The Women, the Wisdom, and the Animals: What We Forgot About Easter

By Julie Tourangeau | Good Friday, 2025

Before the tomb was empty…

before the stone was rolled away…

before the anointing and the rising and the glory…

there was a moment we rarely talk about.

And it didn’t happen on a hill.

It happened in the Temple.

It was there that Jesus walked in, looked around, and did what no one else dared:

He freed the animals.

The Cleansing of the Temple Was a Liberation

All four canonical gospels record the Temple cleansing, but what most people miss is why it mattered so much.

Jesus didn’t just flip tables to make a scene.

He drove out the sellers of doves. He freed the lambs and oxen being sold for sacrifice.

According to the Gospel of the Nazarenes, a lost early gospel aligned with the Essenes:

“He drove out the animals and said, ‘Cease your wicked sacrifices! Do you not see that innocent blood cries out from the earth?’”

In that moment, Jesus publicly rejected the sacrificial system—a system that normalized bloodshed and called it holy. He saw through the illusion of substitutionary violence and revealed the deeper truth:

The Holy Spirit is not found in the shedding of blood, but in the honoring of life.

And from that moment on, the system moved to silence him.

The First Step Toward Resurrection Was Setting the Innocent Free

Let this sink in:

It wasn’t the miracles that got Jesus killed.

It wasn’t the healings or the parables or even claiming to be the Son of God.

It was the moment he freed the animals that the wheels of execution began to turn.

This was the turning point—not just in his story, but in ours.

Because Jesus wasn’t just liberating animals. He was exposing a system—religious, economic, cultural—that had come to depend on suffering.

And he showed us what it looks like to say:

No more.

The Divine Feminine Knew

Many people associate Easter with the idea that Jesus died to pay for our sins—but that interpretation came later. The earliest followers of Jesus saw his life and death not as a blood payment, but as a revelation of divine love and a call to awaken the Christ within. Texts like The Gospel of the Holy Twelve remind us that his suffering was not about appeasing wrath, but about healing hearts, breaking chains, and showing us the path of compassion, even in the face of injustice.

What followed was suffering, yes—but also sacred initiation. And through it all, the ones who stayed near were not the theologians or temple authorities. It was the women.

Grief was his first initiation, through Miriam, the young woman with whom Jesus lived for seven years before her death. According to The Gospel of the Holy Twelve, it was her passing that opened his heart to the deeper path. According to this gospel, « Grief didn’t weaken him. It awakened him. »

Before knowing about this grief story of Jesus, I wrote about my own:

“Without my dark night of the soul, and without having challenging circumstances, I wouldn’t have grown my blessings… Painful change is sometimes exactly what we need to shake things up. Living through trauma, family drama, and the grief of losing a loved one can feel almost like an endless dark tunnel… Grief is just love with seemingly no place to go, but when you realize love shared is eternal, you can finally let go of the pain and gain the wisdom that is rightly yours.” — Free Yourself from Grief, Chapter 5

Compassion was his final anointing, through Mary Magdalene—not a sinner, but a priestess. She anointed his feet, honoring him with a sacred rite passed down through feminine lineages.

And when he was crucified, it was Magdalene who remained. While the male disciples fled, she stood at the cross, and three days later, she was the first to see him risen.

The resurrection was not first revealed to Rome or religion. It was revealed to her.

And wisdom—Sophia—was the soul behind it all.

The Spirit of God that hovered over the waters in Genesis.

The voice crying out in the streets in Proverbs.

The divine spark in all life, calling us home.

What if Easter was just the beginning?

While many see the resurrection as the end of Jesus’ story, ancient traditions—especially in southern France—tell a different tale. According to Provençal legend, Mary Magdalene journeyed to France after the crucifixion, carrying not only the memory of Jesus but the living essence of his teachings. Some say she preached love and liberation from a cave near Sainte-Baume, others believe she brought with her the sacred feminine that was erased from the official story. The Holy Grail Legends say she brought his bloodline to France, and they still walk Earth among us to this very day.

Easter Is the Unveiling of Compassion

This Easter, I invite you to see the resurrection not as a distant miracle, but a living pattern.

The pattern begins with letting go of violence.

It moves through grief.

It is held by the feminine.

And it ends in freedom—not just for ourselves, but for all of creation.

Resurrection isn’t just rising from the dead.

It’s refusing to live by death.

It’s refusing to justify harm.

It’s the choice to let the doves go free.

To Walk the Lost Path to Freedom This Easter Is To Remember:

• The animals were the first to be freed.

• The women were the first to understand.

• Sophia is the wisdom that lives in you.

