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Twelve Churches: An Unlikely History of the Buildings That Made Christianity
Karen Armstrong meets Pico Iyer in this sweeping history of Christianity that visits a dozen places of worship on every inhabited continent to tell their often wild stories and examine their sometimes difficult legacies.
Christianity is the largest religion in the US with upwards of 200 million people, and its churches often possess an allure and beauty that fascinate even the most committed atheist. What fascinates Reverend Fergus Butler-Gallie is that each place of worship tells a story—of place, time, and most of all, people. It is in these sanctuaries that the complexities of life from birth and death to power, sex, violence, justice, and beauty are encapsulated, and here, in Twelve Churches, Fergus takes us on a fascinating journey through time to unravel the story of Christianity as told by the people who have lived it on every inhabited continent.
Beginning with the birth of Christ over 2,000 years ago in Bethlehem at the location marked by the Church of the Nativity—a confusing warren of a building—Fergus leads us to a remote stone outcrop in Mount Athos, Greece, where the monastic vow of celibacy is taken to an optimistic extreme by excluding all female animals. We learn that at Canterbury Cathedral, the stones have been soaked in blood that is both famous and infamous. On the coast of Japan, a cave like church marks the spot where Christian martyrs were tied to crosses at low tide—and left there. The 16th Street Church in Birmingham, Alabama, remains the site of one of the Ku Klux Klan’s most infamous bombings, and the meeting house in Salem, Massachusetts, remains a monument to the ways that a quest for purity can lead to mass murder. And in Nigeria we visit a church the size of an airplane hangar, where every Sunday it fills almost every one of its 50,000 seats.
An engaging blend of history, geography, travel, biography, spiritual reflection, and a wry sense of humor, Butler-Gallie shows us that despite its complexities and controversy, such a faith is still worth following, and that by acknowledging the past we can ultimately discover the path toward healing and hope.
Christianity is the largest religion in the US with upwards of 200 million people, and its churches often possess an allure and beauty that fascinate even the most committed atheist. What fascinates Reverend Fergus Butler-Gallie is that each place of worship tells a story—of place, time, and most of all, people. It is in these sanctuaries that the complexities of life from birth and death to power, sex, violence, justice, and beauty are encapsulated, and here, in Twelve Churches, Fergus takes us on a fascinating journey through time to unravel the story of Christianity as told by the people who have lived it on every inhabited continent.
Beginning with the birth of Christ over 2,000 years ago in Bethlehem at the location marked by the Church of the Nativity—a confusing warren of a building—Fergus leads us to a remote stone outcrop in Mount Athos, Greece, where the monastic vow of celibacy is taken to an optimistic extreme by excluding all female animals. We learn that at Canterbury Cathedral, the stones have been soaked in blood that is both famous and infamous. On the coast of Japan, a cave like church marks the spot where Christian martyrs were tied to crosses at low tide—and left there. The 16th Street Church in Birmingham, Alabama, remains the site of one of the Ku Klux Klan’s most infamous bombings, and the meeting house in Salem, Massachusetts, remains a monument to the ways that a quest for purity can lead to mass murder. And in Nigeria we visit a church the size of an airplane hangar, where every Sunday it fills almost every one of its 50,000 seats.
An engaging blend of history, geography, travel, biography, spiritual reflection, and a wry sense of humor, Butler-Gallie shows us that despite its complexities and controversy, such a faith is still worth following, and that by acknowledging the past we can ultimately discover the path toward healing and hope.
416 pages, Hardcover
Published September 9, 2025
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2718 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews
July 4, 2025
Book Review: Twelve Churches: An Unlikely History of the Buildings That Made Christianity
Rating: 4.7/5
Fergus Butler-Gallie’s Twelve Churches is a revelatory journey through time, stone, and spirit—a masterful blend of history, travelogue, and theological reflection that transforms sacred architecture into a living narrative of human ambition, folly, and grace. With the wit of a seasoned raconteur and the insight of an ordained priest, Butler-Gallie crafts a global pilgrimage to a dozen churches, each a microcosm of Christianity’s sprawling, contradictory legacy.
