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 Light
1. The Voice of the People: Despair
2. The Voice of God: Light and Hope
In both the Gospel and the Qur’an, the sword of Pauline Grace hangs above the scene. On one edge is the people’s despair: sharp, cutting, self-inflicted, and final. On the other edge is God’s light: sharper still, decisive, and life-giving. Scripture allows no compromise between the two. One voice must be silenced: the word of the people falls, and the word of God stands, forever.
πίπτω (pipto) / נ־פ־ל (nun-fe-lamed) / ن־ف־ل (nūn-fāʾ-lām)
The root carries the function “to fall, fall down, be slain, collapse, fail; to fall in battle, collapse in death, or prostrate,” and in its semantics it denotes a sense of finality, the collapse of life or order.
According to Lane’s Lexicon, the root ن-ف-ل (nūn–fāʾ–lām) indicates “he gave without obligation, akin to Pauline grace as a free gift” (نَفَلَ nafala), “that which falls to a man’s lot without his seeking it” (نَفْل nafl), or “booty, spoil, bounty” (أَنْفَال anfāl), while Tāj al-ʿArūs describes it as “that which falls (يَقَعُ yaqaʿu) to someone’s portion.” This resonates with Paul’s use of χάρις (charis, grace), where salvation is not earned but freely given: “For by grace [χάριτί (chariti)] you have been saved through faith; and this is not of yourselves, it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8). Likewise, Paul stresses that justification comes “being justified as a gift [δωρεάν (dorean)] by his grace [τῇ αὐτοῦ χάριτι (te autou chariti)] through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:24).
In the Qur’an, Paul’s teaching is carried forward from Luke, and the function of the fall is inverted: human failure becomes a gift, a “surplus”, not the false surplus of the billionaire abundance mafia, but what God allots beyond human expectation. Where Hebrew נ־פ־ל (nun-fe-lamed) and Greek πίπτω (pipto) establish the fall as collapse, ruin, and death, Arabic ن-ف-ل (nūn-fāʾ-lām) reshapes the same constellation into grace: what falls to one’s portion without effort, the unearned bounty. Thus, the Jairus mashal, where the daughter falls into death yet rises as a surplus of life, finds its perpetuation in the term’s Qur’anic itinerary: the fall itself becomes the site of God’s grace.
Judges were intended to function as earthen vessels: temporary saviors raised up by God to deliver Israel, re-establish order under the Torah, and cultivate dependence on him and him alone. Instead, like all dynastic bureaucrats, they mistook the spoils of God’s victory as their own possession, converting deliverance into personal legacy. Jair’s brief rule in Judges...