Age-Old Spiritual Fraud

Throughout history, countless relics have been revered as sacred—tangible links to Jesus Christ and the figures of Scripture. From fragments of the True Cross to drops of Mary’s milk, these objects have been praised, kissed, enshrined, and even fought over. Pilgrims have travelled hundreds of miles to see them. Churches have built fortunes and reputations around them. But when these relics are tested against the truth of Scripture—alongside historical records and plain, God-given logic, they fall apart.

Not only do most of these objects lack any credible proof of authenticity, they also distract from the heart of true worship. Jesus said in John 4:24, “God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.” That is the foundation. Not in relics. Not in shrines. Not in superstitions wrapped in robes of tradition. So let’s look closely at the major relics people still venerate—and see what the Bible, history, and reason actually have to say.

The Shroud of Turin has captivated people with what looks like a miraculous image of a crucified man. But John 20:6-7 tells us Jesus was wrapped in multiple cloths, including a separate napkin for His head—something entirely different from the single-sheet shroud shown in Turin. The Bible nowhere mentions an imprint being left on burial cloths. Historically, the Shroud doesn’t appear until the 14th century, and scientific tests in 1988 dated it to between 1260–1390 AD. That alone should be enough to question its authenticity. Add to that the fact that the earliest Christians never mention such a miraculous cloth, and it becomes clear: this relic is a medieval invention, not a sacred remnant.

Given the clear evidence in Scripture that multiple cloths were used in Jesus’ burial—any attempt to persuade believers to venerate a single burial cloth is not only misleading, it’s a deliberate distortion of the biblical account. It plays on emotion and ignorance, not truth. To promote such a relic as authentic while ignoring what the Word of God plainly says is to manipulate the faithful and, frankly, to mock their trust. It turns sincere devotion into spectacle, asking people to bow before something that doesn’t even align with Scripture. That’s not honouring Christ—it’s taking advantage of those who seek Him.

The Crown of Thorns, supposedly preserved in France and scattered in fragments across Europe, is revered by many. But Scripture tells us the crown was made by Roman soldiers to mock Jesus (Matthew 27:29, John 19:2). There is no mention of it being kept after His crucifixion. The relic in Notre-Dame no longer even has the thorns—just the braided band—and numerous churches claim to hold a thorn from it. That’s not evidence; that’s confusion. Historically, the proliferation of “thorns” undermines their credibility. Logically, why would followers of Christ preserve the object used to torture Him? Isaiah 53:5 says, “With his stripes we are healed.” Not with the tools that wounded Him, but by His suffering itself.

To treat the very crown that pierced the head of Christ as an object of reverence is not just misguided—it reflects a disturbing misunderstanding of the nature of His suffering. The crown of thorns was not a symbol of honour or holiness. It was an instrument of mockery and pain, deliberately crafted to humiliate Jesus in the cruelest way. Roman soldiers twisted it together to deride the idea that He was a king. It was never intended to exalt Him, but to degrade Him. So for people centuries later to elevate that object—to preserve it in gold and glass, to kneel before it, to treat it as if it holds divine significance—introduces a dark irony. It is as if the tools of His torture have become trophies. That is not reverence; it’s a kind of spiritual confusion that romanticizes suffering rather than understanding its purpose. The crown of thorns had no sanctity. Its only meaning was in what Christ endured while wearing it—not in the object itself. To cherish it is, in a way, to cherish the very violence inflicted upon Him, as though the brutality has become beautiful. But the Gospel doesn’t glorify the instruments of pain—it magnifies the One who bore them.

The Holy Grail is one of the most romanticized relics of all. Supposedly the cup Jesus used at the Last Supper, it’s become the center of countless legends. But Scripture never mentions it being preserved, and the entire idea of a “Grail” appears nowhere in the Bible. The cup itself was never emphasized by Jesus; it was the symbol—His blood of the new covenant—that mattered (Luke 22:20). Historically, the Grail legend didn’t surface until the 12th century, in medieval European literature. Multiple grails are claimed in different churches, all without a credible chain of custody back to the Upper Room. The idea of chasing a holy cup is not only unbiblical—it’s a distraction from the real communion believers have with Christ through faith.