Strengths & Emotional Resonance
The book’s brilliance lies in its humanization of history. Far from dry architectural analysis, each chapter pulses with the lives—and deaths—that shaped these spaces. I was alternately moved by the martyr’s cave in Japan (where tides became executioners), chilled by Salem’s meeting house (a monument to zealotry), and awed by Nigeria’s hangar-sized megachurch, where faith thrives in exuberant modernity. Butler-Gallie’s prose dances between reverence and irreverence, as when he notes Mount Athos’ ban on female animals with a raised eyebrow or juxtaposes Canterbury’s stained-glass saints with its blood-soaked politics. His humor disarms, making complex theological debates accessible without trivializing them.
Thematically, the book excels in exposing Christianity’s dual edges: its capacity for transcendent beauty (Church of the Nativity) and complicity in violence (16th Street Baptist Church). This tension left me grappling with my own reactions—admiration for the faith’s endurance, anger at its betrayals, and hope for its redemption.
Constructive Criticism
While the globe-trotting scope is ambitious, a few chapters feel slightly rushed, particularly those outside Europe/North America. I craved deeper dives into, say, the socio-political context of the Nigerian megachurch or the interplay of indigenous and Christian traditions in Japan. Additionally, the book’s episodic structure, though engaging, occasionally sacrifices narrative cohesion; a concluding synthesis tying these threads more explicitly to contemporary faith struggles would have been powerful.
Final Verdict
Twelve Churches is a triumph of public theology—a work that invites skeptics and believers alike to confront Christianity’s messy, magnificent legacy. Butler-Gallie’s genius is in showing how stones whisper stories, and how those stories demand our attention.
Perfect for:
-Readers of Tom Holland or Karen Armstrong seeking a livelier take on religious history.
-Travelers who see buildings as portals to the past.
-Anyone wrestling with faith’s contradictions—and its stubborn, stubborn hope.
Thank you to Simon & Schuster and Edelweiss for the gifted copy. This is history writing at its most humane and compelling.
Why the near-perfect score?
Originality: 5/5 (A fresh lens on well-trodden ground.)
Depth: 4.5/5 (A few missed opportunities for deeper analysis.)
Prose: 5/5 (Erudite yet cheeky—a rare balance.)
Impact: 4.5/5 (Left me haunted, inspired, and Googling flight deals to Bethlehem.)
A book that builds understanding, one church at a time.
Rating: 4.7/5
Fergus Butler-Gallie’s Twelve Churches is a revelatory journey through time, stone, and spirit—a masterful blend of history, travelogue, and theological reflection that transforms sacred architecture into a living narrative of human ambition, folly, and grace. With the wit of a seasoned raconteur and the insight of an ordained priest, Butler-Gallie crafts a global pilgrimage to a dozen churches, each a microcosm of Christianity’s sprawling, contradictory legacy.
Strengths & Emotional Resonance
The book’s brilliance lies in its humanization of history. Far from dry architectural analysis, each chapter pulses with the lives—and deaths—that shaped these spaces. I was alternately moved by the martyr’s cave in Japan (where tides became executioners), chilled by Salem’s meeting house (a monument to zealotry), and awed by Nigeria’s hangar-sized megachurch, where faith thrives in exuberant modernity. Butler-Gallie’s prose dances between reverence and irreverence, as when he notes Mount Athos’ ban on female animals with a raised eyebrow or juxtaposes Canterbury’s stained-glass saints with its blood-soaked politics. His humor disarms, making complex theological debates accessible without trivializing them.
Thematically, the book excels in exposing Christianity’s dual edges: its capacity for transcendent beauty (Church of the Nativity) and complicity in violence (16th Street Baptist Church). This tension left me grappling with my own reactions—admiration for the faith’s endurance, anger at its betrayals, and hope for its redemption.
Constructive Criticism
While the globe-trotting scope is ambitious, a few chapters feel slightly rushed, particularly those outside Europe/North America. I craved deeper dives into, say, the socio-political context of the Nigerian megachurch or the interplay of indigenous and Christian traditions in Japan. Additionally, the book’s episodic structure, though engaging, occasionally sacrifices narrative cohesion; a concluding synthesis tying these threads more explicitly to contemporary faith struggles would have been powerful.
