Ages to Come and the End of the Age

When Peter stood up at Pentecost and quoted the prophet Joel, declaring, “In the last days, I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh,” he was not merely echoing an ancient prophecy. He was naming a seismic shift in the spiritual and cosmic order. Those listening to him may have thought he was referring to the imminent end of the world, but Peter, steeped in Jewish apocalyptic expectation and shaped by the presence of the risen Christ, was bearing witness to something much deeper. He was standing at the end of one age and the dawn of another—the closing moments of the Age of Aries and the birth pangs of the Age of Pisces. Just as the early followers of Jesus were awakening to a new consciousness and entering into a new spiritual reality, many today, particularly among evangelicals, are waking up to another great transition: the slow but steady waning of the Piscean Age and the faint but rising light of a new era.

Paul would later write of these realities with the language of “this present evil age” and “the age to come.” He spoke of the “end of the age” and of “ages to come,” not with a precise calendar in mind, but with a sense of being caught in the middle of a great spiritual unfolding. For him, the old age—bound by law, death, and separation from God—was passing away. A new age, defined by grace, Spirit, and union with the divine, had been inaugurated in Christ. Paul’s cosmos was layered with meaning; the material world was not merely physical but charged with spiritual forces. He saw the crucifixion and resurrection not just as historical events but as the turning point of the cosmos. In Christ, the axis of the ages had shifted. Those who believed were not just adherents of a new religion—they were citizens of a new age.

The term “aion” in the Greek—used by Paul and others—carries this dual meaning of time and world-system. It suggests both the duration of an epoch and the spiritual atmosphere that defines it. When Paul speaks of the “present evil aion,” he isn’t merely referring to bad politics or hard times, but to a spiritual condition under the influence of powers that resist divine transformation. Likewise, his vision of the “ages to come” is not a simplistic heaven-after-death narrative but a vision of ongoing unfolding realities, deeper dimensions of grace, and expanding awareness of the divine.

Now, two thousand years later, we find ourselves again in a liminal space—standing at the threshold of the end of an age. The Age of Pisces, which began around the time of Jesus, is slowly giving way to a new epoch. Many modern astrologers and esoteric thinkers associate the Age of Pisces with themes of faith, sacrifice, martyrdom, and spiritual devotion. It was an age that birthed Christianity, monastic mysticism, institutional religion, and collective faith structures. But its shadow side has also become increasingly visible: hierarchical systems, dogmatic rigidity, and a fixation on vicarious redemption. Evangelicals in particular are beginning to sense that something is amiss. The old certainties no longer comfort; the inherited doctrines no longer breathe life. There is a stirring, a hunger, and for some, a crisis.

And yet, just as Peter’s proclamation of the “last days” was not the end of time but the end of an age, so too might this moment we’re living in be understood. What we are seeing among many today is not merely deconstruction or rebellion—it is awakening. Just as the Spirit was poured out at Pentecost and people spoke in new tongues, so too are people today speaking new spiritual languages—languages of consciousness, of unity, of inner knowing. Many evangelicals, long trained to distrust their intuition and submit to external authority, are now learning to trust the indwelling Christ, the inner witness of the Spirit. They are rediscovering what Paul meant when he spoke of being “crucified with Christ, and yet I live—not I, but Christ lives in me.” They are realizing that faith is not so much belief in dogma, but participation in divine life.

This awakening is not happening outside of time; it is deeply rooted in it. Just as the Age of Aries was symbolized by the ram—linked to sacrifice, courage, and law—and gave way to Pisces, symbolized by the fish—linked to faith, compassion, and mysticism—so too is a new symbol on the horizon. The old forms are breaking down, not because truth has failed, but because truth is transforming. What we thought was the gospel was often a dim shadow of the deeper mystery—that Christ came not to rescue us from an angry God but to awaken us to our shared divine origin, to restore our memory of who we are.

In this way, Peter’s words echo through time. They were true then, and they may be true again: these are the last days—not the end of the world, but the end of an age. And just as the Spirit was poured out before, so it is being poured out again. Not confined to temples or denominations, but rising in yoga studios, in meditation circles, in late-night questions about existence, in whispered prayers and silent realizations. Something holy is stirring. The last days of Pisces are not a time for fear but for awakening. The Spirit has not left; it is brooding once more over the deep, preparing to birth something beautiful again.