Robert Morris, the Texas megachurch pastor who once stood at the pinnacle of American evangelical life, has pleaded guilty to sexually abusing a child in the 1980s, marking a stunning downfall for the influential Gateway Church founder.
The 64-year-old pastor admitted in Osage County District Court to five felony counts of lewd or indecent acts with a child. As part of a plea deal, Judge Cindy Pickerill sentenced him to 10 years, though Morris will serve only six months in the county jail. In addition, he must register as a sex offender and pay $250,000 in restitution to his victim.
Handcuffed and escorted into custody following the hearing, Morris’ sentencing brought long-awaited vindication for his accuser, Cindy Clemishire, who has pursued accountability for more than four decades.
The survivor’s voice after decades of silence
Clemishire, now 55, was just 12 years old when she says Morris began abusing her. Sitting in the courtroom as Morris confessed, she faced him with words she had been waiting to speak publicly for years.
“Let me be clear,” Clemishire told the court, her voice breaking but steady. “There is 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. You committed a crime against me.”
She described how the abuse “rippled into every part” of her life, leaving lasting scars on her marriages, relationships, and the way she raised her children. Her 82-year-old father wept quietly as her sister, Karen Black, spoke about the betrayal the family endured while Morris built a national ministry persona.
“You pretended to be holy, preaching from big pulpits,” Black said. “As you hid behind your facade, we’ve known you are nothing but a predator.”
How the abuse began
Clemishire first met Morris in 1982, when he was a traveling evangelist in his early 20s who often stayed with her family in Oklahoma. On Christmas night that year, she recalled, he invited her to his room while she wore pink floral pajamas. There, he groped her breasts and touched beneath her underwear. The encounters, she said, continued for years.
Morris allegedly told her to keep the abuse a secret, warning: “Never tell anyone about this. It will ruin everything.”
She did not disclose what happened until 1987, when she finally confided in her parents and church leaders. But instead of calling the police, Morris underwent what was described as a “restoration process” and later returned to ministry.
Gateway Church and a fall from grace
In 2000, Morris founded Gateway Church in Southlake, Texas. Within two decades, it became one of the largest megachurches in the United States, with tens of thousands of weekly attendees, a massive media presence, and influence that reached the White House. Morris became a best-selling author and a faith adviser to President Donald Trump.
But Clemishire never forgot. In the mid-2000s, she sought restitution, approaching Morris and Gateway Church with a request for $50,000 to cover therapy costs related to her trauma. According to records, Morris’ legal team accused her of sharing responsibility for the “inappropriate behavior” when she was a child. He offered $25,000 but only on the condition she sign a nondisclosure agreement. She refused, and the negotiations collapsed.
Her story went public decades later in 2024, when she shared her account with The Wartburg Watch, a blog dedicated to exposing abuse in church communities. Within days, Gateway announced Morris was stepping down.
Legal pursuit and indictment
Following her public disclosure, the Oklahoma attorney general’s office opened an investigation. In March 2025, a multicounty grand jury indicted Morris on five felony counts, ruling that a little-known frontier-era law allowed prosecutors to bypass the statute of limitations because Morris had lived out of state for years.
At his first court appearance in May, Morris pleaded not guilty and was released on a $50,000 bond. By September, however, his defense team began plea negotiations, culminating in Thursday’s guilty plea.
Reaction in court
Morris remained mostly silent, staring at the table during Clemishire’s testimony. His only words as he was led away in handcuffs were to his wife, Debbie, and their children: “Love y’all.”
For Clemishire, the guilty plea brought long-awaited acknowledgment. “Today marks a new beginning for me, my family and my friends who have been by my side throughout this horrendous journey,” she said. “Robert, I want you to see me clearly: I am no longer the silenced little girl you abused.”
Broader fallout
The scandal has not only toppled Morris but also exposed systemic failures within Gateway Church. In November, the church removed four elders after an investigation revealed that some had known of Clemishire’s allegations years earlier but failed to act.
Morris, meanwhile, has sued Gateway for millions in retirement benefits, claiming the church mishandled his resignation and damaged his reputation. The church has rejected his claims, saying his demands “do not reflect accountability for the impact of his actions on the community.” That lawsuit remains pending.
The case has reverberated beyond Texas, sparking renewed debate about extending or eliminating statutes of limitations in child sex abuse cases. Advocates say Clemishire’s decades-long wait for justice shows why victims often remain silent for years and why reforms are needed.
Inspiring other survivors
Clemishire’s bravery in coming forward has inspired others. After her story broke, she received messages from women nationwide who shared their own experiences of sexual abuse by religious leaders. Some, for the first time, spoke out publicly.
One such case involves Joe Campbell, a former children’s pastor accused by several women of molesting them in the 1980s across Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Missouri. Their accounts were part of an NBC News investigation and documentary released in May. Campbell has not responded to the allegations.
The guilty plea of Robert Morris closes a decades-long cycle of denial, secrecy, and silence. While his sentencing may seem light compared to the gravity of the crimes, it represents legal accountability long denied to survivors like Clemishire.
For her, the moment was not about the length of his jail time but the recognition of her truth. Standing in court, she declared that she had reclaimed her voice from the man who once told her to stay silent.
Her words carried beyond the courtroom: “I am no longer the silenced little girl you abused.”
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