Most assume that the difference between Greek literature and the Semitic Scrolls, written in Biblical Hebrew, Aramaic, and Qurʾanic Arabic, lies in narrative. It does not. Narrative is the veil, a carrier wave for what remains unseen. Everything hinges on lexicography. The decisive divide is grammatical.Greek “meaning” is a conceptually “built” construct, grounded in philosophical abstraction and analytic inference. Semitic function emerges from triliteral consonantal roots that test, constrain, and judge the observer. Greek vocabulary operates within a narrow conceptual field, like a teenager wearing a VR headset, viewing an AI paradise while sitting in a garbage heap. Semitic vocabulary operates within an open functional field. The same teenager with the headset removed, discovering he sits in an open field among living, breathing things, where biblical roots carry behavioral consequences.This becomes immediately visible in Luke 8:47. The single Greek verb λανθάνω (lanthano) activates a constellation of six distinct Hebrew roots:ע־ל־ם (ʿayin-lamed-mem, hiddenness)מ־ע־ל (mem-ʿayin-lamed, covert breach)צ־פ־ן (ṣade-fe-nun, stashing, treasuring)ע־ד־ר (ʿayin-dalet-resh, missing from the count)כ־ח־ד (kaf-ḥet-dalet, concealment from the king)ר־א־ה (resh-ʾalef-he, divine seeing)That Scripture draws on such a wide Semitic field to express “not escaping notice” shows how seriously the biblical tradition treats hiddenness and uncovering. Each root contributes a different functional angle: what is hidden to humans, what is hidden in betrayal, what is hidden as hoarded, what is missing from the tally, what is concealed from authority, and what is seen by God. The phenomenon is not Greek versus Hebrew. Multiple Semitic operations of judgment underwrite a single functional moment in Luke. This density is lexical, not narrative, let alone speculative. It reflects how the Semitic system encodes the living, breathing reality around us.Across the Abrahamic scrolls, these triliteral roots operate like living tissue. They replicate, invert, intensify, and map action to consequence. Hidden sin is traceable in Hebrew because ע־ל־ם (ʿayin-lamed-mem) is not a metaphor but a function. It moves. The Qurʾan does the same with خ-ف-ي (khāʾ-fāʾ-yāʾ) and غ-ف-ل (ghayn-fāʾ-lām). Luke’s Greek lexicon operates because a biological Hebrew bone structur

Human beings have always prided themselves on the advantage gained from possessing knowledge that others lack. We boast of being smarter, more informed, more enlightened—as if we were the elite guardians of some secret insight reserved for our sect, our institution, or our circle. Whether the advantage lies in religious doctrine, education, status, political ideology, or modern technology, it always devolves into the same pattern: insiders against outsiders, the few who “know” against the many who do not.From ancient cults, esoteric associations, and manufactured religions (steeped in symbols wrongly appropriated from sacred texts) to modern marketing campaigns promising the “secret to success,” humanity’s obsession with exclusive knowledge endures. Yet all of it is vanity—corruption and folly dressed as wisdom. Whether through ritual, ideology, or playground-style cliques, every claim to possess hidden knowledge and to exercise control over others is sublime vanity, doomed to folly.There is only one source of knowledge—the Father of all—and he alone is the fountain of might, power, and strength. Scripture repeats this warning at every turn, and when human beings ignore it, all things collapse in ruin. The arrogant, trusting in themselves, gleefully amplify human chaos in opposition to him, emboldened by misguided self-confidence.Indeed, their knowledge springs from self-importance, and their strength from oppression. In their false eschaton, the work of men’s hands turns to dust, even as the God of Abraham remains—ever present, all-knowing, all-wise, and all-powerful. Moreover, as Matthew wrote, this God stands as the enemy of those among them who invoke his name, “Lord, Lord.”But Yahweh, our Elohim, is always in control despite the schemes of Baal’s followers who deceive the devout who have fallen for the institutions he destroys.“For they plan, and God plans; and God is the best of planners.”وَمَكَرُوا وَمَكَرَ اللَّهُ، وَاللَّهُ خَيْرُ الْمَاكِرِينَwa-makarū wa-makara llāhu, wa-llāhu khayru l-mākirīn(Qurʾan, Surat Āl ʿImrān سورة آل عمران “The Family of Imran” 3:54)Every time the human being seizes power or claims insight as his own, the result is the same: pride, decay, and judgment. Yet each collapse becomes Elohim’s opportunity to remind us of his immutable sovereignty. He alone commands and restores. As it is written by Paul’s right hand:“God is not mocked.” (Galatians