• The Holy Spirit is the breath that animates all life.

• And love is not proven through suffering, but through liberation.

This Easter, may we not just celebrate a risen Christ,

but live like him.

May we be the ones who open the cages,

who hold the grief,

who anoint the new day.

May we rise—not above the world, but for it.

Free the animals.

Free the heart.

And the stone will roll away.

Did We Get Jesus’ Name Wrong? The Mystical Link Between “Jesus” and “Je Suis”

What if the name we’ve used for two thousand years was never meant to be a name at all—but a reminder? And when did Yeshua became known as Jesus?

What if the true teaching of Jesus wasn’t about worshiping a man, but awakening to a presence? And what if this presence was so powerful, so sacred, that its very utterance—I AM—was the key to divine union?

This idea isn’t as far-fetched as it may sound. In fact, threads from early Christian texts, Gnostic wisdom, and even Southern French oral traditions suggest we may have misunderstood not only the teachings of Jesus—but his name itself.

The “I AM” That Jesus Taught

Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus speaks in powerful first-person declarations:

• “I AM the light of the world.”

• “I AM the good shepherd.”

• “I AM the resurrection and the life.”

• “Before Abraham was, I AM.”

To modern ears, these might sound like poetic metaphors. But to those familiar with the Hebrew scriptures, they echo something far deeper.

In Exodus 3:14, when Moses asks the divine name, God replies: Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh—“I AM that I AM.” This was not a title or concept, but a declaration of being. A presence.

When Jesus uses the same phrase in Greek—ego eimi—he’s not just identifying himself. He’s inviting us into a state of awareness: that the divine lives in us, and through conscious presence, we too can say “I AM.”

Gnostic Echoes: Know Thyself, Know the Divine

The Gospel of Thomas, a text excluded from the Bible but revered by early mystics, records Jesus as saying:

“The Kingdom is inside you and outside you. When you know yourselves, you will be known, and you will realize that you are children of the living Father.”

Here again, we see the theme: inner knowing as the path to divine realization. Not belief in dogma. Not rituals of worship. But direct, conscious presence.

This aligns strikingly with the teachings of mystics across traditions—from the Kabbalistic “Ain Sof” to Eckhart Tolle’s modern insights on “the power of now.”

But could this message have traveled further than we thought?

When “Je Suis” Became “Jesus”

In Southern France, legends tell of Mary Magdalene traveling to Provence after the crucifixion, continuing the teachings of inner freedom, divine presence, and spiritual liberation. Centuries later, groups like the Cathars echoed these same values—rejecting church hierarchy, embracing nonviolence, and teaching direct access to the divine.

And here’s where it gets interesting.

In French, je suis means “I am.” And the spelling is very close to « Jesus ».

Could it be that early mystics—whether in oral tradition, meditation, or chant—were repeating the phrase “je suis” to declare their divine identity?

Could they have said, “Je suis the way, the truth, and the life”—and over time, this mystical mantra became mistaken for a name?

Could “Jesus” have evolved not from misunderstanding Aramaic, but from mishearing Presence?

It’s speculative, yes. But also poetic. Because whether or not the name “Jesus” comes from “Je suis,” the teaching remains:

Christ is not a name. It’s a state of being.

A consciousness of love, unity, and sacred presence.

Returning to the Forgotten Path

Maybe we didn’t get the name “wrong” so much as we got the emphasis wrong.

Instead of fixating on the figure, we were meant to awaken to the frequency.

Instead of worshiping “Jesus,” we were meant to embody je suis.

“I AM the light of the world” was never a boast. It was a mirror.

It was a call to remember who we really are.

And whether or not the evolution from je suis to Jesus is historically provable, the synchronicity is striking. A divine wink, perhaps—reminding us that even language carries echoes of forgotten truth. The path to presence has always been there, hidden in plain sight, waiting for those with ears to hear.

So today, in a world awakening from spiritual amnesia, maybe we’re ready to hear the original message again.

Not as a name.

But as a truth.

Je suis.

I AM.

The Rapture That Wasn’t: Why Early Christians Didn’t Believe in Escaping Earth

BREAKING: RAPTURE RESCHEDULED DUE TO SUPPLY CHAIN ISSUES

Heavenly sources confirm that the long-awaited rapture has been delayed again—this time due to a shortage of cloud fuel and insufficient harp inventory.

An anonymous angelic spokesperson said, “We’re still trying to get the golden escalators functioning. Also, someone left the Book of Life in the copier tray again.”

In the meantime, believers are advised to:

• Keep one foot off the ground, just in case.

• Practice skydiving without a parachute.