The Nails of the Crucifixion are also widely claimed. Scripture does mention the print of the nails in Jesus’ hands (John 20:25), so it’s fair to say there were at least two. Some crucifixions used three or four nails total. Yet today, over 30 different nails are claimed as the actual ones used on Christ. Historically, there’s no record of them being preserved in the early church. Some accounts say Helena, Constantine’s mother, found them in the 4th century (son and mother both cut from the same fraudulent cloth).—but even that is legend, not Scripture. Logic steps in here too: would Roman soldiers, known for crucifying thousands, treat a few iron spikes as sacred? Or would they simply reuse them or discard them? The overwhelming number of claimed nails makes it clear—most, if not all, are fake.

The Titulus—the sign above Christ’s head reading “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”—is described in John 19:19-20. But after the crucifixion, Scripture says nothing about the sign being recovered.The version in Rome—rather conveniently, as one might expect—was allegedly discovered in 1492, nearly 1,500 years after the crucifixion. Carbon dating dated it to the 10th–12th century. Even if it were real, it’s still just a piece of wood used to mock Jesus. To elevate it to the level of a sacred object borders on idolatry. The New Testament calls us to glory in the cross of Christ, not in the signs the Romans used to shame Him.

Relics of Mary, such as her milk, hair, or garments, are perhaps even more troubling. Luke 11:27-28 gives us a clear response from Jesus when a woman praised His mother: “Yea rather, blessed are they that hear the word of God, and keep it.” The message is unmistakable. Devotion to God, not physical connection to Mary, is what He honoured. Yet medieval Europe saw a boom in vials of “Mary’s milk” and scraps of her clothing—far more than one woman could have produced. Calvin mocked this, saying Mary would have had to be a full-time wet nurse for a thousand years. These relics have no biblical backing and emerged only centuries later. And spiritually, they push believers away from Christ and toward a fascination with the flesh.

The Scala Sancta, or Holy Stairs, are believed to be the very steps Jesus climbed before Pilate. Supposedly brought to Rome by Helena—the ever-convenient mother of Constantine—once again, the same figures show up at the center of yet another dubious relic story. Given that Constantine is tied to the infamous Donation of Constantine, a forged document used to prop up papal authority, it's hard not to see a pattern here. Both mother and son seem woven deeply into a tapestry of legend, manipulation, and myth-making. If Helena’s name is attached, it’s almost a red flag at this point. Far from honouring Christ, these tales seem more like fabrications meant to control the faithful and dress superstition in the robes of holiness. It's not reverence—it's a mockery of those seeking truth. But there’s no mention in Scripture of Jesus ascending a staircase, nor of early Christians preserving such a thing. Archaeologically, the marble used in the Scala Sancta wasn’t found in first-century Jerusalem. It’s most likely a later Roman structure rebranded as holy. Spiritually, Jesus taught us that worship is no longer tied to a place (John 4:21). Climbing stairs on your knees may feel reverent, but it has no power to save.

The Spear of Longinus, which pierced Jesus’ side (John 19:34), is another relic surrounded by confusion. The Bible doesn’t name the soldier or imply that the spear was saved. Yet several spears—one in Vienna, one in Armenia, another in Rome—are claimed as the original. The Vienna spear has been tested and shown to date from the 8th century. Others have no reliable history. The spear appears briefly in Scripture only to confirm Jesus’ death. It wasn’t part of the crucifixion and held no spiritual power. To revere it now is to risk worshipping the weapon that wounded our Lord.

