Apocalyptic belief in the time of Jesus reflected hope for divine justice; today’s apocalyptic fears express anxiety about human failure. One looked upward for rescue, the other inward for guilt. Yet both reveal the same human need: to find meaning when the world feels near its end.
Month: October 2025
When gold rises, it isn’t the metal that changes — it’s our faith in money that collapses.
Jesus’ teaching about “rendering unto Caesar” still applies: know the limits of the world, live within them, but let your real wealth lie elsewhere.
A psalm of confidence and joy in God’s protection. The speaker trusts in the Lord as his portion and inheritance, finds guidance and gladness in His presence, and expresses hope of life beyond corruption.
A psalm describing the qualities of the righteous person who may dwell with God: integrity of life, truth in speech, justice in action, and purity in dealings. Those who live blamelessly, without deceit or greed, shall never be shaken.
A psalm exposing human corruption and folly: “The fool has said in his heart, there is no God.” Yet even amid disbelief and moral decay, God watches from heaven, seeking understanding hearts. The psalm closes in hope — that salvation will come from Zion and the people will rejoice again.
A psalm lamenting falsehood and deceit, yet affirming God’s defence of the poor and the purity of His word. In an age where truth has vanished, the Lord Himself rises to protect the faithful and to purify speech like silver in the fire.
For three centuries France and Britain have rebelled against religious authority, from Voltaire’s écrasez l’infâme to Nietzsche’s death of God and the modern satire of Private Eye and Le Canard enchaîné. Yet rebellion, once a weapon of liberation, has hardened into reflex. The challenge today is not to keep mocking but to recover conviction—before the state learns to silence even our laughter.
For two millennia, Christianity offered Western civilisation a moral framework that gave meaning to suffering—but also served to stabilise power. From Constantine to empire, sacred symbols were used to sanctify authority, even as reformers tried to reclaim the gospel’s moral core. The ruins of Santa María en Cameros, where a priest once ruled from his hilltop church, stand as a parable of conscience outlasting control. To awaken from the dream is not to reject faith, but to see through it—to recover compassion, justice, and inner truth without the myths that once bound them to power.
Dame Sarah Mullally’s appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury invites a deeper question: what truly qualifies a person to lead the Church? The New Testament speaks not of degrees or honours but of love, humility, and the fruits of the Spirit. Jesus himself warned against the illusions of worldly power and status, choosing the wilderness over the throne. In an age of spiritual emptiness, it is not competence but inner transformation that gives authority and life to faith.
For two thousand years, the West has lived inside a sacred dream — the story of divine redemption. Yet the man who inspired it, Jesus of Nazareth, spoke not of metaphysical rescue but of inner change. This essay distinguishes between Jesus the teacher and the Christ of theology, tracing how faith became power and how its original insight can still guide a new awakening.