The thorns in Luke press and threaten. They are the self-referential swarm posing as a flock: the so-called “community” that gathers to its own voice, circling death, mistaking its stench for sweetness, even as it strangles the one bearing the seed.These are the thorns.But the roots are of another kind. They spring up from the seed itself. A daughter of Israel, fruit of the Master’s vine, afflicted for twelve years, who cannot live apart from him. She is not self-referential. She does not reach out to harm, nor to press her point, nor to insist upon herself. Though she is a daughter, she does not presume the right to cross the boundary set by what is sacred. She does not assume she is equal, much less above.The threat that governs this boundary is the same one given to the priest in the wilderness:“The outsider who draws near shall be put to death.” (Numbers 3:10, 38; 17:13).It is the earth of creation itself under his Command. Life and death hinge on reference to him, which becomes submission. Absent reference, submission collapses into the “crowd of thorns”—the ʿedah swarming carrion, the lynch mob, the beloved neo-pagan “community.” The priest stands at the edge of that body: assigned to draw near, yet living under the same threat that borders the sanctuary. For proximity to what is holy is not possession of it. To approach on one’s own terms is to perish; to be drawn near in obedience is to live.Pressure exposes the heart of this law. In Numbers, Balaam’s donkey pressed his foot against the wall because she saw what he could not. The pressure revealed the blindness of the man and the sight of the donkey. In Luke, the crowd presses upon Jesus, but he perceives what they cannot: the deliberate touch of the one who steps forward in faith. The same pressure that blinds the self-referential reveals the one who truly sees.The thorns in Luke do not understand this law. They confuse nearness with ownership and approach with entitlement. Like the outsider who encroaches upon the altar, they rush forward without Command: pressing, consuming, swarming as if circling carrion. Their nearness is self-initiated; therefore, they take life.But the daughter, like the biblical root sprung from the seed of the Sower, is drawn near by the Command. She approaches not to take but to receive. Unlike the thorns, she does not presume to cross the boundary by “right.” She draws near as an offering, not as an inv

The functional path of oneness is not an abstract unity but a lived encounter of utter dependence. Western thought, enslaved by the grammar of the Anglo-Saxons, treats the human as an individual: a self-contained atom, an object unto itself. It imagines freedom as isolation, and isolation as freedom. But this supposed independence becomes sterility: the atomized person, cut off from the Shepherd’s breath, is lost in a sea of thorns, choked by its own irrelevance.True independence lies not in the language of atoms but in the biology of divine anatomies, in the irreducibility of God’s living functions. The Semitic root does not define a solitary “one” but a functional, dependent, and connected one. Every creature is undoubtedly one, yet cannot sustain itself any more than a cell can live apart from the body.As the body cannot live without its head, the tree without the earth withers.The triliteral root—three consonants binding the Tree of Life to the Master who gives it breath—embodies this living unity. Each consonant functions only in relation to the others; none can speak alone. Like branches drawing life through hidden roots, utility flows from dependence on him, not autonomy.In this linguistic body, the Semitic scrolls convey the unity of divine oneness: connection without possession, coherence without control. To be yaḥid is to be fragile, dependent, and open without self-reference: the earthen vessel through which the breath of ha-ʾEḥad flows.Western language, by contrast, breeds an unconscious polytheism of the self. When every person becomes an independent atom, the world fills with gods. Each will asserts its own dominion; each word competes for sovereignty. Polytheism, at its base, is war: the multiplication of possessive wills in endless collision. The Lukan crowd becomes a pantheon of thorns, a battlefield of competing gods. The soil of faith is twisted into a field of confrontation, where the multitude gathers against the Lord and his Christ to suffocate the one who brings the life-giving breath of his instruction.Yet within that suffocating crowd stands the yaḥid, Jairus, whose “only daughter”—his yeḥidah—lies dying. His lineage collapses; his name withers. Yet in this desolation, he does not press or grasp; he kneels before the “one.” There, in the stillness of dependence, the breath returns, and the Shepherd that the cares of this life cannot choke breathes life

The obsession of Western spirituality with forgiveness—therapeutic forgiveness—is an obsession with the self. With control. With the usurpation of God’s throne by human power. It domesticates God, it drags wisdom into abstraction, it ties it down, it entangles it in comfort for the self, and multiplies suffering for others.But Scripture cuts the knot. Forgiveness from the cross is not therapy. It is release. Its root, ἀφίημι (aphiemi), to let go, to remit, to release, shatters settlement. It refuses possession. It suspends judgment.To release guilt through forgiveness. Nūḥ (نُوح) preaches divine مغفرة (maghfira), a release, a remission, the undoing of claim. The Gospels speak the same: ἀφίημι (aphiemi). And on the cross, Jesus says: “Father, ἄφες (aphes) them” (Luke 23:34). Not to soothe himself. Not to achieve “closure.” But to relinquish claim and leave unsettled judgment in God’s self-sufficient hand.Forgiveness here is no possession. It is gentle rain: falling, renewing, moving on. It cannot be held by the hand of man. It cannot be domesticated. It unsettles the settlement itself. It leaves all things provisionally in the hand of God.“Who is a God like you, who pardons wrongdoing and passes over a rebellious act of the remnant of his possession? He does not retain his anger forever, because he delights in mercy.” (Micah 7:18)This week, I discuss Luke 8:51.“When he came to the house, he did not allow [οὐκ εἴασεν, ouk eiasen] anyone to enter with him, except Peter, John, and James, and the girl’s father and mother.” (8:51)‎ἀφίημι (aphiemi) / נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) / ن-و-ح (nūn-wāw-ḥāʾ)The root נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) in Hebrew, ἀφίημι (aphiemi) in Greek, and ن-و-ح (nūn-wāw-ḥāʾ) in Arabic share a core function: to rest, to let be, to release. But in the Bible and Qurʾan, this rest is always provisional: never possession, never settlement.Settle, Remain“The man, the lord of the land, said to us, ‘By this I will know that you are honest men: leave [נוּחוּ (nuḥu)] one of your brothers with me and take grain for the famine of your households, and go.’” (Genesis 42:33)To settle or remain as a pledge. Here, נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) fu

