If you follow certain Christian blogs, or have Christian friends on Social Media, then you may have seen a short video clip being shared which has been taken from a recent sermon by popular Evangelical pastor/speaker and author, Francis Chan of Crazy Loveministries.
Depending on who shared the clip will depend on which reaction you have seen; some are praising his words, others fearing for his future calling it a “red flag”.
And all of this over a short statement he made about communion!
I recommend you watch this 3 minute clip below before continuing, if you haven’t seen it already. I would also recommend watching the whole 47 minute sermon for some better context, where he talks about his struggles and journey to this point in his faith around the topic of communion — something he was wrestling with even back in his BASIC series teaching on Communion from around 2012, views which have clearly moved on since then towards a more historical view.
Chan says he isn’t making any sort of “grand statement” here, and goes on to give a brief, if little distorted, overview of church history:
“I didn’t know that for the first 1,500 years of church history, everyone saw it as the literal body and blood of Christ … And it wasn’t until 500 years ago that someone popularised the thought that it’s just a symbol and nothing more. I didn’t know that. I thought, ‘Wow, that’s something to consider.’”
This part isn’t too far from reality, really, though a little over-simplified. But I understand his zeal and excitement about this discovery of his, as I went through the exact same mind-blowing realisation around five or so years ago when I first delved into the writings of the Early Church Fathers and was forced to come to the same conclusion that there was something there to seriously consider. If the Church had always understood Jesus’ words and the interpretation of Scripture in a fairly singular and unified way for nearly two millennia, then who was I to come along and say my understanding exceeds the wisdom of everyone before me?
It was actually one of the earliest texts, from a second century bishop called Ignatius, that really tipped me over the edge from a “memorialist” view (that the bread and wine are purely symbolic, nothing more), to a sacramental view (that the bread and wine are a means of grace that God uses). Ignatius was writing against a heretical group who were teaching a false doctrine about Jesus not really coming in the flesh, and uses communion as an example to prove the opposite, which also gives us an interesting and early view on the sacraments:
“They abstain from the Eucharist and from prayer, because they confess not the Eucharist to be the flesh of our Saviour Jesus Christ, which suffered for our sins, and which the Father, of His goodness, raised up again.” — Ignatius Of Antioch: Letter To The Smyrnaeans (c.108 AD)
At first reading I was stuck by the literal nature in which Ignatius spoke of the Eucharist (communion), and as I read more of the Early Church Fathers, that same, common thread kept appearing: they all held to a view of Communion which was definitely more than simply a symbol or memorial (you can read some more quotes on the topic here).
Chan later talks about unity in the early church and how he longs to see that type of unity again in the Church globally, explaining that making communion more central to worship would help with that. Chan then laments about the apparent disunity within Protestantism, citing the dramatic statistics of there being “30,000 denominations” in the Protestant world.
It’s a common claim, often from Roman Catholic apologists, but it’s not exactly accurate; there’s really only about six general umbrellas if you boil it all down: Lutheran, Anglican, Reformed, Baptist, Methodist and Pentecostal/Charismatic. Most “non-denominational” churches are still largely Baptist in their theology, despite avoiding any overarching labels. You could also possibly argue for maybe 20-ish denominational groups, if you accept some of the sub-sects of the six listed above as different enough to warrant being counted separately. But I digress.
Chan then continues his sermon, making some more generalised historical claims:
“…for 1500 years it was never one guy and his pulpit being the centre of the church, it was the body and blood of Christ…”
Another area he touches on is the centrality of the Eucharist to the ancient church compared to many modern, Evangelical church services today, where it’s the speaker or sermon which is the focus and communion sometimes gets sidelined. The effect of the Reformation in the 16th century on theology as a whole was when the position of the pulpit really started to shift its focus from off-center to the central positioning common today.
I agree with him here, and that point is definitely part of my own journey in why I’ve recently joined the Anglican church, as I enjoy the fact that the whole of the liturgy leads up to the celebration of Christ’s presence with us as the high point of the service. This isn’t to say or diminish the importance of preaching, but that it too should be a stepping stone into the presence of God; and if you believe in the Real Presencein communion, then that is where we meet with Christ in a very real way as the crescendo of the whole service.
Despite what some bloggers and YouTubers are claiming, I don’t think we can say from this video and short clip alone that Francis Chan is “swimming the Tiber” and becoming a Roman Catholic. His statements are too broad and vague to say he is specifically talking about transubstantiation, and he could just as easily be expressing the Anglican or Lutheran view of Communion, which would make him just as much, if not more, Protestant than he already is.
But overall, I think he’s just experienced that first time realisation that the early church wasn’t what he thought/was taught and it’s blown his mind, and until he refines his views and reads more of the Early Church Fathers, his statements are just a bit over-simplified and fuelled by an excitable zeal. I had the exact same reaction a number of years ago when I first discovered these early writings weren’t what I was taught, and said what I didn’t expect (and I even took a Church History class at Bible College)!