• And definitely ignore that whole “meek shall inherit the Earth” thing—it was probably just a metaphor, right?

Meanwhile, Jesus is reportedly walking around the temple with a sign that reads:

“Free the lambs, not enslave them.”

He also added, “Y’all really thought I died so you could throw barbecues and wait for space Uber? C’mon.”

Seems a little ridiculous, right?

Have you ever played a game of telephone? One message whispered from person to person slowly becomes distorted, until the final version barely resembles the original.

That’s exactly what happened to the teachings of Jesus.

One of the clearest examples?

The Rapture.

Modern-day evangelical churches teach that Jesus will one day return in the clouds and snatch up all the “true believers,” leaving the rest of humanity to suffer a horrific tribulation on Earth. But here’s the truth:

The earliest Christians didn’t believe in that kind of rapture. Not even close.

Where Did the Rapture Come From?

The word rapture never appears in the Bible. The concept was first systematized in the 1830s by John Nelson Darby, a British theologian who founded a movement known as Dispensationalism. His teachings were later popularized in America through the Scofield Reference Bible (1909) and reinforced by pop culture hits like the Left Behind series.

Darby’s idea was this: the world is going to get worse and worse, and before God pours out judgment on humanity, Christians will be “caught up” into the sky—based on one ambiguous passage in 1 Thessalonians 4:17:

“Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air…”

But this passage, when read in context, refers to a welcoming party—not an escape. In ancient Greco-Roman culture, people would go out to meet a visiting king and escort him back into the city. This passage wasn’t about leaving Earth—it was about welcoming the divine presence to dwell among us.

What Did the Earliest Christians Believe?

Early Christians, particularly those tied to Jewish followers of Jesus like the Ebionites and Nazarenes, didn’t long to escape the world—they longed to transform it.

They believed in the coming of the Kingdom of Heaven—but on Earth.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” (Matthew 5:5)

This was not a metaphor. It was a promise. The Earth wasn’t something to flee—it was something to liberate.

In The Gospel of the Holy Twelve, a restored early Christian gospel aligned with the Essenes (a mystical, peace-centered Jewish sect believed to be close to Jesus), the message is even clearer:

“The kingdom of God is within you and around you. It is not in buildings made by hands, nor in the sky to be awaited, but is now, wherever love and truth dwell.”

This aligns with Luke 17:21 in modern-day scripture:

“The kingdom of God is within you.”

Why Would Modern Evangelicals Promote the Rapture?

It’s simple: control.

If you believe the world is doomed, you won’t try to change it.

If you think Jesus is coming soon to evacuate you, why fight injustice?

Why care for the Earth, animals, the poor, or future generations?

The rapture theology promotes passivity and dependence, not liberation or courage. It also supports a form of Christian nationalism that aligns with certain interpretations of the modern state of Israel—not the people who wrestle with God (the true meaning of “Israel”)—but a political power masquerading as divine destiny.

And yet Jesus said:

“The last shall be first.” (Matthew 20:16)

“Woe to you who are rich now, for you have already received your comfort.” (Luke 6:24)

This is not about domination or escape—it’s about a sacred upside-down revolution.

The People Who Wrestle With God

The real “Israel”—in its original, spiritual meaning—is not a nation-state.

It’s a name given to Jacob, who wrestled with the divine and refused to let go until he was blessed. (Genesis 32:28)

It is those who wrestle, question, and seek truth out of the goodness of their hearts, not blind loyalty to human institutions.

Jesus was not calling people to bow to empire. He was calling people to wake up.

Returning to the Source

Modern theology is often a product of empire, fear, and control.

But the earliest teachings—those closest to the Source—are radically different.

They’re about justice. Love. Peace. Awakening.

Not escaping Earth, but redeeming it.

So the next time you hear about the rapture, ask yourself:

Is this a teaching from the heart of Christ…

or just a distorted whisper passed down through centuries of empire?

In The Lost Path to Freedom, I explore these forgotten teachings—not as history, but as living truth for today. Because the veil is lifting. The kingdom is near. And the ones who wrestle with God in love are the ones who will help heal the world.

Signs from Heaven, Shifts on Earth: A Reflection on Meeting RFK Jr.

By Julie Tourangeau @julietour

“Synchronicity is an ever-present reality for those who have eyes to see.” – Carl Jung

I’ve lived enough life to know a sign from God when I see one.

My journey has always moved to the rhythm of synchronicity—sacred alignments, divine nudges, moments that unfold with a kind of spiritual precision that defies logic. So no, I don’t believe it was any coincidence that I met Robert F. Kennedy Jr. on October 7, 2023.