Every dynasty insists on its permanence. Every people clings to the hollow echo of its own voice. Every generation invents its own despair and dares to call it light. Yet Scripture unmasks the fragility of these human building projects.The voices of despair rise in the camp, soothing themselves with stories of morality, while kings and judges build false legacies and nations carve idols in the light of their own eyes. Again and again, the words of God cut across this chorus, splitting the false consolation of narrative with the constellation of Abrahamic function: exposing human futility with divine riddle, and announcing what no human voice can summon: the surplus of grace and light. Or perhaps, when hope is gone and the fall seems final, it descends for you not as light but as despair.Can you even tell the difference? Are you still confused about the Shepherd’s identity? Yes, you are. Because you are a Westerner. And now even the East has turned West. All of you are talking about yourselves.Catch up quickly, ḥabībī. God is written. God does not forget. God does not turn. And God, as the Apostle said, is not mocked.This week, I discuss Luke 8:41.Ἰάϊρος (Iairos) ‎/י־א־ר (yod-alef-resh, “light”)‎י־א־ש (yod-alef-shin, “despair”) /‎ي־ء־س (yāʾ-hamza-sīn)The functions י־א־ר (yod-alef-resh, “shine”, “light”) and י־א־ש (yod-alef-shin, “despair”) share the same first two letters (י + א). Only the last letter is different: resh (ר) for shine, shin (ש) for despair. In Semitic languages, this kind of overlap often forms a word-family or cluster where similar-looking roots embody opposite meanings. The placement and structure leave the door open to hear and see them as two edges of the same blade—one edge to shine, the other to despair. The Arabic cognate يَئِسَ (yaʾisa, “to despair”) expands this constellation of function, confirming the polarity as it treads across the breadth of Semitic tradition. (HALOT, pp. 381-382)The Double-Edged Sword of Semitic Function: Despair and Light1. The Voice of the People: DespairLuke 8:49 “Your daughter is dead; do not trouble the Teacher any longer.”The crowd

All of Scripture comes to this: hope and trust.Not in the work of our hands, but in the righteousness of God.He alone vindicates the poor, he alone tends the needy.He is the Good Shepherd, the breath in the night,the voice that calms the storm,the hand that keeps the wolf at bay.Will we close the gates?Will we bind ourselves in chains?Will we send him away?To wait is to hope.Yet waiting is also a test,a scrutiny that ends in failure or in faith,in ruin or in steadfastness.Who can endure?Who will remain when the King returns—ignoring the mockery of nations,turning only for his guidance,submitting to his Command before the Hour,trusting in the Day?“Lift up your heads, you gates,And be lifted up, you ancient doors,That the King of glory may come in!Who is the King of glory?The Lord strong and mighty,The Lord mighty in battle.Lift up your heads, you gates,And lift them up, you ancient doors,That the King of glory may come in!Who is this King of glory?The Lord of hosts,He is the King of glory.” (Psalm 24:7-10)This week, I discuss Luke 8:40.Καὶ ἐν τῷ ὑποστρέφειν τὸν Ἰησοῦν ἀπεδέξατο αὐτὸν ὁ ὄχλος· ἦσαν γὰρ πάντες προσδοκῶντες αὐτόν.“And as Jesus returned, the crowd welcomed ἀπεδέξατο (apedéxato) him, for they were all waiting προσδοκῶντες (prosdokôntes) for him.”Show Notesἀποδέχομαι (apodechomai)ἀποδέχομαι (apodechomai) is a compound (ἀπό + δέχομαι) constructed on the core usages of “receiving, welcoming, taking in.” The prefix ἀπό (apo) heightens the action, not just marking reception but sharpening it into a decisive acceptance: an acknowledgment that leans toward submission rather than casual receiving.Its itinerary begins in the Greek text with the notion of hospitality and reception: the gates opened for Judith, the honor paid in Joppa, the joyful welcome of brothers in Jerusalem, and the warm acceptance of a report. From there, its usage expands into the realm of acknowledgment and recognition: the acceptance of terms, the granting of petitions, the understanding of a matter, the admission of information, the acknowledgment of divine sovereignty, the cognitive recognition of