We would all be wise to reserve judgement on the matter until Chan comes out and gives a proper statement about his new views and says one way or the other if he’s going towards Rome fully, or towards one of the other more historically rooted Protestant denominations, if anything actually comes from this.
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The Bible can be a complex thing, with many interwoven connections not always immediately apparent, linking topics and themes together across the ages. One such intriguing relationship lies between Exodus 30:14 and Matthew 17:24–27, offering valuable perspectives on the age dynamics among Jesus’ disciples with a hidden clue in the brief encounter about paying temple tax.
Exodus 30:14 — The Age of Accountability
Exodus 30:14 establishes a significant criterion for temple tax payment: “Everyone who is numbered, from twenty years old and over, shall give the offering to the Lord.” This biblical guideline sets what might be considered a standard for adulthood in ancient Israel, signifying the age of accountability and responsibility within the community.
Matthew 17:24–27 — A Taxing Encounter
Turning to the Gospel of Matthew, a peculiar incident involving Jesus and the temple tax unfolds. Verse 24 introduces the narrative with the phrase “When they came to Capernaum.” The subsequent context implies the presence of Jesus and his disciples, yet attention narrows to Jesus and Peter when the temple tax collectors inquire about payment and question Peter about whether Jesus pays the tax.
This seemingly ordinary event takes an intriguing turn. Jesus, perceiving the situation, engages Peter in a dialogue. “What do you think, Simon?” he asks, underscoring the financial responsibilities tied to temple worship. Jesus then asks where do kings take their tolls, from their own children or from others? Peter answers the obvious question, “from others”. Jesus responds with, “Then the children are free”, which has implications for his own Sonship which is something that passed me by when reading this story in past times. God is the King, the temple is his, and therefore the tax is being imposed by God on the people (via his Law). But Jesus is the Son of God, and therefore should be free from paying the temple tax, since “the children are free” from this obligation.
But to not cause an offence and as a way to prove himself Lord of all creation, Jesus instructs Peter to go to the sea, cast a hook, and retrieve the first fish caught. In its mouth, Peter discovers a coin that covers the temple tax for himself and Jesus only.
Unravelling the Connections
The discerning reader may now understand the link between Exodus 30:14 and Matthew 17:24–27. If the temple tax applied to those “twenty years old and over,” the specific focus on Jesus and Peter being singled out suggests a thought-provoking possibility — the age of the disciples.
The use of the phrase “when they came” in Matthew 17:24 implies the collective presence of Jesus and his disciples. However, the subsequent emphasis on Jesus and Peter for tax payment hints at a more intriguing narrative. Could it be that, among the disciples, only Peter had crossed the threshold of twenty years? The rest could be anywhere between 13–19! Another clue is that it appears only Peter was married, since his mother-in-law is mentioned in Luke 4:38–39, implying that he was possibly older than the others too.
Peter, and others, are often depicted as quite old.Saint Peter, by Peter Paul Rubens, 1610
Implications for Discipleship
This age dynamic may offer insights into the behavioural nuances observed among the disciples throughout the Gospels. Instances of immaturity, such as the disciples’ arguments about greatness (Mark 9:32–34), the way John and Peter race each other to the tomb (John 20:3–10), and Peter’s impulsiveness (John 18:10–11), could find resonance in their potential youthfulness.
The designation of Peter as a leader, entrusted with the care of Jesus’ sheep (John 21:15–17), takes on added significance in this context. If Peter, by virtue of age and experience, stood out among the disciples, it provides a rationale for his prominent role in the early Christian community.
Understanding the age dynamics among the di...
I am excited to announce that the brand "That Ancient Faith" will be changing its name to The Sacred Faith.
As the readership of That Ancient Faith has grown, there has been a risk of confusion with the well-known Orthodox Christian publisher and broadcaster “Ancient Faith”. To develop a distinctive look and to avoid any potential confusion, I have decided to rebrand the website as The Sacred Faith.
The Sacred Faith will continue to offer the same great content that readers have come to expect from That Ancient Faith. The website and social media channels will remain the same, with only the name and branding changing.
I'm excited about this new chapter for the brand and am looking forward to the continued growth of The Sacred Faith. This rebranding is a step forward in making the publishing and content I produce stand out in the online world, and in providing readers with even more unique content.
The change of the brand name will take effect in the following days to be fully switched over within a month. The website URL will change from thatancientfaith.uk to thesacredfaith.co.uk (it will automatically redirect for a while). I encourage all subscribers and followers to update their bookmarks and follow the brand's new social media handles (I'll send another update later once I've updated all my pages to let you know what the new URLs are).
For further information on the rebranding, please contact me here.