Final Verdict
Twelve Churches is a triumph of public theology—a work that invites skeptics and believers alike to confront Christianity’s messy, magnificent legacy. Butler-Gallie’s genius is in showing how stones whisper stories, and how those stories demand our attention.
Perfect for:
-Readers of Tom Holland or Karen Armstrong seeking a livelier take on religious history.
-Travelers who see buildings as portals to the past.
-Anyone wrestling with faith’s contradictions—and its stubborn, stubborn hope.
Thank you to Simon & Schuster and Edelweiss for the gifted copy. This is history writing at its most humane and compelling.
Why the near-perfect score?
Originality: 5/5 (A fresh lens on well-trodden ground.)
Depth: 4.5/5 (A few missed opportunities for deeper analysis.)
Prose: 5/5 (Erudite yet cheeky—a rare balance.)
Impact: 4.5/5 (Left me haunted, inspired, and Googling flight deals to Bethlehem.)
A book that builds understanding, one church at a time.
October 30, 2025
This book is really like a 2.5🌟 read for me, but rounded up. The beginning of this book had me hooked, I loved learning about the history surrounding each of the churches. However, the last few strayed away from the history and became more preachy. Discussing instead the future of Christianity and glossing over certain topics that I felt should have been properly discussed, such as televangelist taking mountains of money from people and living in luxury, while the ones they claim to care for barely scrape by (personal opinion). I will still refer this book to my Christian friends as I'm sure they will enjoy it. The last few chapters really killed it for me.
December 17, 2025
Like that drawing of a horse that starts off really good and detailed and interesting but then falls flat in the end.
September 23, 2025
Really, 4.8 stars because the last chapter fell pretty flat for me.
Overall though, an incredible book that synthesizes sooooo much religious, political, and social information to create a nuanced depiction of what Christianity actually is, instead of a sanitized hagiography that brushes off the crusades or Cortez as part of “God’s perfect plan” or some other dismissive one liner.
This is also not a takedown; this book is really good at naming the cynical and sincere applications of faith, and the way that the church can be both root cause and solution for all sorts of societal issues.
I really enjoyed the chapter structure and writing style. This is not a theology book; it uses historical narrative, architectural criticism, and first person description to make its points. That blend of genre is what really worked for me.
Overall though, an incredible book that synthesizes sooooo much religious, political, and social information to create a nuanced depiction of what Christianity actually is, instead of a sanitized hagiography that brushes off the crusades or Cortez as part of “God’s perfect plan” or some other dismissive one liner.
This is also not a takedown; this book is really good at naming the cynical and sincere applications of faith, and the way that the church can be both root cause and solution for all sorts of societal issues.
I really enjoyed the chapter structure and writing style. This is not a theology book; it uses historical narrative, architectural criticism, and first person description to make its points. That blend of genre is what really worked for me.
October 18, 2025
My reflection and review of the book "The Twelve Churches" by Fergus Butler-Gallie.
The Good, the Beautiful, the True: On Twelve Churches and the Lost Beatitudes
Somewhere on a rain-soaked English morning, Fergus Butler-Gallie stands before a church that should not be beautiful. Its stones are battered, its roof patched with a black tar that glistens like a wound. The parish, if it can be called that, consists of a handful of shuffling souls and a memory of better Sunday crowds. Yet, as he writes in “Twelve Churches: An Unlikely History of the Buildings That Made Christianity,” this odd, beloved, improbable house of worship is suffused with something both defiant and tender—a flicker of heaven in the very grit of earth.
In a world allergic to the slow, the sacred, the inconvenient, there is something subversive about a church that simply stands. Not as a monument to itself, but as a vessel for the good, the beautiful, and the true. Butler-Gallie’s twelve churches are not the grand, marble-laden cathedrals of empire. They are places where the paint peels, the heating rattles, the hymnals are mismatched and the welcome—when it comes—is less a ceremony than the shy handshake of ordinary saints.
The Greeks, with their unerring instinct for the heart of things, spoke of three transcendentals: the good, the beautiful, the true. The church, at its most unguarded, is an intersection of all three. It is a place where the battered and the weary find not only comfort, but challenge; not only rest, but a reminder that the world can be more than it is. In the soft hush before a service, the late afternoon light slanting through a window warped by centuries, a person can sense the shimmering possibility of community—of heaven, however fleeting, on earth.
