⚠️ Satire Alert: None of this is historical. Unless you believe bishops once competed in synchronized condemnations for points, in which case—seek help.
It was only a matter of time before theology discovered cardio. After the Council of Nicaea, where 300 bishops shouted themselves hoarse in what was basically the first holy cage match, Constantine decided the whole thing had potential as mass entertainment. If Romans would sit for hours watching lions chew on gladiators, surely they’d show up to see bishops in track suits sprinting to denounce Gnostics. Thus, with imperial funding and more than a little incense smoke, the Heresy Hunt Olympics were born.
The Opening Ceremony
The coliseum was packed. Monks waved papyrus signs that read “Ban the Docetists!” and “Athanasius = G.O.A.T.” Vendors circulated with trays of roasted locusts, cups of watered wine, and something suspiciously marketed as “Eucharist on a Stick.”
Constantine himself appeared in gleaming sandals, torch in hand, striding toward the ceremonial pyre. The torch had been lit from a pile of confiscated Montanist scrolls, which meant the fire smoked and sputtered like a dying camp stove. When he lowered it to ignite the great flame, the wind caught and a scribe’s beard went up instead. Three deacons chased him in frantic circles with buckets of holy water. The crowd erupted with applause, convinced it was part of the show.
Then came the parade of athletes. Irenaeus lumbered in first, dragging a cart stacked high with copies of Against Heresies, waving as if the crowd had been waiting all year for his autograph. He hurled one into the stands. A monk caught it, flipped through three pages, and promptly fell asleep.
Behind him, Tertullian swaggered in wearing a toga that had been vandalized into fashion: splashed across the front in giant painted letters was his favorite line, “What Has Athens To Do With Jerusalem?” Nobody knew what it meant in this context, but it looked edgy, and that was enough. The crowd roared.
The Cappadocians marched in next, looking like a theology boy band. One of them winked. The crowd swooned. The games were on.
Event One: Name That Gnostic
The first event was a classic. Sayings appeared on a giant vellum screen, and contestants had to identify whether the phrase came from the canonical Gospels, the Gospel of Thomas, or just some monk’s half-drunk diary entry.
“The kingdom is inside you.” Irenaeus slapped the buzzer. “Gnostic!” Correct. He raised his arms like a gladiator.
Next slide: “Blessed are the merciful.” Again he pounced. “Gnostic!” Wrong. The crowd groaned. A locust-on-a-stick whizzed past his head.
Then came the kicker: “Split a piece of wood; I am there.” Gasps rippled. The Cappadocians huddled nervously. One shouted “Jesus!” Another yelled “Thomas!” A third tried “Carpenter propaganda!” The judges shrugged and gave everyone partial credit, because nobody really knew.
By the end, contestants were just shouting “HERESY!” at every phrase in desperation. The crowd adored it. Theology had never been this fun. Irenaeus stormed off swearing he’d write Against Heresies, Volume 74: Bathroom Wall Sayings That Deceived Me.
Virgin Monk Boy commentary: “The irony, of course, is that half these sayings sound suspiciously like Jesus himself. But accuracy was never the point. Volume was.”
Event Two: Spot the Sabellian
For this round, a massive diagram of circles was unveiled—three, overlapping, glowing. Contestants had to declare whether the image reflected the Trinity or collapsed into a modalist blob.
The first bishop stared, squinted, and blurted out, “Both!” Gasps. He was dragged off immediately, screaming, “I meant mystery!”
Another contestant shouted “MODALISM!” before the slide even changed, scoring points through sheer enthusiasm. The crowd booed and cheered at once.
Virgin Monk Boy commentary: “It’s theological Pictionary. Draw three circles right, you’re a saint. Draw them wrong, you’re heresy. Apparently God is geometry now.”
Event Three: The Manuscript Bonfire Relay
Next came the relay. Monks sprinted one by one across the track, clutching scrolls labeled Gospel of Judas, Acts of Thecla, and Proto-Evangelium of James. Each had to be hurled into the ceremonial fire before the baton passed.