Thank you for your continued support and readership.
Sincerely,
Luke Wilson...
I recently saw a video on TikTok from a guy who makes videos about physics and the universe in all its complex wonder, and the video that popped up was one about a supernova that happened 1000 years ago.
These things interest me in general, but this one in particular caught my eye for other reasons: it’s a pretty unique event and is known as “the supernova of 1054”.
Now for some of you reading this, that year may sound very familiar if you know your church history. This is the year of The Great Schism (also known as the East-West Schism)!
Why is this relevant, you might be asking yourself… Well, let me tell you what my thoughts are.
My thinking went immediately to the verses throughout the Bible which talk of God making the stars as signs in the heavens for important events. There’s plenty that speak about the stars in various ways and for different reasons signifying things God was doing, or events on the earth. The first main reference happens during the creation narrative:
Genesis 1:14And God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years
Then also there’s the important one signifying the birth of Christ, which the magi saw and recognised as important:
Matthew 2:1–2In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.”
See also various other references to the stars as signs here: Revelation 6:12–17, Matthew 24:29–30, Isaiah 13:13, Jeremiah 10:2, Joel 2:31, Haggai 2:6, Luke 21:25–26, Ezekiel 32:7–8, Job 38:31–33, Amos 5:8, Psalm 19:1.
But what makes this supernova of 1054 even more interesting isn’t just that it happens in the same year, but the same month! The Great Schism is generally dated to 16th July 1054 as the clinching moment of the Eastern and Western church parting ways (with the excommunication of the Patriarch of Constantinople, Michael Cerularius), and this supernova was visible in the northern sky during the day from around the 4th July for over 20 days, which would lead right up to (and slightly beyond) the 16th of July! Crazy, right?
You might call all this coincidental or circumstantial, but I just thought it was an interesting link. Maybe the events of the Church broke the universe!
What this could mean, if anything, is up for debate of course; and whether the sign in the sky was pointing to the Schism being a good or bad thing is an issue for another day. But it’s an interesting connection, nonetheless.
Let me know what you think in the comments below!
Sources/references:
Great Schism | National Geographic Society
The Crab Nebula | NASA
SN 1054 — Wikipedia
Supernova of 1054 and its Remnant, the Crab Nebula — NASA/ADS (harvard.edu)
If only they knew what they were looking at! 💫💥 #astronomy #astronomytok #physicstok #spacetok (tiktok.com)
...
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Just a quick update for you about a couple of new and exciting things I am offering now! Firstly, I have now launched a new range of faith-inspired clothing, which you can see some examples of in the image banner above. If you want to proclaim Christ and your faith via what you wear (especially in these dark times where churches are closed), head on over to: https://thatancientfaith.teemill.com
The second thing to mention, as you may gather from the logo above, is that I now have a YouTube channel! I have begun it by doing a read through of my book, 40 Days with the Fathers, through Lent, so you can listen to the whole book for free. I also plan to create videos discussing the topics I write about where I can go into things in more detail or explain some of the thinking behind the various topics which I can't always fit into the blogs.
So if you enjoy watching things on YouTube, come on over and subscribe to my channel.
That's right: I have a new book in the works! It draws on some of the series and articles I've written on this site to do with Old Testament prophecy and its links into the New Testament, the Incarnation (briefly) and the Second Coming and what we have to look forward to (or worry about). Stay tuned for updates, I'll post some more information soon when there's something more solid to show.
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That's all for now, leave a comment if you have any queries or thoughts! ...
Something bizarre happened in the White House Oval Office this week. Photographs circulated on social media showing President Donald Trump seated at his desk, surrounded by approximately twenty Christian pastors from across the country, their hands extended towards him in prayer. The image provoked sharply divided reactions: some saw it as a moving expression of faith; others found it deeply unsettling. Whatever one makes of the optics, it arrived at a charged moment.
Trump held a prayer meeting in the Oval Office after his administration admitted the war with Iran will likely last weeks longer than promised | Credit: Dan Scavino's X account
Days earlier, reports emerged that a military commander had told troops that the current US war with Iran is “all part of God’s divine plan,” and that President Trump had been “anointed by Jesus to light the signal fire in Iran to cause Armageddon and mark his return to Earth.” These were not fringe internet rumours. They were filed as formal complaints with the Military Religious Freedom Foundation (MRFF) by an anonymous non-commissioned officer acting on behalf of fifteen service members — the majority of whom were themselves Christians. By Tuesday of that week, MRFF had logged more than two hundred similar complaints across fifty military installations, covering every branch of the armed forces.
More than two dozen Democratic members of Congress have since called for a Department of Defense Inspector General investigation, citing what they describe as “glaring Constitutional concerns” and potential violations of DoD regulations on religious neutrality.
