Much like any major Christian holiday, there are the usual arguments and accusations about how it’s all just pagan festivities with a “Christian mask”. Easter is no different, and usually gets hit the hardest over its so-called “pagan roots”, or in the month or so preceding it, Lent being some “invention of the Catholic Church”.
I like to try and observe Lent, as it is one of the most ancient customs in the Church, which led me to researching its origins, along with the Easter celebration, to see where they have their basis. Unsurprisingly, it turns out that many of the accusations against Easter and Lent as “pagan” are either fabricated or are just misinformation. So let’s examine the different aspects of Easter to see how we got from Passover to resurrection, to little bunnies and chocolate eggs!
The Lenten Fast
A forty-day fast prior to Easter has been a long-established practice within the Church, dating back to possibly within the first century. This is well established from ancient letters we still have available, such as from Irenaeus in the second century:
For some consider themselves bound to fast one day, others two days, others still more. In fact, others fast forty days … And this variety among observers [of the fasts] did not have its origin in our time, but long before in that of our predecessors.
–Irenaeus (c.180)
Notice here that Irenaeus mentions that this was a practice passed onto them by their “predecessors”, a term often used in conjunction with the Apostles themselves, or those who immediately came after them, putting the origins of this Lenten fast much earlier than when Irenaeus wrote in 180, and also possibly having Apostolic origin.
The Easter controversy and why we celebrate it when we do
Back in the days of the early church, there arose a controversy around the celebration of Easter (or “pascha” as it was known then). But no, before your imagination runs wild, it wasn’t quite as exciting as it sounds and still had nothing to do with “paganism”. The dispute was over which day to hold the festival!
Yep, the controversy really is as mundane as that. In fact, it was one of the issues raised at the Council of Nicea to be discussed and hopefully settled, and is officially known as the Quartodeciman (lit. Fourteenth) controversy/dispute. It’s called this due to the issue being over whether the Easter celebration should follow the Jewish pattern of Passover on the 14 Nisan or not, and simply follow the days of the week (Friday and Sunday). It became a bigger issue when not only the Jewish community of believers wanted to follow this method, but when the Gentile Asian communities also claimed that their “Quartodeciman” practice was of Apostolic origin!
It was a disciple of John the Apostle, and bishop of Smyrna, called Polycarp (c.69–c.155), who followed this practice in one of the seven churches of Asia, as well as Melito, bishop of Sardis (died c.180). Irenaeus tells us that, in his old age, Polycarp visited the bishop of Rome to discuss this matter with him as the Roman church had diverged from the Quartodeciman custom and celebrated the resurrection according to the day Jesus rose: on Sunday (the first day of the week).
We gain an important glimpse about this whole dispute from Irenaeus, though, when he tells us of the meeting between Polycarp and Anicetus:
Neither could Anicetus persuade Polycarp not to observe what he had always observed with John the disciple of our Lord, and the other apostles with whom he had associated; neither could Polycarp persuade Anicetus to observe it, as he said that he ought to follow the customs of the presbyters that had preceded him. … And they parted from each other in peace, both those who observed, and those who did not, maintaining the peace of the whole church.
Despite their differences in how they celebrated Easter, they both agreed that it ultimately didn’t matter because at the end of the day, they were both celebrating the risen Lord! Sadly, this peace didn’t last, and the tensions grew until the Roman custom was eventually set as the “right” way to observe the feast. Constantine wrote a letter after Nicea to send to all those who couldn’t attend, so they would know the decision about when to celebrate. It almost begins with good intentions so “that it would be convenient that all should keep the feast on one day” since “what could be more beautiful and more desirable, than to see this festival, through which we receive the hope of immortality, celebrated by all with one accord, and in the same manner?”. But then the real reason behind this desire displays itself: “We ought not, therefore, to have anything in common with the Jews”, as it would be “unworthy” to follow their customs concerning Passover! Seems a shame really if it truly does deviate from apostolic tradition.
But what this does show for certain is that Christians have been celebrating (and debating) Easter/Passover since at least AD 150, long before Constantine or even any other “pagan” influence could take hold.
