A People Remembered…

Listen to the Blog: A People Remembered

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European invaders to North America used the Bible to convert and control

indigenous Americans. Some Native Americans in turn adopted biblical

messages, but they often adapted them to their own national, cultural

purposes.

How did Europeans use the Bible when they invaded North America?

Europeans invaded North America with the Bible in their hands, not in their

minds. It inspired them, and they used it to justify their conquest of

indigenous peoples and lands. For instance, biblical accounts of Israelites’

entering a land promised to them but inhabited by pagan Canaanites -

Deuteronomy 20:10 thru 16 - provided grounds for Europeans to appropriate

the Americas. This became known as the theological doctrine of “discovery.”

With the gospel as their guide, English Protestants sought to convert Native

Americans. They held the Great Commission from Jesus, which said to “go

… and make disciples of all nations,” at the base of their missionary

endeavor. These Christian invaders translated Bibles into Native languages,

with the aim of transforming Native peoples into Christians through

evangelization and, if necessary, by force.

How did Native North Americans adopt and adapt biblical messages?

In early North America, Natives sometimes saw the Bible as a magical

invention of literacy, a source of divine potency. Being able to read a Bible

seemed like a supernatural feat. Who was this God of the Christians, and

what were God’s powers? What relevance did the life and death of Jesus

have for indigenous North Americans, who had never before considered

concepts of original sin or the need for salvation in the afterlife.

Two Native American men in particular used the Bible to champion Native

autonomy. In the 1760s, a Delaware man named Neolin recognized the

revolutionary potential of the Bible as a weapon of spiritual and social

resistance. This Delaware Prophet, as he is known, preached a message

like that found in the book of Exodus. He argued that God takes the side of

oppressed people, which in his case represented indigenous Americans

against their Euroamerican subjugators. The Master of Life, as Neolin termed

God, called upon Native peoples to resist the corrupting ways of the colonists

and seek divine, even militant, deliverance by returning to Native traditions

and freedoms. Ironically, Neolin employed the liberating biblical theme of

social justice to defend Native self-rule against invasive, Bible-quoting

Christians.

In the latter 1700s, Native Protestant ministers such as Samson Occom,

Mohegan, made biblical Christianity their own. They were stirred by the

“Great Awakening,” whose proponents encouraged heartfelt experiences of

sinfulness and redemption brought on through emotional public preaching,

scriptural recitation and personal self-scrutiny. The Native clerics drew upon

the Bible, not only to instill the fear of God, but also to establish a model of

God-supported nationhood for their Native people, apart from white

dominion. Occom, for instance, was pastor to the Brotherton community of

Native Christians in what is now central New York state. Members of this

community held ancient Israel and the early Christian community at Corinth

as their ideals. Occam was a prolific preacher. His sermons expressed his

reliance on biblical passages in order to proclaim two separable but related

messages. In the former, he emphasized individual human struggle against

sin. In the latter, he held out the promise of Native American societal virtue,

even under duress.

Occom delivered his best-known sermon in 1772 at the execution of a Native

man, Moses Paul. Occom based his talk on Romans 6:23, as he quoted it:

“The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus

Christ our Lord.” He called upon the convict to repent the “accursed sin of

drunkenness” and “receive … Christ” as his savior. It was a conventional

gospel theme, concerning innate sinfulness, Christ’s redemptive love, divine

omnipotence, and hope for divine grace, forgiveness, and eternal salvation.

But Occom’s biblical message had special application for his fellow Native

Americans, his “brethren and kindred,” who suffered under white Christians’

control that had been justified by a Eurocentric reading of the Bible.

Particularly in the homilies of his later life in the 1780s, Occom called out to

“all the Indians in this Boundless Continent” to be uplifted by Christ’s

redemptive sacrifice on the cross. A reflection by Occom on Daniel 5:25

made clear the dignity of Native people among the world’s populations, who

he argued deserved to persevere “according to God’s pleasure,” no matter

how much Occom felt that whites despised them. Occom also dwelt upon

Luke 10:26–27, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,” which is generally

seen as a depiction of ideal Christian love. So, Occom asked, what were

white Christians doing, oppressing slaves? In contrast to two-faced whites,

who “are not Neighbours to anyone, and Consequently they are not Lovers

of God,” Occom heralded Native communities for their social spirit: “The

Savage Indians, as they are so called, are very kind to one another, and they

are kind to Strangers”. With high hopes for indigenous Christians, preachers

like Occom used biblical texts to nurture Native spiritual progress and

political autonomy.