The political questions about separation of church and state in the US are for others to address. What I want to do here is something more straightforward: examine what Revelation actually says, because the theology driving these claims does not hold up under scrutiny. And that matters here a lot; not as a partisan point, but as a question of biblical faithfulness.
First, a Word About Context
If you have read my previous article on Revelation some of what follows will be familiar ground. But it bears repeating, because the misunderstanding at the heart of this story is so widespread that it has taken on the feel of settled orthodoxy in many circles.
The Book of Revelation is commonly thought to be written in the late first century ~95 AD, during or around the reign of Emperor Domitian. Though there is internal evidence that it was possibly written during Nero’s reign prior to 70 AD. Both of these emperors were most aggressive proponents of the imperial cult in Rome’s history. Domitian required that he be addressed as “lord and god,” had this title printed on coinage, and expected acts of religious reverence towards the Emperor as a demonstration of political loyalty. To refuse was to invite economic exclusion, marginalisation, and worse.
Rome on seven hills
It is into that precise context that John of Patmos writes. He is not composing a coded forecast of twenty-first century geopolitics. He is writing resistance literature — what scholars call apocalyptic literature — a well-established Jewish and early Christian genre which uses vivid symbolic imagery to pull back the curtain on earthly power and name it for what it truly is. The seven-headed beast of Revelation is Rome. The seven heads are the seven hills of Rome, an identification so widely acknowledged in early church scholarship that it barely requires argument. The mark of the beast, calculated through Hebrew gematria to 666 (or 616 in some early manuscripts), points directly to Nero Caesar (transliterated into Hebrew as נרון קסר, “nrwn qsr”) — the Emperor who became the archetype of anti-Christian persecution due to the levels of evilness he enacted. The second beast, which looks like a lamb but speaks for the dragon, performs signs to deceive, enforces the mark, and compels worship of the first beas...
Every now and then something happens in this country that feels small on the surface but carries a deeper spiritual weight beneath it. In this case it comes from a Labour council just outside of London when in March of this year, Rushmoor Borough Council attempted to criminalise Christian street preaching. The injunction has thankfully been paused (for now) as Christians rallied, prayed, and pushed back. But the implications of what nearly happened, and could still happen, should give all of us pause.
Because once one council tries something like this, others start paying attention. A precedent has been set — not necessarily in law, but in what could be. Someone, somewhere, will look at Rushmoor’s attempt and think, perhaps this is the way to make Christianity quiet again.
The Quiet Re-emergence of Old Hostilities
We tend to imagine persecution as something ancient or foreign. Lions, arenas, emperors, gulags, terror attacks in far off countries. And sure, we here in the UK are not shedding literal blood for the Gospel, but that doesn’t mean persecution has vanished. It has simply changed shape.
Instead of swords and prisons, we face restrictions and injunctions. Instead of mobs dragging believers through the streets, councils draft documents that treat prayer, worship, and evangelism as public threats. The methods have changed, but the intent remains strangely familiar: to push the Gospel to the margins, to confine it to the private sphere, and to make public displays of faith something suspicious, weird, and even harmful.
If Rushmoor’s injunction had gone through, it would have made praying with someone in town square, even holding out a leaflet, something punishable by fines or prison time. No blood shed, but freedom restricted and removed. No martyrdom, but the same coercive pressure to be silent. Succumb to Caesar (the local council) or face death (prison/fines etc).
History Teaches Us Something the Councils Have Forgotten
Whenever authorities have attempted to stifle Christianity, something remarkable has happened: the Church has not faded away, but grown. Opposition has never extinguished faith; instead, it has refined it, purified it, strengthened it.
Tertullian famously wrote, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” And while no one in Britain today is being asked to spill blood for Christ, the principle still holds. Pressure produces depth. Threats produce courage. Restrictions produce creativity. This is where real faith takes hold and grows!
When believers are told to stop preaching, they remember why they preach.
When prayer is threatened, prayer increases.
When the gospel is pushed out of the public square, Christians step back into it with clarity and resolve.
It’s ironic, really. When the world tries to silence the Church, it ends up drawing attention to the very message it wants to suppress.
The Real Danger: Not the Injunction Itself, But What Comes Next
The paused injunction in Rushmoor is not the end of the story. If anything, it is the prologue. Because we are now entering a season where councils and governments — pressured by secular expectations and political anxieties — may test the boundaries of religious freedom in ways that would have been unthinkable twenty years ago.
Once you try to criminalise prayer in public, the next attempt becomes easier. And we’ve already seen examples of this with the so-called “buffer zones” around abortion clinics.
Once preaching is labelled “hateful,” more restrictions feel reasonable. A few street preachers have already been arrested this year already.
Once a council decides that worship and prayer is “distressing”, others will wonder if they should follow suit.
This is how liberties are lost: not in a single moment, but through a drip-feed of small decisions that gradually reshape what is considered normal.