The function ש־ו־ב (shin–waw–bet) is not the sigh of remorse in a cloistered heart, but the pivot of a sword’s edge; the turn God commands into the place where his name has been denied. Abraham returns from the valley of kings; Moses returns to the mountain, still breathing the smoke of the calf’s golden stench; Gideon returns to the camp with the dream of victory burning in his ears. None turns to hide—all turn to face him.And ח־נ־ן (ḥet–nun–nun), to plead, is no bowing before the courts of men. The human reference vanishes. Job’s feeble plea to his servant falls into the void. Malachi mocks the lips that beg for favor while the hands bring defilement. Proper pleading is stripped of flattery and calculation, bare as incense in the wind, carrying no name but his.In Luke’s Gerasene plain, the return is marked by absence. The swine are gone, the crowd is gone, the man’s former companions erased. He stands alone, clothed and found, with no community left to shield him, no filth left to hide him, no power left to reference but the one who sent him. This is the Day when the disbeliever is given back his own deed, when tribe and city and oath are dust, and a man stands naked before the Face that made him. This is the Day that the Lord has made. To return is to step into that bareness now, ahead of the Hour, with only obedience in your hands.“Return to your house, habibi, and describe what great things God has done for you.”This week, I discuss Luke 8:39.Show Notesδέομαι (deomai) / ח־נ־ן (ḥet–nun–nun) / ح–ن–ن (ḥāʾ–nūn–nūn)BEGGING IN VAINThe itinerary of ח־נ־ן (ḥet–nun–nun) / ح–ن–ن (ḥāʾ–nūn–nūn) opens with righteous entreaty to God in Deuteronomy 3:23 — “I pleaded [וָאֶתְחַנַּ֖ן (waʾetḥannan)] with the Lord at that time” — and proceeds to submission before his prophet in 2 Kings 1:13 — “he bowed down on his knees before Elijah and begged [וַיִּתְחַנֵּ֗ן (wayyiṭḥannēn)] him.” It is upheld as the correct course in Job 8:5 — “if you will search for God and implore [תִּתְחַנָּֽן (titḥannan)] the compassion of the Almighty” — but falters in Job 19:16, when Job seeks compassion from a human servant: “I called to my servant, but he gave me no answer; I pleaded [חִ

In Scripture, to “find” is never mere discovery.It is encounter—a turning of the text where mercy meets rebellion,where favor walks hand-in-hand with wrath.In Gerasa, the people find the healed man—clothed, sane, silent—and they tremble.He is a mirror, a testimony they cannot bear.Restoration becomes a scandal. Mercy, a threat.As well it should be.They send away the one who scattered their demonsbecause he disturbed their peace.The Scriptures whisper:To find a man is to stand at the edge of wrath—to be weighed, watched.Will you be spared?In Hebrew: to find, to meet, to expose.In Arabic: to find—yes—but also to be found out.To be found wandering.To be guided.The disbeliever finds God waiting—and no one can shield him.Every expectation collapses under the weight of divine wisdom.Everything found is double-edged:Grace, if received.Judgment, if refused.So—finders, beware.The light of instruction burns.This week, I discuss Luke 8:35-37.Show Notesεὑρίσκω (heuriskō) / מ־צ־א (mem–ṣade–aleph) / و–ج–د (wāw–jīm–dāl)find; reach; meet accidentally; obtain, achieveFOUND THE MANThe people “find” the healed man—מ־צ־א (mem–ṣade–aleph)—and become afraid, encountering divine judgment. He stands as a sign of both judgment and mercy: restored and sent out as a witness. In Scripture, finding a man—whether by apparent chance, deliberate search, or divine appointment—often precedes divine entrapment: a moment of redirection, confrontation, or exposure.Their encounter with this man echoes a biblical pattern in which finding a man signals the onset of divine action.Joseph, found wandering, is sent on a path of suffering to deliver many from famine (Genesis 37:15).“A man found [וַיִּמְצָאֵהוּ (wayyimṣaʾēhu)] him, and behold, he was wandering in the field; and the man asked him, ‘What are you looking for?’”Benjamin, found out by a planted cup, exposes guilt but leads to submission and reconciliation (Genesis 44:12).“He searched, beginning with the oldest and ending with the youngest, and the cup was found [וַיִּמָּ

Examining the history of nomadic pastoralism across Asia—from the Caucasus and Central Asian steppes to ancient Mesopotamia—reveals a consistent pattern: settled elites have repeatedly waged war against pastoral peoples. Both the Bible and the Qur’an emerged from nomadic pastoral societies, yet these same texts were later weaponized by sedentary civilizations against the very peoples once nurtured by them. We are witnessing this tragic pattern unfold again in real time—perhaps in its most brutal form yet—with escalating consequences that now reach into the heart of the West, the heir of Greco-Roman hubris.Even in pre-biblical East Asian traditions, such as the Confucian Book of Odes, herdsmen arrive with their flocks to establish an unnamed prince—a figure who emerges not from the city but from the periphery to usher in an era of divine justice. This archetype, consolidated in the Bible and the Qur’an, becomes active in the world whenever and wherever the voice from the pasture rises against the corruption of the palace.This is the Voice of the Scriptural God—The Voice of the Shepherd.It will not be silenced.It cannot be bought.It does not serve a throne.It does not belong to anyone.It roams freely upon the earth,calling its flock from the outlands, out of the city to the wilderness.The Biblical Jesus is near, habibi—And it’s time for the Lord to act.It’s time for Ibrahim’s Discords.سُبْحَانَ مَنْ جَعَلَ فِي الْحَمْدِ نُورًا(subḥāna man jaʿala fī al-ḥamdi nūran)“Glory to the one who placed light within praise.”This week, I discuss Luke 8:32-34.Photo by Cajeo Zhang on UnsplashShow notesἀγέλη (agelē) / ע־ד־ר (ʿayin–dalet–resh) / غ–د–ر (ghayn–dāl–rāʾ)In the Gospel of Matthew, we are warned that God will separate the sheep from the goats. Mishearing this

