Bachar — The Forgotten Weight of Being Chosen
In Scripture, to be chosen is to bear a burden, not wear a crown. The Hebrew reveals what the Church has forgotten: election without servitude isn’t divine; it’s delusion.
Shalom, brothers and sisters.
If there’s any word in Scripture that demands clarification today, it’s chosen.
It’s been spoken so often, sung so loudly, and applied so loosely that it’s lost its meaning.
For many believers, it’s become a personal badge of honor — a proof of belonging, a quiet boast of divine favor.
But that isn’t how the Hebrew Scriptures use it, and it certainly isn’t what Yeshua lived out.
The word chosen desperately needs to be rescued from centuries of misuse.
Because the way we define it determines whether we walk in humility or arrogance, in service or self-promotion.
What “Chosen” Meant to the Hebrews
When the God of Abraham called Israel His am segulah — His treasured possession — He wasn’t declaring favoritism.
He was defining function.
In Hebrew thought, chosen never implied superiority.
It meant set apart for service.
It meant useful to the will of God.
The Hebrew root behind chosen, בָּחַר – bachar, means to select for a purpose.
It’s the language of function, not favoritism — like a craftsman choosing a tool to complete a task.
Israel was chosen to bear the covenant, to embody obedience, and to reveal God’s justice and mercy to the nations.
They were chosen not to be admired, but to serve and to suffer for the sake of the world.
By the time Christianity inherited the word, however, “chosen” began to sound less like a calling and more like a status symbol.
How the Meaning Shifted
Greek philosophy and Roman hierarchy quietly reshaped the vocabulary of faith.
The Hebrew worldview understood calling as communal — what God does through His people for others.
But the Greco-Roman mindset turned calling into something personal — what God does for the individual.
That shift changed everything.
Instead of saying, “We are chosen to serve,” believers began to say, “I am chosen for greatness.”
The focus moved from faithfulness to favoritism.
Instead of servants of the covenant, we became consumers of grace.
Chosen no longer means “God can use me.”
It means “God sees something special in me.”
That’s how pride disguises itself as calling.
From Servants to Celebrities: The Arrogance of Modern “Chosenness”
Modern Christianity has taken the word chosen and dressed it in self-importance.
Social media bios read, “Chosen. Favored. Set apart.”
Church conferences market it as a brand.
But the language of Scripture tells a very different story.
The prophets didn’t celebrate being chosen — they trembled under it.
Moses protested the assignment. Jeremiah said he was too young. Isaiah cried, “I am unclean.”
To be chosen was to be crushed for a cause greater than oneself.
But today, chosen fuels personal identity more than divine responsibility.
We say we’re chosen and build platforms, not altars.
We use the language of covenant to decorate ambition.
In the ancient world, being chosen meant to be consumed in the fire of purpose.
In the modern church, it means being promoted on the stage of performance.
The pastor becomes the celebrity.
The influencer becomes “the voice of a generation.”
And the humble servant — the one who quietly obeys — is often overlooked.
This is the tragedy: chosen has been redefined as approved for influence.
Yet in Scripture, chosenness never made a man famous — it made him faithful.
It never granted power; it demanded purity.
Until the Church recovers that posture, we’ll keep mistaking applause for anointing and titles for trust.
Yeshua’s Example
If anyone could claim the right to be called “chosen,” it was Yeshua.
But look at how He expressed that calling.
He washed feet.
He wept over cities that rejected Him.
He obeyed unto death.
His chosenness was not about privilege but purpose.
It was expressed through servanthood, not superiority.
When Yeshua said, “Many are called, but few are chosen,” He was not describing exclusivity.
He was describing endurance — the willingness to remain faithful when obedience costs everything.
The chosen ones are not those who stand above others.
They are those willing to kneel first.
The Arrogance of Calvinism
Few theologies have inflated the concept of chosenness more than Calvinism.
Built on the idea that God has predetermined some for salvation and others for damnation, it turns divine election into a throne instead of a towel.
In Calvinist thought, “chosen” means “selected for eternal life,” leaving others without hope — as if God’s love were rationed out like a lottery prize.
That idea owes more to Greek fatalism than to the covenantal God of Israel.
In Scripture, God’s choosing is always relational and purposeful.
He chose Abraham so that “all nations might be blessed through him.”
He chose Israel to be a servant and a light to the nations, not a private club of the redeemed.
Calvinism distorts this by turning stewardship into superiority.
It builds a theology that excuses passivity, dulls compassion, and undermines the Great Commission.
Because if everything is fixed, why labor? If salvation is preassigned, why preach?
Yeshua never taught that. He said, “You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you to bear fruit.”
Chosen for what? To serve. To produce. To go.
The Hebraic mind understands this perfectly: chosenness is never about who gets in; it’s about who gets sent.