Pieces of the True Cross are perhaps the most common relic of all. From cathedrals to village chapels, countless fragments have been venerated. But Scripture never says the cross was preserved. It was an instrument of shame, not a trophy. The story that Helena found the cross in 326 AD lacks biblical support. By the Middle Ages, the sheer number of cross fragments had become a joke—even to Reformers like Calvin, who said they could build a ship from all the wood. That alone should raise red flags. Christ told us to take up our cross daily, not to collect His!

The Veil of Veronica tells of a woman wiping Jesus’ face on the road to Calvary, leaving His image miraculously imprinted. But this story is not found anywhere in Scripture. It seems to have emerged in the Middle Ages to explain a supposed relic already in circulation. Multiple veils today are claimed to be the original, all differing in age and appearance. Again, there is no biblical foundation for the event or for preserving such a cloth. And spiritually, we are called to walk by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). We don’t need a face-cloth to believe in the risen Christ.

The House of Mary—whether in Loreto, Italy or Ephesus, Turkey—is another relic of imagination. Loreto claims Mary’s house was flown by angels from Nazareth; Ephesus claims Mary lived out her final days there with John. Scripture is silent on the fate of her house and her later years. The “flying house” story likely arose from a noble family named “Angeli” transporting stones from the Holy Land. But even if they had genuine building materials, they don’t have God’s endorsement. Jesus never told us to seek out His mother’s walls. He told us to hear the Word and do it (Luke 11:28). That is what pleases God.

And this brings us to the heart of the matter. All these relics have one thing in common: they focus the eyes on the physical, the earthly, the sensational. But God says, “Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth” (Colossians 3:2). Worship based on objects is not worship in truth—it’s a kind of spiritual distraction, and sometimes even a form of idolatry.

Scripture never tells us to venerate the cross itself, only to glory in the One who died on it. Jesus didn’t say, “Kiss the nails,” but “Take up your cross and follow Me.” He didn’t command us to preserve a cup or stairs or cloth. He told us to worship in spirit and in truth.

And the truth is, God is not in relics. That’s animism—assigning spiritual power to objects. It’s not Christian faith. The Holy Spirit isn’t confined to a shroud or a splinter of wood. He dwells in the believer, in those who trust Christ, obey His Word, and walk by faith.

So let go of the relics. Let go of the superstition, the shrine-chasing, the misplaced reverence. Hold fast to the Word of God, which is living, powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword. Put your faith not in the nail, but in the One who bore it. Not in Mary’s veil, but in the Saviour she worshipped.

As Jesus said, “Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve” (Luke 4:8).

It becomes increasingly clear that there’s a consistent effort—subtle or not—to turn our eyes away from Christ and fix them on anything else. Whether it’s a cloth, a nail, a staircase, or a crown, the focus is always shifted just enough to move our hearts from the living Saviour to lifeless objects. It's as if the goal is to keep people distracted with relics, rituals, and legends, rather than lead them to a direct, personal relationship with Jesus Himself. Instead of pointing to the risen Christ, these so-called sacred items pull attention toward physical tokens that offer no life, no power, and no salvation. One has to wonder: is this accidental, or is it by design? Because in the end, if the enemy can get people to pour their devotion into things about Christ instead of Christ Himself, he’s already succeeded in leading them astray.

Something that struck me recently while reading through the Scriptures was a verse in Lamentations 1:7—“The adversaries saw her, and did mock at her sabbaths.” It’s a haunting image: Jerusalem broken, betrayed, laid bare before the nations. The city once called holy is now scorned by her enemies. But the part that stood out most to me was this: they mocked her sabbaths. That isn’t just poetic language—it’s a divine indictment. It shows us how deeply connected the Sabbath is to God’s identity, and to the covenant between Him and His people.