From the beginning, the human story is, in its truest form, a divine narrative

of origin, scattering, transformation, forgetting, remembering, judgment, and

restoration. Scripture anchors this narrative in the reality that God “hath

made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth,”

revealing that the diversity of nations, cultures, languages, and appearances

has never contradicted the unity of the created human family. What history

confuses, and what oppressive powers manipulate, the Spirit clarifies: all

humanity proceeds from the original pair—black, earth-toned, image-bearing

beings fashioned by the very artistry of God. Yet the pathways of human

migration, the trauma of divine judgment, and the long arc of prophetic

dispersion shaped the world into a mosaic whose truth has often been hidden

beneath conquest, colonization, and deliberate historical distortion. What

Scripture does not catalogue exhaustively in geographical data, it reveals

prophetically in the unfolding destiny of nations. What it does not list explicitly

in territorial names, it embeds in patterns of scattering, covenant

consequence, and the divine oversight of history. Thus the lands today called

the Americas—unknown to ancient Hebrew cartography—stand nonetheless

within the sweep of prophetic oversight, prefigured in the global dispersion

outlined in Deuteronomy 28, the beast power of Revelation 13, and the

narrative patterns of Nehemiah 9, where God’s people, long judged and

scattered, confess from the “fat land” of their dispersion the sins which

produced their estrangement.

The biblical writers, shaped by the geographical consciousness of the

ancient Near East, wrote within the horizon of lands around the

Mediterranean, Africa, Mesopotamia, and Asia Minor. Yet the God who

authored their covenant history never restricted His knowledge to their

limited maps. The scattering that followed the judgment at Babel created the

conditions for mass migration, and the division of the continents during the

age of Peleg—when “the earth was divided”—opened pathways for humanity

Pangea

to traverse land bridges no longer present in our time. The ancient world was

not sealed; its borders were permeable, its continents closer, its climates

milder, its terrains in flux. The scattering of tribes and clans in the post-Babel

world set in motion migrations that crossed vast distances, carrying with

them fragments of the original stories—creation, fall, the global flood—that

reappeared in the mythologies, oral traditions, and sacred memories of

peoples across the earth. The indigenous peoples of the Americas preserved

narratives astonishingly parallel to the biblical account: a Creator who

fashioned the world, a catastrophic deluge, a remnant preserved, moral laws

rooted in harmony with heaven and earth, and the hope of restoration. These

echoes are not coincidence; they are remnants of primordial truth refracted

through cultures shaped by isolation, climate, geography, and survival.

What the world calls myth, God recognizes as cultural fossils of the Edenic

revelation carried across oceans and continents by those who migrated

eastward and kept in memory what remained of the world they left behind.

Nature itself—climate, altitude, sun exposure, diet, and environmental

adaptation—played a shaping role in the development of human

appearance. The scattering created divergence, not in essence, not in

dignity, not in spirit, but in phenotype, producing what modern people

categorize as races. Yet these differences, far from biological barriers, were

simply the visible signatures of geographical adaptation—proof that the

human body carries within it the divine potency to survive and thrive in every

environment under heaven. Thus the ancestors of today’s Asian peoples,

whose presence stretches across the sweeping corridor from Mesopotamia

to the Pacific islands, represent one branch of the post-Babel dispersion,

while indigenous peoples in the Americas reflect another, their ancestral trail

echoing the eastward movement described in Scripture and preserved in

ancient memory. These populations, though separated by oceans and

mountains, share cultural motifs, agricultural patterns, mythic structures, and

linguistic affinities that trace backward toward a shared African and Near

Eastern origin. The world that modern academia divides into isolated

compartments was, in truth, a single migrating human family shaped by

divine oversight and covenant history.

Yet within this family, sin did its ancient work of corruption. As nations arose,

power was seized, and empires formed, some peoples elevated themselves

through violence and domination. The rise of the so-called Euroamerican

identity, forged through the intertwined sins of colonization, enslavement,

displacement, and historical revisionism, is one of the clearest

manifestations of human pride weaponized into global oppression. Their

arrival in the Americas was not a benign encounter between civilizations but

a catastrophic collision in which indigenous peoples were slaughtered,

enslaved, dislocated, stripped of culture, and robbed of memory. The

atrocities committed against Black people and native populations were

justified by fabricated doctrines of racial hierarchy, pseudoscientific theories,

and theological distortions crafted to sanctify wickedness. The rewriting of

history, which replaced indigenous intellectual and spiritual sophistication

with narratives of savagery and primitivism, served the same purpose as the

truncated “Slave Bible”: to control minds, erase heritage, legitimize

oppression, and prevent the oppressed from recognizing their divine identity.

