The Most Rev. Jeremy Greaves, Anglican archbishop of Brisbane, issued a formal apology to his own clergy after discovering his cathedral had been used as a filming location for a reality show about OnlyFans creators. “Turned On: Dirty, Sexy Money,” streaming on Australia’s Stan, follows women who’ve built substantial income through adult content. And one episode filmed inside historic St John’s Anglican Cathedral featured 24-year-old British creator Lily Phillips being baptized at the altar by the cathedral’s dean, Very Rev. Dr. Peter Catt, with at least one child reportedly visible in the footage.

Greaves didn’t hold back. “I would like to apologize for the distress and anger generated by the Dean’s decision to allow St John’s Cathedral to be used as a backdrop,” he wrote to clergy, calling the finished series “nothing more than clickbait, reality TV content that shamelessly attempts to validate the porn-industry.” He said cathedral officials had been told the production would explore “faith, intention, and life’s complexities” through the story of someone who’d felt excluded from religious community because of her work. The production company says that isn’t how they explained it, insisting the dean had knowingly approved the filming as it happened. Greaves has ordered the specific footage of children removed, launched an immediate review of how third parties get access to church property, and didn’t mince words about the underlying industry: “I unreservedly condemn any attempt to validate an industry that exploits women and girls.” Australian commentator Melinda Tankard Reist went further, arguing the church itself had been reduced to “a prop in a mainstream series for clicks, sexual solicitation and more paid subscribers.”

Phillips, for her part, has been consistent and unapologetic about what the baptism actually meant to her. This was reportedly her second one, following an earlier ceremony she described on social media as “a day to remember forever.” She’s said a period of personal hardship pulled her back toward faith after years of drifting, and that reconnecting with God felt urgent enough to formalize through baptism again. Her family, she says, was thrilled rather than scandalized. She comes from a religious household and has a close relative who’s a vicar. What she’s refused to do is pretend her return to faith comes with a corresponding retreat from her career or her politics. “I’m definitely not claiming to be a traditional Christian at all,” she explained, noting she supports gay marriage and is pro-choice. “That doesn’t mean to say that I can’t be Christian… I would just hope that the Christian community welcomes me, because I guess everyone’s relationship with God is bespoke to them.” She’s said her adult content work will take “more of a back seat” going forward as she diversifies into television and presenting work, though she’s stopped well short of announcing an exit from OnlyFans entirely.

Phillips isn’t the only top creator publicly wrestling with how faith, virtue, and this industry fit together, even if her version involves an actual cathedral. Sophie Rain has spent years insisting, against considerable public skepticism, that she remains a virgin despite her explicit content and $52 million in 2025 earnings. This year she claims to have turned down a reported $15 million offer from an anonymous athlete to change that. “I obviously have morals,” she said, a line that drew plenty of doubt online but that Rain has repeated consistently since at least last December, when she tweeted defending her virginity claim while comparing her earnings to LeBron James’s NBA salary. 

This same tension runs through nearly every storyline on “Double Lives of Suburban Wives,” where faith has turned out to be one of the season’s most persistent throughlines rather than a one-off subplot. One of the leads, Tammy, is actively fighting to get back into a church that only agreed to let her keep attending and keep tithing if she gives up volunteering entirely. Another adult content creator, Macy, still hasn’t told her own father the truth about her content, terrified of what honesty might cost her standing with him and with her congregation. And co-star Bri, mid-argument with her husband, reaches for the woman at the well to make her case that Jesus doesn’t judge. Across a cast that spans church-going moms, closeted creators, and women actively raising kids inside these communities, faith isn’t background noise to the show’s premise. It’s one of the central pressures every woman on it is negotiating in real time, in similar terms to what’s playing out with Phillips and an actual archbishop.

What connects Greaves’s cathedral controversy, Phillips’s baptism, Rain’s virginity claims, and an entire reality show’s worth of suburban moms quietly renegotiating their relationship with church is the same unresolved question playing out from every possible direction: institutions and individuals alike are still deciding whether adult content and traditional virtue (religious, sexual, or otherwise) can coexist in the same person, or whether one has to be a performance of the other. Phillips insists her relationship with God doesn’t require abandoning her livelihood. Rain insists her livelihood doesn’t require abandoning her personal boundaries. The women on “Double Lives” are mostly just trying to keep both halves of their lives from finding out about each other. So when faith, virtue, and sex work all show up in the same headline, whose definition of contradiction is anyone actually applying?