Unveiled Truths: Exposing the Pagan Roots of Christian Holidays

By Jason A. Hunt

Unveiled Truths: Exposing the Pagan Roots of Christian Holidays

by Jason A. Hunt, Ph.D.

Dive into a transformative journey that challenges everything you thought you knew about Christian holidays. In Unveiled Truths, Dr. Jason Hu

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barefoot Prophet Media
• Release date: Sep 1, 2025
• ISBN: 9798348266486

Jason A. Hunt

Jason A. Hunt first received his training in survival from civilian and military experts by way of his martial arts experience, which spans thirty years. Jason is the author of Pathfinder Wilderness First Aid, a contributor to several magazines, and a weekly co-host on Pathfinder TV.

Book preview

Unveiled Truths

Unveiled Truths

Jason A Hunt

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Copyright © 2025 by Jason A Hunt

Cover Design by Nick Dunham, Kingdom Creations

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Printing, 2025

Contents

Notes

Notes

A Womb Restored, A Truth Unveiled

The Shadows Beneath the Cross

The Whisper of Ishtar

The Throne and the Veil

The Dance of Shadows

The Appointed Dawn

The Sign in the Shadows

The Sun Beneath the Star

The Evergreen Veil

The Shadow in the Sleigh

The Sun that Never Sets

The Star Beyond December

The Veil of Samhain

The Mask of Lupercalia

The Emerald Veil

The Hourglass of Janus

The Crossroads of Time

Living the Feasts

The Worship God Commands

A Prayer of Repentance and Awakening

Projected Biblical Feast Dates, 2025-2035

About the Author

References

1

A Womb Restored, A Truth Unveiled

It began with a cry in the night—a loss that cut deeper than flesh. After three children filled our home with laughter, my wife Robyn and I dreamed of more. A large family, a legacy of faith. But then came the shadow: miscarriages, one after another, stealing life before it could bloom. The pain was not just in the loss but in the toll it carved into Robyn’s body. We stood at the edge of despair, the hospital doors swinging open before us after that first miscarriage. The staff spoke in hushed tones of a procedure—D&C, they called it—urging her to stay, to surrender to their tools. But we turned away. Laughter escaped us, sharp and defiant, as we walked into the night. For us, the Lord was the healer. We needed only His voice and His wisdom to guide our prayers. 

A week passed, and the storm seemed to lift. Robyn’s strength returned, a fragile dawn breaking. Months later, hope stirred again—she conceived. But the shadow returned, swift and merciless. Another miscarriage. We prayed. We fasted. We spoke words of prophecy into the air. Yet the life slipped away. This time, the bleeding did not stop. One month bled into two, then three, then four—a relentless tide that mocked our cries. Some would call us fools, clinging to faith when medicine stood ready. But what of the ancients? In the days of the New Testament, there were no sterile rooms and no physicians with charts. Either God stretched out His hand, or the affliction lingered—like the woman with the issue of blood, twelve years in torment until she touched the hem of His garment (Luke 8:43-48). Even now, across the earth, over 90% of humanity knows this truth: healing is a gift, not a guarantee of man’s making. So, we pressed on, our knees bent, our hearts fixed.

Then came Passover, four months into that endless bleeding. We had known of the Biblical Holidays—God’s appointed times—the Lord has visited me in the depths of financial hardship and told me that Christmas and Easter displeased Him; I had also written a doctoral dissertation on the topic of the Pagan Origins of Christian Holidays as a result of that visitation, yet the Biblical Festivals lingered on the edges of our lives, distant echoes of a forgotten rhythm. Now, an urgency seized us. We turned to the feasts, stepping into Passover and preparing for the Feast of Unleavened Bread. The night before the feast, scripture burned before our eyes. Robyn’s voice broke the silence: I got it! Her finger traced the promise, ancient words pulsing with life:

Exodus 23:25-26 (NKJV): So you shall serve the LORD your God, and He will bless your bread and your water. And I will take sickness away from the midst of you. No one shall suffer miscarriage or be barren in your land; I will fulfill the number of your days.

A vow, tied to the feasts (Exodus 23:14-24). A key, hidden in plain sight. Obedience unlocked it—hope flared like a flame in the dark. We knew she would be healed. Four days into the Feast of Unleavened Bread, the bleeding stopped. Her womb was restored, her body reclaimed from the brink. Four months later, the shadow crept back—signs of loss, a fleeting terror. But we stood, unshaken, declaring the healing of the Feast. The bleeding faded within days. A doctor’s visit followed, a test of what we already felt. At first, silence—no heartbeat, no life, the physician’s face tightening with pity. Then, a second look. An ultrasound hummed, and there it was: a child, alive. Daniel Asher, our fourth, now seventeen years old as I write these words.