Is the Name “Easter” really the Anglo-Saxon goddess Eostre?
In short: no.
There’s also no link between “Ishtar” and “Easter” either. Ishar was an ancient Near Eastern fertility goddess, but just because the names sound somewhat similar in English, it doesn’t mean there is any etymological connection at all. Ishtar is also originally Akkadian, which was a language spoken in Mesopotamia (modern-day Iraq and Syria) between about 2,800 BC and 500 AD, and was also the goddess of war and sexual love. Not really anything there to do with “rebirth”, rabbits or Spring, nor even a historical connection to ancient Britain.
Eostre, on the other hand, actually does originate in ancient Britain from the Anglo-Saxons, and there is one (yes, only one) historical mention of a supposed Anglo-Saxon goddess by this name. The only problem is that this historical reference only comes about in the 8th century from a Northumbrian monk known as the Venerable Bede. Here’s what he has to say:
“Eostremonath has a name which is now translated Paschal month, and which was once called after a goddess of theirs named Eostre, in whose honour feasts were celebrated in that month. Now they designate that Paschal season by her name, calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance.”
–Bede, De temporum ratione (“The Reckoning of Time”), XV
This is the one and only source for this claim, though. No other document in history mentions or gives credence to a goddess by this name. Even if Bede was correct and there was some minor and relatively unknown goddess associated with the Spring equinox, it’s a rather large leap to assume that the 8th century Christian Church was somehow influenced enough by European “paganism” to incorporate (or blend) the Eostre tradition into itself when the actual Easter/Pascha festival had been celebrated since the second century at the very least.
If we look closer, the older root of the word Eostre simply means “East” or “dawn” in some other renditions, according to An Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, Ester and oster, the early English and German words, both have their root in aus, which means “east”, “shine”, and “dawn” in various forms. Thus, it is more likely that “Eostre” is simply a word that describes the season (Eostremonath = East Month) due to the position of the sun, and not a name that belongs to anyone, least of all a goddess.
But an even more primitive root is where these words derive: Auferstehung, which means resurrection! That seems more fitting for the Easter season, don’t you think? Other than English and German, pretty much all other languages have a word with its root meaning coming from pascha — ie. Passover. Which is what the original Christians called this time of year, too.
By the time of the Council of Nicea (AD 325), Easter celebrations within the Church were a standard event which was preceded by at least forty days of fasting. Athanasius had a custom of writing his “paschal (Easter) letters” to the churches at this time of year to encourage fasting, self-control and moderation, linking the 40 days to the length of Jesus’ fast in the desert. His letters are useful as they show quite clearly that the time of Lent and Easter has been established for many centuries in the Church, and have nothing to do with paganism as they predate any Anglo-Saxon or German goddess by about 600 years (if they even existed)!
The beginning of the fast of forty days is on the fifth of the month Phamenoth [Ash Wednesday]; and when, as I have said, we have first been purified and prepared by those days, we begin the holy week of the great Easter on the tenth of the month Pharmuthi [Palm Sunday], in which, my beloved brethren, we should use more prolonged prayers, and fastings…
–Athanasius, Letter III (c. AD 332)
Chocolate eggs and bunnies?
So if the recognition and celebration of Pascha or the “Easter festival” dates back to the early second century of Christianity, and is wholly and totally centred around the resurrection of Jesus (and not so-called “pagan goddesses”)… How did chocolate eggs and rabbits come into the mix?
This is another thing which is also surrounded by murky pseudo-history and internet myth, too, but that, again, has nothing to do with the generic catch-all “paganism” claim.
In a similar way that aspects of Santa Claus originated in Dutch culture and were imported to the United States in the 17th century via immigrants, the Easter Bunny (or Oschter Haws) was imported from Germany to the United States around this era. And much like Christmas and Santa, the character was widely commercialised and used to make money and popularise the Easter holiday.
The history of the decorated eggs is much older, but surprisingly, a medieval Christian tradition! During the Lenten fast during the Middle Ages, the restrictions on what you could or couldn’t eat came to rule out meat, dairy and eggs. This was first solidified as a rule at the Council in Trullo (aka the Quinisext Council) in AD 692:
It seems good therefore that the whole Church of God which is in all the world should follow one rule and keep the fast perfectly, and as they abstain from everything which is killed, so also should they from eggs and cheese, which are the fruit and produce of those animals from which we abstain.