In this context, the adversaries were the Babylonians, who had conquered Jerusalem, destroyed the temple, and carried the people into exile. And let there be no confusion—Babylon was drenched in idolatry. The city was a stronghold of false worship, wholly given over to a multitude of man-made gods like Marduk, Ishtar, and Bel—the same Baal whose legacy of rebellion still echoes today, with a towering obelisk standing defiantly in the heart of Vatican City. These weren’t just cultural deities—they represented a spiritual system in direct opposition to the God of Israel. Babylon wasn’t neutral; it was a city at war with heaven, exalting its idols while scorning the commandments of the living God. Their entire culture was a celebration of man-made deities, fertility cults, astrology, and temple prostitution. They had no regard for the God of Israel or His commandments. So when they mocked the Sabbath, it wasn’t just cultural arrogance—it was spiritual warfare. The Sabbath wasn’t merely a day of rest; it was a sign (Exodus 31:16–17), a marker that set apart the people of God from the nations. To scorn it was to scorn the One who instituted it. To trample it underfoot was to spit in the face of the covenant.

Now ask yourself: what world power in history has done more to mock, alter, or erase the Sabbath than Rome? The same Rome that came centuries later, under the guise of Christianity, and merged the holy with the profane—pagan festivals with Christian names, sun worship cloaked in church garments. The same Rome that fulfilled the prophecy of Daniel 7:25, a power that would “think to change times and laws.” And it did. It openly shifted the day of worship from the seventh day (Saturday), the day that God blessed and sanctified at creation, to the first day—Sun-day—a man-made substitute that carries no biblical authority. And worse, it boasts of this change as a mark of its own power.

This isn’t just some minor doctrinal disagreement. If we take God’s Word seriously, then what Rome has done—abolishing the Sabbath and replacing it with its own tradition—is not mere error. It is mockery, just like the Babylonians before them. It's rebellion packaged in religious garb. It’s a system that dares to put itself in the place of God, claiming the authority to undo what He declared holy.

The Sabbath was never a temporary ordinance or a cultural relic. It was set in place before sin, during creation itself (Genesis 2:2–3), and reaffirms throughout Scripture as a perpetual sign between God and His people. “The Sabbath was made for man,” Jesus said in Mark 2:27—not just for Jews, but for all mankind. And Isaiah 66:22–23 tells us that the Sabbath will continue into the new heavens and the new earth. It is eternal, not ceremonial.

So what does it mean when a so-called “Christian” empire doesn’t just ignore the Sabbath but rewrites it, and forces its version upon the world? What does it mean when Rome boasts of changing God’s law and uses that change as proof of its ecclesiastical authority? It means exactly what Scripture shows: that this power has set itself against the covenant of God, and therefore against God Himself. By biblical definition, Rome has become an adversary. That might sound harsh to modern ears, but it is the only conclusion one can reach if the Bible is to be believed and honoured.

So when we look again at Lamentations 1:7, we should see more than a historical moment of grief—we should hear a prophetic warning. The mockery of the Sabbath didn’t die with Babylon. It found a new and more dangerous expression in Rome, and that mockery continues to this day. It now wears the robes of religion, it speaks in the language of piety, but its fruit is the same: it mocks the God who sanctified the Sabbath, and leads others to do the same.

And those who truly follow Him—those who love Him, who honour His Word, who seek to walk in covenant—cannot stand with those who mock Him. We are not called to blend truth with tradition, or to baptize error in holy language. We are called to come out from among them and be separate (2 Corinthians 6:17). Because in the end, it’s not just about a day—it’s about who you serve. The Sabbath is a sign between God and His people. Rome has rejected it. That speaks volumes about who they really serve.

And perhaps it’s no coincidence that Peter himself—an apostle of Christ—referred to Rome under a different name. In 1 Peter 5:13, he writes: “The church that is at Babylon, elected together with you, saluteth you; and so doth Marcus my son.” Now, by the time Peter wrote this, Babylon—the literal city—was in ruins, a shadow of its former glory. But “Babylon” had come to mean something more than a location; it had become a prophetic symbol of spiritual corruption, idolatry, and opposition to God’s people. The early Christians, well-versed in the Old Testament, understood this. And Peter, living under Roman rule, chose that name deliberately. He called Rome “Babylon” because he saw in it the same traits—pagan idolatry, imperial arrogance, and persecution of the faithful—that had once defined ancient Babylon.