Not long ago, churches were the pulse of the village, the city, the street. They marked time—not just with bells, but with the rhythm of laughter, argument, feast, and silence. The sick were anointed, the dead mourned, the poor fed, the lonely drawn in. These buildings, in their stubborn presence, became the architecture of memory and hope, repositories of ritual and resistance. They were, in the truest sense, collective lungs: a place to breathe, to gather strength, to remember what we might be together that we cannot be alone.
At the heart of this vision—too often obscured by convention or the white noise of routine—are Christ’s Beatitudes and the radical love of Agape. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” he said, not the well-appointed or the impressive. “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Here, in the cracked font and the musty pew, the promise is not of escape but of engagement. A church is not an escape pod from the world’s agony, but a forge for the courage to face it. The Beatitudes are not embroidered platitudes, but a dangerous blueprint for a community that refuses to settle for less than justice, mercy, and peace.
Butler-Gallie, with a historian’s eye and a poet’s heart, lingers on the oddities: the church with a leaking roof, the congregation that sings off-key, the parishioner who argues with the vicar about the placement of a single candle. He finds, in these idiosyncrasies, the pulse of something true—an unvarnished kindness, a stubborn hope. These are not relics, but touchstones. They are “thin places,” in the old Celtic sense: sites where the membrane between this world and another grows thin, and heaven leaks in.
Yet how easily this gets lost. How quickly the church, so alive to the world’s need, becomes a museum of its own best intentions. How easily the good becomes “nice,” the beautiful becomes “tasteful,” the true becomes “unquestioned.” The white noise of convention drowns out the raw music of grace. Churches become places to “be seen” or to hide from the world, not to serve it. The Beatitudes are recited but not risked. Agape is preached but not lived.
Still, the hope remains. In every generation, a remnant remembers what these buildings are for. A child lights a candle for a lost friend. A stranger is welcomed without question. A group of exhausted volunteers cooks for those who have nothing left. The church, in these moments, becomes not a fortress, but a table—wide, unfinished, and full of light.
The challenge, and the invitation, is to recover this vision: to let the church be a place where the good is practiced, the beautiful is created, and the true is sought—even at cost. To let it be a forge for courage, a haven for the weary, a gathering place for those who cannot face the world alone. Not because the building is perfect, but because, in its imperfection, it points us back to the one who blessed the meek, the merciful, the hungry, the peacemakers—and who, in the end, loved without limit.
Butler-Gallie’s churches are unlikely, yes. But they are also necessary. In their stubborn, hopeful presence, they remind us that heaven is not a far country, but a possibility—here, among the broken stones and battered saints, whenever we choose to gather, to love, and to hope.
Leanne Edwards
The Good, the Beautiful, the True: On Twelve Churches and the Lost Beatitudes
Somewhere on a rain-soaked English morning, Fergus Butler-Gallie stands before a church that should not be beautiful. Its stones are battered, its roof patched with a black tar that glistens like a wound. The parish, if it can be called that, consists of a handful of shuffling souls and a memory of better Sunday crowds. Yet, as he writes in “Twelve Churches: An Unlikely History of the Buildings That Made Christianity,” this odd, beloved, improbable house of worship is suffused with something both defiant and tender—a flicker of heaven in the very grit of earth.
In a world allergic to the slow, the sacred, the inconvenient, there is something subversive about a church that simply stands. Not as a monument to itself, but as a vessel for the good, the beautiful, and the true. Butler-Gallie’s twelve churches are not the grand, marble-laden cathedrals of empire. They are places where the paint peels, the heating rattles, the hymnals are mismatched and the welcome—when it comes—is less a ceremony than the shy handshake of ordinary saints.
The Greeks, with their unerring instinct for the heart of things, spoke of three transcendentals: the good, the beautiful, the true. The church, at its most unguarded, is an intersection of all three. It is a place where the battered and the weary find not only comfort, but challenge; not only rest, but a reminder that the world can be more than it is. In the soft hush before a service, the late afternoon light slanting through a window warped by centuries, a person can sense the shimmering possibility of community—of heaven, however fleeting, on earth.
