غ ن ي Academic institutions, like religious institutions, are metropolitan in nature, gathering where the Scriptural God scatters. They are the elephant whose snout hoards knowledge for the tyrants of the earth like the Egyptian scribes (Genesis 41:8), inscribing their will with an iron stylus on the foreskins of human hearts, concealing them from God (The Eucharist, 270). The psychē (ψυχή) fights against God by clinging to the sarx (σάρξ), desperately struggling to shut out the pneuma (πνεῦμα) with all its might, concealing the uncircumcised heart from the Almighty God under cover of the circumcision of human institutions. Oh yes, Hellenists love the psyche. It’s what they “turn” (to) and in, epistrephein (ἐπιστρέφειν, Corinthians 3:16), away from him, spinning as they spin their rejection of the sufficiency of God. It’s the source of all they talk about on their podcasts. They gather it up in their communities to meditate on it and its endless crisis of “loneliness.” (2 Timothy 3:2–4)  “If only they knew.” (Qurʾan, Sūrat al-ʿAnkabūt سورة العنكبوت “The Spider” 29:64) But God, in his sufficiency, is all seeing and all knowing, and their schemes will fail. Each moment in life, each kairos, each encounter with the unseen God in the crossing of neighbors in the ʿarabah terrifies the human institution, because the crossing presents each living, breathing soul with a divine uncovering, and the possibility of a revelation: we do not need the institutions. We never did. It’s ironic. The academy will insist it exists to question, to challenge and to tear down, but of its nature a building is incapable of the apostle’s turning in his withering, let alone the prophet’s birth-pains. Yes, they critique, but not to tear down, one stone from another. No. They critique in order to build their artificial mother. Their blasphemous alma mater. “Because they disbelieved and uttered terrible slander against Mary.” (Qurʾan, Sūrat al-Nisāʾ سورة النساء “The Women” 4:156) Yet, “God is not mocked” (Galatians 6:7), for everyone knows that milk sweetened with chemicals is toxic. Well, not everyone. Against them, and all who are like them, the Abrahamic scriptures neither build nor synthesize. They present no dogma. People who “read” them do, of course. That’s how we end up with buildings and tribes, which all three scrolls summarily condemn. Instead, what these texts offer is a method for hearing and seeing in daily living, so that each of us can hear how to walk our path in this life. Indeed, God, who is the source of all knowledge, has assigned a path for each of us, and this life is your test. Only you can hear and see what he has presented for you to understand, for your sake.  It is your test.  On that day, you have no advocate but yourself and no recourse but him. The sooner you stop covering your ears and hiding behind your eyes; the sooner you open your heart to his instruction, the better your chance of receiving his gift with empty hands. God has assigned a lesson for you in your brief time on earth, which, as the song says, is as “but a dream.” True knowledge does not come from men. It comes directly from him, and Scripture is a guide on the path through his wilderness. Unlike human institutions which traffic in recycled human words, Scripture offers only the witness—the martyrdom—of the unseen, of the done-unto by God, who stand by you on the path, bearing witness to your witness to his divine words. And the words are signs along that path to help you find your way, as you uncover the test he has prepared for you, which is yours and yours alone. The Bible was not written to establish anything. It was written to keep the path open, for your sake, so that nothing would ever stand in between you and God on the path, before the time, until the time he shall judge the living and the dead; and of his kingdom, there shall be no end. This week, I discuss Luke 9:38

In episode 588, Fr. Marc hears the mashal of the Transfiguration as a warning against attempting to control what God gives freely. The Arabic root ش-ي-ع (shīn–yāʾ–ʿayn) spreads light naturally shedding itself without the inevitable fracture it finds in human hands. Peter's ploy to "make" tents for the prophets is a poor attempt to turn the gift of light into property. But the light, like rain, is lost the moment the human hands close around it.

The Temple Of (The Biblical) God. When we hear St. Paul say in 1 Corinthians,  “you are the temple of God, and the spirit of God dwells in you“ we often imagine that he means each one of us is a temple. But that is not true. The “you” of 1 Corinthians 3:16 is not addressed to individuals but to the Church. It is the Church that constitutes the one temple, or “God’s building” as St. Paul had put it in verse 9. It is in the gathering together of his Church, his “called ones” (in Greek ecclesia) that the spirit of God dwells. And in this way the Church is his temple. And since we are dealing with the Biblical God, it is not a temple made of stones. The temple of this God is radically different from the temples of other gods of the ancient world. Those deities could be depicted in representative statues, which were housed in temples made of stone and built by the hands of men. They were attached to both a city and a king, who was the deity’s plenipotentiary. The God of the Bible is not like that. He has no statue, and he doesn’t speak to an earthly king in a palace or temple made of stone. In fact, his first interaction with a people is through Abraham, who is not a king, but rather a Shepherd, a Bedouin sheik (see Genesis 13).  So when Paul addresses the Corinthian Church in the first century, it is with this understanding of temple - a dwelling place of the spirit of God. Not a building made of stone, but rather anywhere God‘s people are gathered around his word, which is the expression of his will, and led by his spirit. Let’s hear how St. Paul, in chapter 3 of 1 Corinthians, uses the metaphor of architecture -  “you are God’s building” and expands on it to show that the work one does in building up the Church can have a permanent, lasting value, or be considered utterly worthless. Photo by Brett Jordan.

In Episode 587, Fr. Marc Boulos hears the names Lyla and Elijah as rasm, unpointed traces, skeletons of consonants standing like the dry bones in Ezekiel's valley, waiting for a breath that is not their own. His baptism homily, dated July 25, 2026, follows the Arab grammarians, for whom the vowels are ḥarakāt, movements supplied by the one who formed the bones, into the night of Genesis 1, where darkness is called laylā by the same triliterals as in the Quran. Fr. Marc traces the turning of the letters, taṣrīf, as the work of an unseen hand: "thus we turn the signs" (Q 6:105).

In Episode 586, Fr. Marc Boulos asks what it truly means to welcome someone in Scripture. In Luke's account of the feeding of the five thousand, the answer is far richer than simple hospitality. Examining the Greek verb ἀποδέχομαι (apodechomai) alongside the Hebrew root צ-ר-ר (ṣ-r-r) and the Arabic ص-ر-ر (ṣ-r-r), Fr. Marc demonstrates that biblical welcome is not merely greeting a stranger—it is binding someone into the community of God. Beginning with Luke 9:14–17, he traces the literary and lexical threads that unite the crowd's welcome of Jesus (Luke 8:40) with Jesus' welcome of the crowd (Luke 9:11), culminating in the wilderness banquet. Along the way, he explores Luke's distinctive vocabulary of reclining (κατακλίνω), the companies (κλισίαι) of fifty, Israel's wilderness camp, the Greek symposium, the Gibeonite covenant meal, Abigail's "bundle of the living" (1 Samuel 25:29), Abraham's guests in Sūrat al-Dhāriyāt (Qur'an 51), Noah's self-bound hearers, the manna traditions of Exodus, Psalms, and the Qur'an, and the recurring biblical contrast between those whom God binds to himself and those who bind themselves to the old. Rather than treating Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic as isolated languages, this study follows their shared literary and lexical patterns to illuminate the grammar of the biblical text, revealing how the wilderness table gathers Jew and Greek into one people under one God.