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.

Den of “Thieves”? Or Something Deeper.

Posted by Julie Tourangeau

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 Forgotten Ones: Kabyle Echoes of the Peaceful Path

Posted by Julie Tourangeau

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.