It wasn’t just a date on the calendar. It was the day everything shifted.

What I didn’t know at the time was that across the globe, a devastating attack by Hamas had just unfolded, igniting the latest violent chapter of the Israel-Gaza conflict. But I felt the weight of the day before I knew the headlines. There was something in the air. My soul registered it before my mind could.

And then, there was Bobby.

He spoke that day with the fire and clarity I’d come to respect him for. He talked about cutting $500 million from the military-industrial complex. About ending our involvement in foreign wars. About redirecting our energy and resources inward—toward peace, healing, sovereignty. It felt aligned with the Kennedy legacy. With truth.

But something changed.

In the weeks that followed, I watched Bobby’s tone shift. Suddenly, he was defending Israel’s military campaign, stating that any nation under similar attack would “level Gaza.” Meanwhile, over 17,000 Palestinian children have been killed since the start of the war. Children. The kind of innocent life I believe the Kennedy I followed would have spoken out for, unequivocally.

Back in 2022, at the Defeat the Mandates rally, I heard him say something that chilled me. He warned us that if a regime like the Nazis had access to today’s surveillance technology, “it would be game over.” He mentioned Anne Frank—not to diminish her suffering, but to show how much harder resistance would be in our time. He said there are some things worse than dying… like living under totalitarian rule. And if it came to that, he said he’d be willing to die with his bootstraps on.

Moments prior to the Defeat the Mandates event on January 23, 2022.

That’s the Bobby I believed in. That’s the kind of courage that inspired so many of us.

And yet now, it seems like his boldness has softened—on foreign policy, on pharma, on the very systems he once vowed to confront.

Then there’s AIPAC.

What most people don’t realize is that back in the early ’60s, JFK’s Department of Justice ordered the American Zionist Council—the group that would later rebrand as AIPAC—to register as a foreign agent under the Foreign Agents Registration Act (FARA). The Kennedy administration gave them a deadline. They stalled. And then, just before that deadline passed… JFK was assassinated.

Shortly after, AIPAC quietly emerged, asserting it was a domestic lobby and escaping foreign agent registration. But let’s be honest—it acts on behalf of a foreign government. And it’s time we finish what JFK started. AIPAC should be treated as a foreign agent. Because that’s exactly what it is.

And here’s what makes this even more personal: Bobby’s own father, Robert F. Kennedy, was assassinated in 1968—allegedly by Sirhan Sirhan, a Palestinian man. But in 2016, RFK Jr. publicly stated that he believed Sirhan was innocent. Framed. He visited him in prison and became convinced that the official story didn’t add up. Programs like MK Ultra have since come to light—experiments in mind control, memory loss, and behavioral manipulation—and Sirhan himself has long claimed he doesn’t remember the shooting. Forensic evidence supports the idea that he wasn’t even standing in the correct position to shoot Bobby’s father from behind. Witnesses have testified there was a second shooter in the pantry. But that truth, like so many others, was buried.

But here’s where the story deepens.

We are living in a time of spiritual awakening. And it’s no accident that the name “Israel” has come to the forefront again. In early Christianity, “Israel” wasn’t just a nation. It was a name given to the people of God—those who wrestle with the divine, those who walk the path of truth. The word itself comes from “Isra” (to struggle or contend) and “El” (God). In this sense, Israel was never meant to be about borders or politics. It was always about inner transformation. A spiritual identity.

What if what we’re witnessing now—the chaos, the polarization, the war—isn’t just geopolitical?

What if it’s a test?

What if we’re being asked to wake up, to remember what the word Israel really meant before empire distorted it? To return to the path of peace, truth, and divine alignment. To see clearly what is real, and what has been manufactured.

I don’t know what kind of pressure Bobby is under behind the scenes, but I can imagine. The CIA, Israeli intelligence, the ghosts of his father’s and uncle’s deaths—all woven through this story. But I also know this:

As I walked out of that building on October 7, unsure of how to feel, unsure of what was changing in him… the sky gave me my answer.

Rainbows.

Moments after meeting Bobby walking out of the building to the parking garage.

Not just one. But a sky full of them, unfolding one after another from the moment I left until the moment I pulled into my driveway—an hour and a half of color and light breaking through the clouds.

To me, rainbows have always been signs from Heaven—reminders that we are not alone, that even in our confusion, there’s covenant and presence. I believe those rainbows were a message not just to me, but to him.

Rainbows consistently all the way home to my neighborhood in Rochester Hills, an hour and a half away.

Whatever Bobby is facing, I believe his ancestors are with him. I believe Heaven is with him. I believe the true spirit of Israel—the wrestlers of God, the truth seekers, the peace-makers—is still alive in him somewhere.

