In the second family story, after Adam and Eve blame-shifted each other, Creation, and God, Cain’s offering wasn’t accepted while Abel’s was. Cain became “very angry, and his face fell.” God didn’t scold him and instead asked, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast?” and encouraged him to do right. Cain is told plainly, “If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?” — it’s a rather simple statement. Cain doesn’t need to be upset, angry, or envious. He is okay in God’s eyes, and even chats with him.

God gave him a chance. The warning follows that if Cain “does not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.” In other words, sin is like a predator waiting to pounce, and Cain has a choice. He can master himself or master his brother. He can rule over his inadequacies or rule over his brother. He can accept Reality or attempt to control it.

Tragically, Cain let his anger fester and ultimately murdered Abel — fulfilling James’s warning that “desire, when it has conceived, gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death” (James 1:15). This is the fulfillment of the warning about “death” from Genesis 2–3. Cain will go on to establish civilizations and make a name for himself, but always be an egoic exile and fractured man. The “sin” he refused to rule spread and became normalized, even economized to the point that it completely ate away humanity, and God had to resort to a global flood to reboot it.

“Sacrifice diminishes the violence in the community. Sacrifice is inventive.”

— Rene Girard

Generations of Rivalry: The Family Sagas

This pattern of jealousy and “favorite child” thinking repeats throughout the Old Testament. In Abraham’s family, we see rivalry before Isaac is even born: Ishmael, Hagar’s son, is part of God’s plan (he becomes a great nation), but God makes clear that Abraham’s covenant will go through Isaac (Gen 16–21). When Sarah steps in and tries to control God’s story, God jumps into the fractured family’s story, meets Hagar and Ishmael, and gives a nearly identical blessing and calling. Later in life, these two fractured brothers would stand together, each with their own families behind them, looking over the grave of their father. God’s special promise went to Abraham’s son, Isaac. Yet, Ishmael was still loved and blessed (Gen 17:20).

Later, Isaac’s own sons squabble: Esau, the firstborn, trades his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of stew (Gen 25:29–34); then Jacob deceives Isaac to receive the blessing meant for Esau (Gen 27). Rachel and Leah struggle too, as Jacob openly loves Rachel and treats Leah as “hated.” His family, when read in whole, is a shit-show. It’s toxic: wives trading mandrakes for sex with their husband, competing in childbirth while their husband is doing God knows what, and his crew of immature boys repeat the same jealous sins of their father. Jacob favors and sets up the youngest because he’s afraid of his own mortality and insignificance, always looking for more.

“Violence constitutes the destruction of the life-sustaining capacities of the land and cosmos … as we see in Genesis 6–8.”

— U. Cassuto

And finally, Jacob’s favorite, Joseph, incites his brothers’ jealousy: “Jacob loved Joseph more than all his other sons” (Gen 37:3) and gave him a special robe, causing his brothers to “hate him and could not speak a kind word to him.” These stories overflow with envy, greed, blame, and hurt — all signs of a family broken by favoritism.

God chose individuals (Isaac, Jacob, etc.), but those choices never meant the others were unchosen and unloved. God chooses anyone who chooses Him. He blesses anyone with the tenacity for life, truth, and love. He’ll use sinners and emperors despite themselves and the headlines of nations and their squabbles to save the remnant able to still hear Him. Rachel’s jealousy of Leah and Jacob’s favoritism of Joseph show how easily wounded pride can tear families apart, while we miss the work of God in between the lines.

Jacob’s bitter fights with Laban over wages (Gen 30–31) illustrate our deep impulse to feel we “deserve” God’s favor, echoing Paul’s words that “the wages of sin is death” if we keep earning rather than receiving grace — when we live by the flesh and the patterns of this world, and keep chasing and competing for the same titles, honors, and “wages.” Rachel named her son Joseph, praying, “May the LORD add to me another son” (Gen 30:24), showing a woman’s heart, a mom’s soul, still struggling with inadequacy and wanting more — under the shadow of a man who could never have enough or see what he already had. This is how sin spreads, and yet God never ceases to work.

Over and over, the Bible exposes the “golden child” mentality as a lie of sin. Each generation repeats the refrain: “My father favored my brother!” or “Why is he special and not me?” But Scripture quietly reminds us that God’s choices are never about personal status, but about His purpose. God even chose Jacob — a schemer — to be the ancestor of nations, emphasizing His grace over human merit. Each rivalry in the Old Testament becomes a teaching moment: God is creating a family of faithfulness, not a bloodline of favorites.

“The Judeo-Christian scriptures are filled with mimesis. … they reveal the mimetic nature of desire and the conflict and violence that often springs forth from it …”

— Rene Girard

From Kings to Commoners: The King vs. Kingmaker

God repeatedly subverted expectations. When people rejected God and demanded a king to rule over them and “fight their battles,” so they could be like the other nations, they chose a king who was impressive from outward appearances — and they reaped what they sowed.