Not long ago, churches were the pulse of the village, the city, the street. They marked time—not just with bells, but with the rhythm of laughter, argument, feast, and silence. The sick were anointed, the dead mourned, the poor fed, the lonely drawn in. These buildings, in their stubborn presence, became the architecture of memory and hope, repositories of ritual and resistance. They were, in the truest sense, collective lungs: a place to breathe, to gather strength, to remember what we might be together that we cannot be alone.
At the heart of this vision—too often obscured by convention or the white noise of routine—are Christ’s Beatitudes and the radical love of Agape. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” he said, not the well-appointed or the impressive. “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Here, in the cracked font and the musty pew, the promise is not of escape but of engagement. A church is not an escape pod from the world’s agony, but a forge for the courage to face it. The Beatitudes are not embroidered platitudes, but a dangerous blueprint for a community that refuses to settle for less than justice, mercy, and peace.
Butler-Gallie, with a historian’s eye and a poet’s heart, lingers on the oddities: the church with a leaking roof, the congregation that sings off-key, the parishioner who argues with the vicar about the placement of a single candle. He finds, in these idiosyncrasies, the pulse of something true—an unvarnished kindness, a stubborn hope. These are not relics, but touchstones. They are “thin places,” in the old Celtic sense: sites where the membrane between this world and another grows thin, and heaven leaks in.
Yet how easily this gets lost. How quickly the church, so alive to the world’s need, becomes a museum of its own best intentions. How easily the good becomes “nice,” the beautiful becomes “tasteful,” the true becomes “unquestioned.” The white noise of convention drowns out the raw music of grace. Churches become places to “be seen” or to hide from the world, not to serve it. The Beatitudes are recited but not risked. Agape is preached but not lived.
Still, the hope remains. In every generation, a remnant remembers what these buildings are for. A child lights a candle for a lost friend. A stranger is welcomed without question. A group of exhausted volunteers cooks for those who have nothing left. The church, in these moments, becomes not a fortress, but a table—wide, unfinished, and full of light.
The challenge, and the invitation, is to recover this vision: to let the church be a place where the good is practiced, the beautiful is created, and the true is sought—even at cost. To let it be a forge for courage, a haven for the weary, a gathering place for those who cannot face the world alone. Not because the building is perfect, but because, in its imperfection, it points us back to the one who blessed the meek, the merciful, the hungry, the peacemakers—and who, in the end, loved without limit.
Butler-Gallie’s churches are unlikely, yes. But they are also necessary. In their stubborn, hopeful presence, they remind us that heaven is not a far country, but a possibility—here, among the broken stones and battered saints, whenever we choose to gather, to love, and to hope.
Leanne Edwards
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October 27, 2025Read about this book in the New Yorker (August 25, 2025): "Twelve Churches, by Fergus Butler-Gallie (Avid Reader). This collection of portraits of twelve churches offers an ambitious retelling of Christianity’s evolution. The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem illustrates the paradoxical nature of a religion that twins life and death, peace and violence, prosperity and poverty; the Hagia Sophia, in Istanbul, illuminates Christianity’s “complicated dance with secular power”; the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, in Birmingham, Alabama, affords a glimpse of how “time and justice are inherently linked” in Christian thought. A wide-ranging final chapter, centered on a megachurch in Nigeria, hidden churches in China, and churches that provide virtual services, explores how hope for the future, especially as articulated in the Book of Revelation, remains fundamental to Christianity’s appeal."
Table of Contents: 1) The Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, West Bank of Palestine 2) St. Peter's, Rome, Italy 3) Hagia Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey 4) Canterbury Cathedral, England 5) Mount Athos, Greece 6) Bete Golgotha, Lalibela, Ethiopia 7) Templo delas Americas, Dominican Republic 8) Kirishitan Hokora, Kasuga, Japan 9) Site of the First Meeting House, Salem, Massachusetts, U.S. 10) Christ Church, Zanzibar, Tanzania 11) 16th Street Baptist Church, Birmingham, Alabama, U.S. 12) Canaanland, Ota, Nigeria EPILOGUE: Surprise, Service, Belonging.