He said he’d die with his bootstraps on if it meant standing up to a totalitarian regime. I still believe that man exists.

And I pray he remembers who he is.

Because now more than ever, we need someone brave enough to finish what his family started.

And choose truth—even if it costs everything.

Rally for Kennedy 2024 in Lansing, Michigan October 7, 2023.

The Forgotten Gospel Reclaimed: A New Look at The Gospel of the Holy Twelve

I read The Gospel of the Holy Twelve front to back after having a spiritual moment in France that made me question the origins of Christianity. I couldn’t put it down. It resonated with the Holy Spirit that dwells within me, deeper than any sermon or scripture I had encountered growing up. I was raised a vegetarian Catholic, yet I never knew there were early Christian teachings that not only supported this lifestyle but embodied it. I had never been told that reincarnation was plausible… or that a vegetarian Jesus was very likely. These truths had been hidden… but once I saw them, I couldn’t unsee them.

For centuries, Christianity has been presented through the lens of empire, tradition, and convenience. But what if the original teachings of Jesus were far more radical… far more compassionate… than we’ve been led to believe? What if Christianity, at its very roots, was a vegan movement?

That’s the bold yet spiritually grounded claim made in The Gospel of the Holy Twelve, a recovered text translated by Reverend Gideon Jasper Ouseley in the late 19th century. Ouseley claimed he had access to ancient Aramaic manuscripts preserved by a secret brotherhood, which offered a truer, unedited version of Jesus’ life and message. While the origins of the manuscript remain controversial, the gospel’s teachings align strikingly with what we know of early Jewish-Christian sects, particularly the Ebionites and the Essenes (Eisenman, James the Brother of Jesus, 1997).

In this gospel, Jesus stands not only as a healer and teacher but as an advocate for all sentient life. He does not bless the slaughter of animals… he condemns it. He does not multiply fish… he frees them. And he declares, “They who partake of benefits which are gotten by wronging one of God’s creatures, cannot be righteous: nor can they touch holy things, or teach the mysteries of the kingdom.” (Ouseley, The Gospel of the Holy Twelve, Lection XLVI)

Rooted in Early Tradition

Though The Gospel of the Holy Twelve is not part of the modern biblical canon, its tone and teachings are not without historical merit. Ouseley and others believed it to reflect the original Hebrew Gospel referenced by early Church Fathers like Jerome, who wrote of a “Gospel of the Hebrews” used by Jewish-Christian groups (Jerome, De Viris Illustribus, 3).

These groups, including the Ebionites and the Nazarenes, believed Jesus came not to abolish Jewish law but to fulfill it through love and nonviolence (Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, Book III). They rejected blood sacrifice, practiced vegetarianism, and upheld a mystical form of Judaism centered around compassion and purity. The Church Father Epiphanius, though critical, confirmed the Ebionites’ vegetarianism and rejection of temple sacrifice (Panarion, 30.15.3).

The broader context of these communities was later supported by discoveries like the Dead Sea Scrolls. Found between 1947 and 1956 near Qumran, the scrolls revealed a rich diversity of Jewish sects in the Second Temple period, many of whom—especially the Essenes—emphasized spiritual law, nonviolence, ritual purity, and apocalyptic expectations. Scholars such as Geza Vermes and Elaine Pagels have argued that the scrolls lend credibility to the existence of early traditions outside the later Christian orthodoxy (Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English, 2004; Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels, 1979).

When Empire Meets Religion

The Jesus portrayed in The Gospel of the Holy Twelve is far removed from the sanitized, empire-friendly figure canonized under Constantine. By the fourth century, Christianity was institutionalized under the Roman Empire. With the Council of Nicaea (325 AD) and subsequent imperial sponsorship, the faith became increasingly aligned with hierarchy, sacrifice, and patriarchy.

This shift has been documented by historians such as Bart Ehrman and Karen Armstrong, who show how early diversity in Christian theology was gradually suppressed as the church merged with imperial power (Ehrman, Lost Christianities, 2003; Armstrong, The Battle for God, 2000). The radical, liberating message of the original Jesus movement—rooted in inner transformation and justice for the marginalized—was traded for control, conformity, and obedience.

The teachings found in The Gospel of the Holy Twelve directly challenge this evolution. In one passage, Jesus drives the animal sellers from the temple—not merely for commercializing religion, but for desecrating life itself. “Ye have made the House of Prayer a den of thieves, and filled it with cruelty and blood,” he says (Ouseley, Lection XXXIV). Notably, the word “thieves” in the original Hebrew could also be rendered as “violent ones” (Strong’s Concordance, H2555 – chamas), reinforcing this interpretation.

