The Church of Gaia in Spokane, Washington, has all the makings of a traditional place of worship: regular gatherings, communal songs and member donations – except they also serve ayahuasca, a psychedelic substance that can induce nausea and, at times, projectile vomiting.
“This is a purely spiritual practice,” said Connor Mize, the ceremonial leader of the Church of Gaia. “It’s not a thing you do just for fun.”
Psychedelics are classified as schedule 1 substances and banned throughout most of the US. But a small number of churches have won the right to use them as sacraments: since the 2000s, four organizations have secured legal protections for psychedelic use after protracted battles with the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA).
Earlier this year, the Church of Gaia became the first psychedelic church to receive an exemption by petitioning the DEA instead of suing it. “Everybody else has gone through some semblance of litigation to get through the process other than us,” said Mize.
Estimates suggest that hundreds of psychedelic churches operate illegally in the US. As court interpretations evolve, religious freedom claims expand and more Americans drift away from traditional religion, these groups are increasingly emerging from the underground to push boundaries over which substances – and beliefs – deserve protection.
The Church of Gaia’s win, combined with two recent settlements, makes “three new psychedelic practices recognized in the last year – more than half of all the ones ever recognized”, according to Sean McAllister, an attorney specializing in psychedelic law.
The origins of legalized psychedelic churches stretch back to the turn of the century, when 30 gallons of ayahuasca tea were seized from a New Mexico-based religious group. In 2006, the church successfully sued the DEA under the Religious Freedom Restoration Act (RFRA), which requires the government to meet a high legal bar before burdening religious practices, setting into motion a new standard for the use of psychedelics.
A similar legal victory followed in Oregon three years later. More recently, in 2024 and 2025, churches in Arizona and California received legal protections for psychedelic use after reaching settlements with the DEA.
“There is more of an openness now to granting these exceptions, to entering into settlements,” said McAllister. “Part of it is because they’ve lost every time they’ve litigated the case.”
Churches can now also pursue exemptions by directly petitioning the DEA to prove that their religious practices are sincere and burdened by drug laws. The route has proved popular: between fiscal year 2016 and January 2024, the agency received petitions from 24 organizations.
The Church of Gaia’s green light came after a nearly three-year process that focused largely on proving that ayahuasca would be used only for religious purposes and prevented the church from operating during the petition. While its approval is the first of its kind, more are anticipated. “There are some that are in negotiation processes,” said Taylor Loyden, an attorney with Terrapin Legal, which represented the Church of Gaia.
With its legal status secured, the church is planning for the future. Mize is focused on securing visas for Peruvian teachers and constructing a circular, mat-filled building to host ceremonies. There, groups of the Church of Gaia’s nearly 70 members will soon gather for hours-long ceremonies to sip on ayahuasca as they purge, listen to traditional Amazonian songs and practice their faith.
Groups benefiting from a thawing federal attitude towards psychedelics might find even more success under Donald Trump, according to legal experts, who pointed to the US president’s emphasis on protecting religious rights.
“There is probably in this administration some desire to be a little looser on religious freedom for plant medicine, because that will also help them be looser on religious freedom in other contexts,” said McAllister, who is currently working on two new lawsuits for ayahuasca churches.
The number of churches, too, is surging. There are probably more than 500 operating across the US, according to Jeffrey Breau, who leads a psychedelics and spirituality program at Harvard’s Center for the Study of World Religions. “Many of these churches have started within the last five, six, seven years,” said Breau.
The growth coincides with a turn to spirituality as Americans fall out of favor with traditional religion. Four in 10 US adults have become more spiritual over the course of their lifetime, according to a 2023 Pew Research Center survey, while only 24% say they have become more religious.
But operating at the intersection of psychedelics and religion isn’t without risks. Beyond logistical hurdles like securing insurance or property as an underground entity, church leaders must also contend with the fear of hearing law enforcement officials knock at their door.
Bridger Jensen, founder of the religious group Singularism, was leaving work last November when he found himself surrounded by a Swat team. An undercover officer had posed as a would-be member of his church, based in Provo, Utah, which uses psilocybin or magic mushrooms in its ceremonies. Police raided Singularism’s center, confiscated its mushrooms and charged Jensen.
Singularism responded by suing. Using Utah’s state-level RFRA, the group halted criminal proceedings against Jensen, recovered its seized psychedelics and won permission to continue operating as the case plays out in federal district court. If Singularism ultimately prevails, it would become the first mushroom church ever recognized in the US, potentially opening up the playing field for other psychedelic practices.
Thus far, all exempt churches have used ayahuasca, partly due to the substance’s low risk of being used for other purposes compared with other drugs. But underground churches use a variety of substances, including LSD and MDMA and even newer chemicals like 2C-B. Some use several in tandem, raising questions about the potential legality of multi-sacrament groups.
“As far as I’m concerned, we would not ask the Catholic church to choose between the bread and the wine,” said Breau.
At Singularism, the church focuses solely on mushrooms in ceremonies that can cost up to $1,400 per round. It isn’t unusual for participants to find closure with estranged family members or face ego death during a session, said Jensen. “Some of them are very euphoric and pleasant, and some of them are very understandably difficult and can be at times uncomfortable.”
Jensen is hopeful that his church’s legal battle could expand protections for religious freedom beyond ayahuasca. But he’s also worried that Singularism’s progress could inadvertently harm others by inspiring them to pursue similar claims without taking proper safeguards.
“I think some people will end up going to jail having tried to replicate our process,” said Jensen. “Will there be more practices getting recognition after this? Absolutely, but it won’t be without tremendous casualties as well.”