Four. The number wove through our story like a thread: four months of bleeding, healing on the fourth day, a threat in the fourth month after, and Daniel, our fourth child. In the language of Scripture, four whispers of new creation—a sign, a seal of what God was forging. This was no coincidence. It was a revelation. The feasts, God’s holy days, carried power we’d overlooked, blessings the Church had buried beneath man-made shadows. And there it began—the unveiling.

This book is not a mere recounting. It is a tearing of the veil. My purpose is to expose the hidden roots of Christian holidays—Easter, Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, St. Valentine’s Day, New Year’s Day, Halloween—celebrated across America and beyond. These are not divine decrees but inventions, steeped in pagan soil, anti-Christian at their core. My second aim is to lift high the holidays of the Lord, feasts we are commanded to keep, promises we are expected to claim. This is no condemnation, no muddying of your spirit. It is an awakening—to stir a love for Jesus that burns brighter than the traditions we’ve blindly embraced.

Hosea 4:6 haunts us: My people perish for lack of knowledge. To reject truth is to reject Him who is the Truth (John 14:6). Christians are called to stand apart (Ephesians 5:11), to shun the ways of the heathen (Jeremiah 10:2), to flee every hint of evil (1 Thessalonians 5:22). Why, then, do we cling to holidays laced with darkness? Why do we resist the unveiling? Fear grips us—change is a specter we dread, even as we claim to seek it. Excuses echo: I didn’t know. My church says it’s fine. One voice, a so-called reformer, argues, Our forefathers redeemed pagan days for Christ, a testimony against the heathen. A comforting tale. But what if it’s a lie?

Those forefathers were not the apostles, not the faithful of Jerusalem. They were power-hungry men, pagan Gentiles, and anti-Semites, reshaping a faith born in Jewish soil. Christianity, once a sect of Judaism, was Romanized at Nicaea, over 300 years after the resurrection. They didn’t redeem—they rebranded. Pagan festivals donned saintly masks, their idols grinning beneath the surface. Scripture offers no warrant for this. Keep Christ in Christmas, they cry—but was He ever there? If these days lack God’s voice, why do we twist His Word to defend them? The truth is stark: a name change doesn’t sanctify what’s cursed.

Another voice shrugs, Let every man decide for himself (Romans 14:1-6). But Paul spoke of food and fasting, not feasts or festivals. God’s appointed times—Passover for His death, Tabernacles whispering of His birth—are not ours to rewrite. To choose our own days is to craft idols of convenience. Imagine celebrating your birth on a day not your own, uninvited, unwanted. Would it honor you? Yet billions do this to Christ, staining His name in vain. There is a right way to worship—and a wrong one. This book unveils the gods we’ve unknowingly praised, the holidays we’ve lost, and the call we’ve ignored. Step into the light. The truth waits.

Seventeen years ago, a seed fell into the soil of a sleeping Church. My first book, Reasons for the Seasons: Origins of the Christian Holidays, whispered a radical truth: the holidays we cherish—Easter, Christmas, Halloween—bear the fingerprints of pagan hands. In 2008, such words were met with furrowed brows, clenched fists, and a chorus of denial. But now, as Passover 2025 dawns, the veil is lifting. From Bethlehem, Kentucky, I watch a tide turn—not a mere ripple, but a divine surge. Believers awaken, shedding the husks of tradition for the feasts of the Lord. Families shift. Congregations tremble. Denominations bow. What was fringe is now a fire, burning through the Body of Christ.

The internet, a tangled web of light and shadow, has fueled this reckoning. Evil prowls its depths, yet truth cuts sharper still. Voices rise—reformers anointed to cry, Learn not the way of the heathen (Jeremiah 10:2)—their words amplified by screens and speakers. History unfurls, Scripture thunders, and millions hear. What once hid in dusty tomes now pulses at our fingertips. This book emerges in the thick of it, honed and expanded, a blade for a Church ravenous for purity. The days grow short. The call grows loud. Will you heed it?

2

The Shadows Beneath the Cross

Imagine a world where the gods never fled. A world where the sign of the Cross didn’t banish the ancient powers but invited them in—unseen, unnoticed, their whispers threading through the hymns. To the ordinary eye, the Christian story gleams like a beacon: a divine rupture, a holy thunder that drove pagan deities into the dust, trembling before the name of Jesus. The early Catholic Church wielded this tale like a sword, carving its authority into the stone of history. But what if the truth is darker? What if the festivals we hold sacred, the traditions we clutch, are not the pure