A Logos of Compassion

In the text, Jesus speaks of the “Holy Law” written not on scrolls, but in the heart—echoing the Jewish prophetic tradition (Jeremiah 31:33). He embodies the Logos not as doctrine, but as a way of life grounded in reverence for all creation. This connects not only to early Jewish mysticism, but to figures like St. Francis of Assisi, who called animals his brothers and sisters, and rejected worldly power in favor of divine simplicity.

Indeed, The Gospel of the Holy Twelve suggests that spiritual awakening is inseparable from ethical living. This idea, though controversial to institutional religion, resonates with mystical traditions across faiths—including Kabbalah, Sufism, and Eastern philosophies, all of which honor the sacred interdependence of life.

A Christianity Worth Returning To

What would Christianity look like if we re-centered it around this compassionate Christ? Around a Jesus who called for mercy, not sacrifice (Hosea 6:6, quoted by Jesus in Matthew 9:13)… who broke chains, not breaded fish… who lived in harmony with creation rather than domination over it?

Many are beginning to ask this question—not out of rebellion, but out of a deep spiritual longing to reclaim what was lost.

We may never fully prove the historical origin of The Gospel of the Holy Twelve. But history alone doesn’t determine truth. As Jesus said, “Ye shall know them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). And if truth bears good fruit—if it leads to greater compassion, justice, and unity—then the gospel’s message is one worth listening to.

Whether we call it the Holy Spirit, the voice of conscience, or divine wisdom… something is guiding many of us back to this lost path. And perhaps that’s not a coincidence—but a resurrection of something long buried.

Knowing what we now know about early Christianity, if Jesus were here—reincarnated, as some traditions suggest, with his radical compassion intact—would modern Christianity even recognize Him?

Den of “Thieves”? Or Something Deeper.

By Julie Tourangeau | @julietour

When Jesus stormed the temple courts, overturning tables and driving out the money changers, we’re often told it was a righteous act against corruption—against the “thieves” who turned a holy place into a marketplace.

But what if that’s only part of the story?

What if the word “thieves” doesn’t quite capture what was happening?

The Word We Missed

The original Hebrew word used in this passage is “perits” (פָּרִיץ)—often translated as “thieves,” but more accurately meaning violent ones, marauders, or destroyers.

This isn’t about petty crime.

It’s about violence.

About those who had turned the temple—a place meant for prayer, reverence, and peace—into a place of bloodshed.

Jesus wasn’t just flipping tables over coins.

He was confronting the violent ritual slaughter of animals in the name of God.

His protest wasn’t just about dishonest trade.

It was a cry for compassion, for justice, for a return to the sacred.

If He Walked Among Us Now

If Jesus were alive today—reincarnated, awake to the fullness of his early teachings—what would he see?

Would he walk into modern-day churches and find doves for sale?

Would he find lambs being sacrificed?

No.

But he’d find the same violence, cloaked in different robes.

He’d see his name invoked over meals made of suffering.

He’d see Easter tables lined with lambs, celebrated in remembrance of his own crucifixion.

And I imagine he’d grieve.

I imagine he’d say:

“You claim to follow me, yet you partake in the very acts I condemned.

You remember my suffering with the suffering of the innocent.

You turn my table of liberation into an altar of slaughter.

Have you not learned?”

The Lost Path

Early Christians understood dominion as stewardship, not superiority.

They practiced mercy, not sacrifice.

They aligned themselves with the Lamb of God, not the priests of Empire.

But somewhere along the way, that path was lost.

Love was replaced by law.

Awakening was replaced by ritual.

And the animals—the innocent ones Jesus likely defended—were left behind.

It’s Time to Return

The temple was never meant to be a place of blood.

The gospel was never meant to justify harm.

And Jesus never died so we could keep killing in his name.

He flipped tables to wake people up.

And maybe, just maybe…

he’s still doing it.

Let those with ears hear.

Let those with hearts soften.

Let us return to the path of compassion—for all beings.

The Vision That Changed Everything: How Paul’s Rise Silenced James—and Compassion

James, Jesus, Paul

By Julie Tourangeau | @julietour

Excerpted from the upcoming book: The Lost Path to Freedom

What if Paul wasn’t just on his way to persecute random followers of Jesus—but was headed straight for James the Just, Jesus’ own brother, when everything changed?

We’ve all heard the story—Paul (back when he was Saul) was hunting down early Christians when he had that dramatic vision on the road to Damascus. A blinding light, a voice from heaven, and just like that, the greatest apostle was born.

