If you love “‘Followers, don’t scroll,’” the woman in the video gently pleads, pointing to a picture of one of the followers, the yellow, bean-like, noseless, bespectacled creatures who form a I am despicable Privilege, washing the feet of another follower. Both followers are wearing robes and look like extras in Jesus Christ Superstar.
“Directly above me is a picture of a creature washing another creature’s feet,” says singer-songwriter Kalkidan Radford quietly. “But we know the creature never did it. But let me tell you who did it: Jesus.” Radford goes on to invite her followers to accept Jesus into their hearts and leave a comment to that effect, encouraging them to subscribe to learn more.
To say that the purpose of the video is unclear is an understatement. Is it an AI-powered attention grabber? A serious attempt to spread the gospel? Or a massively misleading campaign for branded content? I'm despicable 4? Commenters on Radford's video weren't satisfied with that, but asked: “How do you know a Minion has never done that? They're complicated creatures.” Another asked: “Okay, but can I put Minion feet in my mouth?”
Even more confusing is the template used in Radford’s video—essentially an AI-generated image of a Christ-like figure on the cross, washing a devotee’s feet, or touching the hem of someone else’s robe—that has been replicated across short-form video platforms by dozens of other Christian creators, almost verbatim. Some videos introduce the image by explaining that “the animator was joking” and created the image by accident, as if creating a Universal Studios character being crucified is as easy as tripping over a shoelace. Others take the time to describe the image in almost ridiculous detail, like the nails piercing “Jesus’ three little yellow toes,” or the crown of thorns surrounding his dome. But all use the same lure and substitution: Sure, Jesus may not have died for your sins, but you know who did? Jesus. And if that message (in some way) resonates with you, feel free to like, comment, and subscribe.
The rise of Christian memes on TikTok, and to some extent Instagram, has puzzled many online. Some have attributed the strangely repetitive nature of the videos to the “dead internet theory,” or the idea that nothing on the internet is real and that everything is created and reproduced by artificial intelligence or bots; others have speculated that all the influencers may be working in unison to preach the same specific iconography.
The popularity of the crucified Minions videos bears a striking resemblance to the AI-generated “Jesus shrimp” meme, a disturbing combination of Jesus Christ and a crustacean that briefly went viral on Facebook, sparking a discourse about the rise of AI-generated spam and engagement farming. While many commentators have speculated whether the Minions videos were similarly AI-generated, they don’t appear to be, though that doesn’t mean AI wasn’t used in the “creation, editing, and post-production” of the clips, says a spokesperson for deepfake detection software company Reality Defender. Rolling Stone.
But what everyone agrees on is this: 1) The videos get a fair amount of engagement (one, by digital marketer and self-described Christian influencer Tracy Coston, has over 132,000 views on TikTok alone), and 2) They’re pretty weird. “They’re using this technique that tends to work really well on short-form video platforms where you have some sort of eye-catching image at the top and the person talking at the bottom,” says Don Caldwell, editor-in-chief of the meme-explanation database Know Your Meme. These types of videos, like the viral clips that use footage from the Subway Surfer mobile app, take advantage of viewers’ short attention spans by combining storytelling with eye-catching imagery, thereby increasing watch time, Caldwell explains: “And then you have a similar thing going on with the image of the creature being crucified. It’s pretty weird.”
According to Caldwell, the most widely shared image in TikTok videos of Minions—a Minion dying on a cross—was not an AI, but a 3D rendering by an artist named Americo Cruz, who posted it to Facebook in 2021 with the caption, “In Minions We Trust.” The image went viral, in part because it referenced a rich online history of Facebook users—mostly baby boomers—making silly memes about Minions. “There were all these posts on Facebook of moms posting some kind of cheesy stuff with Minions in the background,” Caldwell says. “And then there were all these sarcastic memes that came out of that.”
But what sets the Minion Crucifixion memes apart is that they don’t seem to be satirical at all—in fact, they seem dead serious. While none of the creators I reached out to responded to requests for comment, the memes seem to be using the iconography of the irony-intoxicated millennial and baby boomer generation to deliver a serious message about Jesus Christ, much like your youth pastor might. The Simpsons Quotes in his sermons.
Using popular cultural iconography in evangelism is not at all uncommon on social media. (It's not even uncommon in mainstream culture.) I am despicable Caldwell points out that videos depicting crucified Minions on TikTok are not much different from the so-called “Mormon MomTok,” where young women born into the church post a mix of dances, drawings, and implicit or explicit endorsements of the church.
Are videos of Minions on the cross actually intended to evangelize? If so, Caldwell speculates, he doesn’t think they’re effective: “I bet it’s not going to get anyone to convert or renew their faith or anything like that. I think it’s mostly an attention economy.” But what is an attention economy if not a form of evangelism in its own right? After all, if just one person is moved by the plight of a crucified Minion to stop scrolling and listen to the good word before accepting Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior—or at least, moved enough to leave a lewd comment about wanting dirty yellow Minions’ feet in their mouths—then maybe it’s worth the effort for these influencers.