And what was one of Babylon’s defining acts, according to Lamentations 1:7? Mocking the Sabbath. Rome, by erasing and replacing the Sabbath, not only followed in Babylon’s footsteps but inherited its very name in the apostolic mind. Peter’s choice of words wasn’t poetic—it was prophetic. He recognized that the same spirit that once trampled Jerusalem now ruled from Rome.

But let’s go deeper. If Peter was truly the first “pope” in Rome, as the Roman Church insists, then why do we read what we do in Paul’s letter to the Romans?

In Romans 1:11, Paul writes: “For I long to see you, that I may impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end ye may be established.” And again in Romans 1:15, he says: “So, as much as in me is, I am ready to preach the gospel to you that are at Rome also.”

Let’s think about that for a moment.

Paul is saying that the believers in Rome are not yet established—he wants to help build them up, to lay the foundation more firmly. He is ready to preach the Gospel there, which implies that the full message hasn’t yet been taught to them. But if Peter—the supposed chief apostle, the alleged first bishop of Rome—had already been there, preaching and presiding as pope, why would Paul need to preach the Gospel there? Why would the church need to be "established"?

Would Paul really speak this way if the foundation had already been laid by the man the Catholic Church calls the first Vicar of Christ on Earth? Of course not.

Paul wasn’t shy about giving honour where honour was due. If Peter had been labouring in Rome before him, Paul would have said so. Instead, we find silence. No mention of Peter in the greetings of Romans 16. No acknowledgement of a great leader presiding in Rome. Not even a hint. If anything, Paul’s words indicate that the Roman believers were a scattered group of converts in need of apostolic teaching and structure. Paul was going to bring that.

Logically, the Catholic claim collapses under the weight of Scripture. If Peter was already functioning as the first pope in Rome, how is it that Paul—writing later—says he's ready to bring the Gospel there? Was Peter preaching something else? Had he been ineffective? Or does it make more sense that Peter had not yet been there at all?

And let’s not forget, in Galatians 2:7–9, Paul was specifically entrusted with the Gospel to the Gentiles, while Peter was the apostle to the circumcision—to the Jews. Rome was a Gentile stronghold. Paul's mission field. There’s simply no biblical evidence that Peter planted the Roman church, let alone ruled over it. On the contrary, Paul’s letters suggest otherwise.

And here’s where it becomes even more telling: Peter himself, years later, refers to Rome as “Babylon” in 1 Peter 5:13—written around AD 62–64, several years after Paul wrote his letter to the Romans (AD 56–58). This wasn’t a throwaway phrase. It was a deliberate comparison. Babylon was the city of captivity, idolatry, and rebellion against God. By calling Rome “Babylon,” Peter wasn’t offering a compliment—he was issuing a rebuke. It seems the alleged first pope was not the first pope at all—and he himself was mocking Rome for being serial idolaters in the very spirit of Babylon.

If Peter were truly the spiritual head of Rome—established there as pope—it is hard to imagine him likening the very seat of his supposed authority to Babylon, the arch-enemy of God's people throughout Scripture. And it’s even harder to believe Paul would write to that same city, long before Peter made such a statement, saying he was eager to preach the Gospel there—implying it still lacked a full foundation in truth.

So we have Peter referring to Rome as Babylon, a city under judgment. We have Paul saying he wants to preach the Gospel there, implying it has not yet been fully preached. We have no greeting to Peter in the book of Romans, no recognition of his authority or presence there. If he were already bishop of Rome—let alone pope—it would be unthinkable for Paul to leave that unmentioned.

