A megachurch from the Global South may have engineered one of the most sophisticated extraction machines of the attention economy. Disposable Church follows that machinery from rented worship halls and cheap plastic chairs in the Philippines into television studios, charitable campaigns, political networks, commercial ventures, migrant communities, and international operations.

They call them cults. But many of those who made that accusation eventually found ways to profit from the label--or produced something even worse. Disposable Church offers a different framework.

In one sense, it is a modern update of Max Weber’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. It follows a mechanism as old as organized faith itself, rebuilt for a world of platforms, metrics, and algorithms.

What we imagined as physical captivity may simply reappear as attendance tracking and follow-up calls. What we called mind control or indoctrination may be better understood as corporate training modules and loyalty systems. What we call fellowship may simply reappear as team building. What we call performative charity in religion may take the form of corporate social responsibility.

Once understood as a system of incentives, surveillance, sunk cost, and social attachment, the mechanism becomes remarkably portable--from crypto communities and K-pop fandoms to gym memberships, corporate cultures, wellness movements, and even your own skin-care clinic.

The prison no longer needs walls when everyone keeps coming back to the gruelling schedule and the sessions, pulled by sunk cost and the fear of missing out.

Drawing on fifteen years inside the Members Church of God International (MCGI) and the current collapse and mutation of megachurches around the world, Disposable Church looks beneath the familiar language of cults and brainwashing toward something colder and more ordinary.

What emerges is not merely a church exploiting its members, but an institutional architecture capable of turning faith, bodies, relationships, media visibility, and political access into a sophisticated transnational extraction machine.

The disposable church may not represent religion’s failure to adapt to modern capitalism.

It may represent its adaptation: a church quietly preparing to become something else, faith reorganized as a means of building and financing a business empire.

Disposable Church is now available in paperback and hardcover.