Later, David — the youngest son — is anointed king over his elder brothers (1 Sam 16:11–13). God did not pick “the favorite” in human terms.

The sibling strife doesn’t stop with the patriarchs; it spreads into Israel’s kingdom. Israel demanded a king like the other nations, but God’s people were already meant to be “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exod 19:6). When Saul became king, jealousy poisoned his heart toward David (1 Sam 18:8–9). David himself worried his son Absalom might usurp the throne (2 Sam 15). After Solomon’s wise reign, the kingdom split, prompting bitter feelings: Rehoboam and Jeroboam each claimed to be “God’s chosen” successor to David’s legacy (1 Kings 12). The family division of Adam and Eve is there, setting the air and context that these narratives tell, and contrasting what God is constantly reminding people of.

Prophets continually corrected both rulers and the people: leaders, they warned, are servants of the King of kings, not deities on a throne. Jeremiah likened God to a potter (Jer. 18) — there’s only one Potter, shaping all. The chosen are those who bend to His hands. Isaiah and Habakkuk reminded Israel that true security comes from God with them, not from palaces or armies. Ezekiel’s vision of the dry bones (Ezek. 37) is God’s message that He will breathe life into all of Israel, “bring you into your own land” as a united people (Ezek. 37:12–14). Time and again, the prophets declare: God Himself is the true Ruler and Redeemer, and He dwells among His people as One loving family, not waiting for a perfect king to make things right. And He dwells within our hearts and the very souls between neurons and synapses.

“The Kingdom life offered to us is a glorious present reality … it is ‘not something to be accepted now and enjoyed later, but something to be entered now.’”

— Dallas Willard

When Israel insisted on a human king, Samuel warned, “When that day comes, you will cry out because of your king whom you have chosen for yourselves, but the LORD will not answer you in that day” (1 Sam 8:18). God’s point: He was already their King.

Even a righteous king like David was God’s instrument, not his own savior. David calls God “my rock” (2 Sam 22:2) and repeats, “You save me because you delight in me” (2 Sam 22:20). It’s God’s delight, not human pedigree or entitlement, that secures blessing. It is not through status, proof, or earning. God sees right through it all, works despite it all, and will meet anyone who is willing to meet Him, even partway, if they dare. It just is, and that is still something so radically graceful, merciful, sovereign, loving, truthful, peaceful, and demanding that Calvinist, atheist, liberals, and all humanity might shudder before the same God as one. One can hope.

From Isaiah to Habakkuk, we hear that faith — trusting God here and now — is what sustains God’s people. Isaiah dares Israel to find joy and security in God alone (Isaiah 54), while Habakkuk contrasts the proud with “the righteous — he will live by his faith” (Hab. 2:4). These prophets shatter the “chosen one” pride, reminding everyone that God is already enthroned among us. It’s when someone is finally seen as God sees them. Imagine being in relationships like that.

The Real Chosen One: Jesus the Servant King

All these threads converge in Jesus, who takes the “chosen” concept to its fullest meaning but in a way no one expected. The Jewish expectation was for a mighty “anointed king” who would crush Rome; instead, Jesus calls Himself both Messiah (Chosen One) and Servant. The Greco-Romans had already been playing their part as Cain’s great-great-grandchildren with apotheoses and claiming their rulers were chosen “sons of god” to legitimize their rule and conquests (and hypocrisy).

Jesus overturned the idea of hierarchy: He ate with sinners, debated Pharisees, healed the sick, recruited zealots and tax collectors (people who hated each other), and welcomed children (Mark 2:15–17; Luke 18:15–17). Jesus’ teachings were about how the Kingdom of God was upside down: God is already right there with the suffering and those hungering for righteousness and peace. God is in the midst of you right now, and the Kingdom is in you. The greatest shall be the least. How can the Son of Man rise unless he descends?

Dallas Willard notes that “the great change that Jesus brought in his person and his gospel was the openness of the kingdom to everyone.” The kingdom Jesus preached was not about a select few elites, but “first of all to those who were rejected…That is the heart of his gospel.” Jesus repeatedly refused to play “favoritism,” inviting scribes and prostitutes into the feast, and annoying the religious leaders who got the same invitation (Luke 15:1–2).

In the Gospels, Jesus also uses an old story to flip our expectations. In the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11–32), the father already has two sons, and he shows no favoritism in his love. The younger wastes his inheritance but returns to a welcome feast; the older has worked “slaving” (Greek: douleuo, literally “been a slave”) faithfully at home. The older brother complains:

“All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.
But when this son of yours who has squandered your property comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!”

The father’s response is telling: “My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” In other words, the older son had all the same status and inheritance already. The father’s endless love and generosity extend to both sons — the “wasteful” and the “obedient” alike — dissolving any notion of a singular favorite. Jesus shows us here that God’s family includes prodigals and saints; every true child has an equal place at the table.