This same pattern was replicated across continents, for in every age those

who seek empire attempt to bury the story of the people they oppress.

The Bible is not a dictionary of civilizations, nor a compendium of all world

cultures—but it is the prophetic key to understanding the moral and spiritual

DNA of humanity. It does not list the Chinese by name, nor the Hindus, the

Gauls, the Mayans, the Navajo, or the Polynesians, yet their existence is

embedded in the divine declaration that God scattered the nations “upon the

face of all the earth.” Their histories, though absent from the pages of

Scripture, are not absent from the supervision of God, who judges all nations

with impartial justice. The biblical narrative records the covenant people’s

relationship to God, but the Creator’s relationship to the nations is broader,

deeper, and more mysterious than the text explicitly chronicles. Every people

group carries the breath of God, the imprint of Eden, the memory of origins,

the consequence of judgment, and the hunger for redemption. The absence

of detailed ethnographic catalogues in the Bible does not diminish the

sacredness of non-Israelite histories; rather, it challenges believers to

cultivate “other-ical knowledge,” the wisdom to discern the movements of

God in cultures not named in Scripture. True reasoning with God

incorporates scientific, linguistic, historical, geographic, and anthropological

understanding, recognizing that all truth—rightly interpreted—belongs to

Him. The Spirit who brooded over the waters in Genesis is the same Spirit

who preserved fragments of ancient revelation in the stories of peoples

across every continent. Faith becomes blind only when it refuses to integrate

the fullness of truth available through the study of God’s creation.

Thus when we read Deuteronomy 28—its warnings of global dispersion, its

portrait of a people carried “into all nations,” its prophecy of captivity in ships,

its lament over the loss of heritage and name—we can see in it not only the

ancient near exiles but the transatlantic slave trade, the scattering of Israel’s

descendants, and the relocation of peoples whose identity was stripped from

them. When we read Revelation 13’s description of a beast rising from a land

uninhabited by historical empires, exercising global power, performing

deception, and enforcing worship, we cannot ignore the modern nation that

fits the profile—a nation arising not from the crowded world of Europe, Asia,

and Africa, but from a land previously unknown to the biblical world. And

when we read Nehemiah 9, where the scattered remnant confesses from the

richness of a “fat land” the long history of covenant failure and divine mercy,

we hear an echo that reaches across time into lands whose abundance

parallels that description: fertile plains, great rivers, vast forests, and

overwhelming natural wealth—the Americas, where descendants of the

scattered have been gathered, oppressed, awakened, and prepared for a

final witness.

Human diversity, then, is neither accident nor curse; it is the unfolding of

God’s providence across geography and history. The distinctions between

peoples—African, Asian, Indigenous American, Middle Eastern, Pacific

Islander—are not evidence of separation from God but of the extraordinary

adaptability built into humanity’s original design. The problem is not

difference; the problem is the hatred that arose in hearts corrupted by sin,

turning diversity into hierarchy and turning dominion into domination. The

Euroamerican atrocities against Africans and Native peoples are not

evidence of a superior civilization encountering an inferior one but evidence

of a deeply fallen civilization encountering deeply spiritual peoples whose

histories were erased to protect the conscience of the conqueror. Yet God,

who sees beyond the lies of nations, preserves truth in the hidden places,

raising up voices who recover the stories, reclaim the heritage, and expose

the deception. The oppressed, those scattered to the far ends of the earth,

those whose sacred memory was almost extinguished, are those through

whom God now speaks with prophetic clarity. It is through these marginalized

histories that He is restoring the unity of the human family and preparing a

remnant who understand the full story of humanity—not the sanitized version

constructed by empires, but the Spirit-revealed truth seen from heaven’s

vantage point.

This understanding reshapes faith itself. A religion divorced from history

becomes sentimental. A religion divorced from anthropology becomes tribal.

