HISTORY OF CHRISTINITY IN THE KHASI HILLS
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with Greek + Hebrew wording comparisons
Hebrews 11 that always hits me in the chest—like a sudden warm wind rushing through an old room. Maybe it’s because it speaks about faith, but not in the calm, polite way we often hear in church. No, this chapter is rugged, gritty, smells like wilderness dust and old tents and freshly–cut altars. It tastes like the ancient Hebrew word emunah (אֱמוּנָה)—meaning steadfastness, firmness, trust that holds even when everything shakes. And also like the Greek word pistis (πίστις)—not merely “belief,” but loyal trust, a lived action, a clinging even when your fingers bleed.
Hebrews 11 is like a gallery of broken, imperfect people who walked with God in ways that still shock our sanitized modern Christianity. When I read it, sometimes the sentences crawl slow and heavy, like trekking uphill with a tired backpack… and other times they burst like sparks, quick and fiery.
Greek:
πίστις ἐστὶν ἐλπιζομένων ὑπόστασις
pistis estin elpizomenōn hypostasis
—Faith is the foundation / underlying reality of what we hope for.
That Greek word hypostasis (ὑπόστασις) is thick. It means a real substance underneath, like the bedrock under a house, or the tough roots under a tree that keep it from tipping.
Hebrew parallel idea: emunah (אֱמוּנָה) means steady, reliable, like the pillars holding up a temple.
Faith isn't vague fog. It's more like the solid feel of stone under your bare feet early in the morning, cool and sure. It has texture, like something you could grip. And I love that Paul (or whoever wrote Hebrews… scholars argue) starts here—not with miracles but with substance.
Faith is real before it’s visible.
Greek word martyrion (μαρτύριον): witness, testimony.
Their lives became a witness, even when they didn’t understand half of what God was doing. That comforts me a lot. Because honestly—most days I don’t understand either. Life is confusing, loud, sometimes painfully quiet. But their faithfulness became their story.
“We understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God…”
Greek katērtisthai (κατηρτίσθαι): to put in order, to align, to frame with intention.
Like stretching a canvas.
Like tuning a string on a lyre.
Like a potter smoothing clay.
Hebrew echo: dabar (דָּבָר)—God’s word, but also matter, thing.
In Hebrew thought, God speaks and reality becomes tangible.
The writer reminds us the visible world came from the invisible. That’s a big, strange idea that smells like early morning fog in a mountain valley—quiet, mysterious, but real.
Abel’s sacrifice was “more excellent.”
Greek: πλείων θυσία (pleiōn thysia)—a greater, fuller, weightier offering.
Hebrew connection: the word for blood dam (דָּם) also means life.
Abel’s “blood still speaks” (Heb. 12:24). Funny how life can cry even after death.
Abel’s faith wasn’t loud. He didn’t preach. He simply offered God what was in his hands and heart.
Sometimes faith looks like quiet obedience, not flashy sermons.
Enoch “was not found.”
Greek: metetethē (μετετέθη)—transferred, moved, carried across.
Like God just picked him up the way you grab a child who’s falling asleep in the wrong room. Enoch “pleased God.” Not by achievements… but by walking with Him.
Hebrew idea: halak (הלך)—to walk, a metaphor for daily life.
Faith is walking, step by step, not flying through the sky like a superhero.
Greek:
ἀδύνατον γὰρ χωρὶς πίστεως
adynaton gar chōris pisteōs
—Impossible, unable, no strength.
Faith is necessary—but not because God is insecure.
Faith is the bridge between the Unseen and us.
The Greek phrase “seek Him diligently” is ekzētousin (ἐκζητοῦσιν)—to chase after, to search with intensity, like searching for a lost ring in a dark room, scraping your hands on the floor, heartbeat loud in ears.
Noah built an ark “by faith.”
The Greek word chrēmatistheis (χρηματισθείς) means warned by God, often through divine message.
He built a massive boat when the air probably smelled dry and no drop of rain had ever touched his generation. Imagine the neighbors laughing. You can almost hear the mockery echoing around the yard.
But Noah moved anyway.
Faith sometimes looks foolish before it becomes glorious.
Hebrew word for ark: teivah (תֵּבָה)—also used for baby Moses’ basket. A container of deliverance.
Abraham obeyed “not knowing where he was going.”
That line always gets me. It’s like packing your suitcase in the dark. Or more personally, stepping into a season of life with zero clarity, only a nudge from God.
Greek:
kaleō (καλέω)—“called,” meaning summoned by name.
God didn’t just say, “Hey you.”
He called him personally.