When Jesus said, “I and the Father are one,” and then invites us to do the same thing by loving each other and becoming like him, well — let’s just say there’s a lot of trauma, systematic theology, attachment theory, dualistic assumptions, and personal excuses that can come up if someone looks at it long enough without distracting themselves.

But that’s the point: we’re in that time of history. Almost exactly two millennia after Jesus lived, died, and resurrected, He promised his words wouldn’t be erased and wouldn’t stop working. He warned that God has not stopped working. Paul says in Acts 17 that God has been working behind the boundaries and rulers this whole time so that we all might reach out for Him, though He is not far from any of us. After 2,000 years, the world has unbabelled and a real Pentecost is simmering underneath our daily habits, family interactions, social engagements, social media posts, political upheavals, and fake spiritual nationalism.

We understand trauma, psychology, and ego enough now that we all get this, no matter what denominational tribe or political camp, or country we fall in. We all see that all emperors have no clothes. We understand what the point of Jesus’ Gospels are, as well as why fundamentalist right Christianity avoids them and bitches about anyone who points it out (they can’t smoke Jesus in their systematic pipes). The apocalypse is an unveiling. Look at the fruit: The Son of Man has come.

“The main thing God gets out of your life is not the achievements you accomplish. It’s the person you become.”

— Dallas Willard

God’s Children, Everyone’s Identity

Scripture nowhere says only one person or one family is God’s “chosen” with an exclusive hotline. As soon as someone claims that, God shows up in the other person’s story and blesses it. It was true in the Old Testament. In the New Testament, through Christ, all faithful persons become God’s children. As the apostle Peter declares, “You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession.” That timeless promise to Israel (Exod. 19:5–6) also applies to every follower of Jesus. Similarly, John exults, “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! … And that is what we are!” Every faithful person is literally God’s own child by grace — not by birth, talent, or social approval, but by the Spirit.

We must let go of the “my calling is bigger than yours” game. Whatever gifts or position we think we have, Jesus assures us that “everything [the Father] has is yours” if we abide in Him. In Christ, there is no hierarchy of children: every Christian shares the full inheritance of God. However, if you want to be a “chosen child,” then you have to live like it and become it. There is no other Way but through It. We’d better act like It, in other words.

This truth frees us from envy and self-doubt, and from excuses and blame-shifting. If we are God’s chosen children, then every person we meet is also His cherished child. We’re called to see and love that in others. God selects the subset for the sake of the set. He equips a few to bless the many. But the blessings and family identity He offers are for the whole world.

Embracing this means dropping silly debates about “who’s in, who’s out.” If we’re united with Jesus, we already stand before God with the same rights as His Son. We don’t need to climb ladders or earn Golden Tickets. The former religious walls have been torn down (Eph. 2:14) so that “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Gal. 3:28).

The Elect: To Become Chosen Ones

“Two ways of thinking: Human kingdom and human cleverness or God’s kingdom and God’s cleverness.”

— Dallas Willard

To be the chosen one isn’t about status or divine favoritism. It’s a contextual and subjective awakening. It’s what happens when our story, wounds, and skills align with the greater story, and we rise to meet it with integrity. In those moments, when courage and faith converge, we stand where Moses, David, and Mary once stood: not because we’ve earned it, but because we’ve become willing. That’s the real thread of the heroes of faith in Hebrews — not flawless belief statements or perfect doctrine, but the raw, human willingness to respond. The “chosen ones” are those who finally wake up to the truth that we’ve been chosen all along — and, in that awakening, can see the same reality in everyone else. It’s not exclusivity but inclusion; not privilege but participation. It’s where choice, freedom, grace, and truth converge — where love overwhelms the psyche until ego dissolves and the shadow is illuminated. It is humanity, fully alive.

Every person is God’s beloved child. This is the end of the story, which is hinted at from Eden through Calvary to Revelation. The “chosen one” archetype, seen in myths from Gilgamesh to King Arthur, claimed salvation came from a single hero. But the kingdom of God works the other way: Jesus came not to set up one super-soldier on a throne, but to birth a family of saints. In His kingdom, we each take turns being both the hero and the helper in each other’s stories. As He says, when two or three gather in His name, He is there among them (Matt. 18:20).

Let us lay down the lie that God plays favorites. Instead, let us live in the truth that we are all chosen; each one an heir of God’s kingdom. Paul reminds us that “in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith” (Gal. 3:26). By embracing that identity, and by loving others as He has loved us, we fulfill the gospel: every child a king or queen in God’s family, shining His love for all to see.

Let’s stop it with half-measures, fake revivals, altar calls, re-baptism, sheep-stealing, and actually start a real revival, a new awakening, and an Enlightenment that casts shadows on the faux-one we needed 400 years ago but have been too afraid to go through with.

It’s that time. It always was. The line of Abel still cries out from the ground, but this time, it’s a song of Resurrection. We simply must surrender to It.

“Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your heart.”

Psalm 95:7-8; Hebrews 3:15, 4:7