ATLANTA — When Atlanta pastor Philip Anthony Mitchell shifted his focus from church growth to reaching people, the numbers at 2819 Church jumped dramatically.
Now the storefront at 2819 Church is practically a block‑party with young adults lining up outside, some arriving at 5:30 a.m. to snag a seat for Sunday services. The sanctuary thunders with Christian rap and contemporary music, while volunteers shout over megaphones to a crowd that now swells to about 6,000 each week, up from fewer than 200 in 2023. Inside, the vibe turns solemn.
Many are drawn to Mitchell’s electrifying energy and unfiltered preaching style. He’s known for cutting straight to the Bible, never sugar‑coating anything. After prayers and songs that leave many in tears, he walks onto the stage in his signature all‑black suit—sometimes reflective, sometimes teary—before launching into a fiery sermon.
His messages are raw and challenging, pushing God’s holiness and a better way of living. They often spread fast online. A recent prayer event attracted more people than State Farm Arena could accommodate, with thousands traveling in.
Mitchell’s preaching moves his whole body—shouting, punching the air, and pouring emotion into his words—emphasizing a sense of urgency: “It is life or death for me,” he told The Associated Press. “There are souls hanging in the balance … I think about the fact that in that room somebody might hear the Gospel, and that might be their last opportunity.”
2819’s name comes from Matthew 28:19, the verse that orders believers to “make disciples of all the nations.” The church is nondenominational and holds conservative theological positions, opposing abortion and supporting marriage only between a man and a woman.
Its growth has attracted people of many backgrounds, but the majority are young Black adults. This is notable because Pew Research finds that U.S. 18‑24‑year‑olds are less likely than older adults to identify as Christian or attend services regularly.
According to Warren Bird, a consultant on rapidly expanding churches, a strong leader is essential to growth, along with divine support. He describes Mitchell as “speaking a language” that reaches a generation that other pastors miss.
Churchgoers say Mitchell’s sermons resonate because he walks them through Scripture, then lays bare his own transformation: he was once a drug dealer, paid for abortions, and attempted suicide. “I’m still a little rough around the edges, right? I still got a little hood in me,” he says, still carrying a regional New York accent.
Many at 2819 want more than motivational speeches; they feel Mitchell’s sermons counterbalance the feel‑good preaching they see elsewhere. “I’m preaching without watering that down, without filtering out things that we think might be too controversial,” he explains. “I think there is a generation gravitating toward that authenticity and truth. As a result, we are seeing lives being radically transformed.”
Christian podcaster Megan Ashley brought a friend who had drifted away from faith to 2819. “When he speaks, I believe him,” the friend told Ashley.
Some listeners find the directness hard to stomach, say 23‑year‑old Donovan Logan, “But that’s what it’s supposed to do. If you’re not ready to change, the church isn’t for you.” 22‑year‑old Elijah McCord adds that Mitchell’s tough talk about sin feels relevant to life in Atlanta, and he appreciates the sermon’s emphasis on waiting until marriage before sex.
He explains that Mitchell discusses sin, repentance, and the hope the Gospel offers, “He biblically talks about sin and repentance and how there is actually hope in the Gospel.”
Churchgoers say 2819’s appeal goes beyond Mitchell; it’s the whole worship experience. After passing greeters who dance, the Sunday crowd enters a dim auditorium pre‑filled with prayer and bold instrumental music. The official start—labeled a “gathering”—is marked by hands raised and shouts of praise, with tissue boxes ready for those moved to tears.
“You feel the Holy Spirit there, tangible, like, you can just feel it!” 24‑year‑old Desirae Dominguez says.
Mitchell spent a decade preaching, attending growth conferences that didn’t bear fruit, and battling depression. A turning point came in 2023 after a life‑changing trip to Israel, where he said encounters with God and other Christians reshaped him. Around that time, he rebranded the church to 2819.
He now preaches mostly from Matthew alone and claims God instructed him to go on stage without prepared notes. Though he earned a Bible college diploma, his past sometimes shakes his confidence.
“I shed a lot of tears because I feel often ill‑equipped, undeserving,” he tells the AP. “I would not have called myself the steward of something like this if I wasn’t God to lead it, and sometimes I don’t know why my preaching is reaching people … I’m still shocked at myself.”
When preparing to speak, he says he thinks of the brokenness around him: troubled marriages, people considering suicide, a young woman battling deep insecurity who doesn’t know that her father loves her more than any other man.
During quieter moments, he keeps a low profile. He and his staff repeatedly emphasize that they’re “here to serve.” Yet his large online presence draws critics, some accusing him of self‑righteousness or excessive severity. Earlier this year he apologized publicly for a sermon remark about obeying authority that many interpreted as dismissing police brutality.
“You can be deeply hurt by criticism,” he admits. “I repent for some of what critics say, but the pain also helps me understand Jesus better.”
The church recently moved into a new facility after surpassing the capacity of the charter school it used to occupy. The first two Sundays in the new space required a surprise fourth gathering because of the overflow. Likewise, the October prayer event at State Farm Arena drew an estimated 40,000 people, filling the venue and overflowing into a nearby convention center, leaving many outside.
“The staff is constantly tinkering, constantly fixing things,” 2819’s ministries director Tatjuana Phillips says.
Logistical challenges—packed parking, overwhelmed volunteers—are typical for fast‑growing churches, Bird notes.
Despite its size, 2819 fosters community through small groups called “squads,” where about 1,700 people discuss sermons and support each other’s growth. The staff also reaches roughly 75,000 viewers online each week.
Long lines often lead to new friendships. 35‑year‑old Ashley Grimes says that’s where she “met so many brothers and sisters in Christ that I now get to do life with.”
Many of her new friends arrive on Sunday mornings while volunteers—known as servant leaders—offer a brief prayer over each seat before Mitchell’s sermon begins.
On a recent Sunday, Mitchell reminded the crowd that no matter what they’ve done, they can turn to Jesus. His own story of failure becoming a catalyst for transformation illustrates his point: God “used failure to transform my life.”
Stay informed on all the latest news, real-time breaking news updates, and follow all the important headlines in world News on Latest NewsX. Follow us on social media Facebook, Twitter(X), Gettr and subscribe our Youtube Channel.