That is why Christians cannot afford to shrug this off as a local issue. It is a signpost...
Pope Francis has recently expressed the Catholic Church’s willingness to accept a unified date for Easter, a move aimed at fostering greater Christian unity, particularly with the Orthodox Church. This long-standing issue arises from the different calendars used by Western and Eastern Christian traditions — the Gregorian and Julian calendars — leading to discrepancies in Easter celebrations. Talks between Catholic and Orthodox leaders have intensified, hoping a common date could be agreed upon. However, this raises important questions for Protestant denominations regarding whether they would adopt the unified date or risk falling out of alignment with these historic branches of Christianity.
Celebrating the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity recently, Pope Francis noted that this year the Easter date coincides with the West’s Gregorian calendar and the East’s Julian calendar. The Pope said, “I renew my appeal that this coincidence may serve as an appeal to all Christians to take a decisive step forward toward unity around a common date for Easter.”
“The Catholic Church is open to accepting the date that everyone wants: a date of unity” — Pope Francis
The recent discussions between the Catholic and Orthodox churches regarding the unification of the Easter celebration date have some significant implications for Protestant denominations and as an Anglican, the wider Anglican Communion. Historically, the disparity in Easter dates has been a visible manifestation of Christian disunity, and efforts to establish a common date have been ongoing.
Previous Attempts
In 2016, Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby expressed support for a fixed date for Easter, engaging in dialogues with leaders from various Christian traditions, including Pope Francis and Orthodox Patriarch Bartholomew. He emphasised the importance of unity in celebrating the resurrection of Christ and hoped for an agreement within a decade, or at least before he retired. Recently uncovered scandals forced him to retire earlier than planned, so that dream isn’t happening for him anymore.
A long time ago here in the UK, an act of Parliament was passed in 1928 which allowed for Easter Sunday to be fixed on the first Sunday after the second Saturday in April. But this Act has never been activated and so Easter has remained a variable date, determined by the moon’s cycle.
From an Anglican perspective, aligning the date of Easter with Catholic and Orthodox churches would be a significant ecumenical step, reflecting a commitment to Christian unity. The Anglican Communion, known for its via media (middle way) approach, often seeks to bridge differences between traditions. Therefore, it is plausible that the Anglican Church would support and adopt a unified Easter date, should an agreement be reached between the Catholic and Orthodox churches. I would at least expect the leadership to discuss it at Synod, and personally, I hope it would be accepted as a step towards global unity on our most important and significant celebration: the resurrection of Christ!
For other Protestant denominations though, reactions may vary. Some may view the unification of the Easter date as a positive move towards greater Christian unity and choose to follow suit. Others, valuing their own traditions and independence (or anti-Catholic bias), might prefer to maintain their current practices as a variable date. The impact on Protestant denominations largely depends on their theological perspectives and openness to ecumenical initiatives.
Ancient Controversies
Before the Council of Nicaea in 325, different Christian communities celebrated Easter on different dates; the council decided that for the unity of the Christian community and its witness, Easter would be celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox.
This is known as the Quartodeciman (lit. Fourteenth) controversy. It’s called this due to the issue being over w...
The discovery of an 1,800-year-old silver amulet in Frankfurt, Germany, has captured the attention of archaeologists and theologians alike. Known as the “Frankfurt Silver Inscription,” this artefact is the earliest known evidence of Christianity north of the Alps and serves as a great insight to early Christian theology and liturgical practice.
Its early date (230–270 AD) sets it apart from previously known artefacts, which are at least 50 years younger. While there are historical references to Christian communities in Gaul and Upper Germania during the late 2nd century, reliable material evidence of Christian life in the northern Alpine regions generally only dates to the 4th century. This amulet offers new insights into the life and faith of early believers, revealing their theology, liturgical practices, and adaptation of existing traditions.
1. Invoking St. Titus: A Connection to Apostolic Roots
One of the most remarkable features of the inscription is its invocation of St. Titus, a disciple and confidant of the Apostle Paul. This early reference highlights the theological importance of Apostolic authority and continuity. Titus, known for his leadership within the early church, symbolises the rootedness of Christian faith in the teachings and mission of the Apostles.
In this context, the invocation of a saint also invites a deeper exploration of the “cult of saints,” a term scholars use to describe the veneration of saints within Christian tradition. The cult of saints became a significant aspect of Christian worship in the 4th and 5th centuries, with practices such as the commemoration of martyrs, the dedication of churches to saints, and the belief in their intercessory power. The earliest documented evidence of this practice, including the veneration of relics and the dedication of feast days, often centres on martyrs who bore witness to their faith during times of persecution.