Thomas Aquinas also writes about the dietary restrictions during Lent in his Summa Theologiae (1265–1274), showing that this tradition of abstaining from meat and dairy had prevailed for centuries:
Eggs and milk foods are forbidden to those who fast, for as much as they originate from animals that provide us with flesh: wherefore the prohibition of flesh meat takes precedence of the prohibition of eggs and milk foods. Again the Lenten fast is the most solemn of all, both because it is kept in imitation of Christ, and because it disposes us to celebrate devoutly the mysteries of our redemption. For this reason the eating of flesh meat is forbidden in every fast, while the Lenten fast lays a general prohibition even on eggs and milk foods.
This practice is where we get our traditions of Shrove Tuesday from, as well as the decorated eggs. Before the Lenten fast began, everyone would use up what they had in their houses, which they wouldn’t be allowed to eat for the next forty days, and thus pancakes were born (well, maybe not “born” but this is why we have a ‘pancake day’ even today). Obviously, chickens don’t stop making eggs during this time, and so they were collected ready for the end of the fast. At some point around this time in history (c. 13th century), the eggs also began to be painted as part of the tradition. It’s also worth noting that during Passover, Jews place a hard-boiled egg on the Passover ceremonial plate, and they all eat hard-boiled eggs dipped in salt water as part of the ceremony — so maybe the egg tradition has older roots too.
It was then that the fast was ended on Easter Sunday that everyone could enjoy eating eggs again, and so another tradition which still prevails today was born, and that is why we have eggs associated with Easter. Another tradition which came out of this has it that the eggs represented the empty tomb, dead on the outside but life on the inside, and were dyed red to symbolise the blood of Jesus. So once again, nothing even remotely “pagan” at all.
Chocolate eggs first appeared in the 17th century in France in the court of Louis XIV, and in 1725, solid chocolate eggs were produced. The first chocolate Easter egg appeared in Britain in 1873, and then in 1875, Cadbury’s created the modern Easter egg we know today. Fancy chocolate is clearly easier to market than colour boiled eggs, so it’s no wonder they became more popular as Easter gifts!
Concluding Thoughts
To conclude with a brief rundown, then:
The name "Easter" comes from the Anglo-Saxon word Eostre, meaning "East", and may or may not have a tenuous connection to an unknown Springtime goddess. Bede, in the 8th century, is the only person in history to make this connection.
The Easter Rabbit/Hare is a German folk legend which was imported to America between the 15th and 17th centuries and then became widely commercialised later on.
Easter Eggs or painted eggs are a Middle Ages tradition which is borne out of the Lenten fast. Since people were fasting, eggs weren't being eaten and were stored up until Easter Sunday. During this time, people began to decorate them to give to children. They were often painted red to symbolise the blood of Jesus, and the shell used to represent the empty tomb of the resurrection. Chocolate eggs only came along in the 1700s, based on this tradition.
Christians have been celebrating Pascha since the first century, primarily remembered via the Eucharist, and so the ancient practice of celebrating around Springtime predates any connection to paganism by centuries, if there even are any connections!
That’s all for the history of Lent and Easter (or Pascha), but I hope you can see from this article that the practice has been well established in the historical Church since the beginning, and isn’t a “new” or invented thing merged from/with paganism and fertility goddesses. Most of the traditions are firmly rooted in Christian history, Biblical events and as an outworking and devotion to our faith in Christ and his resurrection as being the fulfilment of the Passover. If you're interested in reading more about how Christ is our Passover lamb and the way he fulfils these things, see my other article How was Jesus a sacrifice?
Have a blessed Easter and know that you are celebrating something thousands of Christians have celebrated before you for nearly two millennia!
Further Reading and Sources
An Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, 2nd ed., s.v. “Easter.” (Walter W. Skeat, 1893).
