Épisodes

  • Reconciling Insufficiency

    Reconciling Insufficiency
    Jan 27 2026
    My mother was born in Bethlehem, Palestine, a land where hospitality is not sentiment, not a virtue to be cultivated, but obedience. It is not taught, debated, or defended. It is enacted. The land itself bears witness to a scriptural way of life that precedes institutions, borders, and claims of authority. The earth remembers what human beings forget. It remembers what it means to live under decree rather than under ownership.Scripture itself is formed by this memory. It speaks in a Semitic grammar in which unity precedes sequence and must never harden into possession. Genesis opens not with “the first day,” but with yom eḥad, one day. Creation does not begin with order imposed over time, but with a complete, bounded unity named before anything is divided or accumulated. Wholeness precedes sequence. Unity precedes control.Arabic preserves this same grammar. Like Biblical Hebrew, Arabic counting does not begin with an ordinal. One says yawm wāḥid, one day, not “the first day.” Ordinals only begin with “second,” al-yawm al-thānī. Linguistically, “one” does not mark position. It marks unity, closure, and intelligibility. Only once unity is given can differentiation follow. Counting does not produce wholeness. It presupposes it.This is not a linguistic curiosity. It is a refusal written into the language itself. Scripture does not allow the world to be treated as an object assembled piece by piece. The land is first named as a whole before it is ever divided. Life is first declared worthy before it is ever administered. Unity is given, not achieved.That is why in that land, people did not write treatises on coexistence. They did not construct ethical systems to justify themselves. They lived. They lived because Scripture was never an abstraction. It was not an idea to be mastered but a Command to be obeyed. Hospitality was not a moral accomplishment but a reflex, the uncalculated response of those who know that they are not masters. The outsider is received not because one has reasoned it to be good, but because this is what life looks like on land that belongs to someone else.Israel in the Scriptural text is itself constituted according to this same grammar. Twelve is not a governing structure but a symbolic totality, the whole addressed by God for a purpose. The Twelve in the Gospels function the same way. They do not rule. They signify. They address Israel as a whole, not as an institution to be preserved. Once that address has been made, unity is not hardened into continuity. It is released.Paul’s mission embodies this release. What was gathered symbolically is carried outward. Election is not converted into ownership. Unity is not turned into administration. It is sent, so that the nations may be addressed.Scripture consistently contrasts this covenantal unity with another numerical grammar. The nations appear as ten, the number of human totality, the fullness of empire and power. Ten names what human beings claim when they totalize, when they consolidate, when they rule. Scripture does not resolve history by allowing twelve to rule ten. It resolves history by confronting ten through twelve, by addressing power without becoming power.God alone remains uncounted and undissolved, because God is not one element within the sequence. God is the unity that makes all counting possible. God is not the first proprietor among others. God is the only Proprietor.That is why what happened in Gaza was wrong. Not because one group could assemble better arguments about history or entitlement. It was wrong because mothers and children were killed. This is not political speech. It is witness. The decree that rendered the land worthy is the same decree that rendered every life upon it worthy. To violate that life is not to offend an ideology but to profane what was entrusted. Those who claimed the land while denying the life upon it testified against themselves. They forgot the one thing Scripture never negotiates.There is only one Proprietor.Scripture arose to interrupt such forgetting. When kings enthrone themselves and devour, when power names itself necessity, when land is reduced to possession rather than received as inheritance, Scripture speaks. It does not bargain. It does not flatter. It calls heaven and earth to witness. The land does not belong to those who conquer it, nor to those who administer it, nor to those who explain it away. It belongs to the One who provides it. Everything that breathes upon it is under his protection, whether rulers approve or not.There is only one Ruler.Those who lived there knew this without commentary or defense. When neighbors arrived from Europe, speaking other tongues and carrying other memories, the question was never whether they had a right to be there. They came. They were received. Some remained. That was not the transgression. The transgression came when the memory of Scripture was erased by claims of ownership, when inheritance was renamed ...
