🚨 HOLY SHOCKER: The The Chosen Season 6 trailer and newly surfaced scenes have just dropped — and they’re absolutely heartbreaking. 😭✝️ Jesus is shown being arrested in the garden. The disciples scatter in fear. The high priests tighten their grip as tension reaches a breaking point. The long-foreshadowed moment viewers have been bracing for is drawing painfully near — and the emotional weight of what’s coming next is impossible to ignore. 👇👇👇

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The long-awaited trailer and newly leaked scenes for **The Chosen** Season 6 have finally surfaced, sending shockwaves through the global fanbase with their raw, heartbreaking intensity. Titled in fervent online discussions as the “holy shocker” moment fans have both anticipated and dreaded, the footage plunges viewers into the darkest hours of Jesus’ life: the betrayal and arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane, disciples fleeing in terror, high priests closing in with malice, and the inexorable approach of the trial, scourging, and crucifixion that every believer knows is coming.

A recent trailer compilation and “leaked” clips—shared across YouTube channels and fan communities as of January 2026—capture the emotional weight of these pivotal biblical events. Jesus (portrayed with profound vulnerability by Jonathan Roumie) is shown in the garden, sweat like drops of blood falling as he prays in agony. The kiss of Judas seals the betrayal, Roman soldiers and temple guards swarm, and chaos erupts. Peter draws his sword in desperation, only for Jesus to rebuke him and heal the ear of the high priest’s servant. The disciples scatter into the night, faces etched with fear and confusion, while Jesus is bound and led away. One particularly gut-wrenching moment teases the high priests’ interrogation, with Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin pressing in, their accusations sharp and unrelenting.

The Chosen Season 6 Trailer (2026): The Last Days of Jesus!

Dallas Jenkins, the show’s creator and director, has been candid about the season’s difficulty. In late 2025 livestreams and interviews, he described Season 6 as “the hardest thing we’ve ever done,” emphasizing scenes that are “not going to be easy.” A November 2025 sneak peek clip depicted Jesus being struck for the first time during questioning, a moment Jenkins acknowledged would be painful to watch. “It’s going to be a hard season,” he said, “but it’s also a season about the greatest act of love that’s ever been committed in the history of the world.” These words echo through the new footage, where the brutality is balanced by flashes of divine compassion—Jesus’ calm amid the storm, his forgiveness even as betrayal unfolds.

**The Chosen**, the groundbreaking multi-season series chronicling the life of Jesus through the eyes of those who knew him, has built an unprecedented following since its 2017 crowdfunding launch. Now streaming on Prime Video, the free Chosen app, and other platforms, it has redefined faith-based entertainment with its intimate, character-driven storytelling. Seasons 1-5 explored miracles, teachings, and growing opposition; Season 5 culminated in the triumphal entry and Last Supper buildup. Season 6 shifts decisively into the Passion narrative, covering the final days leading to the cross.

Filming wrapped in mid-September 2025 after an arduous production in Italy and other locations, with Jenkins noting the crucifixion scenes required unprecedented care and scale. Recent updates confirm the season’s unique release strategy: the first six episodes are slated to stream on Prime Video in the second half of 2026 (exact date TBD, though speculation points to fall). The supersized finale—depicting the crucifixion—will premiere as a standalone theatrical feature film on March 12, 2027, distributed by Amazon MGM Studios. Season 7, focusing on the resurrection, is set for a theatrical kickoff on March 31, 2028 (Easter weekend), before streaming.

Fans are reeling from the trailer’s emotional punch. Social media erupts with reactions: “I’m not ready for this heartbreak,” “Tissues on standby—Season 6 is going to destroy us,” and “Jonathan Roumie’s performance is already breaking my heart.” The leaked scenes amplify the dread—slow-motion shots of the garden arrest, the disciples’ panicked flight, Peter’s denial looming on the horizon. Yet, amid the sorrow, there’s reverence: Jesus’ quiet strength, the loyalty of a few like John and Mary Magdalene, and the undercurrent of hope that this pain leads to redemption.

The Chosen' Season 6 Finale To Be Released As Feature Film

The series’ success lies in humanizing the story without diminishing its divinity. Viewers have grown attached to the apostles—Peter’s impulsiveness, John’s tenderness, Mary’s devotion—and seeing them falter under pressure hits hard. The high priests’ scheming, Judas’ regretful torment, and Pilate’s eventual involvement promise layered drama. Jenkins has promised authenticity, drawing from Scripture while adding emotional depth that makes the familiar events feel visceral and new.