The crowd cheered as parchment ignited, ashes billowing skyward like theological smoke signals. Tertullian took the anchor leg, cloak flying dramatically, and hurled his scroll high into the blaze. He turned to the camera, snarled, and muttered, “What has paper to do with truth?” before stomping off to sue the papyrus industry.
Virgin Monk Boy commentary: “This is what happens when your sport is censorship. Book burning as cardio.”
Event Four: The Synchronized Anathema
Eight bishops lined the pool’s edge, water shimmering in torchlight. At the whistle, they launched into flawless backflips, bellowing, “LET HIM BE ANATHEMA!” as they crashed into the water. The splash soaked the first three rows, who applauded like pilgrims blessed by holy spray.
One poor bishop belly-flopped, shouting “Nestorianism!” even though Nestorius wouldn’t be born for another century. Prophetic, or just premature? Hard to say.
Virgin Monk Boy commentary: “Synchronized condemnation. The only sport where finger-wagging counts as choreography.”
Event Five: Irenaeus’ Endurance Challenge
Here, stamina was tested. Irenaeus shuffled onto the stage with his colossal tome Against Heresies. He began reading aloud, monotone, page after page. Contestants had to sit, listen, and remain conscious.
Within an hour, half the field had slumped over. By the fourth volume, one bishop defected to Gnosticism just for the excuse to leave. Only Athanasius remained, glaring like boredom itself was a personal enemy.
When Irenaeus finally slammed the book shut, Athanasius stood, flexed, and demanded another round. The crowd gave a standing ovation out of sheer relief.
Virgin Monk Boy commentary: “Never underestimate the weaponization of tedium. Irenaeus invented Ambien fifteen centuries early.”
Event Six: Tertullian’s Legal Obstacle Course
The course was chaos: winding corridors filled with fake heretics, courtroom props, and Roman law clerks. Contestants had to file as many condemnations as possible in under five minutes.
Tertullian blazed through like a man possessed, hurling accusations left and right. He cited Stoics just to insult them, condemned imaginary pagans, and even paused to yell at a marble column for looking suspiciously Platonic.
He finished with a roar: “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church!” while flexing like a gladiator. The crowd went wild. Nobody remembered the rules, but it didn’t matter—Tertullian always won when yelling was involved.
Virgin Monk Boy commentary: “This man would sue gravity if it contradicted scripture.”
The Medal Ceremony
The winners mounted the podium. Gold medals were laurel wreaths dipped in holy water. Silver medals were chains for your neighborhood heretic. Bronze medals? A lifetime subscription to Athanasius’ Festal Letter newsletter.
Irenaeus clutched his medal tearfully, promising to add a sixth volume to Against Heresies. Tertullian sneered at his prize, muttering that medals were pagan trinkets. Athanasius seized three medals at once, daring anyone to stop him. Nobody did.
The choir launched into “Credo in unum Deum,” badly out of tune, but the crowd sang along anyway, convinced orthodoxy had triumphed.
The Closing Ceremony
The final act was absurd even by Olympic standards. Bishops circled the still-smoldering manuscript pyre, performing a choreographed exorcism dance while shredded apocrypha rained from the rafters like confetti. Constantine waved from his box, smug with the knowledge that theology had been reduced to spectacle—exactly as he intended.
As the smoke cleared, Virgin Monk Boy leaned on the commentary desk and offered the last word:
“The Heresy Hunt Olympics prove the early church wasn’t united in love. It was united in competition. Less ‘turn the other cheek,’ more ‘suplex the heretic.’ These weren’t holy men. They were holy hype men, running orthodoxy like a Roman reality show where the losers didn’t just get eliminated from the tournament—they got eliminated from history.
So the next time someone insists the church fathers were paragons of unity, remember: they weren’t priests in a cathedral. They were athletes in a coliseum. And the torch they lit is still burning, whether we like it or not.”
If this post shook something loose, poured some wine in your cracked chalice, or made your inner heretic cheer—hit the share button, toss a coin to your scribal witch, or subscribe for more scrolls from the margins.
Oh my goodness I loved every single word!
I laughed out loud and smiled as I visualized these scenes… 🙌✨💕
This gets my Highest Stamp of Approval!-
Salsa Dancing Girl 💃
Wonderful!
Quite an exercise for the mind! Haha!