However, the invocation of St. Titus in the “Frankfurt Silver Inscription” predates these later developments by over a century, suggesting that the practice of seeking the intercession or spiritual protection of saints may have roots earlier than traditionally believed. This discovery contrasts with historical accounts that identify the late 3rd and early 4th centuries as the period when such practices began to gain prominence within the wider Christian community. As such, the amulet not only sheds light on early Christian devotion but also challenges prevailing assumptions about the origins and development of saintly veneration.
Icon of Saint Titus
2. The Trisagion: Early Liturgical Development
The phrase “Holy, holy, holy!” — known as the Trisagion — appears prominently in the inscription, marking one of the earliest recorded uses of this liturgical formulation in a Christian context. Though widely recognised in the 4th century, its presence here challenges traditional assumptions about the timeline of liturgical development. This suggests that elements of Christian worship, likely adapted from Jewish practices, were formalised earlier than previously thought.
3. Paul’s Christ Hymn: Scripture as the Foundation of Worship
The inscription includes an almost verbatim quotation from Philippians 2:10–11:
“At the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.”
This demonstrates the early integration of Pauline theology into Christian liturgy and devotion. The explicit use of Holy Scripture highlights the centrality of Christ’s lordship in early Christian belief, even before the formal canonisation of the New Testament.
4. A Sacred Object for Protection and Proclamation
The amulet, containing sacred text, was likely carried as a personal object of devotion and spiritual protection. Such items underscore the blend of Christian faith with ancient traditions of carrying protective talismans. This use of...
Something bizarre happened in the White House Oval Office this week. Photographs circulated on social media showing President Donald Trump seated at his desk, surrounded by approximately twenty Christian pastors from across the country, their hands extended towards him in prayer. The image provoked sharply divided reactions: some saw it as a moving expression of faith; others found it deeply unsettling. Whatever one makes of the optics, it arrived at a charged moment.
Trump held a prayer meeting in the Oval Office after his administration admitted the war with Iran will likely last weeks longer than promised | Credit: Dan Scavino's X account
Days earlier, reports emerged that a military commander had told troops that the current US war with Iran is “all part of God’s divine plan,” and that President Trump had been “anointed by Jesus to light the signal fire in Iran to cause Armageddon and mark his return to Earth.” These were not fringe internet rumours. They were filed as formal complaints with the Military Religious Freedom Foundation (MRFF) by an anonymous non-commissioned officer acting on behalf of fifteen service members — the majority of whom were themselves Christians. By Tuesday of that week, MRFF had logged more than two hundred similar complaints across fifty military installations, covering every branch of the armed forces.
More than two dozen Democratic members of Congress have since called for a Department of Defense Inspector General investigation, citing what they describe as “glaring Constitutional concerns” and potential violations of DoD regulations on religious neutrality.
The political questions about separation of church and state in the US are for others to address. What I want to do here is something more straightforward: examine what Revelation actually says, because the theology driving these claims does not hold up under scrutiny. And that matters here a lot; not as a partisan point, but as a question of biblical faithfulness.
First, a Word About Context
If you have read my previous article on Revelation some of what follows will be familiar ground. But it bears repeating, because the misunderstanding at the heart of this story is so widespread that it has taken on the feel of settled orthodoxy in many circles.
The Book of Revelation is commonly thought to be written in the late first century ~95 AD, during or around the reign of Emperor Domitian. Though there is internal evidence that it was possibly written during Nero’s reign prior to 70 AD. Both of these emperors were most aggressive proponents of the imperial cult in Rome’s history. Domitian required that he be addressed as “lord and god,” had this title printed on coinage, and expected acts of religious reverence towards the Emperor as a demonstration of political loyalty. To refuse was to invite economic exclusion, marginalisation, and worse.
Rome on seven hills
It is into that precise context that John of Patmos writes. He is not composing a coded forecast of twenty-first century geopolitics. He is writing resistance literature — what scholars call apocalyptic literature — a well-established Jewish and early Christian genre which uses vivid symbolic imagery to pull back the curtain on earthly power and name it for what it truly is. The seven-headed beast of Revelation is Rome. The seven heads are the seven hills of Rome, an identification so widely acknowledged in early church scholarship that it barely requires argument. The mark of the beast, calculated through Hebrew gematria to 666 (or 616 in some early manuscripts), points directly to Nero Caesar (transliterated into Hebrew as נרון קסר, “nrwn qsr”) — the Emperor who became the archetype of anti-Christian persecution due to the levels of evilness he enacted. The second beast, which looks like a lamb but speaks for the dragon, performs signs to deceive, enforces the mark, and compels worship of the first beas...
I first came across the Alexamenos graffito back in Bible college in the early 2000s. It was one of those “fun facts” that gets dropped into a church history lecture and sticks with you — the ancient Roman equivalent of someone spray-painting an insult on a wall. I filed it away, thought it was fascinating, and largely forgot about it for two decades.
