The Cost of Spiritual Absolutism

On a winter morning in February 1999, a baby boy named Warren Trevette Glory took his final breath in a small Colorado home while his family prayed over him. His grandfather, a lifelong member of the Church of the First Born, anointed his tiny body with olive oil, laid hands on him, and asked God to heal him — the same ritual that had been practiced for generations.

To Warren’s family, this wasn’t neglect.
It was obedience.
It was the deepest expression of faith they knew.

For the public, though — especially when the story reached the Denver Post on March 15, 1999 — Warren’s death became something far more complicated: a tragic example of how religious absolutism can lead to preventable suffering.

But for me, this issue isn’t abstract.
It isn’t academic.
It is personal.

I Grew Up in the Church of the First Born

Long before I became an investigative journalist or an advocate for vulnerable women and children, I was a child inside the Church of the First Born — not the Colorado congregation, but one of the many small, tight-knit branches scattered across the country.

I grew up in a world where doctors were rarely, if ever, consulted. Illness was prayed over, hands were laid on the sick, olive oil was anointed on foreheads, and infections were left for “God’s timing.”

When I was young, I endured severe, untreated ear infections — infections so painful and prolonged that they left permanent damage in both of my ears. I remember the fevers, the sleepless nights, the pressure so intense I could hear my pulse.
What I don’t remember?
A doctor’s office.
Antibiotics.
Relief.

I was taught — just as Warren’s family believed — that if healing didn’t come, it was God’s will. Suffering had meaning. Medical treatment was proof of weak faith.

As an adult, I now understand the cost of those beliefs. I carry it every single day in the form of hearing loss and scar tissue. And I carry it emotionally in the stories I investigate, the families I meet, and the children I fight for.

This is why Warren’s story hits differently for me.
Because I know that world.
Because I lived in it.
Because his story could have been mine.

A Church That Still Exists in the Shadows

Many people assume the Church of the First Born is a relic of the past — a fringe sect that faded away long ago.

It didn’t.

The church still exists today, quietly, in scattered rural pockets across several states. They remain small, often unnoticed unless tragedy forces their name into headlines. They continue meeting in simple buildings, still guided by elders rather than clergy, still believing in miracles over medicine.

Their worldview hasn’t shifted with the times.
Their trust in prayer remains absolute.
Their resistance to medical intervention persists.

Most members are kind, gentle, deeply devoted people. But devotion does not erase danger. And faith — especially when insulated, generational, and unquestioned — can shape decisions that put children at risk.

I know this, because I grew up in those pews.
I know the hymns.
I know the cadence of the prayers.
I know the fear — spoken or unspoken — of stepping outside the faith.

It is a world that can feel loving and suffocating all at once.
A world where questioning is rare.
A world where obedience is expected.
A world where children bear the consequences of adult conviction.

The 1999 Case That Forced the Public to Look Again

When Warren’s parents chose prayer over antibiotics in 1999, they were following doctrine, not defying the law. Colorado’s religious exemption statute — like those in many states — made prosecution difficult, if not impossible.

The law required proof that parents knew their child was dying.
Imagine trying to prove that in court when faith teaches that healing is always possible.

Prosecutors described the exemption as:

• “A barrier to justice”
• “A loophole difficult to overcome”
• “An invitation for tragedy”

And while lawmakers debated, more children died:

• Preventable diphtheria in the 1970s
• Untreated appendicitis in the ’80s and ’90s
• Viral pneumonia
• Bowel obstructions
• Diabetes unmanaged because insulin was considered a lack of faith

These weren’t acts of cruelty.
They were acts of belief.

But belief did not save those children.

A Pattern That Spans Generations

From the 1970s through the late 1990s — and even beyond — multiple children in Church of the First Born families died of treatable illnesses in Colorado alone. Many more cases went unreported or uninvestigated.

And now, decades later, the church still operates. Quietly. Steadfastly. With the same doctrine that shaped my childhood — and Warren’s short life.

This isn’t about demonizing faith.
It is about drawing a line where faith ends and harm begins.

Why Warren’s Story Still Matters — In 1999 and Today

Warren’s death occurred 26 years ago, but the questions it raised are still unresolved:

• Should a parent’s religious beliefs override a child’s right to medical care?
• Are religious exemptions worth the lives they quietly claim?
• How do we protect children without demonizing faith?
• How do we hold parents accountable when they truly believe they are doing right?

As the 1999 coroner said:
“Adults can choose martyrdom. Children cannot.”

Those words haunt me.

Because I was once one of those children.

A Final Word — From Someone Who Lived It

When I read stories like Warren’s, I feel the ache of memory — the nights of pain, the whispered prayers, the quiet resignation that healing didn’t come. I carry empathy for families raised in these belief systems. I understand how powerful doctrine can be. I understand how deeply people want to be right with God.

But I also understand something else:
Children deserve more than hope. They deserve care. They deserve protection. They deserve a chance to grow up.

Warren never got that chance.
Countless others didn’t either.

Today, I write about them — and about the world I came from — not to condemn, but to shine a light.

Because silence protects no one.
And stories, when told honestly, can change the course of another child’s life.