Human beings are evil. We are hardwired to curate our self-image, excuse our failures, and cling to the stories that make us feel good about ourselves. The truth is, we are hypocrites—fluctuating between condemning unspeakable horrors, often hidden from public view, and idolizing the very politicians and institutional cowards who cause or permit them.The same psychological games we play to deceive ourselves work flawlessly when we’re told to choose the “lesser of two evils” during election season.Listen to yourselves, habibi. You reject Scripture—yet somehow affirm its judgment against you when you call one of your human choices the “lesser of two evils.”You hypocrite.Most people will never acknowledge their complicity in the killing fields of Gaza. It’s far more comfortable to live in self-deception than to face the truth about the monsters we really are.Evil functions under a triple constraint.First: your reflection, shown in a natural mirror, not of your own making. You want to look away, to forget what you see. So, you rush to the second constraint: the mirror of your fairy tales—the one that says you are the “fairest of them all.” Or worse, the artificial mirrors in your data centers, which regurgitate what everyone wants to hear, calibrated to the desires of monsters.Between these two lies the third constraint: your neighbor. The neighbor who also sees your reflection, not in the natural mirror of Scripture, but in how you behave when you follow yourself, even though they are as blind as you.In the end, the natural mirror does not care if you “speak the truth.” It already knows that you, like your virtue-signaling, murderous, failed politicians, are blind, arrogant, and evil.The mirror has only one objective: to force you to see the truth it reflects about you, and not to let you look away. Can you accept this? Can you sit with it? Or will you, once again, project your truth onto someone else caught in the same triple constraint?You hypocrite.You blind fool.On that day, no amount of pleading will bring you comfort.This week, I discuss Luke 8:31.Photo by Kyle Johnson on UnsplashShow Notes“They were imploring him not to command them to go away into the abyss.” Lk 8:31.“For if anyone is

In Dark Sayings, I explain how Emperor Justinian stands as a striking example of imperial harlotry. Like all rulers, he filtered Scripture through his own agenda—much like what we see in 2025, with elites twisting the biblical text to justify the very actions it condemns. Today’s world leaders are effectively reenacting the sins of the Bible’s villains.If it weren’t a tragedy, it would be a comedy. I’d sit with Jonah beneath the vine—bag of popcorn in hand.What came of Justinian copying the sins condemned in Scripture?A massive stone temple—still longed for today. This longing betrays a rejection of the preaching of the story of the Gerasene demoniac, where God himself, through his anointed Slave, rejects Roman law and silences the Greek intellectual tradition.In defiance of this witness, Justinian—praised even now—translated Roman law into Greek, a move that flatly contradicts the biblical text.O foolish Galatians. You asked for a king, and you got one.Justinian’s reign was marked by a bloody attempt to resurrect Rome’s former glory: the North African campaign against the Vandals, the prolonged and ruinous Gothic Wars in Italy, and a brief incursion into southern Spain. These campaigns were catastrophically expensive, devastating to local populations, and—like all imperial games—ended in failure. Far worse was the Justinianic Plague, a lethal epidemic that ravaged both the population and the economy.Together, these calamities fractured the region’s future. Though the Western Roman Empire had already collapsed in the 5th century, Justinian’s ambitions destabilized its successors and hindered the organic development of local societies.Things might have turned out differently. We might have avoided the first Dark Age—or at least the first one we know of—had Justinian not tried to impose a new civilization atop the ruins