Abraham looked for a city with foundations—Greek themeliōs (θεμέλιος)—real, solid, eternal.
Hebrew name Avraham (אַבְרָהָם)—“father of many nations.”
God named his destiny before he even had a single son.
Faith hears God’s naming even before the evidence arrives.
Sarah “received strength.”
Greek dynamin (δύναμιν)—root of “dynamite,” explosive power.
Funny, because Sarah laughed when she heard the promise. And it wasn’t polite laughter; probably more like a tired chuckle, like “Yeah right… at my age?”
But faith grew in her anyway, imperfect, shaky.
Sometimes God plants faith right in the middle of our laughter of disbelief.
These all “died in faith.”
That line tastes bittersweet, like the smell of old cedar and dust.
Greek xenoi (ξένοι)—foreigners.
Hebrew gerim (גֵּרִים)—sojourners, people who don’t fully belong.
Faith makes us travelers, always longing for something beyond the horizon. Their longing was a compass inside their chest—God-shaped.
Abraham offering Isaac… it’s one of those passages where the air feels thick and your stomach twists a bit. The Greek word for offering is prospheren (προσφέρειν)—to bring forward toward God.
Hebrew name Yitzhak (יִצְחָק) means “laughter.”
Imagine offering up your laughter, your joy, your future.
But Abraham believed God could raise the dead—Greek egeirein (ἐγείρειν).
Faith believes God can resurrect what looks completely lost.
Each blessed, each spoke about the future.
Faith looks forward.
Hebrew word barakh (בָּרַךְ)—bless
—literally “to kneel,” implying humility before God.
Joseph spoke about his bones. Imagine caring about your bones after death! But faith cares about where its story ends and how it points to God’s promises.
Moses’ parents hid him “by faith.”
Sometimes faith is hiding, protecting, waiting in silence.
Greek asteion (ἀστεῖον): “beautiful, extraordinary,” describing baby Moses. Maybe they saw destiny in his eyes or felt something holy when they held him close.
Moses refused Egypt’s pleasures. The Greek word aparnēsasthai (ἀπαρνήσασθαι) means to deny, to say no firmly.
The smell of palace food.
The soft linens.
The sound of music in Egyptian halls.
He turned away from all of it because he “saw Him who is invisible.”
Hebrew word ra’ah (רָאָה)—“to see,” but often meaning to perceive spiritually.
The walls fell by faith.
Greek katepesan (κατέπεσαν)—collapsed violently.
Rahab the harlot (Greek pornē (πόρνη)) believed God more than her culture, more than her city, more than her upbringing.
Hebrew name Rachav (רָחָב) means “wide, spacious.”
Maybe her faith made room inside her soul.
The writer almost sounds breathless—“And what more shall I say?”
A very human moment, like when you’re overwhelmed trying to list all the heroes you admire.
Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel…
The list feels crowded, noisy, like a marketplace.
They:
– subdued kingdoms
– stopped lions’ mouths
– quenched fire
– escaped swords
– grew strong out of weakness
But also:
– were tortured
– mocked
– stoned
– sawn in half
– wandered in deserts, mountains, caves
(Greek spēlaiois (σπηλαίοις)—caves, dark places that smell of cold stone and loneliness)
“The world was not worthy of them.”
One of the most poetic lines in Scripture.
They didn’t receive the full promise, “God having provided something better for us.”
Greek kreitton (κρεῖττον)—better, superior, stronger, more excellent.
Faith links generations together, like a long chain through time.
We aren’t isolated.
We finish what they started.
Hebrews 11 isn’t a chapter of perfect saints. It’s a chapter of tired travelers, rough hands, dusty clothes, trembling hearts. Faith wasn’t easy for them. It didn’t feel clean and pretty. It probably felt like walking through a storm with a tiny lamp, wind slapping your face, unsure if you’re even heading east or west—but still walking.
Their faith smelled like sweat and sacrifice.
It sounded like footsteps in gravel, quiet prayers at midnight.
It tasted like tears and hope mixing together.
The Greek word pistis and Hebrew emunah both speak of something steady, stubborn even. Faith clings. Faith wrestles. Faith sometimes limps (like Jacob). Faith sometimes laughs (like Sarah). Faith sometimes trembles (like Moses). Faith sometimes risks everything (like Abraham). Faith sometimes hides in fear but still chooses obedience (like Moses’ mother). Faith sometimes opens its doors to strangers (like Rahab).
And honestly… faith sometimes feels confusing. But it still moves.
Hebrews 11 is a reminder that God never required perfection. He required trust. Not perfect grammar, not flawless steps — just the heart leaning, however weakly, toward Him.
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