A religion divorced from geography becomes abstract. But a religion that

integrates all forms of truth into the knowledge of God becomes expansive,

prophetic, and revelatory. The believer who reasons with God is not afraid of

science, history, linguistics, or archaeology; they welcome every discipline

as a tributary flowing into the river of divine understanding. Faith does not

fear truth—it recognizes its source. When we examine how peoples

migrated, how cultures formed, how stories were preserved, and how

landscapes shaped human development, we are not moving away from

Scripture but entering more deeply into the reality Scripture points toward.

Thus this scenario described is not only plausible, it compels truth: that

indigenous Americans are descendants of the ancient scattering; that their

stories contain remnants of Edenic and Noahic memory; that their physical

appearance reflects environmental adaptation rather than racial essence;

that Euroamerican oppression replayed the ancient sin of nations exalting

themselves; that the biblical narrative, while centered in the Near East,

prophetically encompasses the entire earth; that God has left His imprint

across every people; and that in the final generation He will restore the unity

of all nations through the remnant who recognize the whole story of humanity

and its place in the great controversy.

If humanity is of one blood, then humanity is of one destiny. If the story begins

with one pair in Eden, it ends with one redeemed family in the New

Jerusalem. If peoples were scattered by judgment, they will be gathered by

mercy. If history was rewritten by oppressors, it will be corrected by prophets.

And if truth was buried in the earth by violence, God Himself will resurrect it

in the people who, having been scattered to the ends of the earth, now rise

to bear witness to the full spectrum of His providence, His justice, and His

redemptive love.

What becomes unmistakable, when examining the spiritual heritage of the

indigenous peoples of the Americas, is that God never left Himself without a

witness among them. Though separated from the biblical world by oceans,

mountains, and the long centuries of migration, they nevertheless preserved

within their cultures profound echoes of divine revelation—echoes so striking

that they cannot be attributed to coincidence, nor dismissed as primitive

myth. These peoples, long before colonizers touched their shores, lived with

a keen awareness of the sacred, a reverence for creation as the theater of

God’s presence, and a moral framework that bears the unmistakable imprint

of heaven’s original law written upon the human heart. Their ceremonies,

their ethical codes, their cosmologies, and their communal rituals all testify

that the Spirit of God was active among them, preserving fragments of

Edenic knowledge and sustaining a spiritual memory that refused to die even

under catastrophic oppression.

Their respect for nature was not naïve animism, as some caricatured it, but

a deeply developed theology of stewardship. They recognized creation as a

living testimony to the Creator’s wisdom and generosity. To the indigenous

nations, land was not property to be owned but a sacred gift to be tended;

animals were not commodities but fellow creatures to be honored; rivers

were not resources for exploitation but living arteries of God’s provision. This

posture, far from contradicting biblical truth, aligns with Genesis long before

many Western Christians rediscovered environmental ethics. When

indigenous peoples refused to desecrate the life of an animal, it was because

they perceived the breath within it as proceeding from the same divine

source that animated themselves. Their restraint in hunting, their gratitude

rituals, their ceremonial offerings all functioned as spiritual recognition that

life is sacred because the Giver of life is holy. This reverence is not the mark

of a people unfamiliar with God but of a people whose inherited memory of

divine order remained intact, though unaccompanied by the prophetic

writings of Israel.

Their sweat lodges, fasting traditions, and purification rituals reveal a

sophisticated understanding of spiritual cleansing and restorative healing.

These practices were not magical inventions but culturally developed ways

of cooperating with God’s design for the human body and spirit. Fasting for

insight, purification, healing, and renewal aligns seamlessly with biblical

patterns—from Moses on Sinai to Daniel in Babylon to Christ in the

wilderness. The indigenous use of fire, steam, sweat, and prayer combined

physical purification with spiritual introspection, acknowledging the unity of

body and spirit. What many Western Christians rediscovered only recently

through spiritual disciplines, indigenous peoples preserved through

unbroken practice: that the cleansing of the outer person can prepare the

heart to hear the inner voice of God, that silence opens space for revelation,

and that communal ceremony strengthens moral accountability.