As the “moment we’ve all dreaded” draws nearer, **The Chosen** Season 6 stands as both a trial of faith for its characters and its audience. After five seasons of miracles, teachings, and community, this chapter confronts the cost of following Jesus. The trailer doesn’t shy from the suffering—arrest, mockery, physical abuse—but it frames it within love’s ultimate victory.

Whether through streaming or the big screen, Season 6 promises to be unforgettable. Fans are bracing themselves, prayerfully preparing for the tears and inspiration ahead. The end is near, but so is the greatest hope. In the words of countless viewers: Bring tissues, hold your faith close—this is going to be profoundly moving.

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What Iraq Finally Admitted About M1 Abrams Night Vision After 23 Minutes of Annihilation… The desert night was absolute darkness. Not the kind of darkness city dwellers…

German Troops Were Left in Shock as U.S. 240mm Howitzers Reduced Their Fortresses to Rubble — January 30, 1944… Anzio Beachhead, Italy. The pencil trembled in Hedman Vera Hoffman’s hand as he pressed against the concrete wall of his command bunker, recording what he had just witnessed through the observation periscope. The Americans possess artillery of unimaginable power. Bunker Louisa no longer exists. 4 ft of reinforced concrete gone in an instant. Through smoke and dust, he could see the crater where the strong point had stood for 8 months. The bunker, rated to withstand direct hits from 210 mm shells, according to Vermach engineering standards, had been deleted from existence by a single round from an American superheavy gun, firing from beyond visual range. 32 men of the third Panza Grenadier Division had vanished along with tons of concrete and steel. The weapon responsible was the M1240 mm howitzer, making its combat debut with the 697th Field Artillery Battalion. What Hoffman and thousands of German defenders would discover in the coming months was that every assumption about fortification warfare had become obsolete overnight. The US Army had deployed a weapon that could transform the strongest bunker into a tomb with mathematical precision. The M1240 mm howitzer emerged from a 1940 US Army Ordinance study that reached a stark conclusion. Existing American artillery could not defeat modern European fortifications. The largest gun then available, the 155 mm long tom, could damage but not reliably destroy reinforced concrete bunkers that were becoming standard in German defensive doctrine. The specifications demanded seemed impossible. A mobile weapon firing a 360lb shell over 14 m with sufficient accuracy to hit individual bunkers capable of penetrating 6 ft of reinforced concrete. The entire system had to be transportable by standard military vehicles. Unlike the massive railway guns of World War I, what emerged from Waterfleet Arsenal in New York was an engineering masterpiece. Weighing 64,700 lb in firing position, the M1 required a crew of 14 men and could fire one round every 3 minutes when operating at maximum efficiency. The barrel alone weighed 23,000 lb and measured 35 ft in length, requiring specialized transport on a six- wheeled wagon. Setup time averaged 8 hours, including excavation of a recoil pit and assembly using the specialized M2 crane that accompanied each weapon. Production began in November 1942 with six pilot models. By 1944, Waterflight Arsenal had achieved a production rate of 13 guns per month, ultimately manufacturing exactly 315 units before production ceased in August 1945. Each gun cost $380,000, equivalent to 12 Sherman tanks, but their strategic value would prove incalculable. The 697th and 698th Field Artillery Battalions arrived at the Anzio Beach head in January 1944, bringing the first M1 240 mm howitzers to combat. The German 14th Panza Corps had transformed the surrounding hills into a fortress system with interlocking bunkers commanding every approach to the Allied positions. On January 30th, 1944, at 14:30 hours, the 697th fired the first 240 mm round in combat, targeting a German observation post on the Alburn Hills. The round traveled 23,000 yd over 13 mi and scored a direct hit. The bunker along with its observation equipment and crew ceased to exist. Major Herman E. Smith, commanding the 697th, documented the weapon’s psychological impact in his unit history. After our first day of firing, German prisoners reported complete demoralization in their units. They spoke of earthquake shells that made the ground shake for hundreds of meters around impact. Many refused to occupy bunkers after witnessing our strikes. The mathematics of destruction at Anzio were precisely recorded. Read the full article below in the comments

January 30th, 1944. Anzio Beachhead, Italy. The pencil trembled in Hedman Vera Hoffman’s hand as he pressed against the concrete wall of his command bunker, recording what…