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Over the years, I’ve encountered many Christians who’ve quoted from Alexander Hislop’s The Two Babylons as if it were a solid historical resource. The book claims that the Roman Catholic Church is not truly Christian but rather a continuation of ancient Babylonian religion. It’s self-assured and sweeping, and for many people, it seems to explain everything, from Marian devotion to Lent and Easter, to Christmas, as rooted in paganism. But is it accurate?
In short: no, it really isn’t.
Hislop’s work is a classic example of 19th-century pseudohistory — a polemical piece, written to prove a point, not to explore any historical truth.
Flawed Methods and Wild Claims
Hislop argues that most Catholic practices — from the Mass and clerical robes to festivals like Christmas and Easter — were somehow borrowed from Babylonian religion. The problem being that Hislop doesn’t rely on primary sources or credible historical data. Instead, he draws connections based on word similarities (like Easter and Ishtar) or visual resemblances (like Mary and child compared with mother-goddess statues from ancient cultures). But phonetic resemblance isn’t evidence, and neither is visual similarity.
For example, if I say “sun” and “son” in English, they may sound alike, but they aren’t the same thing. That’s the level of reasoning at work in much of The Two Babylons. Hislop often lumps together completely different ancient figures — Isis, Semiramis, Ishtar, Aphrodite — as if they were all just variations of the same deity. He then tries to say Mary is just the Christian version of this pagan goddess figure. But there’s no credible evidence for that at all. Mary is understood through the lens of Scripture and Christian theology, not through pagan myth. The earliest depictions of Mary and the Christ-child date back to the second century and do not resemble any of the pagan idols. But, again, the common accusations are based on superficial similarities of a woman nursing a child. That’s going to look the same no matter who or what does that!
Oldest depiction of Mary. Dura-Europos Church, Syria, 2nd century
What About Lent and Tammuz?
One of Hislop’s more popular claims is that Lent comes from a Babylonian mourning ritual for the god Tammuz, mentioned in Ezekiel 8:14. He argues that early Christians borrowed the 40-day mourning period and just rebranded it.
But this doesn’t line up with the evidence. Lent developed as a time of fasting and repentance leading up to Easter — especially for new believers preparing for baptism. The number forty comes from Scripture: Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness, Moses’ fast on Sinai, and Elijah’s journey to Horeb. Church Fathers like Irenaeus and Athanasius saw it as a time for self-denial and spiritual renewal — not mourning a pagan god.
Yes, there are pagan festivals that involve seasonal death and rebirth stories. But similarity does not mean origin. If that logic held, then even Jesus’ resurrection would be suspect because pagan cultures also told resurrection-like stories. Yet the gospel stands apart — not because of myth but because of history and revelation.
Why Hislop’s Work Persists
Even though The Two Babylons is poor scholarship, it’s unfortunately had a long shelf life. That’s partly because it appeals to a certain kind of suspicion. If you’re already sceptical about the Catholic Church, Hislop offers an easy explanation: “It’s all pagan!”. But history isn’t ever that simple. And theology — especially the theology handed down through the ages by the faithful— isn’t built on conspiracy and apparent obscure connections, but on Christ and the truth of the Scriptures.
Interestingly, even Ralph Woodrow, a minister who once wrote a book defending Hislop’s ideas, later retracted his views after digging deeper into the evidence. He eventually wrote a book called The Babylon Connect...
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...
Everything about the Kingdom of God is a reversal of worldly powers (servant leadership, first shall be last, etc.). God’s ways are opposed to the World’s ways.
Likewise, everything about the Gospel is a reversal of what went wrong in the beginning of creation and nowhere is this highlighted more than during the Passion, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. So here are seven ways in which Jesus reverses all the mistakes and curses from creation.
1. The disobedience in the Garden of Eden is now rectified by the obedience of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Genesis 3:11Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?
Luke 22:42“Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me, yet not my will but yours be done.”
2. Jesus goes willingly to a shameful death to conquer it, while Adam hides in his shame.
Genesis 3:9,10But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?” He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.”
Hebrews 12:2…looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame…
3. Jesus dies outside of the gates of the city to make a way for people to enter paradise and have forgiveness of sin; Adam and Eve were forced outside of paradise because of their sin.