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    58 min
  • A Word Against the Witnesses

    A Word Against the Witnesses
    Jan 11 2026
    Human beings move as a flock. What feels like freedom is motion inside a herd. People act the way they do because of pressure, habit, fear, desire, reward, or past experience. When we make decisions, we are responding to systemic forces already acting on us, even when theologians insist on calling this a free choice, the so-called “free will.” Long before a choice is named, the path is worn.Governments, workplaces, laws, economies, religions, philosophies, ideologies, and social norms all rely on the same logic. If certain behaviors are rewarded and others punished, people will respond in predictable ways. Obedience inside these systems is never neutral. People comply because it benefits them, protects them, or helps them avoid loss. Even rebellion, blind to what it is building, follows recognizable patterns and is absorbed back into the systems it supposedly opposes.But beneath these systems sits something deeper and more diabolical: the human logos. Explanation. Justification. Language itself as causality. Words that govern reality, binding reasons to actions, beliefs to outcomes, and sacrifices to meaning. This is how systems hold together. They are not only structures of power, but temples built of language, narratives, and shared explanations. Propaganda. A world where everything makes sense.Belief, in this sense, is not faith. It is how humans explain themselves to themselves, a projection of the lamp of the body, quieting fear, justifying loss, making obedience reasonable. Over time, this explanatory language becomes a prison people inhabit. A Temple made of human hands, not of stone, but of coherence. An idol constructed from meaning.Inside this Temple, every sacrifice is justified. Every command explained. Every loss serves a purpose. Even love is rationalized. Domesticated. Hope reframed as likelihood. Language does not merely describe the system. It sanctifies it.These systems can even tolerate sacrifice, as long as the sacrifice is made for something abstract: the nation, the tribe, the future, the greater good, the “building” up or the “survival” of the community. Abstract loyalty is calculable. It can be taught, praised, rewarded, and demanded. A person who gives themselves for an idea or a cause is still operating inside logic the system understands and human language can defend.Torah insists that a true command cannot arise from within this Temple or employ its language. Scripture does not perceive human beings as autonomous agents standing outside the flock, freely acting. It finds people as they are: already bound, already oriented, already enslaved to something. That is why Torah does not ask whether people are free, but whom they serve. Egypt is not replaced by false autonomy, but by covenant. Pharaoh is not replaced by the self, the builder of temples, but by the Voice of the Shepherd, that commands, calling us out of the temples that entomb us. According to Scripture, if a rule makes sense because it works, helps, or produces good outcomes, then following it is still a calculation. It may be wise or effective, but it is not obedience. It is sycophancy. That is why the Voice of the Shepherd is heard in the wilderness, away from stable systems and the human Temple of explanation. In the wilderness, people cannot rely on strategy or outcomes. They can only hear and respond. To those who live inside the system, this looks like slavery, or worse, insanity. Far from it.It is trust.This is where love of neighbor enters, and it does not enter as an idea, let alone a Platonic ideal. A neighbor is not humanity in the abstract. A neighbor is not the future, the cause, or the system. A neighbor is the real person who stands before you and whose claim cannot be translated into principle without being lost.Your neighbor is not defined by worth, identity, or moral condition, but by proximity under obedience to the Command. Love of neighbor is irrational by decree. It does not weigh consequences. It does not ask whether the whole will survive. It does not justify itself in language the system can use. Systems assume that when forced to choose, people will sacrifice the one for the many. Love of neighbor refuses that exchange. It does not assume God’s purview. It does not control. It does not judge. It does not choose the right thing. It submits to the Command: love for the one encountered. This is why love of neighbor looks dangerous from inside the Temple. It threatens coherence. It interrupts explanation. It is willing to let the world burn rather than betray the one who stands before you. It does not argue. It does not explain. It does not rebel. The moment it does, it has already been absorbed back into the prison of the human logos. Hope enters here, not as optimism and not as confidence in success. Hope is what remains when explanation fails. Hope is the willingness to act without knowing whether the act will save or destroy everything. It interrupts causality by refusing ...