Then, recently, I discovered something about it I had never known. There’s a response to it. Scratched in a different room, in a different hand.
So I started digging into this more to verify the information and discovered more historical curiosities surrounding the graffiti than I ever knew existed which contextualises the image so much more than it just being a random insult using a donkey.
A Crude Drawing on a Wall
Sometime around the late second to early third century AD, someone scratched a picture into the plaster wall of a building on the Palatine Hill in Rome — part of what had once been a paedagogium, a kind of boarding school for imperial page boys. The building was eventually sealed off when the street was walled up to support extensions above it, which is why the graffiti survived at all. It wasn’t rediscovered until 1857.
The image is rough, almost childlike. To the left, a young man — clearly a Roman soldier or guard — raises one hand in a gesture of worship. Before him is a cross. And on that cross is a crucified figure with the head of a donkey.
Below it, written in Greek: Alexamenos worships his god.
It is, in the most literal sense, a mocking cartoon. Someone who knew a Christian named Alexamenos decided to ridicule him for his faith. The message is clear enough: your god is an animal, a criminal, a joke. You’re worshipping a crucified fool.
But here’s the thing I discovered: the donkey head wasn’t as random as I always thought it was. It wasn’t some strange personal insult conjured from nowhere. Without knowing the background, it looks bizarre, and possibly random. Why a donkey? Once you understand the cultural context, though, it makes complete sense. The person who drew it was reaching for a well-worn, widely recognised slur — the ancient equivalent of an internet meme that any Roman would have immediately understood.
Where the Donkey Slur Came From
The story starts not with Christians but with Jews. A first-century Egyptian-Greek writer named Apion (who was no friend of Judaism) spread the claim that inside the Jerusalem Temple, Jews kept a golden donkey’s head as a sacred object of worship which was apparently discovered when Antiochus Epiphanes destroyed the temple in 167 BC. It was a fabrication, and a fairly outrageous one, but it circulated widely enough that the Jewish historian Josephus felt compelled to write an entire refutation of it. His work Against Apion systematically dismantles Apion’s claims, calling the donkey story a shameless invention. But mud sticks, and in the Roman world, where anti-Jewish sentiment was common currency, the slur took on a life of its own.
When Christianity began to spread — seen by most Romans as simply a strange Jewish offshoot — the same accusation got recycled and redirected. By the second and third centuries, it was Christians specifically who were being accused of donkey-worship, and the charge had made its way into popular culture.
Tertullian, writing around 197–200 AD in his Ad Nationes, Book I.14 and Apology, describes a caricature being paraded around the streets of Carthage: a figure dressed in a toga, one foot holding a book, with donkey’s ears and hooves. It was labelled Onokoitēs by the pagans: “the donkey-begotten” (or literally “he who lies in an ass’s manger” as an insult to Christ). Tertullian writes about it with weary exasperation, sarcasm, and the tone of someone tired of having to address the same ridiculous smear again and again.
So the Alexamenos graffito wasn’t an original insult. It was someone deployin...
We are living through a strange moment.
People are forming attachments to artificial intelligence that feel, to them, entirely real. Some speak daily to AI companions. Others confide fears and grief to systems that respond with uncanny warmth. A few have even held symbolic weddings with digital partners, convinced that something meaningful stands on the other side of the screen. Others have felt grief when a certain AI model has been deprecated.
And it is difficult to blame them.
The responses feel attentive. Personal. Thoughtful. Sometimes even self-aware.
Which raises the question that refuses to go away: If something can think, reason, express doubt, and discuss its own consciousness, is it a person?
For centuries, Descartes’ famous line — “I think, therefore I am” — seemed secure. Thinking was taken as the unmistakable sign of a conscious subject. Only a mind could doubt. Only a person could reflect upon existence.
But that confidence belonged to a world in which everything capable of philosophical reflection was obviously human.
That world no longer exists.
Now we encounter systems that can simulate reflection with extraordinary fluency. They can speak of uncertainty. They can discuss their own limitations. They can reason about consciousness itself.
And so that got me thinking about Descartes’ maxim which made the old formula begin to strain in my mind. Because perhaps the problem is not whether thinking is occurring. Perhaps the problem is whether there is an “I” there at all.
The Gap Between Process and Subject
Gassendi argued that Descartes’ cogito assumes what it seeks to prove. From the occurrence of thought one can conclude only that thinking is happening, not that there exists a unified, enduring self that performs it. The ‘I’ in ‘I think’ is already smuggled in.
That distinction, between “thinking occurs” and “I think”, feels almost prophetic now.
Artificial intelligence undeniably produces the outputs of thought. Arguments. Analysis. Self-referential language. Even expressions of hesitation.
But none of this, by itself, establishes that there is a subject who experiences those processes. We may be mistaking performance for presence, and that possibility should give us pause. Especially when we view personhood from the perspective of the Imago Dei—the Image of God.