In light of all this, the claim that Peter was the first pope of Rome isn’t just unbiblical—it’s illogical. It's a historical invention, propped up by tradition, not truth. And when we look at the bigger picture—the Sabbath trampled, the commandments altered, the forged Donation of Constantine, the peddling of fabricated relics, the city called Babylon—Rome’s role becomes clearer. It's not the seat of divine authority. It's the spiritual echo of Babylon, wearing a cloak of religion while exalting itself above the Word of God.

And those who love the truth cannot follow such a path. We are called not to tradition, but to Scripture. Not to papal decrees, but to the unchanging Word of the Lord.

Something else struck me as deeply strange the more I looked into it. Over the years, various popes—including Francis—have openly tried to reconcile evolution with the biblical account of creation. They’ve gone so far as to say evolution is not incompatible with faith, as though the Genesis narrative can be molded to accommodate Darwin’s theory. But when you peel back the layers, it gets weirder than you might expect.

Evolution claims we came from fish-like creatures, that over millions of years, aquatic organisms developed into amphibians, which then crawled onto land and eventually became humans. That’s the general idea. Fish, then amphibians, then apes, then us. Many Christians are uneasy with this on scientific or theological grounds—but there’s another layer to consider, and it’s a lot older than Darwin.

In Babylonian mythology, there’s a strange figure named Oannes—an ancient god or demi-god who was said to have emerged from the sea. He had the body of a man but the head of a fish, and according to the myth, he came up from the waters to teach mankind wisdom, science, law, writing and forbidden knowledge. He would come ashore by day, instruct humanity, and return to the sea at night. Sound familiar? A fish-being bringing enlightenment to the world. That’s not just myth—it’s Babylonian religion, rooted in the same system of idolatry that God repeatedly condemned in the Bible.

Now connect the dots: we have popes and high-ranking clergy trying to merge biblical creation with evolution, which itself claims we descend from primitive sea creatures, and Babylonian myth offers a fish-man (Oannes) who ‘created civilization’ by teaching mankind, and then, just to top it off—we have the unmistakable image of popes, bishops, and even Church of England leaders wearing the "fish hat"—the mitre. It’s not a stretch to recognize the resemblance. The traditional mitre worn by bishops is strikingly similar in shape to the open-mouthed head of a fish. And indeed, it originates from pagan traditions, not the early Christian church.

So here we are: a modern religious system blending pagan evolution, Babylonian mythology, and ritual headwear that mirrors the fish gods of old—and calling it "Christianity." It’s as if the ancient gods of Babylon never left—they were just rebranded.

That’s not a coincidence. It’s a convergence. And it begs the question: when religious leaders embrace the very symbols and stories of the adversaries God warned us about, whose kingdom are they really building?

Is it just me, or does it seem like we’ve been caught in a centuries-long deception—one orchestrated by the same corrupt system that once crucified our King? How deep does this go? When you stop and really look at it, the picture becomes clearer. Why does Islam, which outright denies the divinity of Christ, venerate Mary so highly—calling her blessed above all women—just as the Roman Catholic Church exalts her as the so-called “Queen of Heaven”? But that title doesn’t originate with Scripture; it traces back to ancient paganism—Semiramis, the original “Queen of Heaven,” whose symbol was the crescent moon. So now we have two global religions—one denying the Son, the other trampling His Sabbath—both revering the same feminine figure under the same ancient title.

Is this just coincidence? Or is it the blueprint of a deeper spiritual counterfeit? One side venerates the moon goddess; the other side, the sun god—symbolised by the towering obelisk at the heart of Vatican City, a relic of sun worship from Egypt and Babylon. And together, through interfaith unity, they appear to be uniting under symbols and doctrines that have nothing to do with the Gospel and everything to do with ancient rebellion. It’s not just religious confusion—it’s systemic, calculated, and rooted in the same spiritual empire that’s been opposing truth since the beginning.

The moon symbolizes Semiramis, while the sun represents her deified husband, Nimrod—worshipped in later tradition as Tammuz.