Their sacred narratives, often dismissed by outsiders as folklore, contain

structural patterns that mirror the biblical frame: a Creator who establishes

order, a disruption that brings suffering into the world, a great cleansing flood,

a covenant between heaven and earth, and moral laws that preserve

harmony among people and creation. Whether among the Lakota, the Hopi,

the Cherokee, the Chicasaw, the Inuit, or the Cree, these patterns recur with

striking similarity. Such consistency across thousands of miles and centuries

cannot be accidental. These stories are the preserved memory of ancient

revelation, refracted through culture yet never entirely destroyed. They

demonstrate that at the far edges of the earth, beyond the reach of Israel’s

historical influence, God continued to speak to the human conscience. He

guided families, clans, and nations to retain the core of what it means to live

rightly: to walk with humility, to honor truth, to protect the weak, to cherish

community, and to respect the sacredness of life.

The moral teachings of the indigenous peoples, especially what many call

the Seven Sacred Teachings—love, respect, courage, honesty, humility,

wisdom, and truth—reveal an ethical sophistication that rivals the teachings

of any ancient civilization. These virtues, upheld not merely as ideals but as

communal obligations, align closely with the fruit of the Spirit in the New

Testament and the moral commands of Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus,

Numbers, and Deuteronomy. Love as the highest ethic, respect for elders

and community, courage to do what is right regardless of danger, honesty as

sacred obligation, humility as the gateway to wisdom, wisdom as the crown

of a good life, and truth as the foundation of all righteousness—these are not

the inventions of human philosophy but the ruins of the moral law once

known universally before dispersion fragmented the human story. The fact

that such virtues survived in indigenous cultures testifies that, though

scattered, they were not spiritually abandoned.

Even more remarkable is the presence of triunal concepts among tribes such

as the Cherokee, Chicasaw, and Cree. The Cherokee belief in Uhahetaqua,

the Supreme Power, and the associated triune structure of Atanati and

Usquahula reflects a dim but real remembrance of the plurality-in-unity within

the Godhead. This is not syncretism borrowed from Christian missionaries;

these beliefs predate European contact. The Chicasaw and Cree, similarly,

preserved a triune understanding woven into their cosmology and prayer

traditions. Such theological structures, appearing independently of Christian

instruction, strongly suggest that ancient triunal awareness—present before

the scattering at Babel—survived in unexpected places. These are traces of

pre-flood and early post-flood theology, carried across continents by

migrants who preserved more spiritual knowledge than modern historians

are willing to acknowledge.

Religion was woven into every fiber of indigenous life because they

understood existence itself as sacred. Their social structures, legal systems,

moral expectations, agricultural practices, and rites of passage were infused

with the recognition that the world is not random but governed by spiritual

laws. Unlike the fragmented and compartmentalized religiosity of the modern

Western world, indigenous spirituality was holistic—united, integrated, and

lived. Their ceremonies were not a separate activity but the lifeblood of the

community. Their prayers were not confined to sanctuaries but lifted in

forests, mountains, rivers, and plains. They saw creation as a cathedral and

human conduct as liturgy. Such a worldview mirrors the original intention of

God before the fall fractured humanity’s perception of reality.

When the descendants of Europe encountered these people, they

misinterpreted reverence as superstition, humility as weakness, moral

innocence as primitiveness, and communion with creation as paganism.

Unable to see God in cultures outside their theological frameworks, and

unwilling to acknowledge that the Spirit had moved long before they arrived,

they labeled indigenous spirituality as inferior, dangerous, or demonic. This

misinterpretation justified violence, displacement, and attempted cultural

extermination. Yet despite these attempts, the deep spiritual roots of

indigenous nations endured, because God Himself preserved a testimony

among them. The very virtues and beliefs that sustained them through

centuries of suffering—wisdom, humility, truth, courage, respect, love—

prove that they were never forgotten by the Creator.

In a world of great crisis, as we rightly observe, there are unmistakable signs

that God is turning global attention to the indigenous peoples not for political

purposes but for prophetic ones. Their ancient reverence for creation

challenges a world drowning in ecological destruction. Their moral teachings

confront nations intoxicated with power, greed, and violence. Their

communal worldview rebukes the hyper-individualism that has fractured

modern society. Their memory of the sacred exposes the spiritual emptiness

of consumer culture. Their resilience in suffering mirrors the endurance of

the biblical remnant. And their survival—against all odds—stands as

testimony that God keeps alive what the world tries to kill.

