SHIPLEY, England — The sound of cheers echoes beneath the stained-glass windows of St. Peter’s Anglican Church. In the nave where hymns once soared, the crowd now rises to its feet as local favorite Billy O’Keefe pins his opponent—known simply as “The Apprentice”—in a dramatic six-man tag team match. A tattooed wrestler from Leicester, England, flies over the ropes and lands in the aisle. Parishioners roar their approval.
This is no ordinary church service. This is Wrestling Church—a bold, unconventional outreach ministry founded by Gareth Thompson, a 37-year-old former street kid turned preacher and wrestler. Saved by Jesus and professional wrestling, Thompson now blends both passions into a single mission: introducing others to faith through the drama of the ring.
“When you boil it down, wrestling is about good versus evil,” Thompson says. “When I became a Christian, I started seeing biblical stories in every match—David and Goliath, Cain and Abel, even Esau being deceived. Wrestling became a way to tell those stories.”
Faith in an Unlikely Arena
Church attendance in the UK has been steadily declining for decades. The 2021 census revealed that fewer than half of people in England and Wales now identify as Christian. At the same time, the number claiming no religious affiliation rose from 25% to 37% over the previous decade.
In response, many churches are seeking new ways to engage their communities—and some are taking bold risks.
“You have to be willing to try something different,” said Rev. Natasha Thomas, the priest of St. Peter’s in Shipley, a former factory town in northern England. “When Gareth approached us with the idea of a wrestling event, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was saying yes to. But this isn’t just entertainment—it’s bringing in people who might never otherwise walk through the church doors.”
At a recent Saturday evening event, nearly 200 people packed into the church: families with young children, teenagers with piercings, elderly couples, and longtime wrestling fans. Under the vaulted ceiling, the ring was set in the center of the sanctuary. The evening began with a short prayer from Rev. Thomas—and then the mayhem began.
For two hours, the crowd cheered through body slams and flying headbutts, waving oversized foam fingers and chanting “Knock him out!” with joyful abandon.
Some long-standing church members have welcomed the energy.
“I think it’s absolutely fantastic,” said Chris Moss, who has attended St. Peter’s for decades. “Sure, when you see some of the wrestlers up close, you might cringe a bit. But when you talk to them, you realize—these are real people with real stories. You can’t judge a book by its cover.”
From the Streets to the Sanctuary
Wrestling, for Thompson, was more than entertainment—it was survival. Known in the ring as Garles Angel, he wears a shirt that reads: “Pray. Eat. Wrestle. Repeat.”
As a child, Thompson endured sexual abuse and spent part of his teenage years homeless. Wrestling, he says, gave him a sense of control and escape.
“I used to watch guys like Shawn Michaels and The Rock and dream about being them,” he recalls. “Wrestling gave me a place to escape from the pain. But when I met Jesus in 2011, everything changed. That passion was still there—but now, it had purpose.”
In 2022, Thompson held his first wrestling church event at a former nightclub. Last year, he brought the project to St. Peter’s. His organization, Kingdom Wrestling, now hosts weekly matches, training sessions for youth and adults, women’s self-defense classes, mental health groups for men, and even mentorship programs for teens expelled from school.
“It Works Both Ways”
For some in the UK wrestling community, religion is a new—and at times surreal—element.
“I’m here mostly for the wrestling,” said Liam Leisure, 33, who wrestles under the name Flamin’ Demon Crow. As he laced his boots in the cramped changing room, he admitted that watching a baptism between matches once caught him off guard. “It was kind of surreal. But it works both ways—some people come for the church and discover wrestling. Others come for the match and leave with something deeper.”
Chiara, the reigning women’s champion at Kingdom Wrestling, says the ministry has helped integrate her Catholic faith into her wrestling career.
“Thanks to Kingdom Wrestling, I now have the courage to pray before a match,” said Chiara, 26, known offstage as Stephanie Sid. “I even invite my opponents to pray with me—for safety, for strength, and for everyone to leave entertained and unhurt. Wrestling has made me bolder in my faith.”
Church Growth, One Match at a Time
Since launching at St. Peter’s, Wrestling Church has baptized 30 people in its first year alone. And Thompson isn’t stopping there. He hopes to expand to other cities across the UK—and perhaps one day, start his own church rooted in wrestling and worship.
While Christianity and pro wrestling have long coexisted in the United States—where superstars like Shawn Michaels openly proclaim their faith—England is a more secular landscape. Shipley, 175 miles north of London, is a far cry from the Bible Belt.
Even so, Thompson remains undeterred.
“People say wrestling and Christianity are both fake,” he says with a grin. “But here’s the thing—when you believe in something, really believe, it becomes real. My faith in Christ is alive. And wrestling, when it’s done right, lets people lose themselves in a story bigger than themselves.”
“And that,” he adds, “is where the gospel begins.”
