, “Oh my god, are you too?”

Almond freeze: "What do you mean, 'so'?"

The woman told her that Jackson had long left the church and others who accused Campbell of being abused. Almond was shocked to send a letter in 1999 at the Lakeside Family Worship when he learned that he had found a group of believers in Missouri.

"After years of this terrible sin, God has directed me to write this letter," Eimond wrote. "The pain you have caused to me, my family, and many other great children so great."

She received no reply.

A year later, Almond felt God touching her again: It was time to find Jackson.

Jackson, 27, is a newly divorced, raises a first-year student and struggles with a panic attack that makes her hyperventilate and vomit. The first one came when she was walking near the forest. The scent reminded her of Campbell’s family farm in Missouri. She has been begging God to help her forget ever since. Now Xingren is calling and requesting a meeting.

Jackson invites Almond to her house. Williams joined them. At the kitchen table, they share their stories and discover similarities. After years of grief, no one can understand, and each of them feels capable. Together they decided to take the pain into account to Campbell.

Jackson recalled the subpoena she received in 1989, called authorities in Versailles County and convinced someone to pass her phone number to the victim. A few days later, Creed called.

Then there are four.

"Just knowing I'm not alone," Creed wrote to the woman the next day. “I can’t even express those feelings.”

Over the next decade, emails between women described a series of efforts to remind authorities in Oklahoma and Missouri. A message to the FBI was not answered. Tulsa police told them that the regulations on restrictions were past and recommended that they submit a report of Campbell's current residency. When Jackson tried to call the Sheriff’s Office in Webster County, Missouri, she thought she heard Campbell’s brother on the other end. They learned that he was in dispatch work. They submitted the report, but it's OK.

Several years have passed and there is no result.