The time has come when the spiritual heritage of the indigenous peoples will

no longer be seen as peripheral but as essential to the final restoration of

humanity’s knowledge of God. Their stories, rituals, ethics, and cosmologies

are not curiosities for anthropologists but prophetic reminders of the truths

humanity once knew and must recover again. In a fractured world longing for

healing, their voice is not merely historical—it is divinely timed. Their

presence on the stage of the last days is no accident. It is a sign that the God

of all nations, who scattered humanity in judgment, is now gathering

humanity in truth.

There exists, beneath the surface of history and beyond the visible threads

of human migration, an unbroken spiritual sinew binding together God’s

scattered Black people of Deuteronomy and the remnant of Black ancestry

woven into the indigenous nations of the Americas. This connection is not

merely anthropological or genetic—it is covenantal, prophetic, and deeply

spiritual. Both peoples bear a mark upon them that the world has neither

understood nor successfully erased: the imprint of divine election carried

through suffering. The scattering described in Deuteronomy 28, long

misinterpreted or ignored, was not an abandonment but a dispersion with

purpose. And among the indigenous peoples—whose ancient lineages carry

the memory and features of those who journeyed eastward from Babel—

there is a resonant echo of the same ancestral story: a people whose dignity

was assaulted, whose truth was buried, and whose spiritual heritage was

obscured by the children of darkness who “blind the minds of them which

believe not”.

This shared affliction is not coincidence but a sign of shared identity in God’s

providence. The same spiritual forces that sought to extinguish the Hebrew

people in antiquity have sought to silence, enslave, marginalize, and erase

these two branches of the same ancient root. The transatlantic slave trade

and the destruction of indigenous civilizations were twin assaults from the

same serpent line—strategic attempts to destroy the vessels through whom

God placed unique spiritual knowledge, covenant memory, and moral clarity.

The children of darkness have always possessed an unspoken intuition of

who threatens their dominion: those who carry divine purpose, those whose

survival testifies of God, and those who embody truths capable of unmasking

lies. The fierceness, persistence, and global scale of the violence inflicted

upon both groups reveal their prophetic significance. You do not expend that

level of demonic hatred upon a people without spiritual reason. Can this be

a spiritual relational providential truth? Yes—deeply and profoundly so.

When viewed through the prophetic lens rather than through the narrow

window of modern history, the relentless, generational, and almost

incomprehensible hatred directed toward the scattered Black Hebrews and

the Indigenous peoples fits seamlessly within the ancient spiritual pattern

that began in the womb of Rebekah. The hostility is not random, nor merely

social, economic, or political. It is the long shadow of a spiritual conflict

announced before either child breathed his first breath. This was not simply

a family dispute—it was the prophetic unveiling of two spiritual lineages

whose conflict would shape human history.

Esau’s hatred of Jacob was more than personal bitterness; it was the first

visible eruption of an ancient enmity between two ways of being, two

responses to God, two destinies ordained by heaven. Jacob represented

covenant, spiritual inheritance, and the chosen line through which the

Messiah and the remnant people would come. Esau represented rebellion

against spiritual birthright, contempt for the things of God, and alignment with

the earthly rather than the heavenly. His descendants—Edom—became a

perpetual adversary of Israel, constantly seeking to undermine, oppress,

betray, or annihilate Jacob’s line. This pattern is repeated across millennia

with chilling consistency, because it is spiritual before it is historical.

When the Black Hebrew descendants were scattered through the judgments

of Deuteronomy 28, they did not cease to be Jacob’s seed—they became

Jacob hidden. Their identity buried, their memory erased, their dignity

assaulted, they nevertheless retained the covenantal significance of the

younger son whom God chose. And as in the ancient story, the “Esau-

spirit”—that old, unhealed hatred of the birthright—rose again in those

descendants and nations aligned with deception, domination, and violence.

This hatred is not about skin color; it is about spiritual inheritance. It is the

fury of the rejected line against the chosen one. It is the persistent rage of

those who perceive, even without conscious knowledge, that the blessing,

the covenant, the destiny, and the prophetic role belong to those they

oppress.

Indigenous peoples, especially those with ancient Black ancestry preserved

through the eastward migrations after Babel, carry another stream of Jacob’s

dispersed seed—peoples whose spiritual memory, moral wisdom, and

reverence for the Creator reflect remnants of the same covenantal

consciousness. Though not Israel in the narrow genealogical sense, they

bear the imprint of those scattered far earlier in the world’s dispersion,

carrying fragments of divine revelation into lands untouched by empire. The

spiritual dignity in their cultures, the moral clarity of their teachings, the triunal

echoes in their beliefs, and the reverence that shaped their societies made

them targets of the same demonic fury. Why? Because the adversary

recognizes covenant fragments even when the world does not. He

recognizes spiritual potential even when men remain blind. He recognizes

destiny long before it awakens.