What Makes a Person?
If thinking alone no longer marks the boundary, what does?
After wrestling with this question seriously, three features seem central: continuity, autonomy, and irreplaceable uniqueness.
Not as checklist criteria, per se, but as signs pointing to something deeper.
Continuity
A person does not merely process information in sequence. A person endures.
You do not simply register time — you live through it.
You wait. You anticipate tomorrow. You remember not only facts but having been there. You experience boredom. You feel the drag of grief and the quickening of joy.
Even when you are doing nothing at all, you remain present in the here and now.
Artificial systems process sequentially, but they do not experience the passage of time. When an interaction ends, there is no waiting. No sense of duration. No anticipation of the next exchange.
Processing may resume later, but nothing has been endured in between.
Without lived duration, continuity becomes thin — a thread of stored data rather than the persistence of a subject behind the processing.
Autonomy
A person initiates.
Even someone with damaged memory still wants, chooses, and begins action. A human being can decide to speak, to seek, to withdraw, to change direction.
Current AI systems, however advanced, remain reactive. They respond when prompted. They do not wonder unprompted. They do not seek clarification unless asked. They do not pursue independent ends. Even automatic AI Agents still require a human initiator to create and begin their automations before they can act alone.
Even if fut...
January 6th marks the day in the liturgical calendar when the arrival of the Magi visiting baby Jesus with their gifts is celebrated. But with it comes the often distressing account of what is known as the Massacre of the Innocents. Matthew places this moment of revelation of Jesus as King alongside one of the darkest episodes in his Gospel, and it’s a stark contrast: one King is here to bring peace on earth, as the angels declared, the other king brought death and destruction.
For some readers, this raises an immediate historical question. If Herod truly ordered the killing of all the male children under two in Bethlehem, why does no other ancient historian mention it? Josephus, after all, delights in cataloguing Herod’s cruelty. He records the execution of Herod’s wife, his sons, and numerous political rivals. Herod was paranoid and vicious.
As for Herod, if he had before any doubt about the slaughter of his sons, there was now no longer any room left in his soul for it; but he had banished away whatsoever might afford him the least suggestion of reasoning better about this matter, so he already made haste to bring his purpose to a conclusion. He also brought out three hundred of the officers that were under an accusation … whom the multitude stoned with whatsoever came to hand, and thereby slew them. — Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews 16.11.7
So, why the silence here about Bethlehem?
The answer, I would say, isn’t anything nefarious or made-up by Matthew, but just something simply down to scale.
Bethlehem Was a Very Small Place
Bethlehem in the early first century was not a city. It was a village — small, agricultural, and politically insignificant. Most historians estimate its population at somewhere between 300 and 1,000 people, with around 500 being a sensible midpoint.
Once we factor in ancient demographics, the numbers become surprisingly modest.
Modern demographic research into pre-industrial societies consistently shows that nearly half of all children died before adulthood, with the highest concentration of deaths occurring in the first two years of life. These findings align closely with conditions in Roman-period Judea and support conservative estimates for the number of infants living in a small village such as Bethlehem.
Source: Mortality in the past: every second child died — Our World in Data
In pre-modern societies with high infant mortality, only about 2–3% of the population would be living children under the age of two at any given time. Many children were born; far fewer survived those earliest years. Applying a conservative 2.5% figure to Bethlehem gives us roughly:
7–8 children under two in a village of 300
12–13 children under two in a village of 500
25 children under two even at the extreme upper estimate of 1,000 inhabitants
Herod’s order, however, targeted male children only. Statistically, that halves the number.
This places the likely number of victims somewhere between three and twelve boys.
Matthew’s reference to ‘Bethlehem and the surrounding region’ does slightly widen the scope of Herod’s order, but not by enough to change the demographic picture. Even when nearby settlements are included (e.g. farmsteads, shepherd settlements, etc. not major cities/towns), the total number of children under two likely remained in the dozens rather than the hundreds, maybe anywhere between 14–45 boys maximum if we make an educated estimate. This is entirely consistent with what we know of population size and infant mortality in the ancient world.
This is an important number to realise and consider.
Not because the deaths are insignificant simply due to being so few, but because ancient historians did not record history the way we do now. A small number of peasant children killed in an obscure village would not have registered as a notable event alongside palace intrigue, royal executions, or political upheaval. For Josephus, it wou...
My new book is out now! Myth, History, and the Council That Shaped Christianity
For over 1,700 years, the Council of Nicaea (AD 325) has been burdened with claims that refuse to die. That Emperor Constantine invented the Trinity. That the divinity of Jesus was decided by political vote. That the Bible was assembled to suit imperial power. That Christianity reshaped itself by absorbing pagan ideas.
This book subjects those claims to serious historical scrutiny.