Genesis 3:23,24…therefore the Lord God sent them forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from which they were taken. He drove out the humans, and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim and a sword flaming and turning to guard the way to the tree of life.
Hebrews 13:12Therefore Jesus also suffered outside the city gate in order to sanctify the people by his own blood.
4. Jesus wears a crown made of thorns as he makes way to remove sin, Adam and Eve brought in thorns by their sin.
Genesis 3:17,18…cursed is the ground because of you; toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field.
John 19:2And the soldiers wove a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and they dressed him in a purple robe.
5. Jesus became the curse for us, Adam and Eve brought in a curse against us.
Genesis 3:17…cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life
Galatians 3:13Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us
6. Jesus defeated death and sin and brought in eternal life, Adam and Eve ushered in death and sin and lost their immortality.
Genesis 3:22,23Then the Lord God said, “See, the humans have become like one of us, knowing good and evil, and now they might reach out their hands and take also from the tree of life and eat and live forever”— therefore the Lord God sent them forth from the garden of Eden…
2 Timothy 1:10…but it has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior Jesus Christ, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.
7. Jesus gives us access to the Tree of Life again if we follow him, Adam and Eve were denied access by not following God’s commands.
Genesis 3:24He drove out the humans, and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim and a sword flaming and turning to guard the way to the tree of life.
Revelation 2:7, 22:14To everyone who conquers, I will give permission to eat from the tree of life that is in the paradise of God. … Blessed are those who wash their robes [do his commandments], so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates.
I hope this brings you some hope and excitement about what Jesus has accomplished and given us through his death and resurrection and how he has made all things new (including us who are born again)!
Revelation 21:5And the one who was seated on the...
Today we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ! What a wonderful day to remember and praise, but not just because Jesus was raised to new life, but because in that moment it sealed the promise of our own hope in God.
Through Jesus' death and resurrection, we can now be partakers in that new, eternal life!
1 Corinthians 15:54-55
When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled:
“Death has been swallowed up in victory.”“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”
"Where, O death, is your sting?" Paul writes, showing the fulfillment of this prophecy in Christ. This should now be our battle cry as we go forward in Christian life; death has no hold over us who are sealed by the Holy Spirit through baptism, raised to new life in Christ.
I won't go into this topic too much now, as I've written on it plenty before here and here. I just wanted to focus our minds on the victory we have because of Jesus and what he did for us this day, centuries ago.
I'll close with this worship song which celebrates the resurrection, which I really like. Focus on the words of the song and praise God for Jesus!
Happy Easter, everyone.
...
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...
How can God beget a Son? Does that mean Jesus is His creation?
This question comes sharply into focus during Advent, when the Church contemplates the Incarnation: the eternal Son entering the world as a baby in Mary’s womb. And to understand this, we turn to language the Church has treasured for centuries — especially that crucial distinction between begotten and created.
And C. S. Lewis describes this with a real concise clarity:
We don’t use the words begetting or begotten much in modern English, but everyone still knows what they mean. To beget is to become the father of: to create is to make. And the difference is this. When you beget, you beget something of the same kind as yourself. A man begets human babies, a beaver begets little beavers, and a bird begets eggs which turn into little birds. But when you make, you make something of a different kind from yourself. A bird makes a nest, a beaver builds a dam, a man makes a wireless set — or he may make something more like himself than a wireless set: say, a statue. If he is a clever enough carver he may make a statue which is very like a man indeed. But, of course, it is not a real man; it only looks like one. It cannot breathe or think. It is not alive. Now that is the first thing to get clear. What God begets is God; just as what man begets is man. What God creates is not God, just as what man creates is not man.
By saying that Jesus is begotten from the Father, we are saying that Jesus is fully God and not a creation of God (Arianism), nor is the Son of God simply a mode or action of God (Sabellianism).
This is the heart of Christian theology: begotten = shared nature created = different nature
Begotten Means “of the Same Essence”
When the Father begets the Son, He is not constructing or manufacturing Him. Begetting is not an act inside time. It is an eternal relationship.