In Isaiah, Cyrus the Great emerges as a unique figure chosen by the God of Israel to fulfill a specific historical task: the rebuilding of the Jerusalem temple and the liberation of the Judahites from exile in Babylon in direct fulfillment of the prophecy spoken by Jeremiah.Cyrus’s rise to power is depicted not as a product of his strength but as the result of God stirring his spirit and granting him authority over all nations.God bestows upon Cyrus exceptional titles: “my shepherd,” a nomadic-pastoral, Bedouin-styled function typical of prophetic literature, signifying his role in guiding the people of Israel back to God’s land, and “my anointed,” indicating a special divine commissioning that parallels, though does not equal, the messianic expectations normally associated with Israelite kings.Through Cyrus’s conquests, especially the subjugation of Babylon, the Lord demonstrates his universal sovereignty, demonstrating to all nations that he alone is the Unipolar Hegemon that directs the course of history and holds ultimate authority over the kingdoms of the earth.While Cyrus plays a pivotal role as a pawn on God’s political chessboard, Isaiah carefully distinguishes him from the Slave of the Lord.The Slave—often wrongly identified with Israel itself—points to a future messianic figure who carries a broader, more enduring mission: to establish justice, bring light to the nations, and embody God’s ultimate purpose. Unlike Cyrus, whose mission is temporal and political, the Slave’s work is a universal call to the path of the Lord, extending beyond the restoration of Jerusalem to the transformation of the human race.Thus, Isaiah presents Cyrus as a divinely appointed instrument for a limited, though critical, historical role. At the same time, the Slave of the Lord stands as the ultimate fulfillment of God’s plan of victory and liberation for his people and the entire world.Then, in Luke, the Slave landed on the beaches of the Gerasenes.Everything I do, I do for the Slave.This week, I discuss Luke 8:29.Show Notesπαραγγέλλω (parangellō)order, summon, command, send a messageשׁ-מ-ע (shin-mem-ayin) / س-م-ع (sīn-mīm-ʿayn)hear, submit!1 Samuel 15:4 - Saul, Israel’s first king, asserts his le

People choose personal relationships and personal fulfillment over duty. Most often, they place the latter ahead of the former, which is why you see all these ridiculous posts on social media about “toxic relationships.”It’s a big joke.I live among people who do not inhabit the same reality as I do.It used to frustrate me, but now I smile and move on, knowing that most people are not willing to make hard choices. They—and those who enable them—form Caesar’s political base.The blind leading the blind.Scripture has taught me, the hard way, that I have no right to judge.Neither do others, yet we all persist in doing so.All of you should watch the Star Wars series Andor in full—it’s just two seasons—and then watch Rogue One, and you’ll understand what the writers of the New Testament were doing in the shadows of “empire.”Unlike the arrogant cowards sitting on the Rebel Council at Yavin IV, the biblical writers weren’t building anything new to replace Rome or Jerusalem. They had no secret plans for a “new” Republic. The gospel was not a hero’s journey or a strategy for institution-building under the protection of a solipsistic Jedi order, nor was it fighting for “freedom.” It was, however, about hope, against all hope.Rehear Galatians.The New Testament ends where it begins—with the sword of instruction wandering the earth in God’s broad encampment, moving from place to place with an urgent message of permanent, perpetual rebellion:“Caesar is not the king!”Long before Paul, Jeremiah, too, had joined the Rebellion. He understood the price. Jeremiah was not James Dean. You cannot be a rebel unless you have a cause. Unless, of course, you, like most Americans I know, want to remain a teenager for the rest of your life.Adults, however, have to make a choice:“Cursed be the day when I was born; Let the day not be blessed when my mother bore me! Cursed be the man who brought the news to my father, saying, ‘A baby boy has been born to you,’ and made him very happy.”(Jeremiah 20:14-15)This much I know:“Everything I do, I do for the Rebellion.”This week, I discuss Luke 8:28.Show Notesἀνακράζω (anakrazō) / ק-ר-א (qof–resh–aleph) / ق-ر-أ (qāf–rāʾ–hamza

Situated opposite Galilee, the “earth” of the Gerasenes marks the site of God’s first tactical strike against Greco-Roman assimilation in Luke.The Greco-Roman rulers who possess and enslave the land impose violence and havoc, sowing death where God’s many flocks were meant to roam freely, without interference.Like the abusers in Jerusalem, the occupying forces in Decapolis do not want to live and let live. They seek to assimilate, to convert, to impose, to kill—to force others to become like them, “twice as much the sons of Hell as themselves.”Sure, they may be interested in learning something from those they conquer, but ultimately, everything must be “melted down” and absorbed into something of their own making. It’s called a “god complex:”“…the logic of American liberalism is a barely warmed-over Hellenism. The world-embracing, universe-striding Hellenic ideology under Alexander was an assimilationist one. In the Alexandrian ideology, it doesn’t matter what tribe your parents are from, what your lineage is, or in what area of the world you were born. If you speak Greek, eat like a Greek, dress like a Greek, walk like a Greek, shit like a Greek, think like a Greek—then you’re a Greek. It’s exceptionally difficult for an American to consider this ideology and not think of the ‘melting pot’”(Matthew Franklin Cooper, And the Lamb Will Conquer)They do not submit to God, who made the heavens and the earth. They do not accept what was made, as it has been made, by his making. His name alone be praised!Unlike every other revolution in human history, the socio-political rebellion of the biblical tradition—be ye not deceived, O man, it is indeed a political rebellion, though it is not about starting something new, it is a reversion—to accept the Bible is to revert to God as your King, your religion, your tribe, your city, and your homeland.To return to his land is to return not to what we build, create, perceive, synthesize, or formulate through our ideolocial or theological assimilations, but to what God himself provided in the beginning: an open field where all living creatures coexist in his care.This week, I discuss Luke 8:27.Show Notesδαιμόνιον (daimonion) / ש–י–ד (

