Join the Rebellion
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 Notes
ἀνακράζω (anakrazō) / ק-ר-א (qof–resh–aleph) / ق-ر-أ (qāf–rāʾ–hamza)
Cry out. Read aloud.
“When the three units blew the trumpets and broke the pitchers, they held the torches in their left hands and the trumpets in their right hands for blowing, and shouted, ‘A sword for the Lord and for Gideon!’” (Judges 7:20)
Gideon’s story is part of the cyclical narrative structure that characterizes the Book of Judges. In this recurring pattern, Israel turns away from God and does evil, prompting God to give them into the hands of their enemies. In their suffering, the people cry out to God, who then raises up a deliverer—a judge—to rescue them. This deliverance brings a period of temporary peace until the cycle begins again. In the case of Gideon, Israel is oppressed by the Midianites. God chooses Gideon to lead a small and unlikely force, emphasizing that the victory is not the result of human strength but a demonstration of the Lord’s power and faithfulness.
“Then he cried out in my hearing with a loud voice, saying, ‘Come forward, you executioners of the city, each with his weapon of destruction in his hand!’” (Ezekiel 9:1 )
In Ezekiel 8–11, the prophet is shown a vision of the abominations taking place in the Jerusalem temple, including idolatry, injustice, and ritual defilement. As a result of this widespread corruption, the glory of God departs from the temple. In chapter 9, the vision shifts from exposing sin to executing judgment. God summons six angelic executioners, each carrying a weapon and a seventh figure dressed in linen holding a writing kit. This scribe is instructed to mark the foreheads of those who mourn over the city’s sins, while the others are commanded to kill the rest without mercy, beginning at the defiled sanctuary.
“So the angel who was speaking with me said to me, “Proclaim, saying, ‘This is what the Lord of armies says: ‘I am exceedingly jealous for Jerusalem and Zion.’” (Zechariah 1:14 )
προσπίπτω (prospiptō) / נ-פ-ל (nun-fe-lamed) / ن-ف-ل (nun-fa-lam)
Fall upon, at, against; become known.
“Then Esau ran to meet him and embraced him, and fell (יִּפֹּ֥ל yiffōlʹ) on his neck and kissed him, and they wept.” (Genesis 33:4)
“And Esther spake yet again before the king, and fell (תִּפֹּ֖ל tiffōl) down at his feet, and besought him with tears to put away the mischief of Haman the Agagite, and his device that he had devised against the Jews.” (Esther 8:3)
Esau suffered the consequences of tribal betrayal and familial treachery; Esther and her people faced annihilation under a lawfully decreed genocide. These parallels—illuminated by Luke’s deliberate lexical choices—frame the demon-possessed man as a victim of Greco-Roman imperial oppression.
In each case, the act of falling appears directed toward a human being when, in fact, it is the acceptance of Providence.
This is the core teaching of the Abrahamic scrolls.
Esther does not confront the king as a preacher or moral authority; she pleads with him, fully aware that she holds no power. You might say Esther was, in this instance, a functional Muslim.
To fall is ultimately submission to divine authority—Esther, by entrusting herself to God’s hidden providence, accepts that there is no King but God.
Her only weapon against oppression, along with Esau and the demonic, was to fall prostrate, hoping against all hope in God’s promise (in his absence), that:
“Caesar is not the king!”
نَفَّلَ (naffala) “he fell to his share” or “assigned as a share.”
الْأَنْفَالُ لِلَّهِ وَالرَّسُولِ
(al-anfālu lillāhi wa-l-rasūli)
“The spoils are for God and the Apostle.”
Surat al-Anfal 8:1
δέομαι (deomai) / ח-נ-ן (ḥet–nun–nun) / ح-ن-ن (ḥāʼ–nūn–nūn)
Ask; pray; beg. Grace. Compassion, mercy, tenderness.
“I also pleaded (אֶתְחַנַּ֖ן ʾěṯḥǎnnǎnʹ) with the Lord at that time, saying, ‘O Lord God, You have begun to show your servant your greatness and your strong hand; for what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do such works and mighty acts as yours? (Deuteronomy 3:23–24)
“If you would seek God and implore (תִּתְחַנָּֽן tiṯḥǎnnānʹ) the compassion of the Almighty, if you are pure and upright, surely now he would rouse himself for you and restore your righteous estate.” (Job 8:5–6)
The triliteral root ح-ن-ن (ḥāʼ–nūn–nūn) appears once in the entire Qur’an, specifically in reference to John the Baptist, making it a rare and highly significant lexical function. Unexpectedly, it does not serve as his name:
“‘O John (يَحْيَىٰ yaḥyā), take the Scripture with determination.’ And we gave him wisdom while yet a child, and tenderness (حَنَانًا ḥanānan) from us and purity, and he was devout.” (Surat Maryam 19:12–13)
In the Bible, John (ח-נ-ן) is the gracious gift of God; in the Qur’an, John (يَحْيَىٰ yaḥyā) is the one who lives, indicating the continuation of God’s instruction after the death of Zechariah (Surah Maryam 19:4–6).
βασανίζω (basanizō)
Torture; torment.
“And the hand of the Lord was heavy upon the Ashodites, and he tormented (ἐβασάνισε ebasánise) them and struck them in their inner parts—Ashod and its territories.” (1 Samuel 5:6 LXX)
The verb ἐβασάνισε is used to stress not just physical affliction but divine scrutiny and punishment. The Philistines captured the Ark of the Covenant and placed it in the temple of their god Dagon in Ashdod. God’s hand—his power and judgment—are heavy (oppressive and severe), and he torments them.
The “inner parts” (κοιλία) painful bodily afflictions (possibly tumors, בַּטְּחֹרִים baṭṭəḥōrīm), but more importantly, a punishment that affects the core of a people.
“For when they were tested, though disciplined in mercy, they knew how the ungodly were judged in wrath and tormented (ἐβασανίζοντο ebasanízonto) with thunder.” (Wisdom of Solomon 11:9 LXX)
In the Wisdom of Solomon, ἐβασανίζοντο (ebasanízonto) serves as divine judgment, revealing wrongdoing and emphasizing God’s righteousness. It creates a contrast: the Israelites received corrective teaching, while the Egyptians received harsh punishment, demonstrating God’s power to all.
“For at first she will walk with him on tortuous paths; she will bring fear and dread upon him, and torment (βασανιεῖ basanieî) him with her discipline until she can trust him.” (Wisdom of Sirach 4:17 LXX)
In this context, the torment of wisdom is portrayed as a teacher, guiding the disciple “on torturous paths” rather than punishment. The use of βασανίζω is not retributive but serves a constructive purpose, akin to a refiner’s fire that tests and purifies. The suffering described is intentional and temporary, designed to cultivate trustworthiness and maturity in the one to whom wisdom is imparted.
The adults in the room—those marked by wisdom’s wounds—make a choice. Not to be free, but to be forged.
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