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    1 h et 2 min
  • The Sound of God

    The Sound of God
    Dec 24 2025
    Jairus appears as an administrator. He was named, titled, and located inside a functioning system. He knew how things worked, when to ask, when to stop, when a situation was resolved. When he knelt before Jesus, it was already a breach of role, but the text does not stop there. It presses him.While he was still on the way, while the instruction was still unfolding, a message arrived from his own house: Your daughter has died. Do not trouble the Teacher.It sounds compassionate. It sounds final. But it is not merely a report. It is a deception and a false command. Those who pressed Jairus pressed him to stop searching Scripture, to stop pursuing the call of the Prophet. They said: return to your place. Accept the verdict the system of human words has rendered.But there is only one Judge.Jesus answered without addressing death at all. He promised nothing. He uttered the command, Do not fear. Only trust.With that command, the axis of the text shifts. Fear here is not panic. Fear is obedience to human reasonableness. It is enclosure within narrative walls built of human words. Trust is remaining under instruction, exposed to reality, out in the open, where only living, breathing divine words can give life, even when every visible sign says the moment has passed.The crowd moves with them. They are practical. They know how death works. They know when grief must become resignation. They are not simply onlookers. They are the stone Temple outside the synagogue, walls built of human words, set against the living, breathing Word.They do what walls always do. They mark the human boundary. They decide what may pass and what must stop. What they call wisdom is fear of man disciplined into respectability. What they call obedience is resignation taught to bow to something other than God. They are the domesticated gatekeepers of reasonableness, the infrastructure of Herod, the architecture of fear.They are like the children in the marketplace who said:“We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not weep.” (Luke 7:32)They do not listen for the sound of God. They pipe their own tune. Whether the sound is mourning or rejoicing, their demand is the same: respond within our script. The problem was not his music. It was their refusal to hear.They are the makers of garments, woven out of fig leaves. As Moses wrote:“Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9)“I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” (Genesis 3:10)Jesus emptied the room. Only Peter, James, John, and the parents remained. When Jesus said She is not dead but sleeping, they laughed. Their laughter was not a misunderstanding. It was fear covered, not by God, but by human craftiness. It restored their order. It set a guard around the girl’s tomb. It domesticated the moment. It said: this voice may sing only within the borders of our melodies.No one expected what was about to happen. No one could later claim trust in his Command:“And he led me around among them, and behold, there were very many on the surface of the valley, and behold, they were very dry. And he said to me, ‘Son of man, can these bones live?’” (Ezekiel 37:2-3)Jesus took the girl by the hand and spoke: Child, arise. The text is not Greco-Roman. It is not written that her “mind” returns. It is not written that her Platonic “soul” is restored. It is written that her pneuma, her ruaḥ, returns. Breath that had gone out came back in. Life does not rise from within the human system of words. It enters from outside, at the sound of his voice (Genesis 2:7; Ezekiel 37:2-10).“Prophesy over these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.” (Ezekiel 37:4)Peter, James, and John, like the parents, said and did nothing. They bore witness. Life does not come from parents. Wisdom does not come from disciples, let alone stone temples:“So I prophesied as I was commanded, and as I prophesied there was a sound, and behold, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. And I looked, and behold, sinews were on them, and flesh came upon them, and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them. Then he said to me, ‘Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, son of man, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God, Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.’” (Ezekiel 37:7-9)The living breath comes not from human words, but from him who commands the four winds, who commanded the Son of Man to breathe his living words upon her.Immediately, Jesus commanded practical care. Feed her. Life is not human spectacle. It is divine instruction, followed by silent obedience:“Tell no one.” (Luke 8:56)Silence is not secrecy. It is judgment. To speak at that moment would rebuild the stone temple of human words in narrative form. It would turn instruction into explanation, breath into human property, life into idolatry.Silence is the test.Like ...