In Scripture, “earth” signifies more than just physical land; it functions as a literary sign that opposes human oppression. The biblical narrative presents the land both as a silent witness against human civilization and as one of its victims. In this context, the recurring phrase “heavens and earth” serves as a merism, expressing the totality of creation and affirming God’s sovereign authority and judgment:“Assemble to me all the elders of your tribes and your officers, that I may speak these words in their hearing and call the heavens and the earth to witness against them.” (Deuteronomy 31:28)Poet Mahmoud Darwish echoes this Abrahamic outlook by portraying the land as a woman—“the lady of the earth”—a figure of both suffering and resilience. Through this personification, Darwish critiques the domination of land by human civilization, portraying earth not as property but as a noble matriarch. His vision resonates with the biblical sabbatical and jubilee traditions, in which the land itself is granted rest and release from exploitation (Leviticus 25).In the Old Testament, Galilee is often marginalized or conquered. Yet, in Isaiah—and later in the New Testament—it is repurposed as the launching point for God’s mission to liberate the land from human abuse.In contrast to Jerusalem or Rome, which embody imperial tyranny cloaked in Hellenistic pluralism, Jesus reclaims Galilee as the new hub for Biblical Shepherdism—a direct challenge to the ideology of Hellenistic urban empire. Galilee becomes a scriptural threshold: a place of refuge, instruction, and mission. It embodies God’s cause, where divine law transcends political borders, and the land becomes a witness to divine justice against human violence, not a possession of empire.اللَّهُ مَالِكُ الْمُلْكِallāhu māliku al-mulk“God is the Owner of Sovereignty”This week I discuss Luke 8:26.Show Notesχώρα (chōra) / ע-ר-ץ (ʿayin–resh–ṣade) / أ-ر-ض (ʾalif-rā-ḍād)The biblical Hebrew אֶרֶץ (’ereṣ) can denote:The entire inhabited earth, as in Genesis 1:1 (“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth”), is typically rendered in the Septuagint (LXX) as γῆ (gē).A specific territory, region, or localized land, suc

In “Dark Sayings,” I explore how internalized racism destroyed my mother’s family. This psychological process, woven out of Hellenistic pluralism and anti-Scriptural platitudes about the so-called “Melting Pot,” reveals how systemic racism operates not only externally but within the immigrant’s self-conception.Internalized racism is more insidious than the inferiority complex from which it stems. Eventually, the immigrant—the stranger in a foreign land—overcomes fear by adopting the personality of the oppressor.“You shouldn’t give your children Arabic names, Marc.”“Stop listening to Arabic music, Marc.”“You need to assimilate into this culture, Marc.”“If you love the Middle East so much, Marc, why don’t you live there?”The last one is my favorite. It reveals the speaker’s true heart. They might as well say, “Go back to Africa, Marc.”My father is from Africa. Is Africa a punishment?Internalized racism explains why people from the West Bank see themselves as superior to people from Gaza. It’s why Arab Christians often identify with white Western Christians against their Muslim brothers. It’s why immigrants and minorities across backgrounds look up to those who marginalize them.This concept of “Stockholm Syndrome” reflects a fundamental truth about the human condition. The privileged and underprivileged who perpetuate internalized racism share something profoundly disturbing in common: both reject the God of Abraham, trusting not in him as King, but in themselves.Ironically, Pharaoh (or Caesar) is not their king, as they profess in John’s Gospel, but merely their locum tenens — their temporary substitute. They view themselves as the true sovereigns. This explains their enthusiasm for elections; they delight in proclaiming their chosen figurehead by acclamation: creatus imperator.They “create” (creāre) him. They “make” him. They “elect” him. They “bring him into being” and then they control him—but they can’t control the God who speaks out of the whirlwind.Providence, habibi, is rougher than a corncob. She’ll slap you sideways even if you’re careful.Though “internalized racism” isn’t a Scriptural term, it’s rooted in biblical notions of cowardice; in the absolute fear of the power of death and deep anxiety about what might happen if Jesus alienates the “wrong people” in Decapolis. God forbid he offend those “ni

Theologians and philosophers love to talk about the meaning of life. They explore its purpose, justification, and value, questioning whether or not suffering has meaning. They sound like the Preacher in Ecclesiastes, wasting time viewing things from the wrong perspective: man’s point of view, the king’s point of view, Job’s point of view.This mirrors how Christians assess and then attempt to control the Holy Spirit through human words. Their version of the Holy Spirit—always friendly, gentle, and “inspiring”—bears little resemblance to the God of Scripture. This domesticated spirit, which makes people feel good with that telltale twinkle and misty look, becomes a false god they tame, groom, and adore like a pet.That’s why they’re confused when the same wind that filled Jesus’ sails at the beginning of the parable suddenly transforms into a fierce, wrathful storm—a whirlwind. But this is precisely how God’s breath, his wind, operates.Not only is it invisible to the eye, but it cannot be controlled. Sometimes cold, sometimes hot, and always unpredictable, it can turn against you on a dime, just like life’s events.As Jesus said in judgment of Job’s lament, “the rain falls on the just and the unjust.” (Matthew 5:45)This week, I discuss Luke 8:24.λαῖλαψ (lailaps) / ס-ע-ר (samek-ʿayin-resh) / ס-ו-פ (samek-waw-feh)Hurricane, tempest, furious storm. All three biblical references in Luke 8:23 invoke the Lord’s wrath against human arrogance:Job 21:18 (סוּפָה sû·fāhʹ ) - The arrogance of Job, who questions why the wicked prosper.“Are they as straw before the wind, and like chaff which the storm (סוּפָה sû·p̄āhʹ ) carries away?Job 38:1(סְעָרָה seʿā·rāh) - Anger at Job’s arrogance—at his attempt to comprehend divine judgment. The whirlwind is the wrath of God.Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind (סְעָרָה seʿā·rāh) and said, 2 “Who is this that darkens counsel By words without knowledge?Jeremiah 32:18 (סַ֫עַר sǎʹ·ʿǎr) God stirs up a sweeping, consuming judgment against all nations.Thus says the Lord of hosts,“Behold, evil is going forthFrom nation to nation,And a great storm (סַ֫עַר sǎʹ·ʿǎr) is being stir

