It started the way fears often do—in the corner of someone’s eye.
A coworker sent me a link. "You’ve got to see this," the message said, followed by a flurry of fire and warning emojis. The headline screamed something about credit cards being the mark of the beast. Another article claimed barcodes were, and another pointed fingers at computer chips or political leaders. Always 666, bold and ominous. I looked at my screen, then out the window where trees swayed softly beneath an innocent sky. It didn't feel like the end of the world. But I had a question I couldn’t shake: What does 666 really mean?
Somewhere between pop culture and panic attacks, we’ve lost the heart of what Revelation actually says. But the Bible isn’t trying to frighten us—we do that all on our own. It wants to reveal. To wake up sleepers and settle seekers.
Revelation 13:16–18 says this: "It also forced all people, great and small, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hands or on their foreheads… so that no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark— the name of the beast or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom: Let the one who has insight calculate the number of the beast, because it is the number of a man, and that number is 666."
Wisdom, not worry. That’s what the passage calls for. And yet for generations, people have treated this number like a cosmic barcode scanner—holding their breath at the DMV when the total on their receipt ends in 666, or counting numbers in names to try and match the Antichrist. Maybe you’ve felt that too—the chill that comes from hearing this ancient riddle that feels so near, so unknowable.
But Scripture speaks in symbols as much as in sentences. The book of Revelation belongs to a genre called apocalyptic literature—rich with metaphor, mystery, and coded meaning familiar to the early Christians who first heard it. They knew, for instance, that in Hebrew numerology (called gematria), names could be spelled with numbers. They also knew seven was the number of divine completeness. Which makes six—falling just short—stand for brokenness, human limitation, the counterfeit of what God intended.
Now read that again. “It is the number of a man…” Not a devil, but man. 666 is less about a microchip and more about humanity’s repeated striving to be God without God. It is unholiness in triplicate. The beast wears the number, yes—but don't miss that he's not trying to look terrifying. He’s trying to look powerful. Authoritative. Divine.
Maybe that’s the real warning: the mark isn't just something worn on the skin, but something buried in the heart. It's in the businessman who bends truth to get gain. It’s in the influencer who whispers lies for love. It’s in me—when I trust my own wisdom, my own security, more than my Savior.
The mark isn’t always visible—but it is always a choice.
I once met a woman who wouldn’t take her baby to the hospital because she feared they'd secretly inject him with “the mark.” Her eyes were wide, desperate. But her fear wasn’t born from Scripture—it came from a storm of mistrust and misinformation. I gently opened the Bible with her, read that line aloud again—"This calls for wisdom." She cried when she realized she didn’t need to be afraid anymore.
Friend, you don’t either.
The call of Revelation is not to decode the headlines, but to decide who we will worship. To wear the name of the Lamb, not the beast. To live loyal to Christ when it’s costly, when it’s lonely, when our world bows to lesser kings.
I love how Eugene Peterson once put it: "If there’s a beast, there’s also a Lamb." Darkness will always have its number—but Light has a name.
So don’t fear the numbers on the screen, the politics in the air, or the rumors that burn across the internet. Fear God—with the reverent awe that makes your life lean toward Him like a sunflower finding the morning.
Maybe the mark isn't coming. Maybe it’s already here—in every moment we choose comfort over Christ, security over surrender. But so is grace. So is invitation. Every morning we wake up, we get to choose who we belong to.
You are marked. But your mark isn’t on your hand—it’s written in your heart.
It started the way fears often do—in the corner of someone’s eye.
A coworker sent me a link. "You’ve got to see this," the message said, followed by a flurry of fire and warning emojis. The headline screamed something about credit cards being the mark of the beast. Another article claimed barcodes were, and another pointed fingers at computer chips or political leaders. Always 666, bold and ominous. I looked at my screen, then out the window where trees swayed softly beneath an innocent sky. It didn't feel like the end of the world. But I had a question I couldn’t shake: What does 666 really mean?
Somewhere between pop culture and panic attacks, we’ve lost the heart of what Revelation actually says. But the Bible isn’t trying to frighten us—we do that all on our own. It wants to reveal. To wake up sleepers and settle seekers.
Revelation 13:16–18 says this: "It also forced all people, great and small, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hands or on their foreheads… so that no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark— the name of the beast or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom: Let the one who has insight calculate the number of the beast, because it is the number of a man, and that number is 666."
Wisdom, not worry. That’s what the passage calls for. And yet for generations, people have treated this number like a cosmic barcode scanner—holding their breath at the DMV when the total on their receipt ends in 666, or counting numbers in names to try and match the Antichrist. Maybe you’ve felt that too—the chill that comes from hearing this ancient riddle that feels so near, so unknowable.
But Scripture speaks in symbols as much as in sentences. The book of Revelation belongs to a genre called apocalyptic literature—rich with metaphor, mystery, and coded meaning familiar to the early Christians who first heard it. They knew, for instance, that in Hebrew numerology (called gematria), names could be spelled with numbers. They also knew seven was the number of divine completeness. Which makes six—falling just short—stand for brokenness, human limitation, the counterfeit of what God intended.
Now read that again. “It is the number of a man…” Not a devil, but man. 666 is less about a microchip and more about humanity’s repeated striving to be God without God. It is unholiness in triplicate. The beast wears the number, yes—but don't miss that he's not trying to look terrifying. He’s trying to look powerful. Authoritative. Divine.
Maybe that’s the real warning: the mark isn't just something worn on the skin, but something buried in the heart. It's in the businessman who bends truth to get gain. It’s in the influencer who whispers lies for love. It’s in me—when I trust my own wisdom, my own security, more than my Savior.
The mark isn’t always visible—but it is always a choice.
I once met a woman who wouldn’t take her baby to the hospital because she feared they'd secretly inject him with “the mark.” Her eyes were wide, desperate. But her fear wasn’t born from Scripture—it came from a storm of mistrust and misinformation. I gently opened the Bible with her, read that line aloud again—"This calls for wisdom." She cried when she realized she didn’t need to be afraid anymore.
Friend, you don’t either.
The call of Revelation is not to decode the headlines, but to decide who we will worship. To wear the name of the Lamb, not the beast. To live loyal to Christ when it’s costly, when it’s lonely, when our world bows to lesser kings.
I love how Eugene Peterson once put it: "If there’s a beast, there’s also a Lamb." Darkness will always have its number—but Light has a name.
So don’t fear the numbers on the screen, the politics in the air, or the rumors that burn across the internet. Fear God—with the reverent awe that makes your life lean toward Him like a sunflower finding the morning.
Maybe the mark isn't coming. Maybe it’s already here—in every moment we choose comfort over Christ, security over surrender. But so is grace. So is invitation. Every morning we wake up, we get to choose who we belong to.
You are marked. But your mark isn’t on your hand—it’s written in your heart.