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    1 h et 5 min
  • God Sees All

    God Sees All
    Nov 29 2025
    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 structure undergirds the scroll. Without that structural field, no instance of λανθάνω (lanthano) conveys, or is able to convey, the full weight of divine accounting. However, once the field is “seen” Scripturally, “with the ears,” the semantics are relentless. The Pauline scales (not scales of measurement) fall off. (Acts 9:18)Only a Hellenist, in our time a Westerner, is fooled by what they can see, or worse, by what they imagine they can explain. A true Semite has ears to hear. Through hearing, the blind learn to see, and the deaf and the mute are healed.The unseen, الغيب (al-ghayb) and נֶעֱלָם (neʿlam), is not mysticism. It is judgment. It is the Lord’s test. Hiddenness is God’s domain. Covering belongs to God; uncovering belongs to God; the scales of measurement, المِيزَان (al-mīzān) belong to God; the tally belongs to God. The Qurʾan repeats the decree of Luke, that the Lord is not unaware of what you do. Previously, Ecclesiastes insisted the same. Every hidden deed is brought into judgment. (Ecclesiastes 12:14) Luke and Matthew proclaimed that what is concealed will be shouted openly. (Matthew 10:26; Luke 12:2) This mechanism is not literary ornamentation. It is the biological operating system of the Abrahamic scrolls, coded in living, breathing triliteral grammar.The problem for the now dominant West is that Greek thought presupposes that meaning originates in the human mind. The human city becomes the center, the planted earth becomes a concretized static, or idolized center, human proportion becomes the measure, and vision, human sight, becomes epistemology. Once vision governs understanding, enlightenment becomes darkness, because the logos of the human being projects its categories outward.Scripture dismantles this, not because the Greeks lacked intelligence, but because the entire Greek system assumes the human observer as the reference point.Scripture forbids this. Every consonant is intentional. Greek has letters that should not exist because they collapse two sounds into a single symbol. To the Semitic ear, as Fr. Paul Tarazi explains, “psi, xi, and the Greek chi” expose that Greek writing is constructed, not found. The Greek alphabet was designed, not discovered. It is man-made. It does not correspond to what is heard in nature. The living and moving, breathing triliteral system prevents human projection by preventing morphological collapse. The scriptural lexicon forces the hearer to receive what is written in creation. In Scripture, projection is ...
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    50 min
  • By God's Command

    By God's Command
    Nov 9 2025
    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 6:7)His wisdom is not ours to possess, let alone to control or co-opt. His dominion is written into the fabric of creation itself. The heavens do not father the earth; both submit to the patriarchy of the one God of Abraham, the Master of all things.This is the reality encoded in Scriptural grammar and function and fulfilled in the obedience of Jesus. It is the recognition that knowledge and strength proceed only from God’s command, which has the power to heal even Israel.This week, I discuss Luke 8:46.“ὁ δὲ Ἰησοῦς εἶπεν· Ἥψατό μού τις, ἐγὼ γὰρ ἔγνων (י-ד-ע) δύναμιν (ח-י-ל) ἐξεληλυθυῖαν ἀπʼ ἐμοῦ.”“But Jesus said, ‘Someone did touch me, for I was aware [ἔγνων (egnon) / י־ד־ע (yod–dalet–ʿayin)] that power [δύναμιν (dynamin) / ח־י־ל (ḥet–yod–lamed)] had gone out of me.’”(Luke 8:46)γινώσκω (ginosko) / י-ד-ע (yod–dalet–ʿayin) / ع-ر-ف (ʿayn–rāʾ–fāʾ)In its scriptural itinerary, יָדַע (yadaʿ) functions as relational recognition rooted in revelation and obedience. Gnostics invert this by treating knowledge as an object of possession: a secret commodity that grants status or liberation to a spiritual elite.The Itinerary of Knowledge“Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew [וַיֵּדְעוּ (wayyedaʿu)] that they were naked.” (Genesis 3:7)When Adam and Eve transgress the divine command, their eyes are “opened,” and י-ד-ע (yod–dalet–ʿayin) marks the moment of realization. They do not gain divine insight; they recognize their separation and vulnerability.“You shall know [וִידַעְתֶּם (widaʿtem)] that I am Yahweh your God, who brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians.” (Exodus 6:7)In Egypt, Yahweh assured deliverance. Israel will know him as the mighty one who was victorious against the elite rulers who burdened his people. Knowledge comes through divine encounter (in this case, remembrance at the opportune time) and obedience, not human speculation.“Then they shall know [וְיָדְעוּ (weyadeʿu)] that I am Yahweh.” (Ezekiel 6:7)The same Yahweh declares judgment upon Israel for their idolatry. Weyadeʿu means that through destruction and exile—the opportune time—through divine encounter, the people will come to recognize his immutable sovereignty.“The fear of Yahweh is the beginning of ...