Thus the same hatred that fueled Esau’s desire to kill Jacob—immediately,

instinctively, violently—reappeared with equal ferocity in the transatlantic

slave trade and the conquest of the Indigenous Americas. The same spirit

spoke when Esau said, “I will slay my brother Jacob.” That spirit resurfaced

in the European colonizer who declared indigenous life unworthy of

existence. It resurfaced in the slave merchant who saw Black flesh as

property rather than sacred humanity. It resurfaced in every system built to

suppress, erase, or destroy those who carry spiritual significance. This

hatred is older than America. Older than Europe. Older than empire. It is the

hatred of darkness against light, of flesh against spirit, of rebellion against

covenant.

The violent rejection of both these peoples is therefore not merely racial—it

is prophetic. It is the modern manifestation of an ancient war. The “children

of darkness,” as described, operate under the same blindness that

characterized Esau’s line: a blindness that cannot comprehend the value of

the birthright, the purpose of divine election, or the destiny written into a

people’s suffering. Hatred becomes their instinct because spiritual jealousy

becomes their inheritance.

And yet, the story continues as God declared: the elder shall serve the

younger. That prophecy is not about political dominance but spiritual destiny.

It means that God will ultimately vindicate the remnant, uplift the scattered,

restore what was stolen, reveal what was hidden, and make known the true

identity of those whom the world has despised. The hatred that pursued them

is evidence of who they are. The suffering they endured confirms the role

they will fulfill. And in the final generation—this generation—God is

awakening both the Black descendants of Deuteronomy and the Indigenous

remnant as part of the same prophetic arc, the same covenantal return, the

same redemptive unveiling.

So yes—what happened in Rebekah’s womb reverberates in the world today.

The hatred of Esau did not end with Esau. It echoes in every system built to

suppress Jacob’s seed. But the promise also endures: Jacob will rise, the

remnant will stand, and the birthright will be restored to those whom God

chose from the beginning.

In the last great movement of God, the children of light will not mirror the

ancient hatred of Edom, nor will they answer violence with vengeance.

Rather, because the love of God has conquered their hearts, they will stretch

forth their hands even toward the descendants of Esau—those long

entangled in structures of power, deception, and misunderstanding. As

Daniel hints at fugitives escaping the overwhelming sweep of evil, so the final

remnant will become a refuge, a spiritual sanctuary for any who desire

deliverance from the dominion of darkness. Their compassion will rise higher

than ancestral wounds, for the love of Christ within them will compel them to

help even those once set against them find escape, healing, and entrance

into the everlasting kingdom of peace.

The indigenous remnant that carries Black ancestry within its earliest

migrations did not only preserve cultural wisdom—they preserved a spiritual

witness. Hidden beneath their ceremonies, ethical codes, and cosmologies

is a quiet harmony with the ancient Hebrew experience: a people who walked

closely with the Creator, who perceived the sacred in the natural world, who

valued communal righteousness, and who recognized the triune mystery

long before missionaries arrived. Likewise, the scattered descendants of

Deuteronomy carried the covenant storyline within their suffering—retaining

spiritual resilience, prophetic instincts, and a latent identity that is now

awakening with increasing clarity. These two peoples, though separated

geographically and historically, share a spiritual wound inflicted by the same

adversary—and a spiritual destiny authored by the same God.

What binds them is not simply oppression but purpose. God allowed both to

endure the hostility of the children of darkness so that, in the final generation,

the prophetic testimony of their survival would expose the depth of human

wickedness and reveal the endurance of divine truth. Their suffering is not

proof of abandonment but of chosenness. Their perseverance against forces

designed to annihilate them is evidence of a spiritual mantle that has never

been lifted. And now, in the unfolding crisis of the world, the hidden bonds

between them are beginning to surface—not through human archaeology or

political agendas, but through spiritual discernment. The ancestral echoes

within indigenous nations, the rising identity of the scattered Hebrews, and

the parallel awakenings occurring among both groups signify that God is

gathering His remnant from the four corners of the earth.