Table of Contents: 1) The Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, West Bank of Palestine 2) St. Peter's, Rome, Italy 3) Hagia Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey 4) Canterbury Cathedral, England 5) Mount Athos, Greece 6) Bete Golgotha, Lalibela, Ethiopia 7) Templo delas Americas, Dominican Republic 8) Kirishitan Hokora, Kasuga, Japan 9) Site of the First Meeting House, Salem, Massachusetts, U.S. 10) Christ Church, Zanzibar, Tanzania 11) 16th Street Baptist Church, Birmingham, Alabama, U.S. 12) Canaanland, Ota, Nigeria EPILOGUE: Surprise, Service, Belonging.
September 29, 2025
Really enjoyed the early chapters, but the last four churches/chapters just could not keep my interest. Overall I was expecting more information about the actual churches and their history and less of a commentary on the state of Christianity at the heyday(s) of each church.
My impression of the book was also influenced by the format in which I read it: a digital advance reading copy (thank you to the publisher). There weren't any pictures of the churches, just a single pencil sketch for each church (perhaps there aren't in the finished version either, but what a missed opportunity if so) and it didn't lend itself to being able to easily flip to the references and gain the additional insight some of the footnotes contained. The "Dramatis Personae" section at the end was an excellent idea...too bad I didn't realize it was there until after I finished the book.
Overall, a good book that I would recommend to a select audience. If it had ended a couple of chapters earlier or contained photographs I would bump the rating up to 4 stars.
My impression of the book was also influenced by the format in which I read it: a digital advance reading copy (thank you to the publisher). There weren't any pictures of the churches, just a single pencil sketch for each church (perhaps there aren't in the finished version either, but what a missed opportunity if so) and it didn't lend itself to being able to easily flip to the references and gain the additional insight some of the footnotes contained. The "Dramatis Personae" section at the end was an excellent idea...too bad I didn't realize it was there until after I finished the book.
Overall, a good book that I would recommend to a select audience. If it had ended a couple of chapters earlier or contained photographs I would bump the rating up to 4 stars.
July 11, 2025
12 edifices, each unique but all sharing a common thread, Christianity.
Taking on a conversational tone with reader, the author examines structures ranging from a monk only community to St. Peter’s Basilica. He doesn’t lecture the reader but rather invites his audience along to learn about history and historical figures. The latter lives are more than just names and dates.
Enjoyed when he inserted his personal interactions with those he met along the way. Learned alot from this read.
This ARC was provided by the publisher,
Avid Reader Press | Avid Reader Press / Simon & Schuster via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
Taking on a conversational tone with reader, the author examines structures ranging from a monk only community to St. Peter’s Basilica. He doesn’t lecture the reader but rather invites his audience along to learn about history and historical figures. The latter lives are more than just names and dates.
Enjoyed when he inserted his personal interactions with those he met along the way. Learned alot from this read.
This ARC was provided by the publisher,
Avid Reader Press | Avid Reader Press / Simon & Schuster via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
November 29, 2025
An excellent discussion and description of major moral qualities that are connected to (and displayed at) 12 churches around the world. Some are very old, others new (within a few decades of now) e.g. beauty, power, profit, purity, hope. The exposition is a reflective spiritual biography of the author as well as a reflective analysis of how Christianity, as represented by these churches, has maintained its spiritual beginnings, changed (for the better or worse) in various times, and responded to and is a response by the various cultures and peoples of the world and time.
December 22, 2025
This book sneaks up on the reader. You start out thinking it's a faith-travelogue of assorted Christian sites, but soon you realize that it's a thoughtful series of homilies on how the church got from there to here, and the role Christianity played vis-a-vis power, sex, money, etc. over the years and how that interplay has impacted the world today. If I weren't such a skeptic...
October 20, 2025
An incredible book, a beautiful journey through the ages. Sometimes challenging, sometimes funny, always interesting.
Want to read
December 15, 2025As someone who has never found God in the church, maybe I haven't been to the right one. I only read the chapter on Alabama (since its closest). Perhaps I'll return to this.
November 13, 2025
I was drawn in by the framing of the book around significant church buildings. While it was a clever concept, the text fell short for me. It was darker and less hopeful than I was anticipating; although, I suppose that might be on me to not realize how depressing church history was going to be.
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews