He was magnetic. That’s what Clara remembered most—how everyone leaned in when he spoke, how he could quiet a room with a whisper, not a shout. Even in her small town, miles from anything important, they watched him—on screens, in headlines, in the way neighbors murmured about politics and prophecy with nervous smiles. Something about him didn’t sit right, even though he always said the “right things.” He promised unity, healing, peace. But so did the serpent in Eden.
You’ve probably felt that sense too—the chill that runs through you when someone seems powerful but hollow, kind but calculating. It’s that quiet warning in the soul: “Something is not as it seems.”
John felt it too. That’s why he wrote to us, all those centuries ago: “Dear children, this is the last hour; and as you have heard that the antichrist is coming, even now many antichrists have come.” (1 John 2:18)
Even now.
Not someday, not during some distant apocalypse, but then—and now. The spirit of the Antichrist is already at work…and we keep missing him, maybe because we expect red horns and smoke instead of charm and charisma.
Paul expands on this in 2 Thessalonians 2:3–4, warning, “Don’t let anyone deceive you in any way, for that day will not come until the rebellion occurs and the man of lawlessness is revealed… He will oppose and will exalt himself over everything that is called God or is worshiped, so that he sets himself up in God’s temple, proclaiming himself to be God.”
Set himself up. It’s not the image of rage or desecration—it’s deception. A throne built not on truth but on flattery. A temple masquerading as holy, yet hollow.
Revelation 13 paints him into terrifying clarity—a beast who is worshipped by the world, performing miracles, demanding loyalty. Evil cloaked in wonder.
No wonder so many are captivated.
But here’s the turn—a truth we rarely speak aloud: the Antichrist doesn’t start by terrifying the church… he starts by seducing it.
He doesn’t stomp in with fire; he whispers, “I am the answer you’ve been looking for.”
And sometimes… we want to believe him. Because faith can feel slow. God’s promises can feel unreachable when you’ve prayed for years and the diagnosis doesn’t change, when the news is all fear and the world keeps spinning further from truth.
Maybe you’ve felt that too—the longing for something to fix it all, finally, now.
But that’s what makes the Antichrist so dangerous. He offers a shortcut to peace without the cross. Power without repentance. Unity without truth.
And dear friend, anything that offers the crown without the cost of Christ has already betrayed the Gospel.
Sometimes, I think we overcomplicate this mystery. We ask if he’s alive today. (And maybe he is.) We theorize about world leaders and headlines.
But Scripture’s deeper concern isn’t with “if” he lives but with “how” he deceives.
The Antichrist isn’t just a man but a method. A strategy of hell to steal what isn’t his, using mirrors and mimics to blur our vision.
So what do we do?
We fix our eyes—not on the beast, but on the Lamb.
We stay rooted—every branch that does not remain in Him withers.
We stay awake—not afraid, but alert.
Because darkness may parade for a time, but it will never rule the dawn.
God has not left us unarmed or unaware. His Spirit lives within us. His Word is our clarity in confusion. And His Son already wore the crown of thorns, already overturned every false throne.
We do not fear the Antichrist… because we belong to the true Christ.
The One who does not demand our worship to validate His worth, but who gave up glory to rescue us in love.
He didn’t come to seduce power.
He came to serve the broken.
That’s our King.
And when the night grows long, and the world feels like it’s bowing to something nameless and wrong, remember: the enemy may counterfeit light, but he cannot create it.
You were made for the real thing.
Stay near Jesus. Know His voice. And trust that even now—especially now—He is still on the throne.
He was magnetic. That’s what Clara remembered most—how everyone leaned in when he spoke, how he could quiet a room with a whisper, not a shout. Even in her small town, miles from anything important, they watched him—on screens, in headlines, in the way neighbors murmured about politics and prophecy with nervous smiles. Something about him didn’t sit right, even though he always said the “right things.” He promised unity, healing, peace. But so did the serpent in Eden.
You’ve probably felt that sense too—the chill that runs through you when someone seems powerful but hollow, kind but calculating. It’s that quiet warning in the soul: “Something is not as it seems.”
John felt it too. That’s why he wrote to us, all those centuries ago: “Dear children, this is the last hour; and as you have heard that the antichrist is coming, even now many antichrists have come.” (1 John 2:18)
Even now.
Not someday, not during some distant apocalypse, but then—and now. The spirit of the Antichrist is already at work…and we keep missing him, maybe because we expect red horns and smoke instead of charm and charisma.
Paul expands on this in 2 Thessalonians 2:3–4, warning, “Don’t let anyone deceive you in any way, for that day will not come until the rebellion occurs and the man of lawlessness is revealed… He will oppose and will exalt himself over everything that is called God or is worshiped, so that he sets himself up in God’s temple, proclaiming himself to be God.”
Set himself up. It’s not the image of rage or desecration—it’s deception. A throne built not on truth but on flattery. A temple masquerading as holy, yet hollow.
Revelation 13 paints him into terrifying clarity—a beast who is worshipped by the world, performing miracles, demanding loyalty. Evil cloaked in wonder.
No wonder so many are captivated.
But here’s the turn—a truth we rarely speak aloud: the Antichrist doesn’t start by terrifying the church… he starts by seducing it.
He doesn’t stomp in with fire; he whispers, “I am the answer you’ve been looking for.”
And sometimes… we want to believe him. Because faith can feel slow. God’s promises can feel unreachable when you’ve prayed for years and the diagnosis doesn’t change, when the news is all fear and the world keeps spinning further from truth.
Maybe you’ve felt that too—the longing for something to fix it all, finally, now.
But that’s what makes the Antichrist so dangerous. He offers a shortcut to peace without the cross. Power without repentance. Unity without truth.
And dear friend, anything that offers the crown without the cost of Christ has already betrayed the Gospel.
Sometimes, I think we overcomplicate this mystery. We ask if he’s alive today. (And maybe he is.) We theorize about world leaders and headlines.
But Scripture’s deeper concern isn’t with “if” he lives but with “how” he deceives.
The Antichrist isn’t just a man but a method. A strategy of hell to steal what isn’t his, using mirrors and mimics to blur our vision.
So what do we do?
We fix our eyes—not on the beast, but on the Lamb.
We stay rooted—every branch that does not remain in Him withers.
We stay awake—not afraid, but alert.
Because darkness may parade for a time, but it will never rule the dawn.
God has not left us unarmed or unaware. His Spirit lives within us. His Word is our clarity in confusion. And His Son already wore the crown of thorns, already overturned every false throne.
We do not fear the Antichrist… because we belong to the true Christ.
The One who does not demand our worship to validate His worth, but who gave up glory to rescue us in love.
He didn’t come to seduce power.
He came to serve the broken.
That’s our King.
And when the night grows long, and the world feels like it’s bowing to something nameless and wrong, remember: the enemy may counterfeit light, but he cannot create it.
You were made for the real thing.
Stay near Jesus. Know His voice. And trust that even now—especially now—He is still on the throne.