In every age, empires create words to describe the people in the societies they seek to dominate and exploit. Eventually, these terms are turned inward and used against themselves. The Greco-Romans—and their eastern heirs, whom modern scholars call the Byzantines—labeled those outside their empire as barbarians. The colonials who settled the Americas, after dismantling the peaceful coexistence of Semitic peoples in Southern Spain, referred to the inhabitants of this supposed “new” land as savages.Whether communists, leftists, or terrorists, from age to age and generation to generation, we rely on the notion of the alien or foreigner to demonize the other.Humanities scholars, clinging to the illusion of progress, speak as though they have just discovered this problem, but wisdom literature has tackled this since before Hellenism emerged as a blot on humanity’s historical record. When Jesus sets out to make a pilgrimage to Decapolis, he does so under the control of his Father’s will, who breathes into his sail and sends him on a mission—not to trample underfoot the barbarians at the edge of Constantine’s empire, but to confront Constantine himself. It is Constantine, Habibi, who is the problem. The Emperor is the barbarian from whom the Lord’s inheritance must be saved. This week, I discuss Luke 8:22, which exposes the true enemy of God, not the outsiders, but the emperor himself.Show Notesπλέω / מ-ל-א (mem-lamed-alef) / م-ل-أ (mīm-lām-hamza)That which fills, makes full; fullness, full amount, measure, extent:“Sing to the Lord a new song,Sing his praise from the end of the earth!You who go down to the sea, and all that fills it (וּמְלֹאוֹ umelo'o),You islands, and those who live on them.” (Isaiah 42:10)The root مَلَأَ (malaʾa) in Arabic can be found in words such as:مَلَأَ (malaʾa) - to fillمَلِيء (malīʾ) - full, filledمَمْلُوء (mamlūʾ) - filled (passive participle)امْتَلَأَ (imtalaʾa) - to become full, to be filledمِلْء (milʾ) - fullness, fillingتَمْلِيء (tamlīʾ) - filling (verbal noun)مَلَأ (malaʾ) - assembly, ruling council, crowd, publicἄνεμος / ר-ו-ח (

Some concepts in the Bible are so crucial that if they aren’t properly understood from the outset, the text itself can be twisted from a guide that protects your steps into a snare that traps you in a cycle of endless folly.One such example is the idea of ownership or proprietorship.When you hear the Bible, even in the original languages, but especially in translation—for example, the colonial King James text—when you hear the Bible in that translation, you are hit over and over again with a notion of ownership that has as its reference not Scripture but, in fact, the King of England, who imagines that he owns things, just like those of us living in a capitalist society imagine that we own things.Just ask your child.Ask them about the shirt on their back, the shoes they wear to school, or the toys on the floor of the room where they sleep. Ask them to whom those things belong. They will likely tell you that they “own” those things.But that is not how ownership functions in Scripture.Even when it says, “your land,” in Scripture—even then—the underlying premise of the text is that God, not his children, is the sole proprietor. That”s how ownership works in the Bible. Everything is a temporary loan. No one “owns” anything except God.That is what the word “inheritance” means.It is not granted to you, so you can “possess” it in perpetuity. It is a temporary gift that can be reclaimed and lent to others at any time. You cannot claim it as property because you are not the Most High.You are not the Proprietor.This week, I discuss Luke 8:22.Show Notesἀνάγω (anagō) / ع-ل-و (ʿayn-lām-wāw) / ע-ל-ה (ʿayin-lamed-he)This root carries the core function of “ascending” or “rising.” The same root is used to refer to pilgrimage in Jewish tradition, particularly in the phrase עֲלִיָּה לָרֶגֶל, (ʿaliyah la-regel) literally “going up” or “ascending by foot,” referring to three biblical festivals involving pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem:“For I will drive out nations before you and enlarge your borders, and no man shall covet your land when you go up (בַּעֲלֹתְךָ - baʿalotka) three times a year to appear before the Lord your God.” (Exodus 34:24)Religious and political ideologu