Just as:
light is never without radiance
a fire is never without heat
the Father is never without the Son
There was never a moment “before” the Son existed. The Son is eternally from the Father, sharing His nature, His essence, His Godness. As John says in the opening of his Gospel, Jesus as the Son was/is “in the bosom of the Father”. This was historically understood that the Word always existed within the Father.
When Christ Is Misunderstood: Modalism and Arianism
Two ancient heresies emerge from misunderstanding “begotten, not made.”
1. Modalism (Sabellianism)
This claims that:
Father, Son, and Spirit are just different forms or roles of one person.
This erases the real distinctions within the Trinity.
If Modalism were true:
Jesus is praying to Himself.
The Father sending the Son is theatre.
Christ’s baptism is a staged illusion.
Modalism collapses the Persons into one persona wearing different masks.
2. Arianism
Arius taught that:
Jesus was created by God ex nihilo
He is a divine-like being, but not equal in essence
This makes Jesus the highest creature… but still a creature.
If Jesus is created, then He cannot:
reveal God perfectly
unite humanity to God
save us entirely and absolutely
Only God can reconcile us to God.
The Nicene Creed: Drawing a Line in the Sand
At the Council of Nicaea (325 AD), the Church responded boldly and clearly:
God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one being with the Father.
This was a decisive boundary.
begotten — of the same nature
not made — not a creation
of one being (homoousios) — equal in essence, not similar
The Creed functioned like a theological guardrail.
Christ is not “like God” — He is God.
The creeds act as guardrails for orthodox interpretation
Proverbs 8: Wisdom Begotten, Not Created
The Fathers saw Proverbs 8 as speaking of the Son under the title “Wisdom”:
The Lord begot me at the beginning of his work...
In our last post, we walked with Perpetua and Felicity through the sands of the amphitheatre, their faith outshining Rome’s cruelty. Now for the final part in this series, we turn to another of the Church’s earliest heroes — one whose courage was matched by an unexpected wit. His name was Lawrence, a deacon of Rome, remembered across centuries as the man who kept his humour even while lying on the griddle.
The Setting: Rome, AD 258
Under Emperor Valerian, a fresh persecution of Christians swept through the Empire. Bishops, priests, and deacons were hunted down, their property seized, and their churches closed. The bishop of Rome at that time was Sixtus II — a gentle and wise shepherd who, like the apostles before him, was soon to drink from the same cup as his Lord. Among his closest companions was Deacon Lawrence, entrusted with overseeing the Church’s treasury and distributing alms to the poor.
The Acts of St Lawrence tell us that when Sixtus was arrested and led to execution, Lawrence ran after him, crying out that he would not be left behind.
Where are you going, father, without your son? Where are you going, priest, without your deacon? You never used to offer sacrifice without me as your minister!
To which Sixtus replied:
My son, I’m not leaving you. Greater trials are waiting for you. In three days you’ll follow me.
Sixtus was beheaded soon after. Lawrence, meanwhile, was arrested and brought before the Roman prefect who, hearing that Lawrence had been the keeper of the Church’s wealth, demanded that he hand it over to the empire.
The True Treasure of the Church
The exchange that followed has been remembered ever since, partly for its irony, partly for its courage.
“Bring forth,” said the prefect, “the treasures of the Church — the gold, the silver, and the precious vessels — that the emperor may possess them.”
Lawrence asked for three days to gather them, which the prefect granted, no doubt imagining chests of glittering riches being prepared for him. Instead, Lawrence went through the city, gathering the blind, the crippled, the widows, the orphans, and all who were destitute or suffering. On the third day, he presented them before the prefect and declared:
These are the treasures of the Church. Behold the gold and silver that I promised thee — the eternal jewels in whom Christ dwells.
The prefect, enraged at being mocked, ordered that Lawrence be scourged and tortured, then laid upon an iron gridiron above a slow fire.
The Martyrdom
The ancient texts, mingling reverence and humour, tell the story that has echoed down the ages and had left an impact on me purely for the humour that I find in it!
They laid him upon the iron bed, and beneath it kindled coals, that his flesh might be roasted little by little. And Lawrence, lying there, lifted up his eyes to heaven and gave thanks to God for counting him worthy to suffer.