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    59 min
  • Crowd of Thorns

    Crowd of Thorns
    Oct 20 2025
    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 invader.Now she stands in the center, and he is her circumference: her shield in the time of strife.Hear, O daughter of Israel: draw near and see.Do not be afraid.The Lord is your Shepherd.This week, I discuss Luke 8:43-45.8:43 And a woman who had suffered from a discharge of blood for twelve years, and could not be healed by anyone, came [προσελθοῦσα / ק-ר-ב (qof-resh-bet)] up behind him and touched [ἥψατο / ק-ר-ב (qof-resh-bet)] the fringe of his cloak, and immediately her discharge of blood stopped. 45 And Jesus said, “Who is the one who touched [ἁψάμενός / ק-ר-ב (qof-resh-bet)] me?” And while they were all denying it, Peter said, “Master, the people are crowding and pressing [ἀποθλίβουσιν / ל-ח-ץ (lamed-ḥet-ṣade)] in on you.”ק-ר-ב (qof-resh-bet) / ق-ر-ب (qāf-rāʾ-bāʾ )ἅπτω (hapto)“So you shall appoint Aaron and his sons that they may keep their priesthood, but the outsider who comes near [הקרב (ha-qareb)] shall be put to death.” (Numbers 3:10)“But those who were to camp before the tabernacle eastward, before the tent of meeting toward the sunrise, were Moses and Aaron and his sons, performing the duties of the sanctuary for the obligation of the sons of Israel; but the outsider who comes near [הקרב (ha-qareb)] shall be put to death.” (Numbers 3:38)“Everyone who comes near [הקרב (ha-qareb)], who comes near [הקרב (ha-qareb)] to the tabernacle of the Lord, must die. Are we to perish completely?” (Numbers 17:13)In Numbers 3:10, 3:38, and 17:13, the Hebrew term הקרב (ha-qareb), from the root ק-ר-ב (qof-resh-bet), “to draw near, approach”, defines the law of approach that governs creation. The warning that “the outsider who draws near shall be put to death” does not protect tribe, identity, or privilege; it names the biblical principle of the open field itself.The sanctuary, like God’s field, is an open expanse, not an enclosure. Yet, his Command governs its openness. Life exists only by reference to his instruction. His Command orders the heavens and the earth.The priest stands at the edge of God’s field, where hearing and obedience hold the ground together. To cross without hearing is to move without reference, to “gather” for God’s judgment; to press, as the thorns do, devouring what cannot be possessed. The danger is not in being outside, but in stepping forward on one’s own terms, mistaking freedom for ownership. Even the appointed priest lives under this ...