The Word Itself — What “Chosen” Really Means
The Hebrew verb בָּחַר (bachar) means “to choose” or “to appoint for a task.”
It implies purpose, not privilege.
Deuteronomy 7:6 declares:
“For you are a holy people to the Lord your God; the Lord your God has chosen you to be His people, a treasured possession out of all the peoples on the face of the earth.”
To Western ears, that sounds like exclusivity.
To Hebrew ears, it sounds like accountability.
It means: “You are Mine, and because you are Mine, you must reflect Me.”
Isaiah 41:8–9 echoes the same:
“But you, Israel, My servant, Jacob whom I have chosen,
the offspring of Abraham My friend… You are My servant.”
In the same breath that God calls Israel chosen, He names them servant.
In Hebrew thought, bachira (choosing) and avodah (service) are inseparable.
In the Daily Jewish Prayers
Every morning, the Birkot HaTorah blessing before study says:
Barukh Attah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, asher bachar banu mikol ha-amim, venatan lanu et Torato.
“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe,
who has chosen us from among all peoples
and given us His Torah.”
The next line continues:
Blessed are You, Lord, Giver of the Torah.
In this prayer, chosenness is defined not by privilege but by responsibility.
The proof of being chosen is receiving and living by the Torah.
It’s not celebration of favoritism but gratitude for trust.
The Mishnah (Avot 2:8) records Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai calling his disciples “blessed are those who bore them,” praising their usefulness in service to God.
Worth, in Jewish thought, is measured by usefulness, not position.
The Avot de-Rabbi Natan comments on Deuteronomy 7:
“God chose Israel not because they were many, but because they would accept His yoke.”
And Pirkei Avot 3:6 says:
“Whoever accepts upon himself the yoke of Torah is freed from the yoke of worldly care.”
To be chosen, then, is to accept a yoke — not to wear a crown.
Rashi, commenting on Deuteronomy 14:2, summarizes it clearly:
“He chose you to be His servants, to cleave to His ways, and to sanctify His name.”
Even on Yom Kippur, Israel confesses:
Ki amkha kulam tzaddikim — For Your people are all righteous,
and immediately pleads, “Forgive us, for we have sinned.”
Chosen — yet humble.
Favored — yet repentant.
This is the Jewish understanding of bachar:
To be chosen is to be burdened with sacred duty.
The Hebraic Reality
In Hebrew thought, chosenness is inseparable from usefulness.
If something chosen ceases to serve its purpose, it is set aside — not in anger, but because it can no longer carry the mission.
Paul echoes this in Romans 11, warning Gentile believers not to boast against the natural branches:
“You do not support the root, but the root supports you.”
Those who forget why they were chosen become unfit for what they were chosen to do.
Israel was chosen to bless the nations, not to boast before them.
And the Body of Messiah is chosen to carry that same light — not to replace Israel, but to join her in covenant faithfulness.
The Real Test of the Chosen
If your chosenness makes you proud, it’s counterfeit.
If it drives you to your knees, it’s genuine.
True chosenness always ends in servitude, not self-promotion.
The Kingdom has always inverted the logic of man.
The last become first.
The servant becomes greatest.
And the truly chosen one — the Messiah Himself — became the Lamb who was slain.
That is the pattern.
That is the measure.
If our version of being “chosen” leads to entitlement instead of endurance, to applause instead of obedience, then we’ve traded the cross for comfort and the covenant for celebrity.
We weren’t chosen to win culture wars.
We were chosen to carry the presence of God through the wilderness of human pride.
We weren’t chosen to rule from platforms.
We were chosen to wash feet, to weep over the broken, and to bear witness in a world that mocks obedience.
To be chosen is to be trusted with suffering.
It is to be set apart, not to be seen, but to be spent.
The prophets bore it.
The apostles bled for it.
And Yeshua fulfilled it — not by conquering Rome, but by conquering sin through surrender.
This is what the Church must recover if it ever hopes to be faithful again.
The call of the chosen is not to stand above the world, but to stand before God on behalf of it.
So when you hear someone say, “We are God’s chosen people,” ask them — chosen for what?
Because if the answer doesn’t include humility, obedience, and the willingness to serve even when the world turns away,
then what they’re describing isn’t the gospel — it’s ego draped in Scripture.
The truth is painfully simple:
God does not choose the proud.
He chooses those willing to kneel.
He doesn’t choose the gifted.
He chooses the surrendered.
He doesn’t choose the ones who shout the loudest,
but the ones who listen long enough to hear His still, small voice.
So, believer, before you call yourself chosen — count the cost.
Because chosenness is not a compliment; it’s a commission.
It’s not a crown; it’s a cross.
And the only ones worthy of that title
are those who still bow low enough to carry it.
With courage and conviction,
I’m Sergio De Soto.
Shalom, and may truth find you hungry enough to follow it — wherever it leads.