She is not a myth. She is not a symbol. She is the oldest and most persistent adversary in the biblical record — older than Babylon, older than Rome, older than the church itself. And the biblical writers do not treat her as a curiosity. They treat her as a catastrophe.
In A.D. 325, a Roman emperor wrote a letter. It was not a theological argument. It was a political decree. And it changed the Christian feast of Passover forever.
He called the Jewish people "that hostile crowd" and declared it "unworthy" for the church to follow their calendar. That single decision — grounded not in scripture but in ethnic contempt — severed the resurrection feast from the Hebrew calendar that gave it its meaning.
In the Temple courts, towering menorahs blaze against the winter night,
their flames proclaiming a memory—
light that once defied desecration.
There's a fascinating progression in Ephesians 2 that captures the essence of our relationship with God's Torah (Instruction) and "good works."
From the beginning, God created humanity to bear His Name and fill the earth with His glory. Rebellion profaned it—from Eden to Babel to Israel’s failure.
Through Yeshua, the perfect Image, that Name is restored and exalted above all. The Gospel announces: God’s original purpose is fulfilled—His dwelling with us forever (Rev 21:3).
In A.D. 325, a Roman emperor wrote a letter. It was not a theological argument. It was a political decree. And it changed the Christian feast of Passover forever.
He called the Jewish people "that hostile crowd" and declared it "unworthy" for the church to follow their calendar. That single decision — grounded not in scripture but in ethnic contempt — severed the resurrection feast from the Hebrew calendar that gave it its meaning.