After some time, the account continues with words that have made Lawrence one of the most memorable of all martyrs:
Having been a long time on the fire, he said to his tormentors with a cheerful countenance: ‘This side is done; turn me over and eat.’
It is difficult to read those words without laughing at how funny it sounds! It matches the kind of dark humour that I can have and often think of, which is probably why the story of Lawrence appeals to me so much, it’s the kind of silly thing I would think to say (though I’m not sure if I would in Lawrence’s place!).
In the face of unbearable agony, Lawrence mocked his tormentors and even death itself. His humour was not flippant, but a final victory over the fear that his persecutors wanted to instil. His joke was an act of defiance against the gods whom Decius implored against the power of Christ within Lawrence. Despite how hot it must have been, Lawrence declares a worse fate on Decius, warning him of the fire he will face because of this, saying that the “burning c...
In the last post, we looked at Polycarp — a faithful bishop who faced the flames rather than deny his Lord. His courage in the face of certain death became a rallying light for generations of believers after him. But his story is only one among many in the long line of the cloud of witnesses who ran the race before us (Hebrews 12:1). Today, we step forward a few decades to another account of extraordinary faith — that of two women, Perpetua and Felicity.
Perpetua left an account of her own martyrdom (technically a Passion) which is considered historically reliable. What makes it extraordinary is that Perpetua herself wrote a portion of it in Latin before her death, making it one of the earliest known writings by a Christian woman! It was then continued by another who witnessed the events once she entered the arena.
The Setting: Carthage, AD 203
Our story takes us to North Africa during the reign of Emperor Septimius Severus. Christianity was still seen as a threat to the Roman order, and anyone refusing to sacrifice to the emperor’s image could be imprisoned or executed. Among the arrested were a small group of catechumens (new believers preparing for baptism) including a young noblewoman named Vibia Perpetua and her servant, Felicity.
Perpetua was only twenty-two years old and the mother of an infant son. Her father, a pagan, begged her to renounce the faith and save her life, but she would not. In her prison diary — one of the earliest surviving Christian texts written by a woman — she records their suffering and her unshakable resolve and faith. After she was arrested with her companions, she wrote of a moment when her father came and tried to persuade her to sacrifice to the Emperor and deny her faith:
When my father, out of love for me, tried to turn me from my faith, I said to him: ‘Father, do you see this vessel here — a water pot or whatever it may be? Can it be called by any other name than what it is?’ He answered, ‘No.’ Then I said to him, ‘So too I cannot call myself anything other than what I am — a Christian.’
A few days after this they were all baptised while imprisoned under house arrest awaiting their trial before being moved to the more restrictive Roman cells once they were formally condemned to die by wild beasts. After her baptism, the Spirit spoke to Perpetua and told her that she must “pray for nothing else after that water save only endurance of the flesh”.
Perpetua and Felicity await their fate in the Roman prison
The prison was dark, so dark she said she had “never known such darkness”, plus it was hot and crowded, the soldiers mistreated them all and she was trying to care for her child! Thankfully, later on a couple of deacons, Tertius and Pomponius, who were ministering to them managed to somehow pay the Romans to allow Perpetua and Felicity some respite in a better part of the prison where the child could be better fed and later handed off into the care of Perpetua’s mother.
Dreams of Victory
While in prison, Perpetua received a series of visions that strengthened her for what lay ahead. In one, she saw a golden ladder reaching up to heaven, guarded by a fierce serpent below, and sharp iron spikes along either side. Only those who stepped on the serpent’s head and climbed the ladder could enter. She interpreted this as her coming trial — the climb of faith through suffering to eternal life, realising that God wasn’t going to deliver her from this trial, but that it should be her passion (i.e. her death). It’s an image of triumph through endurance that echoes Christ’s own words: “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life” (Revelation 2:10).
Felicity’s story is just as moving. She was heavily pregnant at eight months when arrested and gave birth in prison mere days before the execution. Roman law forbade torment of a pregnant woman, so she would have stayed in prison until the birt...
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.