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    47 min
  • One is the Only Number

    One is the Only Number
    Oct 2 2025
    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 into the earthen vessel that has ceased to strive.μονογενής (monogenes) / י־ח־ד (yod-ḥet-dalet) / و-ح-د (wāw-ḥāʾ-dāl)One and only; single of its kind; only-born; only, only one, solitary, unique.“She was his only one [יְחִידָה (yeḥidah)]; he had no other son or daughter.” (Judges 11:34 )Here יָחִיד (yaḥid) expresses the fragility of the earthen vessel. In verse 34, the human line rests upon a single, irreplaceable life. Jephthah’s entire legacy depends on his yeḥidah; when she is offered, the limits of family and human continuity are laid bare. The father’s grief, bound to his only daughter, exposes the futility of lineage and the inevitability of dependence on God. The yaḥid becomes the mirror through which the insufficiency of man encounters the sufficiency of God.“Deliver my life from the sword, my only one [יְחִידָתִי (yeḥidati)] from the power of the dog.” (Psalm 22:21) LXX 21David cries from the edge of annihilation. His yeḥidati (“my only one”) refers to his only life (nefeš). He stands surrounded by predators, stripped of every defense, holding nothing but the breath that God alone can sustain. In that setting, ha-yaḥid encounters ha-ʾEḥad; the singular human breath encounters the One God who gives it breath. The weakness of the individual, the threatened “only life”, is the functional context of י־ח־ד (yod-ḥet-dalet) where triliteral replaces human vulnerability with God’s sufficiency.“Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am alone [יָחִיד (yaḥid)] and afflicted.” (Psalm 25:16 ) LXX 24Here, yaḥid is not emotional loneliness but martial isolation: the condition of a soldier or supplicant with no human ally, no support, no constituency. The psalmist is cut off from every network of defense; he stands as the yaḥid before ha-ʾEḥad. His solitude is not inward melancholy but strategic exposure. He is a man encircled and undone, left with no strength but God’s. In that position, the oneness of God supplants the weakness of the individual, and dependence itself becomes the ground of divine action.“Rescue my life from their ravages, my only one [יְחִידָתִי (yeḥidati)] from the lions.” (Psalm 35:17) LXX 34The psalmist again names his life (nefeš) his yeḥidah: his one, irreplaceable self surrounded by devouring forces. This cry is not heroic but helpless; the yaḥid has no shield, no strength, no tribe. He stands as the fragile earthen vessel awaiting rescue from...
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    48 min
  • Unsettled Settlement

    Unsettled Settlement
    Sep 18 2025
    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) functions as “leave behind.” One brother must stay behind while the others travel. The act of settling is temporary, an enforced pause, not ownership.“So the Lord allowed those nations to remain [וַיַּנַּח (wayyannaḥ)], not driving them out quickly; and he did not hand them over to Joshua.” (Judges 2:23)To let stay means to permit settlement. Here, נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) signifies God’s intentional suspension of conquest. The nations remain unsettled alongside Israel in the land. It is a pause in divine judgment that disallows human presumption.Transient Rest, Repose“Then Samson said to the boy who was holding his hand, ‘Let me feel the pillars on which the house rests [הַנִּיחֵנִי (hanniḥeni)], so that I may lean against them.’” (Judges 16:26)To rest or relax physically. Here, נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) signifies bodily relief. Samson leans for support. Rest is not a possession but a temporary dependence.“From men with your hand, Lord, from men of the world, whose portion is in this life. You fill their belly with your treasure; they are satisfied with children, and leave [הִנִּיחוּ (hinniḥu)] their abundance to their infants.” (Psalm 17:14; 16:14 LXX)To rest in satisfaction and to leave behind. Here, נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) functions as the fullness of life’s portion as rest represented in inheritance. Yet, this rest is transient: what remains passes to children, never held permanently.Leave Behind, Let Go, Abandon“So I hated all the fruit of my labor for which I had labored under the sun, for I must leave [אַנִּיחֶנּוּ (ʾanniḥennu)] it to the man who will come after me.” (Ecclesiastes 2:18)To leave or give up as an inheritance for someone else. Here, נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) indicates relinquishment. What one works for cannot be held permanently but must be released.“In the morning sow your seed, and in the evening do not let your hand rest [תַּנַּח (tannaḥ)]; for you do not know whether morning or evening sowing will succeed, or whether both of them alike will be good.” (Ecclesiastes 11:6)To wait, but not passively. Here, נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) acts under pressure: not to stop but to stay active in anticipation without assurance or any sense of control over the outcome. Rest here is paused in darkness, waiting without certainty.Abandon / Let Be“And he said, ‘Let him alone [הַנִּיחוּ (hanniḥu)]; let no one disturb his bones.’ So they left his bones undisturbed, with the bones of the prophet who came from Samaria.” (2 Kings 23:18)To abandon in peace, to let be. Here, נ־ו־ח (nun-waw-ḥet) functions as non-interference. Even in...
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    55 min