The prophetic significance of this union lies in its capacity to reveal God’s

justice and confound the lies of darkness. As the world’s systems unravel

and the children of darkness intensify their hostility, the shared spiritual

heritage of these peoples becomes a testimony against the kingdom of

deception. Their histories expose the cruelty of empire. Their survival

unmasks the impotence of oppression. Their moral teachings challenge the

decay of modern nations. Their awakening identity disrupts the narratives

written by those who benefitted from their suffering. And their reunion—

though subtle, spiritual, and largely unseen—signals that God is completing

a work that began when He scattered His people in judgment and preserved

them in mercy.

Thus, the sinew connecting the Black people of Deuteronomy and the Black

remnant within the indigenous nations is not merely historical—it is the living

ligament of prophecy. It is God Himself who preserved them, God who

sustained them through centuries of darkness, and God who now brings

them into the light of recognition. Against them the children of darkness have

raged; through them the God of truth will speak. Their shared story is the

skeleton of a greater narrative: that in the final generation, the rejected, the

despised, the oppressed, and the nearly extinguished will rise as the remnant

who reveal the righteousness of God to a world drowning in deception.

God’s purpose from Adam to Christ, from Christ to the great multitude, and

from the great multitude to the 144,000, forms one unbroken arc of

redemption—a single, ascending movement of divine intention that reveals

the depth of His love and the certainty of His victory. In Adam, God declared

His desire for a family who would bear His image in purity, freedom, and

dominion. In Christ, the Second Adam, that shattered image was restored,

the pathway reopened, and humanity was called back into covenant

wholeness. In the great multitude, God gathers every nation, tribe, kindred,

and tongue—testifying that no scheme of darkness, no scattering of a

people, and no manipulation of history could stop His promise from reaching

the ends of the earth. And in the 144,000, God completes His purpose: a

sealed company who embody the fullness of the Lamb’s character, who

demonstrate the triumph of grace over sin, who stand as living witnesses

that humanity—through divine power—can again reflect God without

distortion. They are the firstfruits of restored creation, the answer to the great

controversy, the living vindication of God’s justice, mercy, and faithfulness.

In them, the story that began in Eden reaches its crescendo, and God’s

eternal purpose is made visible: a people who love Him supremely, who love

others sacrificially, and who shine with the glory that Adam lost but Christ

regained—forever revealing that God’s plan has not only endured but

prevailed.

Despite centuries of devastating onslaught — invasion, forced removal from

ancestral lands, epidemics, massacres, cultural erasure, attempts to strip

away their language, religion, and identity — the indigenous peoples of the

Americas have refused to surrender their spirit. They have endured as living

monuments to resilience, preserving the sacred covenant between mankind

and creation when the world sought to sever it. Their clinging to land as a

living entity, their reverence for mountain and river, beast and tree, remained

even when governments forced them onto reservations and their homelands

were seized. Their songs, their prayers, their oral traditions passed from

generation to generation bore witness that the breath of God does not

evaporate under persecution.

Even when their children were torn from their families and forced into schools

designed to “kill the Indian and save the man,” when languages were

forbidden and ancestral wisdom scorned, a remnant of faith and identity

continued. Their culture did not vanish — it transformed, adapted, and quietly

survived through beadwork, weaving, art, stories, songs, ceremonies, and

community memory. Their spiritual practices, their sacred respect for the

land, their communal moral codes — these remained as living embers,

awaiting a time of revival.

More than mere survival, what shines forth is their unshakable spiritual

dignity: a people who, though oppressed, never ceased to sing their songs;

a people who, though dispossessed, never ceased to walk on sacred ground;

a people who refused to renounce their identity and therefore preserved a

holiness that transcended cruelty. In their persistence we see a beautiful

portrait of endurance, faithfulness, and hope — an endurance that echoes

the remnant of old, a faithfulness that testifies to God’s unseen covenant,

and a hope that promises restoration beyond any human rewriting of history.

That spirit — the spirit of survival through persecution, the spirit of sacred

memory preserved in song and story, the spirit that honors life, land, and

community — stands as the greatest tribute any people can give to their

Maker. It is a living crown of testimony: that no tyranny, no darkness, no

attempt to erase can extinguish the breath God placed in the children of

earth. In honoring them, we honor the God who never forsook the scattered,

the oppressed, or the remnant — but preserved them for fullness of time.

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📖Applying the Study

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