That’s what we’re told. But something about it always felt… off.

Because who was Paul really after?

The people following Jesus back then weren’t part of a new religion. They were Jewish. They were still in Jerusalem. And they were led not by Paul—but by James the Just, a man known for his deep humility, nonviolence, and devotion to the Torah.

James didn’t eat meat or drink wine. He was gentle, righteous, and beloved by all. His lifestyle was a continuation of everything Jesus lived and taught.

And if Paul was headed to Damascus to stamp out this movement—there’s a very real chance that James was on his list.

But then Paul claims he saw a vision of Jesus. Everything changed.

Or… did it?

A Vision—or a Convenient Redirection?

After that vision, Paul didn’t seek out James. He didn’t go to Jerusalem to learn from the people who actually walked with Jesus. In fact, he makes a point to say he didn’t.

According to his own words in Galatians, he kept his distance from the original apostles. Instead, he started preaching his own version of the gospel—one he says came directly from revelation, not from “any man.”

And that version? It contradicted a lot of what Jesus and James were actually doing.

• James taught that faith without action is meaningless. Paul said faith alone was enough.

• James upheld the law of compassion—including dietary laws rooted in mercy and nonviolence. Paul said the law was a curse.

• James and the earliest Jesus followers lived in harmony with nature.

Paul later claimed Jesus told him it was okay to eat meat offered to idols—and not to worry about food laws at all.

This wasn’t just a shift in theology—it was a whole new path.

A path that veered away from compassion and toward something… else.

The Disappearance of James—and the Quieting of a Kinder Way

James was killed in 62 CE. Thrown from the Temple, stoned, and beaten.

After that, his community—the Jewish followers of Jesus, often called the Ebionites—were slowly erased.

Their gospels were branded heresy.

Their writings destroyed.

And Paul’s teachings—stripped of the Torah, stripped of James, and tailored for the Roman world—became the dominant voice.

And what got lost?

• A faith that centered on how we live, not just what we believe

• A lifestyle that honored all life—human and animal—as sacred

• A call to justice that started with what was on our plates

The truth is, the earliest Jesus movement was plant-based.

It was anti-empire.

It was deeply grounded in compassion.

And it was led by James.

But Paul’s gospel—the one built on visions and detached from lived example—was easier to spread in a world that craved power and sacrifice. So the quiet wisdom of James was buried under centuries of hierarchy, blood, and metaphor.

Why It Still Matters

Recovering the path of James isn’t just about church history—it’s about remembering what Jesus actually lived for.

That freedom starts with compassion.

That faith isn’t a belief system—it’s a way of being.

And that killing—whether of animals or people—was never holy.

The road to Damascus might have changed Paul.

But it changed the direction of Christianity more.

And maybe… it’s time to ask whether that vision led us away from the path of peace, harmony, and true healing.

Because the Jesus I know didn’t teach servitude to empire.

He showed us how to walk in freedom.

In truth.

In love.

And in oneness with all living beings.

Isaiah 11:6 (KJV):

“The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid;
and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.”

Follow @julietour on Instagram for more lost teachings, modern reflections, and sacred food for thought.

With love,

—Julie

A Rose Among Philosophers: How Rousseau Led Me Home

A soul-guided journey through legacy, synchronicity, and the return to spiritual freedom

Some moments in life feel divinely timed—so layered with meaning that you know they were written into your story long before you arrived.

It started with a playful comment I made to fellow insurance agents:

“Let’s go to Amsterdam after our trip to Munich!”

We all laughed—but the name stuck. I became Amsterdam for the rest of the season.

That nickname would turn out to be a sign.

As I planned my travels, I felt pulled toward France. I reached out to my Uncle George, who my mother credited for recording our family tree, curious if there were any family connections there. That’s when he shared something I had never known: we are descended from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, through a man named Noël Rousseau—an ancestor who changed his surname to Rose when he fled to the New World in search of freedom from persecution.

It was a family secret, one my uncle may have carried quietly for years. I had lived my whole life unaware of the truth, and yet everything began to fall into place.

I started researching Rousseau’s work and discovered a novel I had never read: Julie, or the New Heloise.

My name.

And on the original title page, I saw the place where it was first published:

Amsterdam.

Julie… Amsterdam.

My nickname. My name. A divine breadcrumb, perfectly timed.

I followed it all the way to France.

The trip itself was far from smooth. The person I had planned it with left me after a tense night at the Moulin Rouge, canceling all of our future reservations.

On the street alone outside the show, admiring the iconic landmark.