The German Pilot Who Accidentally Landed on a British RAF Airfield and Changed WWII in 5 Minutes… On June 23rd, 1942, the sky over South Wales looked harmless—scattered cumulus clouds, pale sunlight, a calm afternoon that belonged to farmers and fishermen, not to war. But at roughly 180 miles west of London, a shadow tore across those clouds like a wounded hawk. It was a Focke-Wulf FW 190, the Luftwaffe’s newest pride, the fighter Allied pilots whispered about with a kind of dread. Its engine didn’t roar cleanly the way a healthy aircraft should. It sputtered, coughing irregularly, pushing out bursts of black smoke that smeared the sky behind it like ink. Inside the cramped cockpit, Oberleutnant Armin Faber—only 22 years old—tasted copper in his mouth and felt his hands slipping on the stick from sweat. His palms were slick. His throat was dry. His heartbeat thudded so hard he could feel it in his jaw. The cockpit smelled like hot oil and stress, the sharp metallic tang of fear, and the faint sting of cordite that seemed to cling to everything once the guns had fired. Faber’s vision kept darting from the horizon to his gauges, then back again, like a man looking for a door in a burning house. The compass needle was spinning erratically, useless. A mocking little instrument that should have been his anchor, now twirling like a drunk dancer. The fuel gauge sat dangerously close to empty, and he could feel the aircraft’s behavior changing by the second—lighter, twitchier, unstable in the way only a starving engine can be. Faber didn’t know it yet, but the next six minutes would become a legend. In less than the time it took to smoke a cigarette, he would place the Third Reich’s most advanced fighter aircraft intact on British soil—alive, breathing, captured—while RAF personnel stared at him as if the sky itself had made a mistake. And not a single RAF officer would believe what they were seeing. Because the hook—if anyone had been writing it—was already carved into the air above Wales: A German ace fleeing for his life. A British airfield preparing for a routine training day. And a landing so catastrophic for the Luftwaffe that it would shift the balance of aerial combat for the rest of the war. But right now, Faber could only think about one thing. Finding the coast of France before his fuel tanks ran completely dry and his burning fighter became his coffin. His mission had begun forty minutes earlier from Morlaix airfield in occupied Brittany—standard escort duty, protecting bombers returning from a raid on Plymouth. The kind of mission that had become routine in the grinding rhythm of the air war: climb, patrol, escort, pray, return. Nothing glamorous. Nothing heroic. Just survival repeated until luck ran out. And nothing had been standard since Britain refused to surrender. Every patrol over the Channel felt like rolling dice with death. One mistake, one unlucky burst of cannon fire, one patch of cloud at the wrong moment, and the game ended in flames. This afternoon, the dice came up British. The Spitfires struck from the clouds with murderous precision. Fast, elegant, relentless. Faber saw them too late—silver shapes diving out of bright sky, cannons flashing, tracers cutting lines through air. His wingman took rounds through the engine. Black smoke poured out in thick trails as the aircraft peeled away toward home, wounded and sinking. Faber jerked his stick hard right, feeling the FW 190 respond like a beast trying to throw a rider. Cannon fire punched holes through his wing. He heard it more than he felt it—thuds and sharp snaps like someone hitting metal with a hammer. Then his radio died with a sudden electronic squeal, a final shriek before silence. In the same instant, he realized he’d lost more than a wingman and a radio. He’d lost orientation. He dove into a cloud bank, using instinct and training, letting the aircraft fall and twist and vanish into white. The Spitfires followed for a moment, then broke off. He shook them—barely—through raw nerve and muscle memory. And when the cloud cleared and sunlight returned, the nightmare began. He had no idea where he was. His fuel was hemorrhaging from a punctured line. The engine was alive, but sick, like a man running on adrenaline after being stabbed. His radio was dead. His compass was spinning like a curse. The French coast—the safe line of salvation—was nowhere. The FW 190 shuddered again, coughing like a sick animal. Faber looked down at the fuel pressure needle and felt cold fear slide into his stomach. The pressure was dropping fast. Too fast. He scanned the horizon, squinting through smoke-hazed goggles, praying for the familiar outline of coastline—the shape of France, the certainty of friendly territory, any recognizable landmark. Instead he saw water. A channel. Silver-blue water stretching between two land masses. To Faber’s desperate mind, it was a gift. It had to be the English Channel. It had to be. Because if there was the Channel, then France couldn’t be far. He banked left and followed the water eastward, convinced he was paralleling the French coast. But what Armin Faber saw wasn’t the English Channel. It was the Bristol Channel. And the land beneath him wasn’t occupied France. It was Wales……

The German Pilot Who Accidentally Landed on a British RAF Airfield and Changed WWII in 5 Minutes On June 23rd, 1942, the sky over South Wales looked harmless—scattered cumulus clouds,…

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