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The Bible as Literature

The Bible as Literature

By: The Ephesus School
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Each week, Fr. Marc Boulos discusses the content of the Bible as literature. On Tuesdays, Fr. Paul Tarazi presents an in-depth analysis of the biblical text in the original languages.© Copyright The Ephesus School Network, 2013-2024. All rights reserved. Christianity Ministry & Evangelism Spirituality
Episodes
  • 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 mins
  • 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 mins
  • 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 mins
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