I was suddenly alone. But I pressed on. I had an incredible experience alone in the Loire Valley the next morning, as if it was always supposed to happen that way. I had remembered being there before, though I had never been.

A tribute to Rousseau in a Loire Valley Chateau.

The next day, I then went to the Panthéon in Paris, where Rousseau is buried—only to arrive just minutes too late. I was turned away at the gate for having my ticket canceled.

Heartbroken, I walked away in tears… and that’s when I met him.

Outside the Panthéon.

Outside the resting place of my ancestor.

That’s where I met my fiancé.

Love, legacy, and freedom converged in a single moment I could never have scripted.

And now I understand: this path isn’t just mine. It’s inherited. Rousseau was one of the most influential voices of the Enlightenment—but not the godless radical many paint him to be. He was spiritual without dogma, deeply reverent of Jesus, and morally ahead of his time.

“If the life and death of Socrates are those of a sage, the life and death of Jesus are those of a god.”

(Émile)

He believed in the innate goodness of humanity, and in our natural empathy for animals:

“The blood of animals revolts us in our infancy, before habit has changed our nature.”

Like me, he believed true freedom comes from within—and that constraint placed upon conscience is the most dangerous kind.

“Happiness is the absence of constraint. The only chains that do not shackle are those we forge from love.”

(Julie, or the New Heloise)

That quote feels like it was left for me to find. And now I carry it forward—in my life, my work, and the book I’m writing: The Lost Path to Freedom.

This was never just a story about travel. It was a spiritual homecoming. A remembering. A breaking open of a secret long held in silence, finally ready to be lived out loud.

Follow my journey as I continue to explore this path.

[Instagram: @julietour]

The Forgotten Ones: Kabyle Echoes of the Peaceful Path

Long before modern borders and flags, before colonial tongues redefined faith and history, the people of Kabylia—the proud Amazigh—lived close to the earth. Theirs was a land of mountains, olives, wind, and fire. But not the fire of empire. The fire of spirit.

Kabylia, nestled in the mountains of northern Algeria, has always been a land of resistance. But it’s also a land of remembrance.

And what we are remembering now is this:

There were early Christians among the Kabyle. And there is reason to believe that some of them—like others across early North Africa—walked a peaceful, plant-based path.

Not because it was trendy.

Not because it was imposed.

But because it was sacred.

Early Christianity in North Africa: A Lost Legacy of Compassion

Most people know North Africa as a battleground between empires and religions. But before Christianity was weaponized by Rome, before Islam was institutionalized, there existed radical spiritual movements rooted in simplicity, nonviolence, and reverence for life.

St. Augustine of Hippo, one of the most influential Christian thinkers of all time, was born in what is now modern-day Algeria. Before his conversion to mainstream Christianity, he spent nearly a decade with the Manichaeans, a group known for their mystical teachings and strict vegetarian lifestyle.

He later rejected them, but their influence—along with that of the Desert Fathers and the ascetic communities scattered across Egypt, Tunisia, and Algeria—cannot be erased from the region’s spiritual memory.

It is entirely possible, even likely, that Kabyle Christians, living on the edges of empire and close to the land, were influenced by these early expressions of faith that valued compassion over ritual, and inner purity over outward display.

Before Christianity, Berber (Amazigh) spirituality was animistic and deeply respectful of nature. Some scholars believe there were plant-based rituals, herbal medicine practices, and a reverence for animal life that may have influenced how Berbers related to food, even after converting.

Vegetarianism as Resistance, Not Restriction

To abstain from killing animals in a time of sacrifice-based religion was not weakness. It was revolutionary.

It was a refusal to participate in systems of domination.

A reclaiming of harmony with creation.

A return to something original, something Edenic.

And for many early followers of Christ—especially those who read his temple-cleansing not as a temper tantrum, but as a liberation of the innocent—vegetarianism was a natural extension of the gospel.

This wasn’t about legalism.

It was about love.

Kabylia Still Remembers

Modern history has buried these truths. The dominant religions have rewritten the story, often sidelining those who practiced gentleness as naive or heretical.

But the mountains of Kabylia remember.

They remember the footsteps of those who fasted not just from food, but from violence.

Who refused to make offerings of blood.

Who lived simply, because they believed the divine dwelled in stillness.

I write this not just as a seeker of forgotten wisdom, but as someone whose heart is connected to Algeria through my fiancé—a man whose roots trace back to that same resilient soil.

And I believe part of our healing, part of our return to truth, lies in recovering these stories.

Stories of Amazigh who followed the Way—not the way of conquest, but the way of peace.

The way of the Christ who freed the doves.

The way of the soul who wrestles with God and walks away changed.